Paul Collins - The Earthborn.pdf - Paul Collins - margozap

Fourteen-year-old Welkin Quinn glanced at the bulkhead. The time dial showed that he was five

minutes late for his duty shift. The captain would probably have him tossed in the ship's recyclers and

inquire as to his tardiness later. He finished tugging on his boots, checked his uniform in the tiny mirror his

ensign's quarters barely warranted, and exited at a run.

As he dashed along corridors and charged recklessly around corners, he regretted that humans were

restricted to sub—light speed, otherwise he could have been at his duty station on the bridge before he

even got his boots on. If subatomic particles could do it, why couldn't he?

The final elevator ride up three levels was sheer agony. He'd never noticed before how slow these

things were! He checked himself in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. Everything looked okay,

but Captain Sobol was notorious for finding fault. Rumor had it that Elder Sobol—as he was known off

the bridge—possessed scanning electron microscopes instead of eyes. How else could he spot a speck

of lint the size of a chlorine molecule?

Welkin slammed to a stop outside the bridge entrance. He quickly polished his brand-new ensign's

insignia—since he figured he wouldn't be keeping it for much longer!—tugged his tunic straight, and

walked in with the pretended nonchalance of an old spacer ready for anything.

The bridge was a hive of activity. Nevertheless, Captain Sobol's eyes flicked across at the recently

promoted ensign, and he frowned.

That look alone was enough to turn Welkin's legs to jelly. He cleared his throat to deliver an elaborate

excuse, but the captain beat him to it.

"Man your station, Ensign!" Sobol turned away, fixing his attention on the forward view screen where

a blue-green planet, shrouded in brilliant swathes of cloud, hung like a Christmas bauble in the inky

depths of space.

Old Earth! The unforgotten, almost mythical homeworld.

Sobol took up position behind the conning tower. "Prepare for orbit."

Welkin moved quickly to his station, joining his friend Harry Soames.

Harry shot him a look. "Are you begging to be a cadet again?" he hissed under his breath.

Welkin ignored him, got to work setting up spatial vectors for their insertion into orbit around Earth.

He could see from his board that Harry had been covering for him. He gave his friend a grateful look,

then concentrated on the job at hand.

Time passed, and before he knew it a brief cheer went up. It was such an unheard-of thing on Sobol's

bridge that Welkin was startled, but the captain seemed to be in a rare good humor. He also seemed . . .

well, almost wistful, even sad. Welkin had a sudden insight that left him feeling uneasy. The captain's job

was over. The skyworld known as Colony had finished its long, excruciating journey to the stars and

back, and after this there would be no more journeys among the stars. And no more need for star

captains.

Because everything was about to change. Forever.

Welkin found Harry in the officers' mess hall, wolfing down rehy-drated stew. Welkin dropped in the

seat beside him. Harry studied him for a full twenty seconds.

"What? Did I grow another head?" Welkin asked.

"That'd be a help. It might triple your brain power! Are you suicidal? Or just plain bored with life?

Any other time Sobol wouldhave sent you to work on one of the vacuum crews!"

"That's not so bad."

"Naked!"

"Okay! You're right, I messed up," Welkin agreed, irritated. "I slept in. Won't happen again."

An impact vibration shook the mess hall and the adjacent galley. Several kitchen utensils clattered on

the floor.

"What in Space was that?" Welkin asked.

"One guess."

"Lower deckers! Maybe the rumors are true."

"Guess they're not happy about something."

Welkin looked at his friend oddly. "You sound like you're sorry for them."

Harry shrugged. "Don't you ever wonder why a third of Colony has been 'discarded'?"

Welkin quickly looked around before turning back to his friend. "Harry, what's got into you? You

want to be discarded yourself? They catch you talking like that and the heavies will be paying you a visit."

Harry lowered his voice. "All I'm saying is they're people, too."

Welkin's mouth dropped, horrified. "They're scum, Harry! Worthless freeloaders who want nothing

better than to destroy everything we have! Don't you see? They're jealous. We're the pinnacle of

civilization. The results of three hundred years of ongoing genetic engineering. We're superior to them in

every way, and they can't take it." He looked pleased with himself. "Look, I'm not unsympathetic.

They're genetic throwbacks. No different from the primitive lowlifes infesting Earth. Is that their fault?

No. Is it ours? Space, no!"

"So what happens to the Earthborn when we land?" Harry asked glumly.

"What always happens, Harry. History is full of examples. Forty thousand years ago our ancestors ran

into the Neanderthals. The result? No more Neanderthals. It's our job to make the planet fit for civilized

human beings!"

"I don't understand why we have to exterminate them. It's a big planet."

Welkin stared at him, genuinely puzzled. "They're primitives.

They carry diseases. Parasites. And worse, they're genetically inferior. Do you want them polluting our

gene pool? You want to marry one of them? I sure as Space don't. We don't have any choice."

"You sound like a vid, Welkin."

"So? You think the elders don't know what they're doing?"

Harry paled. "Of course not! I'm as loyal as the next person. Don't get me wrong. I just wonder, you

know? Like maybe there's another way—"

"There is no other way. What we're doing is humane. Putting them out of their misery."

Whatever Harry would have said next was cut off as a giant vid screen covering one wall flickered to

life. Captain Sobol moved into view. Behind him, on the bridge view screen, was Earth.

The entire mess hall fell silent.

Sobol cleared his throat. "Skyborn, I greet you." He paused and smiled. "The day we have looked

forward to since the Great Disappointment when our ancestors gazed upon the worlds of Tau Ceti and

realized that our dream of colonization could not be fulfilled, has finally arrived. Behold Earth!"

He stepped to one side. The vid screen zoomed in closer until the blue-green orb filled the frame. An

inset picture of Sobol appeared in one corner. A stern expression settled on his face.

"Three hundred years ago we set forth from this world to plant our civilization upon another. Sadly, it

was not to be, and the ancestors decided, for right or wrong, to return home, a decision made easier by

the knowledge we gleaned from the final Earth message transmissions one hundred and eighty years ago.

Global war had broken out and civilization itself had crumbled!"

Welkin glanced around the galley. Every face was mesmerized by Sobol's speech. He looked back,

not wanting to miss a word.

"And so our revered ancestors asked themselves: Did we not journey across space to bring

civilization to the stars? How could we then neglect the very world that gave us birth? What would we

have history say of us? That we abandoned them? No. That we did not care? No! That we lost our

humanity among the inhuman stars? NO!"

Every throat in the mess hall joined in Sobol's emphatic denials, Welkin as wholeheartedly as the

others.

"We are human," Sobol said with a simplicity that was almost moving. "And so it was decided to bring

the gift of humanity back to the world from which we sprang. It was our duty."

Sobol's face suddenly darkened. "But it was a close thing. There were those who disagreed, who felt

that we should pursue an idle dream and quest on into the darkness of space, perhaps for eternity. Those

were sad days, when families were torn apart, loyalties tested. But we came through the civil war and

became stronger. The rebels were vanquished to the lower decks where their genetically inferior

descendants scheme and plot to this day, making our lives difficult. But they will scheme and plot no

more.

"But enough of the past! We return not to the Earth our ancestors left, nor to a world full of thriving

superior humanity. No! We return to a planet infested with a degenerate species that once was human, a

species that is little better than animal, possessing a dangerous cunning. Our mission—and it may take

years!—is to cleanse the home-world, restore civilization, and rebuild the supremacy of true human

beings!"

An enormous cheer drowned out his final words and reverberated through the ship, bursting forth

from every corridor and community room. When it eventually settled, Sobol resumed.

"We have entered orbit. We have begun atmospheric braking. Colony will touch down in twenty-four

hours. It will not be an easy landing. This skyworld—like the others sent off to different

destinations—was not meant to endure three hundred years of cold, hard vacuum and cosmic radiation.

The outer hull is riddled with fatigue. Our propulsion systems are weakened. But we will land tomorrow.

Of that I assure you. So now, Skyborn, go about your duties with the flame of destiny in your heart. For

we are going home!"

The silence in the mess hall continued long after the vid screen snapped to black.

Despite the uplifting words, a chill feeling sleeted through Welkin. He recognized it was a dull surprise.

He was scared. Scared of something he'd rarely thought about before. The future.

* * *

Welkin and Harry hurried into the briefing room and took their seats. Elder Tobias was at the lectern,

looking grimmer than usual. A low buzz of conversation filled the room as ensigns and other low-ranking

officers—all about Welkin's age—discussed the latest events.

Tobias rapped for silence.

"Settle down! Last time I heard this much squawking was in the henhouse on farming deck!"

A titter of laughter snaked around the room. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

He hit a switch on a console. The lights dimmed and a vid screen lit up. The scene showed a prison

cell somewhere on the detention level. A long-haired youth was strapped to a chair. His clothing was

ragged and he had a wispy beard. His eyes were wide with fear.

There was a loud click, and something went whump through the boy's body. He arched back, his

mouth agape, his paralyzed diaphragm muscles preventing an agonized scream from escaping his throat.

Just as abruptly, he slumped back, barely conscious.

A stern voice addressed the boy in the chair. "You are from the lower decks, correct?"

The boy nodded feebly. Saliva dribbled from his slack lips. All his muscles were flaccid.

"Repeat what you said before!"

The boy blinked, trying to concentrate. He licked his lips. Haltingly, in a voice slurred by

electroshock, he answered. "Planning— surprise attack . . . this time tribes united. Tired of lower decks.

Not fair!" He regained more muscle control. "Not fair! Our destiny, too! We're human. Just like you ..."

He started to laugh. The click came again and his back arched in a bone-wrenching spasm.

Tobias shut off the vid. The lights came up.

Welkin noticed that Harry looked slightly ill. He didn't feel good himself, but the boy was a lower

decker, after all. What could he expect if he was caught? Welkin had no illusions as to his own fate

should he ever be cast down to the lower decks. He might live a whole minute, possibly two, before they

tore him apart and carried pieces of his carcass back to the tribal cooking pots!

"Welkin! Are you daydreaming again? What did I just say?"

Welkin jumped to his feet, confused. Harry whispered something that sounded like "go to bed hurt."

"Sir! All wounded will retire to quarters for bed rest!"

The class erupted in laughter. Welkin swallowed.

"Interesting interpretation, Ensign," said Tobias. "I think your shipmate needs to articulate more clearly

next time. What I said was, we shall shortly 'go to red alert.' I think that's clear enough. Now sit down

and pay attention!"

Welkin sat down, trying to shrink into his chair. He gave Harry a quick but blistering "Thanks a lot!"

look. Harry shrugged, barely containing a smile.

"We shall remain on red alert until Colony has landed, at which time new duty stations will be

assigned. As you saw from the vid, we are expecting a breakout from the lower decks. Steps have been

taken to neutralize this threat and I believe the danger has been contained. Nevertheless, we cannot allow

ourselves a moment's respite! And it is with great sadness—and disgust!—that I broach a subject that

until now has been a closely guarded secret known only to the elders."

A tense but expectant silence enveloped the room. Welkin found himself actually leaning forward,

along with all the others.

"It has become known to us that lower decker sympathizers are among us!"

A collective gasp sprang up. Welkin stared in disbelief at the elder.

"You see the danger? What before was merely a dangerous turn of events regarding the degenerate

criminals on the lower decks is now part of an ugly, treasonable conspiracy!" He paused. A vein

throbbed in his temple and he stared at them with an implacable malevolence. "Mark my words,

Skyborn. Rebels are among us, and we shall root them out and destroy them all—starting right now!"

The rear door burst open as if on cue. Four burly heavies, carrying stun rods and neutralizers,

shouldered into the room. They came straight for Welkin. He froze, shocked into numbness.

But the security guards pushed past him and grabbed Harry, dragging him from his chair.

Welkin stared at his friend, whose face had drained of all color. "Harry?"

Harry looked back at him expressionlessly.

A sudden fury welled up in Welkin, and as the other officers hurled abuse at Harry, he found himself

joining in, becoming part of the mob and its ugly, barely restrained violence.

A gloved fist slammed into Welkin's jaw, snapping his head back. A trickle of blood appeared. He

wiped it away, sat up straight, teeth chattering.

He was in a portless, nondescript room, containing a chair bolted to the floor and equipped with

leather straps for wrists, ankles, and throat. The heavies had come for him soon after Harry's arrest,

dragging him from his duty station. Harry must have accused him of being a lower decker

sympathizer—maybe to save himself. . .

The man in front of Welkin, Harlan Gibbs, was head of security on board Colony. He was thin,

ascetic, almost emaciated. He believed in little other than order. Order at any cost, and obedience as the

rigid path to that goal. In a previous era he would have made the perfect Gestapo commandant. Right

now he was smiling a thin, dangerous smile that made Welkin's skin crawl.

"Harry told us everything, Welkin, so why not confess? Cleanse yourself of your sins. Be free of the

awful guilt. I know what a terrible burden such secrets can be. Let me take them from you. You'll feel

better for it."

Welkin knew he would like nothing better than to end his interrogation, except he had no secrets to

Paul Collins - The Earthborn.pdf

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