Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  Tara nodded. "I'll have some preliminary information for you this evening. Why don't you come over to the house for dinner? You look like you could stand a meal that doesn't involve an autochef."

  Ken sighed, and then smiled. "You've got a deal."

  Tara and her son, Ron, Junior, still lived in the dome Tara had claimed after the plague. Prominently displayed on the wall facing the door were a holo of Ron Creding, senior, killed in the crash so many years ago, and a beautiful, highly polished old-fashioned rifle, Tara's prized Mannlicher-Schoenauer. A faded belt hung from a peg beneath it, a well-worn knife in a sheath sewn into it.

  Dinner was very pleasant. Tara had briefed Ron, of course, so they could discuss the situation freely.

  "I think we're all right for the immediate future," Tara reported. "Lee says the ship's stock of seeds will be sufficient for a bit less than two replantings at our current level. So, our next crop can be ship-stock seeds. Michiko says they've been trying to learn which foods are producing the poisonings. If we can isolate them, we can stretch our harvest quite a bit.

  "The comp says that the Hydroponics plant is no longer airtight," Tara continued. "It also says that no one has entered the hydroponics plant since the crash. That means that local nasties, both plant and animal, have had 25 years to move in and set up housekeeping."

  Ken nodded. "Ron, why don't you take your explorers and take a look? Go armed, of course. As your mother says, we can't even guess what horrors have been living in there."

  Ken relaxed. The crisis wasn't as dire as he'd feared. The colony wasn't in danger. With the new harvest so close, burning and plowing under would not be the catastrophe it could have been. The only non-routine action required would be the burn-off. They would simply replant with ship-stock seed. Even the farmer's normal planting schedules would not be affected. Oh, they'd have to be careful to avoid contamination, but he could depend on Tara to be almost obsessive about that.

  Even in the worst case, with the hydroponics idea not working out, they had another 25 years to work on a permanent solution. So, he was able to permit himself to shelve colony problems and politics, and simply enjoy the evening. And enjoy it he did. Tara was an excellent hostess, and Ron excused himself, suddenly remembering something he had to discuss with Elaine Renko.

  They talked until he suddenly realized that it was after midnight. It was the most enjoyable evening he'd spent in years, and he suddenly wished he were even 30 years younger. He suppressed a regretful shake of his head. Tara Creding was an attractive, intelligent, and thoroughly delightful woman. But her suitors, and there had been many at first, soon realized they could not compete with her idealized memory of her shipboard love. Ken couldn't remember seeing her in the company of a man, socially, for years. A pity.

  The hydroponics plant was a huge space that occupied nearly all of Deck 10. When Ron and the Explorers tried to enter, the comp informed them that the door appeared non-functional, though it could detect no problems in the operating circuits.

  Finally the Explorers levered the large sliding door open enough to see the problem. The space on the other side was virtually solid with dead plants. While Ron and Elaine guarded the opening, Denis Chu and Vito Carelli went in search of jacks to force the door open.

  Finally, the door snapped open the final few cems, and the Explorers were faced with a virtual wall of brown, shriveled plants, and assaulted by the stench of decay. Apparently, with the people who tended and maintained the system dead, the comp had continued to operate the growth lights and nutrient flow, and the plants had grown wildly until they over-grew the nutrients. Then they had died, of course, but not before choking the entire installation with their growth.

  In fact, the growth lights were mostly still operating, responding to programs set in operation over a quarter-century before.

  "Elaine," Ron said, surveying the choked entrance. "You come with me. We have to see Messer Terhoe. The rest of you stay here and make sure nothing comes out of that mess. Keep your lasers in your hands, and your minds on the job."

  Tran bowed deeply. "Yes, Master. We hear and obey."

  Ron struggled to scowl. "You'd better. If you let a bunch of plains rats loose on the ship, you'd better make sure you're their first victims!"

  Ron and Elaine hurried to Ken's office. They explained the situation. "Lasers are no good in there, sire," Ron said. "Anything we encounter will be less than a meter away. We need blasters, at least. And something to hack through all that stuff would be nice, too."

  "What about a disrupter?" Elaine asked. "Maybe we could blast all those plants out of the way."

  Ron shook his head. "Won't work. Disruptors vaporize the water in living tissue. These things have been drying for twenty-five years. I think we're going to need old-fashioned chain saws and bolos. And a lot of muscle," he concluded.

  "I'm sorry," Ken said, "but we have to know that place isn't full of plains rats or jelly monsters, or some other threat before we can send in people to clean it up. I know it's going to be a dirty job, but that's part of being an intrepid explorer of the unknown."

  It was a dirty job, but with the chainsaws, it was at least possible. In addition to the chainsaws and blasters, they also wore respirators; the stench was overwhelming. They spent an entire day chopping paths through the mess, while carefully scrutinizing every inch for possible invaders. Luckily, the contents of the hydroponics plant were crop plants. They were cutting through brittle and often hollow stems, not woody branches.

  They finally reached the control center, and found the terminal there still active. The comp requested readings from various gauges and indicators, and then informed them that the readings indicated that plugged lines had shut off the flow of nutrients.

  Ron called Tara. "Mom, the comp says we have enough nutrients in the tanks for almost ten years at standard use rates. It also has recipes for the nutrients, so we can try to make them ourselves. I think you can tell Messer Terhoe he can send in a cleaning team. It's not too hard to cut through the stuff, but they'll need respirators. It stinks in here!"

  It took a six-person crew almost a week to clear out the dead vegetation. The huge debris pile in the middle of the Castle courtyard naturally generated a lot of comment, and set Kerry on the trail of the story. But Tara and Ken had had time to prepare for the inevitable, and insisted on briefing the Council before talking to the Newsie.

  "So you can see," Tara concluded her report to the Council, "It's a problem, not a crisis. Oh, we'll have to deal with it, of course, but I'm confident that a simple burnoff and replant will 'reset the clock' and take care for the problem for another 25 years."

  "If it's that easy," a Councilor asked, "what's all that garbage in the square? Why do you have teams cleaning up the old hydroponics plant?"

  Tara smiled. "I call that 'Phase 2'," she said. "It will take several generations for us to become completely adapted to a Crashlanding diet, which means that not only the Earthborn, but the older Planetborn will have to be prepared. Reactivating the hydroponics plant will let us produce pure Earth-stock crops and seeds, which will ensure we have seeds for the next planting, and will also provide food that will stretch our harvest until we're certain our plan is working."

  "What about the livestock," a familiar voice, a farmer, asked. "Are we going to have to slaughter all our animals and start over with ship-stock fertilized ovas?"

  Tara shook her head. "No. Replacement may become necessary, but if so, it will be a gradual process." She shrugged. "We already control their breeding. All we'll have to do is raise new, ship-stock livestock in isolation from our regular herds. As long as they aren't allowed to interbreed, contamination won't be an issue. We have two options: Either wait until the next harvest is in to produce Earth-stock animals, or start now and feed them from the ship's supplies until the next harvest.

  "Personally," she continued, "I'd rather we waited. The ship's supplies constitute an emergency reserve that I find comforting. But Susan Renko and Michiko
Montoya are trying to isolate the specific foods that are causing the problem, and if they find out it's meat, well, we may have no choice."

  Another Councilor, Earthborn, spoke up. "Speaking of that huge pile of crap in the square, what are we going to do with it? How do we get rid of it?"

  Tara smiled. "Not my area of expertise…"

  "I'll take this one, Tara," Vlad said suddenly. He rose to his feet. "Y'know, every time I pass that big pile of stuff, I think, "That would make a great bonfire. And you know what? It would!

  "We haven't had an all-out blowout party since…well, I don't think we ever have! So I propose that we throw ourselves a big, colony-wide barbeque, or luau, or whatever you want to call it." His eyes swept the Planetborn Councilors. "That's a big outdoor party, with music, and dancing, and games and lots of food and drink. A chance to let our hair down, drink too much, tell all our best lies, try to kiss the prettiest girls, and just have fun! And a big bonfire would really set the tone."

  "So, what's the occasion?" asked an amused voice. "What would we celebrate?"

  Ken spoke up. "Who cares? It's Autumn. Harvest is almost here. The new mine. We can always find an excuse. It could even just be the Big Trashpile Party." He grinned. "I haven't been to a party like that since I left college. I think that's the best idea I've heard all week."

  "Besides," Vlad resumed, "We live in the middle of a huge grass plain. When will be the next time we'll have the makings of a great bonfire like this?" He paused dramatically. "I move that the Council approve and arrange a Big Trashpile Party for, say three weeks from now."

  "Make it a month," A grinning Councilor replied. "Then we can make it a Harvest Festival. We used to have those in Indiana."

  "Okay," Vlad nodded. "I move that we arrange a Harvest Festival for a month from now."

  The vote was unanimous, though some of the Planetborn were looking doubtful.

  "I'll get onto Kerry Alves," Ken said, "and see if we can get some volunteers to make the arrangements."

  There were suddenly a lot of smiles around the table, but Ken made certain that before they adjourned, the Council authorized the recruitment and training of hydroponics specialists.

  Kerry was furious about not getting advance notice of the new food problem, but she dared not complain too loudly. Ken had too much influence on her access to too much information. Besides, she thought the Harvest Festival was a wonderful idea, and almost single-handedly found volunteers for the key planning spots.

  The comp contained an almost limitless selection of music of all types, from Japanese samisen to African chants and American Country. A group of volunteers was soon trying to program an eclectic mix. Loudspeakers looted from the ship were strategically placed around the plaza. Entrepreneurs had revived the idea of setting up food stands to sell ethnic and specialty food items, to supplement those available from the ship's equipment. The Council authorized the comp to double beer production for the two weeks leading up to the party. Earthborns dug into long-forgotten memories to recreate games of skill and chance from their youth.

  Surprisingly, there were few nay-sayers and complainers. Even the surliest curmudgeon had to admit that they deserved a big party after twenty-five years!

  The party officially 'started' at Noon, but quite a few colonists had actually been partying for several hours before that. As the day went on smiles and laughter were widespread, and the noise level rose. Children chased each other screaming through the throngs. Several of the old-style carnival games became quite popular, with crowds around them that never seemed to dissipate much.

  As day faded into evening, a few brawls broke out, usually a couple of partiers swinging drunkenly at each other, and minutes later hugging, having forgotten their dispute. Volunteers from Chun's Scouts were serving as monitors, and they were busy, but except for a few accidents requiring medical attention, the incidents that were occurring were usually minor, and they could simply send someone staggering on their way.

  The bonfire itself was scheduled for shortly after sundown, and as the time approached, the excitement level began rising. By the time Ken waved a torch around his head a few times and began applying it to the large pile of debris, the cheering was deafening.

  The pile was more than four meters high, and nearly as wide, and the dry, desiccated plant matter caught with a satisfying Whoosh! Flames and sparks rose high into the night sky. There was wild cheering, and much drunken dancing in the bright firelight.

  It was nearly dawn before the last of the partiers staggered off to their homes, leaving a dozen drunks snoring peacefully in the square. The Scouts left them alone, merely making certain the bonfire remained controlled as it burned down to embers.

  The nearly unanimous consensus was that the party was a huge success. Ken was intrigued by the rumor that Tara had been seen at the party with Hans Trager, the head of the new Hydroponics Department. And by all reports, they had not been discussing plants!

  The harvest was good this year, the farmers agreed, So, there was little complaint as Tara's crews came around with improvised flame throwers, doing their best to sterilize the fields. As a precaution, no effort was made to prevent the flames spreading to the Earth-descended grasses, and by the time the flames had died, several dozen hectares were blackened, and a pall of smoke hung over the colony.

  "I told you," Tara said in a satisfied tone. "The only complaints we've had about the burn-off was people complaining about the smoke. And I'll guarantee you won't hear the farmers complaining about getting free seed!"

  "You know the rest of it won't be as easy as just burning and replanting, right?" Tara asked. "We're going to need the hydroponics plant to be sealed, and have its own, isolated air supply. If the symbiont gets in, we're wasting our time. The crews will even have to work in isolation gear. And the comp reports that the plant area is not airtight."

  Ken nodded. "Now that the crews have finished cleaning it out, we'll have to start trying to trace the leaks."

  "No problem," Vlad said. "We did that when we tried to seal off Deck 5. Once the place is empty, raise the air pressure to two atmospheres, and add a luminous gas. Then your people just go around looking for colored fountains."

  "I remember," Ken replied. "It should be easier this time, though. We won't be dealing with a maze of small compartments and mangled bulkheads. As I recall, we never did get Deck 5 completely sealed off."

  Vlad sighed. "No, we didn't."

  The procedure might have been a failure with Deck 5, but the hydroponics plant was a single large compartment, well below most of the crash damage. It took a work crew over a week to seal off the last of Vlad's "colored fountains", but finally they pumped the compartment's air pressure to two atmospheres, and began nervously monitoring it. When the compartment had held a steady two atmospheres for two days, they were ready to proceed.

  While the leaks were being sealed, an airlock and decontamination chamber was being built onto the compartment's entrance. By the time the last leak had been sealed, and the compartment pronounced airtight, all was in readiness.

  With a nervous sigh, Tara ordered the comp to begin pumping the atmosphere out of the hydroponics plant. The plan was to pump the compartment down to the best vacuum they could manage and hold it there overnight. Any life form, even the seemingly invincible symbiont, which seemed to be airborne, should be destroyed by the vacuum. Should be. In theory.

  Then the air was replaced by filtered, purified ship's air, and workers began to file into the airlock, where they donned isolation suits. These were sort of unarmored space suits, with their own air supply. Ironically, the colonists themselves were now 'carriers' of the very infection they were working so hard to defeat: the symbiont. Once they were suited, the air of the airlock was pumped out, and the airlock chamber flooded with a gas Susan had found to be universally fatal to Crashlanding life, apparently including the symbiont.

  After two minutes, the gas was pumped out, the airlock filled with purified ship's air, and the w
orkers were finally able to actually enter the compartment and begin the work of setting up the hydroponics equipment for operation.

  With her usual efficiency, Tara had already had ten volunteers for hydroponics training before the Council even approved it. Comp Training had begun within an hour of the Council approval.

  The Head of the new Hydroponics Department was Hans Trager. Hans was Earthborn, from WestEuro. He was tall, nearly 190 cems, and slim, with brown hair and a serious manner. He'd been barely eighteen when he'd been caught up in a street riot, stunned, and arrested. He'd protested his innocence, but a policeman had died in the riot, and the judge was unsympathetic.

  In the early days of the colony, a large majority of the colonists had been forced to work on the farms. It was unpopular, of course, especially with those who had been urban dwellers, but Hans found himself fascinated by growing things. He had begun studying agriculture on the comp, and came to the attention of Tara, who was busily trying to turn peasant farmers into modern ones. By now, she considered him one of her most trusted assistants.

  As a result of Tara's foresight, by the time the compartment was ready, Hans and his crew were, as well. They began processing through the entry procedure, arms full of sealed containers of frozen seed.

  Tara turned to Ken. "Well, that's it. As soon as we get some seedlings growing, we'll find out whether we beat that damned symbiont. Until then, we're just guessing and hoping."

  Ken sighed, "Keep me posted."

  "I will, of course." She replied. "Right now, though, I've got a meeting with Susan, Michiko, and 'Berto Gomez, to talk about fish."

  Ken raised an eyebrow. "Fish?"

  Tara nodded. "Sure. You know the older Planetborns can eat several species of Crashlanding fish. I'm told that the Earth-descended Gouge Lake fish are mutating, too. Before long, the Earthborns won't be able to eat them, either. And in a few years, the oldest Planetborns will start having the same problems the Earthborn are having. We're beginning a serious study to find all of the local plants and animals that they can eat. Even now, the more local stuff they can eat, the better. It takes that much pressure off our food production system.