Heirs of the New Earth Page 4

  Red letters appeared above the dais: “No EQ Carrier."

  Gibbs shook his head, realizing the problem wasn't in the unit. He turned back to the news where a floating head said, “We have just lost contact with planets outside the Solar System. Authorities are trying to resume contact. Be calm and...” Gibbs turned off the unit.

  "Damn,” he said quietly. He stepped back to the table and retrieved the bottle of whiskey and took a shot, then another. He stripped naked and sat down on the cot. After his fourth shot, his head swam. He began to think about his mother's words from the dream. He wondered if she really was dead, or if there was something he could do. Gibbs took another sip of whiskey, realizing he was too much a coward to act, even if there was something he could do to find her. Four more drinks and thoughts of his mother faded, replaced by a fantasy about Louise Sinclair. He imagined touching her smooth skin and wondered what her breasts felt like. Was there a way he could have a relationship with a real woman? It did happen. However, it seemed that it was increasingly difficult. There were women's groups that had even begun to argue that men were not necessary for reproduction. DNA could be engineered; there was no reason that it had to come from men at all. Two more drinks and Gibbs had driven the coldness of this image away. His thoughts turned toward Jeremy Williams. Was Williams really his son? He so desperately wished that were true. Two more drinks and Gibbs’ thoughts went dark again. He imagined that he had the DNA tested—and the test turned out negative. Instead of wanting to be close, Jeremy Williams turned from Gibbs much as Sinclair had that afternoon.

  Timothy Gibbs stood and paced the apartment. After several turns, he reached for the bottle again. Only this time, it wasn't the bottle he raised to his mouth. It was the hepler. He leaned his head back, as though to take a drink.

  The hepler flew from his hands just as he was about to squeeze the trigger. “Oh my God,” he said following the motion of the gun with his eyes. It clattered harmlessly into the corner. Looking forward, he thought he saw a nude woman with black hair, but he couldn't quite focus on any part of her except for her penetrating green eyes.

  "Do not give up hope, Timothy Gibbs,” said the woman. “You have a legacy."

  The room swirled in front of his eyes and he dropped to his knees then fell over sideways.

  * * * *

  The next morning, Timothy Gibbs awoke with a hangover and stared at the hepler lying in the corner of the room. He wondered if the woman he had seen had been real or some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. Putting on clean clothes, he stepped outside into a strangely quiet morning.

  A rank odor like an outhouse assailed his nostrils. He looked down at his feet and saw a man with half his head gone; the dead fist clenched a hepler similar to the one he had purchased the day before. The man's bowels had released upon death. Bile rose in Gibbs’ mouth and he struggled not to vomit. He looked up and stepped purposefully around the corner where he saw a hover crashed into the base of the building. The driver was a pulpy mess. Gibbs wasn't able to control his stomach any more. He fell to his knees and vomited onto the sidewalk. His abdominal muscles kept contracting and releasing well after his stomach was empty and he had to struggle to stop the dry heaves.

  When he did stop, he stood up and forced himself to look up and down the eerily silent street. Bodies were strewn everywhere, as though there had been a plague, except it looked as though absolutely everyone had taken their own life.

  In a daze, he walked the familiar path to work. Once there, he was surprised to find the doors locked. He sat down in front of the doors and put his face in his hands. He didn't know how long he sat there like that before Jerry Lawrence stepped up and knelt down in front of him. “How are you doing?"

  "What the hell happened?” asked Gibbs, looking up with tear-stained cheeks.

  "I don't know.” Jerry's voice was hollow, haunted. “They're saying the Cluster did this."

  "How?” Gibbs snorted, then wiped his nose on his uniform sleeve, not caring that he left a trail of mucous.

  "I don't know.” Lawrence took a long, deep breath. “When no one showed up to work this morning, I went looking for some of the people. I found Louise Sinclair drowned in her bathtub. When the cops arrived they said she overdosed on Dracan Love Crystals."

  "What is this, the end of the world?” asked Gibbs. “Is this doomsday?"

  "I don't know, Tim,” said Jerry. He stood and held out his hand. “All I know is that I'm still alive and I'm not going down without a fight."

  Timothy Gibbs reached out and took Jerry's hand.

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  POLITICIANS

  A small, egg-shaped craft accelerated from Alpha Coma Bereneces toward the jump point for the planet Rd'dyggia. G'Liat reclined against the rounded back wall of the control cabin and stared at the holographic projection of space that hovered over the central console. Unlike most human vessels, Rd'dyggian ships were not equipped with graviton generators or any other means of providing simulated gravity. To the pragmatic Rd'dyggians such devices were a wasteful extravagance. Of course, Rd'dyggian skeletons did not deteriorate in null gravity as human skeletons did. Even so, G'Liat took advantage of the ship's acceleration to leave his own chair at the control console and recline without restraint, breathing in the comforting aromas of sulfur and ammonia. Though Rd'dyggians could survive in the same atmosphere as humans, it was not pleasant. To G'Liat, the air aboard the Nicholas Sanson had been dry and foul, like a tomb deep underneath a desert where no life could flourish.

  A young Rd'dyggian named Rizonex remained strapped in at the central control console. Like G'Liat, he was orange-skinned and hairless with a purple mustache-like growth over his mouth and large, black eyes. He was shorter than G'Liat—only about seven feet tall. His six-fingered hands rested on the console; his mind controlled the ship directly. Slowly, deliberately, Rizonex lifted his hands from the control console, and then turned to look at G'Liat. “My Lord, we are intercepting a broadcast from Alpha Coma Bereneces. You may find it of interest."

  G'Liat pushed himself off the back wall and grabbed the edge of the control console. With virtually feline grace, the eight-foot tall warrior contorted then settled into the empty chair and belted himself in. “Of what nature is this broadcast?” he asked.

  "What the humans call a news broadcast. They have lost contact with Gaea, their mother world,” reported Rizonex.

  "Display the broadcast,” ordered G'Liat.

  Rizonex placed his hands back on the console. The image of a human woman with long blonde hair appeared on the control console. “As of this morning, we have been unable to contact our sister stations on Earth or Titan for over twelve hours. Senator Herbert Firebrandt's office has confirmed the loss of all communications and says the government is taking steps to reestablish contact.” The woman faded from view, replaced by an image of the Cluster. “However, the government has declined to comment about whether the Clusters reportedly in Earth orbit are the source of the communications blackout."

  G'Liat placed his own hands on the control console and searched the network archives for more information. He learned about the four Clusters that had appeared in Earth orbit and the fact that the Gaean Navy had sent ships to monitor the Clusters. However, the ships dared not fire on the Clusters for fear that they would attack the Earth.

  G'Liat let his mind reach out and touch that of Rizonex. “Alter course,” commanded the warrior. “We go to Gaea."

  "The ship's owners protest,” replied the pilot through the interface. “The charter was from Alpha Coma Bereneces to Rd'dyggia. No course change is stipulated in the contract."

  "Contracts do not apply to me,” said G'Liat. “The owners know that. We will change course in spite of their protest. My operatives are instructed to compensate the owners in the event this ship is lost as a result of my actions."

  G'Liat felt the pilot's compliance, but was disgusted by the trace of fear. The warrior pulled his mind back from the pilot and conti
nued monitoring human broadcasts. Though he longed to return to his own world, G'Liat realized he must determine what the Clusters wanted at Earth. As he searched the broadcast, a distant part of his mind sensed his orders being carried out. The ship changed course for the nearest jump point to Earth.

  * * * *

  Jenna Walker, President of the Gaean Alliance—Earth and all of its colonies—rode into Arlington Planetary Cemetery in a black limo-hover. Her aides, who normally vied for her attention, were unusually silent. Many members of the governmental staff had taken their own lives during the previous twenty-four hours. Everyone in the President's inner circle knew someone who had died. President Walker looked from one set of eyes to another. “Is there any way that all of these deaths planet-wide can be attributed to the Cluster?"

  There were shrugs from several of the black-suited figures. Others stared silently at the floor. One aide looked as if he was nodding off. The President and her aides had been awake all night, trying to decide what to do about the Cluster and the epidemic of death happening around the planet. Before the Clusters arrived at the Earth, every ship that had approached one had been destroyed. The Gaean Military's Chiefs of Staff were wary about attacking the Cluster—especially since no one could prove that the Cluster was responsible for the deaths. There were some who posed the idea that the Clusters might even be able to help solve the mystery of the deaths. If so, the question was how to approach the Clusters without being destroyed.

  Walker looked to the Surgeon General, normally a high-energy woman, whose red-rimmed eyes betrayed the fact that she had been reading reports all night. The President decided it was time to reassess the information she had. “So, the deaths are not a disease? There's no doubt whatsoever that the cause of death is clinical depression?"

  Dr. Cooper nodded. “Nothing seems to contradict that."

  "Doctor, I'm tired of you pussyfooting around this issue. Are all of the deaths clinical depression or aren't they?” shouted Walker, slamming her petite fist on the side of the car.

  Dr. Cooper glared at the President, baring her teeth. Anger seeped to the surface of a normally easy-going exterior because of exhaustion. “Every single one of the billions dead would have to be examined for me to know that absolutely definitively, Madame President. Unless you really are the idiot the press makes you out to be, you know that's impossible!"

  President Walker sat back stunned. The aide who had been dozing off was suddenly awake. The President's mouth twitched into a humble smile. “We're all tired, Dr. Cooper. I'm just trying to find answers.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Is there any way the depression could be caused by the Cluster?"

  Dr. Cooper rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I'm sorry I snapped, Madame President. I really am.” The President waved the apology aside. Looking out the window she saw that the limo was nearing the podium where she would make a speech remembering the so-called Doomsday Dead. “I really wish the official report from the Sanson had made it to us. The press reports seem to indicate that the Cluster gives off some kind of emotional energy, but without the official report, I don't know exactly how it works."

  "And,” said the President, as the limo came to a stop, “I presume you don't give much credence to press reports—especially those that say I'm an idiot."

  "There's a difference between editorializing and factual reporting,” said Dr. Cooper wryly.

  "Are you so sure?” asked the President as she stepped out of the limo.

  The group of aides began to file out behind the President. As they did, the Planetary Minister, Gordon “Dick” Richards, leaned over to the Surgeon General. “I'd be careful which press reports I relay to the President. She would be a bad enemy to have."

  "She watches late night teleholo just like we all do,” said the Surgeon General, wearily. “I'm not out to offend her. I just want to clarify that I don't have all of the answers."

  "None of us do,” said the Planetary Minister. “Just don't let her know that."

  President Jenna Walker stood waiting just ahead of the podium while an aide checked to make sure her hair was presentable for the cameras and another aide checked her suit. Once they were done, the President stepped up to the podium where she put on her best solemn expression. “I grieve for all of the people of the Earth. We have all lost loved ones in the last twenty-four hours. Rest assured that I will work day and night to find out why this has happened. Some say the deaths are due to the fact that four of the Clusters have appeared in orbit around the Earth. Let us not allow rumor to force us into hasty action. My staff and I are working to determine whether the Clusters are responsible in any way. If so, we will demand retribution. If not, we will determine the cause of these deaths."

  The President paused briefly as the next lines of her speech were relayed over her brain implant. “Let us take a minute to remember our loved ones who have passed before us. Today is the time to celebrate their lives and what they mean to us. Let's have a moment of silence.” During the silence, President Walker tried to think if she knew any of the dead personally. There was a janitor at the Capitol that had died with no explanation and one of the Secret Service agents who guarded her had taken his own life. They were acquaintances, really, not friends. As leader of the Earth and its colonies she wondered if she really had any friends. She shot an almost indiscernible glance at Surgeon General Cooper—the only member of her cabinet who spoke openly and without fear. Was she a friend or an enemy? Certainly, Dr. Cooper was more a friend than those members of her cabinet that remained silent to avoid aggravating her.

  The clock in the President's brain implant told her that the moment of silence had extended long enough to be proper. If she waited any longer, people would get nervous. The President continued her speech.

  * * * *

  A man with long, white hair tied back into a ponytail stood on a ladder mounted to the side of a hover tractor and leaned over the power unit. He swore mildly as he removed the burned out transfer coupling and set it next to the open compartment. He leapt to the ground and surveyed the field around him, shaking his head in dismay. The man's name was Ellison Firebrandt and at one time he had been captain of the privateer vessel Legacy. Now, at 84-years-old, Firebrandt was a farmer on the colony world of Sufiro—a colony he founded with his lover, Suki, and his first mate, Carter Roberts. Suki died when the colony was still new, but Roberts lived on. Even though arthritis confined him to a hover chair, Roberts’ mind was still sharp.

  Roberts guided his chair over the field and stopped next to his one-time captain. “Transfer coupling?” he asked.

  "Couldn't happen at a worse time,” growled Firebrandt. “We need to get the harvest in before the first snowfall. I don't think we can get a replacement from Earth before two weeks."

  "Let me have a look at it,” suggested Roberts. “Maybe I can repair it."

  "You've already repaired the damned thing about five times,” said Firebrandt.

  "If I can make it six, we'll save the harvest,” said Roberts. Firebrandt started to reach up to retrieve the coupling, but Roberts stopped him. “You'll hurt your back if you do that. Let me.” With that, he lifted the hover chair to the top of the tractor, reached out and grabbed the transfer coupling then placed it into a compartment in the hover chair. Just as Roberts drifted back toward the ground, an alarm sounded on the hover chair's console. “We've got a call up at the house,” he explained.

  "Who from?” asked Firebrandt, looking up at the homestead he had built from the wreck of his star vessel, the Legacy.

  "I don't have an ID, but the call is originating on Alpha Coma Bereneces."

  Firebrandt shot a glance at his long-time friend. Sufiro had been founded when Firebrandt's mother—an admiral from Alpha Coma Bereneces—attacked the Legacy and exiled Firebrandt to a world where he could survive but would be unable to commit acts of piracy. “Signal for them to hold. I'll answer as soon as I get up to the house."

  Roberts did as he was instructed while Firebrandt
strode ahead, reflecting about his life on Sufiro. His daughter had been born and his lover had died on the planet. Colonists seeking to escape an overcrowded Earth settled. Some of them discovered the galaxy's most precious metal, Erdonium, and that discovery ultimately sparked a war that nearly destroyed the planet. Peace ultimately prevailed, though, and Firebrandt hoped that peace would remain for a time.

  Reaching the house, he quickly made his way through the adobe section that he built with his own hands and through an airlock into the old pirate ship. The ship's teleholographic booth still served as the primary teleholo to the outside universe. The one-time pirate captain activated the control unit and the forward wall extended into an expansive office. Sitting behind a desk, working at a computer, was a tall man with angular features, steel-gray eyes and red hair with white streaks. He looked up, apparently seeing that Firebrandt had answered.

  "You must be Ellison,” said the man, standing.

  "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” said Firebrandt. He evaluated the room surrounding the stranger. His eyes fell on a portrait hanging on the wall. It was his own mother, Admiral Barbara Firebrandt. “I see you admire my mother."

  The man looked back at the wall, then turned with a smile as he stepped toward Firebrandt. “Our mother,” he corrected. “I'm Senator Herbert Firebrandt of Alpha Coma. I'm your half-brother."

  The pirate captain's jaw fell open. “I had no idea..."

  "Neither did I ... not until four hours ago."

  "What happened four hours ago?” asked the captain, his eyes narrowed.

  "I responded to an alarm at mother's tomb. I discovered your daughter and grandson,” explained the senator. “Apparently they were there to pay their respects."

  "I'd heard that John Mark's ship, the Sanson had gone to Alpha Coma for repairs after they'd made that jump to Cluster's home, but what the devil was Fire doing there?"

  "I gather she was sent here by the Titans,” said the senator. He reached out and grabbed a chair and sat down facing his half-brother.