Heirs of the New Earth Read online

  Not bothering to do anything with the plate and coffee cup after breakfast, Gibbs stripped out of sweaty underclothes and stepped into the sanitizer. Even with ice mining in the asteroid belt, water was a precious commodity in Southern Arizona. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the hypersonic waves tingling against his skin, removing dirt and sweat, leaving a kind of slime in the bottom of the sanitizer that the flies would enjoy. Stepping out, and wiping his feet on the mat, Gibbs dressed in his work uniform and went out the door pausing long enough to hear the door lock automatically behind him.

  Not able to afford his own hover-car, Timothy Gibbs walked the mile and a half to his job at Tanque Verde Teleholo. He was a repair technician, earning a small stipend and a commission on each of the expensive communication units he refurbished. In the thirtieth century, teleholos were considered virtually essential. With them, people communicated with one another, entertainment holograms were transmitted, games were played and finances were transacted. There was almost nothing in the way of entertainment or communication that couldn't be done with a teleholo.

  Poor as he was, there were many less fortunate than Timothy Gibbs. On his way to work, he stepped over an old man, sleeping on the sidewalk. Even the old man—too poor to afford a place to sleep with a roof over his head—clutched a portable teleholo to his chest.

  Stepping through the door of Tanque Verde Teleholo, Gibbs forced himself to smile and wave at one of the sales associates, Louise Sinclair. Sinclair gestured wildly for Gibbs to come see what was playing on one of the teleholos.

  "More news about the Cluster?” asked Gibbs with a weary sigh. Hovering above the teleholo dais was a familiar image—a large conglomeration of iridescent spheres. The Confederation of Homeworlds, of which Earth was a part, was fighting a one-sided war with the Cluster. Whenever the Cluster appeared, the ship it encountered was destroyed. No one knew of a single Cluster ship lost to a Homeworlds’ ship. “When are they going to stop bugging us with that?” he grumbled. “It's all so far away from Earth anyway."

  "This is different,” she said, tersely. “A mapping ship followed the Cluster home. They finally have some idea what it is.” Louise Sinclair had been following the Cluster story since day one and insisted on conveying everything she learned to her co-workers.

  "Whatever,” said Gibbs. He reached out as if to turn off the teleholo unit, but she batted his hand away.

  "Aren't you the least bit interested in the Cluster?” She cocked her head, examining the technician. “They've been destroying ships left and right. They even threatened a colony for God's sake."

  Gibbs shook his head. “Sufiro's on the other side of the galaxy. I can't waste my time worrying about things in space. I've got enough problems right here on Earth.” He shrugged mock apology then made his way to the employee lounge.

  Sinclair followed on his heels. “I can't believe what I'm hearing,” she said, incredulous. “In the thousand years humans have been in space, the Cluster is the first intelligent life we've ever discovered that's actually bent on destroying humans. How can you ignore that?"

  "It's not just humans,” he said as he poured coffee into a paper cup. “We're not in this alone. The Titans will figure out something. They always have before."

  "They haven't yet,” she retorted. “The only thing the Cluster hasn't destroyed is that colony—Sufiro. They survived their encounter with the Cluster."

  "Okay, so, now someone's figured out where the Cluster's from, is that it?” he asked, resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to leave him alone until after she'd given him her daily update.

  "They think it's from outside our galaxy. It's from a globular cluster.” She beamed proudly.

  "Seems a bit redundant, doesn't it?"

  "What's redundant?"

  "That the Cluster's from a cluster.” Gibbs smirked, impressed by his own clever remark. “What is a globular cluster, anyway?"

  "They're like balls of stars that orbit the Milky Way Galaxy,” she explained, thinking back to the images that had been displayed on the news. “Kind of like little mini-galaxies, except the stars are older."

  Gibbs nodded, then sipped his coffee. He held the cup out at arm's length and realized it had been manufactured at the factory where his mother had worked. He sighed and took another sip, then poured out the remaining coffee and crushed the cup. He looked up into Louise Sinclair's soft brown eyes. Briefly, he imagined himself asking her out to dinner, but quickly threw the notion aside, knowing he didn't have the money for such an extravagance. “So tell me,” he began, his tone softening, “who made this discovery?"

  He was pleased to see her smile. “It was a mapping ship called the Nicholas Sanson. They interviewed the ship's senior officers: a woman named Smart and the captain—a man named Ellis. They followed the Cluster to its home.” Sinclair wrung her hands and turned away. Gibbs swallowed, realizing he had been staring at her. “I guess the Sanson barely got back to the galaxy in one piece. It was quite a space opera,” she finished quietly.

  "Hey Gibbs,” called a voice from the door of the break room. Looking up, Gibbs saw his supervisor, Jerry Lawrence, a tall man with a rumpled uniform shirt. “We've got thirteen teleholos lined up in the back. We need to get them out by five,” he said, looking at his watch.

  "Sorry, Mr. Lawrence, I'll be right there,” he said. Lawrence turned on his heel and left. Gibbs looked up at Sinclair and smiled sheepishly. “I guess I need to get to work."

  "Me too,” she said, quietly. “Sorry I kept you. I didn't mean to get you into trouble."

  He resisted the urge to reach out and touch her shoulder. “No problem,” he said.

  "I need to get back on the floor. Customers, you know.” With that, she led the way out of the break room. She resumed her narrative, though it seemed that the enthusiasm had gone from her voice. “It turns out the cook aboard the Sanson was that McClintlock guy who had that wacky Cluster religion up in the New England Sector."

  They stopped at the workshop door. He tried to think of something witty or charming to say. Instead, looking up, he saw two people browsing the displays. “I think you've got some customers.” He shuffled his feet. “I need to get to work."

  "I know,” she said, turning away.

  Pursing his lips, Gibbs entered the workshop, feeling a little relieved that he would be spending the day with computer chips and electronic components that only spoke when he hit the on switch and if he didn't like what they said, he could always change the channel.

  * * * *

  As the star cruiser Nicholas Sanson limped toward the colony world of Alpha Coma Bereneces, the captain, John Mark Ellis, went to his quarters to wash up after the news interview. Sensors tracking the mapping vessel had seen it wink out of existence, then come back a few days later. People were amazed to learn that the Sanson had, in fact, followed one of the enigmatic Cluster ships to its home in a distant globular cluster. Not only had the crew of the Nicholas Sanson learned where the Cluster had come from, they had accomplished the first interstellar jump outside the Milky Way galaxy.

  Washed, Ellis put on clean clothes and sat down at the table in his quarters. Activating the computer interface, he dictated a short message to his mother, Suki Firebrandt Ellis. He told her what he thought he knew about the Cluster and its connection to the leaders of the Confederation of Homeworlds—the Titans—and asked if she had learned anything. A few months before, Ellis had asked his mother to research any connections between the Cluster and the Titans. Now, Ellis strongly suspected that the Cluster and Titans were symbiotic life forms. However, the Titans had broken the symbiosis and were in hiding. Ellis finished the message with a word about his romantic feelings for the ship's corporate officer, Kirsten Smart.

  The letter home done, Ellis rapped his fingers on the tabletop and looked out the window over his bunk. Finally, with some resolve, he decided to visit the ship's prisoner, a warrior from the planet Rd'dyggia. The warrior, G'Liat, was nearly eight feet tall with a hairless head
and orange skin. A cluster of prehensile, purple appendages wriggled in front of the warrior's mouth, like a grotesque, living mustache.

  The captain found the warrior sitting alone in his cabin. African drums played and pungent incense burned, filling the room with potent vapors. The captain sat down opposite the warrior, remembering their first meeting in the lush swamps of Rd'dyggia. Shortly before, the Cluster had seemingly spoken to Ellis in a vision. Ellis had sought G'Liat out to help interpret that vision. “How are you doing?” asked Ellis, at last.

  "I am caged,” said the warrior. “I want out."

  "There's no guard on the door,” admitted the captain. “I haven't decided if I'm going to press charges."

  "My sense of honor prevents me from leaving,” said G'Liat, simply.

  "Why did you kill McClintlock?” asked Ellis. Clyde McClintlock, a one-time colonel and an evangelist, had been posing as the ship's cook. As it had with Ellis, the Cluster had spoken to McClintlock in emotional symbolism. At the time, Ellis had interpreted the communication as evidence that the Cluster was a powerful life form. Clyde McClintlock had interpreted the visions as a message from God incarnate. “You could have subdued him. It would have been very simple for you."

  "We are all specist, Captain. Have you ever longed to hunt whales as your ancestors did? Be honest.” G'Liat leaned forward.

  Ellis swallowed hard. “I've thought about it."

  "When you sort out your feelings on this matter, you will be a better warrior,” explained G'Liat. “Once you've done that, you are welcome to return to Rd'dyggia. I will teach you more."

  "I'm not sure I want to learn what you have to teach,” said Ellis, looking at the floor.

  "This is not the Captain Ellis speaking who sought me out.” G'Liat leaned back revealing a deep cut left by McClintlock when they had struggled.

  "No,” said Ellis, simply. “The universe seems to have changed for me."

  "That is as it should be. The offer still stands,” said G'Liat. The warrior stood and looked out the window over his bunk. “I saw you with the Clusters. Did you succeed in talking to them?"

  Ellis remained silent for several minutes. “I succeeded in hearing what they had to say."

  G'Liat turned, his hands folded. “Nine tenths of communication is listening. May I look into your mind? I would like to see what they had to say.” The warrior referred to electronic technology that the Rd'dyggians had developed that allowed direct brain-to-brain communication between beings.

  Ellis shook his head slowly. “No, not this time. My thoughts are my own. They always have been. I realize now that's why you couldn't see the second Cluster vision. It's personal and I didn't want you to see."

  "Indeed, your ability to block me is strong, perhaps unique.” G'Liat looked toward the floor. “You hadn't known me long at that time. You certainly had no reason to trust me. Does our friendship mean nothing? I helped you learn the origin of the Cluster. Can't you let me see what you learned?"

  Ellis looked into the warrior's large, black eyes. After a moment, the captain held his hand open toward the chair opposite. “Sit, and I'll tell you the tale."

  * * * *

  After a long day of work, Timothy Gibbs trudged home. As he pondered what he would have for dinner, he looked to the sky. The sight made him pause. Usually, there was so much pollution that city lights just reflected back and the night sky was a deep rusty orange. On this night, Gibbs actually saw a few of the brighter stars overhead. He traced out the Big Dipper then the Summer Triangle, made up of the stars Vega, Altair, and Deneb. Four lights, brighter than those stars leisurely moved across the sky. His forehead creased. They weren't blinking like aircraft and they seemed too bright for Confederation spacecraft, which were the raw black of their Erdonium hulls. However, the four lights looked like a group of Confederation spacecraft moving in a diamond formation.

  Gibbs shrugged, then shook his head, remembering that being outside on the streets wasn't entirely safe. Continuing on, he stepped into his apartment building and frowned at the new graffiti that had appeared on the walls; the local gang felt it necessary to mark their territory. Timothy Gibbs sighed relief after he used his palm imprint reader to enter the apartment and the door was safely locked behind him.

  Gibbs removed his uniform shirt, then turned on the teleholo with the volume down low providing a simple background noise. The hologram showed a picture of four of the Clusters. A red light flashed under the three-dimensional image. It was some kind of a news alert. Gibbs was too hungry to pay much attention; newsflashes were a routine occurrence during the war against the Cluster. As Gibbs had mentioned to Sinclair, the events all happened so far away, it hardly mattered to him.

  After selecting a meal of roast beef and potatoes, he stepped over to the dresser and frowned at the lack of underwear. While dinner cooked, he made his weekly round of the apartment and picked up the dirty clothes and tossed them into the washer-dryer unit. The dinner-ready chime sounded. Gibbs retrieved his meal from the preparation unit and shoved plates aside on the table, upsetting the flies, and sat down, habitually reaching for a bottle of Dairtox—a drug necessary for human life on most parts of Earth, as it kept the pollutants in the atmosphere from building up to toxic levels in the lungs.

  The teleholo flickered and the image blurred as Gibbs began to eat. He slumped, a forkful of beef smothered in gravy halfway to his mouth. He would probably have to take his own unit into the shop the next day so he could fix it. The picture of the Clusters morphed into an indistinct shape and a single syllable began repeating from the speakers: “da ... da ... da..."

  Annoyed, Gibbs put his fork on the plate, stepped over to the table, and slammed his fist down next to the teleholo. The image solidified into that of a young man with strangely haunting eyes. Gibbs appraised the image wondering if he was getting an incoming call. That seemed to be it—the interrupt function on the teleholo was broken. It should have chimed and thrown the image into one section of the view. Instead, it was trying to play over the broadcast, causing interference. Irritated by the confirmation that the teleholo was on the fritz, Gibbs fingered the volume stud. He assumed it must be a sales call. It would be quickest to answer and be done with it. “Hello, this is Tim Gibbs."

  "Dad?” said the figure on the teleholo.

  Gibbs fell into the chair facing the teleholo. “Uh, I think you have the wrong number."

  "Are you Timothy Allen Gibbs?” asked the figure as Gibbs reached out to disconnect the call.

  Gibbs blinked a few times. He looked at the young man's eyes again, then looked over to the hologram of his mother—they were identical. No wonder the eyes were haunting.

  "Are you Timothy Gibbs?” asked the young man again.

  "I am,” Gibbs responded, cautiously. “Who are you?"

  "I'm Jeremy Williams,” said the young man. “I'm pretty sure I'm your son."

  "Pretty sure?” Gibbs leaned forward, examining the young man. “How did you find out? How could you find out?” Fatherhood anonymity laws prevented Gibbs from reporting his name at the Depository. The only information they had came from the DNA he'd left behind. Sure, someone could use that to trace his identity, but it would be a difficult chore. The same laws prevented paternal surnames from being passed from generation to generation. Except in rare cases, most people took their surnames from their mothers in the thirtieth century.

  "I didn't find out,” said Williams, his brow creased. “I was just thinking about my father and suddenly the name Timothy Gibbs came to my mind. Without thinking about it, I found myself dialing your teleholo. I live in the Los Angeles sector.” Williams looked down, as though seeing the number he'd input for the first time. “You're in Southern Arizona, aren't you? I don't know anyone in Southern Arizona."

  "I don't know if you're my son,” said Gibbs, shaking his head. “How could I know?"

  Williams held out his arms, imploring. “You must be. I feel it. I've never felt anything so strongly in my life! Don't you
feel it?"

  Gibbs rapidly shook his head. This was too much at the moment. He wanted very desperately to believe—to know the child he was never allowed to know. If Williams was his child, were there more? “I don't know...” Gibbs hugged himself, guarding against the holographic arms reaching toward him even though the hologram was just empty air—an illusion.

  Williams’ arms dropped to his side and he looked toward the ground. The young man gathered resolve, then looked up again. He typed something into his console on the other end. “I'm a computer programmer in the L.A. Sector. I'm transmitting my number. You can call me anytime.” He paused. “Do you want me to give you a location where you can check my DNA? You could find out if I really am your son?"

  Gibbs shook his head, more slowly. “No, that won't be necessary. Give me some time. I'll try to call in a few days, once I've sorted out my feelings."

  Williams nodded, accepting the verdict—saddened, but understanding. “I know you're my dad,” he said. “I don't know how, but I know. My emotions have never been so strong about anything before.” With that, Williams terminated the call.

  The image of the Clusters reappeared over the dais. With the volume up, Gibbs was able to hear what the announcer was saying. “Four Cluster ships entered Earth space today. There has been no evidence of personnel from the ships trying to land. Based on evidence of the Cluster's appearance at the planet Sufiro, we believe they are just here to observe. There is no cause for panic or alarm. We will keep you updated. In the meantime, we advise the citizens of the Earth to go about their daily business."

  Timothy Gibbs continued watching the teleholo, hugging himself. First, a son he never knew called out of the blue. Now the distant, mysterious Cluster had appeared around Earth. Military ships had gone to a state of emergency. As he watched the images of the Clusters on the teleholo, Timothy Gibbs—a man who had never really loved; never really been loved; a man who didn't feel strongly about much of anything aside from his own survival—began to feel regret for the lost opportunities in his life. A tear eased its way down Gibbs’ cheek followed by another. His emotions turned from regret to anger as he brusquely rubbed the tears from his face.