by Mark Wandrey
“What? How is that possible? I mean, it would take thousands of years, wouldn’t it?”
“At least. Probably more like a hundred thousand years. Remember the issue about the planet being life bearing?”
“Sure, but here it is, and we’re doing great.”
“Not all that great. Global temperatures have increased three degrees Celsius in the five hundred years since we came here. The great barrier desert has grown by five thousand square kilometers, and the planet has lost about one percent of its total water volume.”
“If the planet is dying, why did the Tog give it to us?”
“Why? Because we’re the last in a long line of temporary residents.” Minu stared and blinked. “Think of Bellatrix as a halfway house; a place to plant the seeds of a species until they’ve matured, or a hothouse to nurse injured plants back to life.”
“So, many have lived here before us?”
“Oh, most certainly.” Minu looked at him questioningly. “Between five and a dozen species over the last twenty million years. And to top it off, we know without a doubt the sentient species that lived on this world didn’t come from here. They aren’t related in DNA and primary mitochondrial strings. Most even have subtle amino acid variations. Not enough that we can’t coexist, of course. But it really doesn’t matter, since the world is doomed.”
“If the planet is going to die in a few thousand years….”
“How in the world have dozens of species used it before us? It’s quite simple, really. They moved the planet farther from the sun. There’s no fossil record anywhere on the planet. Life never evolved here on its own.”
Minu tried to understand his statement. No life evolved here? The planet moved? You can move a rock, a tree, or a building, but except for spinning around a sun, planets don’t ‘move.’ “The Concordia can move worlds?”
“Sure, at least they could at one time, I’ve no doubt. When you study stellar mechanics, you come to see that certain types of worlds only occur at certain places, in certain types of solar systems. B-class, main sequence stars like Bellatrix can form worlds like ours only in their infancies and much deeper in the gravity well. There are no gas giants in this system; Bellatrix toasted them billions of years ago. As these types of stars age, they quickly burn through their hydrogen and begin using helium. That makes them expand and burn up the inner planets and blow off the gas from the gas giants. The observations from Earth five hundred years ago showed Bellatrix surrounded by a huge glowing sphere of plasma, debris from earlier stellar spasms of this old sun. Out where we orbit, you should only find charred husks like Mercury.”
“It’s a fact,” Pip agreed. “I’ve compared old Earth scientific books to Concordian figures. The old scientists were wrong about a lot of things, but not this.”
“Every hundred thousand years or so,” Ted continued, “Bellatrix gets an attitude and starts to cook this planet like a potato in an oven. That’s why it’s heating up now.”
“And they move it?” Minu said, picking up a computer chip from Ted’s desk and moving it a few inches, before putting it back down. “Just like that? How is that even theoretically possible?”
“With the kind of technology the Concordia possess, anything is possible. And I do mean anything.” Ted finished with a flourish and moved the computer chip back to precisely where it had been.
“All right, so I believe you. Then what? Are they going to show up and move our home again?”
“Not this time.”
“Why not?”
“Well, there’s the mystery, right? You’d think it would have happened decades ago. From ice samples and sediments, it’s happened a hundred times before; but not this time.”
“I thought you were Mr. Answers.”
Ted laughed and gave her his most charming smile. “No, I’m not Mr. Answers. More like Mr. Mystery. I come up with the questions; you young people get to gallivant around the galaxy looking for the answers.” Minu took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “What we do know is a few million years ago something big happened. It was big enough to cause a near paradigm shift in the Concordia. First they stopped using spaceships.”
“My dad said it was because they deemed them too wasteful.”
Ted smiled at her before continuing. “Second, they stopped making new portals. Third, quite a few of their massive factory worlds shut down, something that’s still an ongoing process. And last, and this may link to the first two, they stopped engineering on a planetary scale.”
“How is this linked to the EPC issue?” she finally asked.
“It’s just another clue in the bigger scheme of things.” Minu scowled, and he shrugged. “We can’t have any real answers, of course. The Concordia don’t want us to know the answers. Either they can’t make new EPCs of the zeta scale, power is running short, or the distribution network is breaking down. Any one of these doesn’t bode well for the Concordia. They’re hooked on vast amounts of cheap and available power; it’s impossible to get rid of that addiction.”
“What about us? We aren’t hooked yet.”
“We’re working on that. Power generation, even on the scale we’re using, is not a small thing. One of those fancy new factories consumes more power each year than the whole planet used prior to the return of the Concordia. At this point, we could cut ourselves off from outside power and still survive. From what we’ve seen, most worlds can’t even feed themselves. There are huge garden worlds that are nothing but one big farm. They harvest their crops with high tech machinery, and process and deliver them through the portals. It’s global integration on a galactic scale. Even with that, there’s hunger on some worlds. It’s hard to imagine what would happen if the power suddenly stopped flowing. War, at the very least. But a holocaust of unimaginable proportions is a more likely outcome.”
Minu nodded her head. She did understand, on a basic level; on a deeper level, the full truth eluded her. Either that, or this was all crap and they were playing a grand joke on the non-scientist. Pip and Ted waited patiently while she thought it all over. Neither seemed in a hurry to force her to come to any conclusions. “Are you sure they aren’t just trying to keep young species down?”
“To some extent, they are,” Ted agreed, “by restricting computer data and access to advanced weaponry, for example. The nature of the portals makes empire-wide computer networks problematic. As you’ve no doubt learned, each world has a node of the bigger network, a sort of library extension, which updates regularly with data deliveries from other worlds. It’s kind of a hive mind. Our database was limited, and the others know that, so they don’t supply us with any more information than we already have. The only way to extend the data is if the Tog authorize it, or we find it ourselves. The only full-time Tog resident is Z’Kal, the data librarian in the Tranquility Chosen complex. Hse guards access through the Concordian data network like a mother hen, and as the sole permanent representative of our Concordian masters, hser power is total.”
“Doesn’t seem fair.”
Ted shrugged and smiled. “This is how they have exerted control over young species forever. This much of history, at least, we’ve been allowed.”
“How much are we missing?” Minu wondered.
“Compared to a higher-order species like the Tog or T’Chillen? I’d say we have maybe one percent.”
“That’s it?”
“Maybe less, who knows?” Minu whistled. “We had even less, but your father got his hands on some information during a scrounging operation years ago. He gave it to me, and I quietly washed it into our database. It took more than a year to trickle it in under the Z’Kal’s very perceptive radar.”
“They’re monitoring our local network?”
“I know it for a fact. When I was a young scientist, long before you were born, we brokered a deal and got a legal database copy. Those in charge were so beside themselves with glee that they quickly uploaded it into the branch. We only got a glimpse of that amazing data before it disapp
eared and Z’Kal demanded, through official channels of course, the original.”
“And you gave it to them?”
“Sure did. We didn’t even try to copy it. There was so much data, the only way to make a copy was to use a main branch computer. If we’d tried to copy it, we’d have risked betrayal by our own computers. We learned a hard lesson that day; we became aware of how closely they were monitoring us. When Z’Kal did what hse did, hse revealed one of the Tog’s hole cards. We’re a lot more cautious now of any ‘obtained’ data.”
“We have three branch computers now,” Pip bragged, “only two are linked into the main network.”
“Where’s the other?”
Ted pointed at the floor. “A few thousand meters down.” Minu nodded. “It could be linked in an emergency, but it’d better be one big ass emergency. The data we’ve loaded on it is probably way off limits. But we still only have a minute fraction of what we’d like to have.”
“I have to say, you’ve certainly given me a more dynamic view of the universe.”
“If I’ve at least opened your eyes and widened the view, then I have to consider this day productive.” He started to turn back to his work, then stopped and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Your father was the best leader of the Chosen to date. I have high hopes for you.”
“Leader, me?” She unconsciously fingered the four gold stars on her collar. Ted saw her and grinned. She blushed and pulled her hand away. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m a woman.”
“Trust me, I noticed.” He leered and Minu blushed even brighter. “What does that have to do with the price of tea in the Boglands?”
“There’s never been a female First. Shit, there hasn’t been a single female two-star!”
Ted laughed and shook his head. “You talk like the Chosen have been around for thousands of years. A hundred years is so short, it goes unnoticed by all but the shortest-lived species. Besides, maybe the right woman hasn’t come along? As we mature from wards of the Tog to partners and eventually equals, a great many things will change. Chriso oversaw a lot; your generation will see much more. Now, if you’ll excuse me?”
Ted didn’t wait for her response before he went back to his reading. Pip took her sleeve, and she let him lead her out of the lab. “Quite a guy, huh?”
“Yeah,” she agreed, still shaken by the notion, even the implied notion, that she could be First Among the Chosen.
“He likes you.”
“He either likes me or wants to have sex with me.”
“Probably both,” Pip admitted. Minu chuckled. “Don’t get caught alone with him. Most of the female lab staff won’t work with him. He’s incorrigible. I saw a girl the other day who said he didn’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”
“Would a broken collarbone deter him?”
“I suspect it just might.”
* * * * *
Chapter 11
December 22nd, 515 AE
Science Department, Chosen Headquarters, Steven’s Pass
In her new position, Minu found she had more freedom than she knew what to do with. At first, she was bored to tears. Aside from morning planning meetings, weekly progress reports, occasional disagreements between her staff, and supply requisitions, there was little else for her to do with her days. For a while, she’d hang around the lab and watch over their shoulders as they worked. That annoyed them, and Pip eventually asked her to stop before she lost someone out of frustration.
The next day, she decided to go to school. She’d been trying to read one of Alijah’s progress reports and had had to spend a couple of hours looking up term after term on the network. “This is fucking nuts,” she’d finally admitted after looking up the uses of ‘gallium.’ Putting aside her management work, she accessed the planetary network and logged into the University of Plateau. Distance learning was an innovation of the reborn digital age on Bellatrix, and Minu found it to her advantage. About a third of the classes were available for distance learning, and that was a start. She uploaded her transcripts from the Keeper’s Academy and requested admission. The next day, she received a denial. “Unsatisfactory Delay in Admissions from Academic Career” was the rationale.
Minu emailed the dean of admissions for an explanation.
Ms. Alma,
As the preeminent institution of higher learning on Bellatrix, we must be very particular about the students we take on. While your academic achievements at the Keeper’s Academy were sufficient, we find that your delay in continuing your education demonstrates a lack of commitment to higher learning. Opening a slot for you, even in the distance learning program, would therefore be a misappropriation of resources.
We suggest you apply for admission to a small, local college. Perhaps after a year of academic progress, your situation can be reevaluated.
Yours Truly,
Harold Osmond, Dean of Admissions.
University of Plateau
“Asshole!” she cursed, after reading the letter a second time. Who the fuck did he think he was? It wasn’t like she’d been flipping Kloth burgers at a restaurant while deciding what to do with her life. That was when she realized he probably had no idea what she had been doing. She wrote back to him right away.
Mr. Osmond,
I respectfully request you reconsider your admission policy in my case. I think, if you consider my background since graduation, and the career I am pursuing, you will realize that there is no danger of a lack of commitment or follow through if you choose to grant me a position.
Yours in service to the Tog,
Minu Alma, Chosen (4C)
She added the 4C as an afterthought, knowing that it was highly unlikely the academic would know what it meant and would take some time to find out. She was mistaken; his reply arrived in minutes.
Chosen Alma,
I am sorry for the earlier misunderstanding. Had you mentioned you were Chosen, we would have immediately made all due arrangements. Any classes you wish to access are open to you, including distance learning and accelerated programs.
It has always been our policy to welcome any current or past member of the Chosen, and we would be honored to have you in our student body.
With Respectful Appreciation,
Harold Osmond, Dean of Admissions.
University of Plateau
Minu laughed. ‘Yours Truly’ turned to ‘Respectful Appreciation.’ Being a Chosen did have its advantages. Of course they’d do whatever they could to make her happy. Who would want it known they’d denied a Chosen or passed up a chance to better themselves?
Attached to the email was a student ID pass code, which she used to see what sort of classes they offered. There was a dazzling spectrum. After a day spent considering, and another email from Harold Osmond hoping she hadn’t changed her mind, she contacted Pip and asked for advice.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“You bet.”
“How serious? Do you want to become a scientist, or just be less confused by those that are?”
“How about somewhere in between?” He smiled and gave her a list of classes. “I want to understand what we’re doing here, and how best to direct our efforts.” Pip nodded as he looked over the list. “And I want to be able to figure out if Ted is right.” Pip looked up and gave her an appraising look.
“Okay,” he said and added more classes.
“How many classes have you taken since graduation?” she asked as he wrote.
“I earned my first bachelor’s before the Trials; I’m on track to finish a double PhD by this summer.”
Minu shook her head. “You were all of fourteen during the Trials! And with all the work now, how do you have time to sleep?”
“Who sleeps?”
Minu started her classes the next week, and after a few days, she began to miss all that free time. Her decision to return to school came several weeks after the semester started. She had to work three times as fast while adjusting to academics again.
When she missed her first assignment deadline because of a Chosen planning meeting, she received a terse email from her professor.
Chosen Alma,
You must be aware that your status as a member of the privileged Chosen will grant you no slack whatsoever. If you do not fulfill your academic requirements I can, and will, flunk you. Don’t waste my, or my associates,’ time by taking classes you don’t have the time, desire, or knowledge to complete.
Katherine Diego, Professor of Science
First she got mad, and then she was embarrassed. While she resented the professor calling her ‘privileged,’ she did make a good point. Minu had got into college by pulling strings and using her position to her advantage. To fail to do her best was to dishonor her position. She stayed up late that night to finish the current assignment, and the next one. She was never late again, even when duty called her off-world.
After only a few weeks, her newly-acquired knowledge began to pay dividends. In a meeting with her team, she noted that Terry was trying to isolate how they might better mitigate signal loss from a Concordian optronic circuit through their own less sophisticated gallium/arsenide integrated circuits.
“Have you tried a doping compound of metal oxide?” she asked. Everyone turned and looked at her in surprise, except Pip, who just smiled. “There’s been some luck using it as a catalyst to impede signal degradation.”
“That’s a…good idea,” Terry said, nodding. Mandi scowled. Minu kept a straight face and continued; inside she was smiling from ear to ear. They won’t dare underestimate me again.
Once she caught up, then got a bit ahead, Minu found she had free time again, so she took full advantage of the accelerated curriculum offered to her. The year changed, then summer came around and, as promised, Pip hung his first two Doctorates on his cubicle wall. Minu tacked up an Associate’s of Science degree in Physics in a prominent place on her office wall. Her accomplishment paled in comparison to his, but deep down, she knew her father would’ve been proud. The deans were pleased, noting that earning a two-year degree in six months was a bold statement of the caliber of the Chosen. And she wasn’t going to stop there. After over a year of mostly physical challenges, the classes had reawakened her mind in ways she found both surprising and delightful.