Paul Collins - Earthborn The

The words drew immediate attention from everyone.

"What?" Sarah said brusquely.

"I want Lucida out of there. My sister." A plan was forming in his mind.

"That all? No one else?" Sarah said.

Welkin shook his head. "Lucida's a top-notch techie," he pointed out. "First class. She would be a great asset to you."

"I have no doubt," Sarah said thoughtfully. "What makes you think she'll want to come with us?"

"She will so long as she doesn't think she is fighting against Colony."

Sarah exhaled noisily as though a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. "That's not so much to ask. You can't hope to tear down someone's entire worldview in one fell swoop.

"Okay, guys. Crowd around. This is what I've come up with."

Powerful quartz halogen beams sliced through the night. Welkin stood very still under their glare.

A stern voice boomed, "Name? Class?"

"Welkin Quinn." His voice sounded hoarse and nervous.

"Will you look at him?" a trooper joked. "Looks as though he's been through a recycler."

"He's been with the Earthborn," a second trooper warned. "Could be contaminated."

There was a loud automatic click that rang ominously in the night. Then a voice in an urgent, cautioning tone. "Hold on. The elders might want him alive. For questioning."

"I have vital information," Welkin called urgently.

There was scuttling movement all about him and blurred, confused whispering. Sarah had been right, Welkin realized. The troopers did doubt him. He launched into his rehearsed lines.

"The Earthborn are mounting a counteroffensive."

Bright arcs of light snapped on and stabbed the darkness in search of infiltrators. Welkin squinted into the steady arc light that stayed fixed on him.

"Are they here now?" demanded a harsh voice.

"I don't know where they are," Welkin said in a put-on, falteringvoice. Sarah had explained that a too confident tone would raise suspicions. "I need food and water. I've been hiding from them for two periods."

"Better get him inside," said someone finally.

Welkin breathed a sigh of relief and cautiously followed the beam that trailed along the ground. He limped across the open field and stepped on board. The entrance closed behind him. Expressionless guards removed his clothes as one might handle a lowly animal. He was screened for bacteria and put through a filter to cleanse him. A team of medics lifted him onto a bench and murmured disapproval of his damaged leg. It was almost a relief to submit to their skilled ministrations. After a high-pressure shower and a change of clothes, he was ushered before a committee of elders who sat in a semicircle.

He stood nervously before the elders while they appraised him for what seemed an eternity. They were virtually gods on Colony. It was the original elders who had nurtured Colony'?, existence since the Great Voyage began.

Welkin understood it was the highest of honors to be presented to them, but at that moment he would have given anything to be somewhere else.

"So, Welkin," said Elder Jamieson. "You have been among the degenerates."

"Yes, Elder, sir," Welkin said gratefully.

"You have been outside for nine periods—three of their days," said Elder Tobias. "What is your opinion of the Earthborn? Do they possess a rudimentary intelligence?"

"Could they be trained as slaves?" asked Elder Sobol.

"Sirs, they are truly degenerate primitives," said Welkin. "Some are cannibals, but they do have some intelligence. They sent me here as a decoy. They intend to attack Colony and steal our technology."

There. He had done it. He had chosen sides.

Elder Tobias snorted. "I find it hard to believe that such primitive minds could conceive such a plan, let alone attempt to carry it out. Surely you are exaggerating their intelligence?"

Welkin didn't know how to respond.

"The boy is merely expressing his opinion, Tobias. He is not atrained sociologist," said another man, Elder Mahmood. He stroked a wispy goatee. "How did you survive three of their days without sustenance?"

"I was held captive. They fed me," said Welkin. "I think they intended exchanging me for food. But when Colony made no appeal for me they lost interest. I was lucky to escape."

"Oh?" said Elder Tobias. "It's a wonder they didn't kill you when they discovered you were of no value. It's well known they place little value on life."

"They spend a lot of time killing one another," Welkin agreed. "They're animals . . . Like the lower deckers."

"You witnessed bloodshed?" asked Elder Jamieson. His eyes never left Welkin's. He was the shrewd one.

"They kill one another with guns and arrows," Welkin said. "Life means nothing to them."

"Boy's been through hell," observed Elder Zecharia. She was the oldest in the room and was encased within a wheelchair elaborately festooned with a complicated web of tubes and hoses that sustained life in her. She controlled every movement of the chair via thought impulses. Welkin had never been this close to her before.

Elder Jamieson motioned for Welkin to take a seat. "How many of these barbarians would you judge there to be?"

Welkin appeared to consider the question. "I believe their numbers are greater than ours."

Jamieson glanced at his fellows and turned his lips down. "And why," he continued briskly, "in your opinion, have they not overrun us yet?"

"Maybe they wish to starve us, Elder."

Jamieson flicked his hand angrily. "Utter nonsense. If they are so short of food themselves, they could never lay siege to us." He raised his hands majestically, almost reverently. "This is a skyworld. Our farms and market gardens are indefinitely sustainable."

"I do not think they know much about Colony, Elder."

There was a brief silence in which the elders seemed to weigh his words.

At length Elder Tobias spoke. "You shan't have to worry aboutbeing held hostage again. We will find you work within Colony that will not necessitate your ever leaving the ship again."

"Thank you, Elder, sir," Welkin said quietly. "May I see Lucida? My sister?"

"Right away!" Tobias said. He looked to the others for confirmation. "This matter is settled?" he asked, as though concluding the conversation.

Two heavies entered the board cabin and escorted Welkin down the brightly lit corridor. Their air of unexpressed hostility made Welkin edgy.

"I am Systec Class," he said bluntly. "Levels eight to fifteen."

They were heading toward levels twenty-six to thirty-two: the heavies' quarters, an area no average citizen ever visited voluntarily. Or returned from once he had.

Silently they pushed Welkin into a tube. It swung on its cylindrical base and dropped swiftly.

"Level thirty," an ordio informed them.

The tube swung open and the heavies pushed Welkin forward. There was nowhere to run. No point in trying to elude them. They steered him to a door. One of them placed his palm over a lock and the door slid open.

Welkin was thrown in and the door closed behind him. It came as a huge shock to see his sister, Lucida, sitting bedraggled on a bunk. She looked terrible. Her long blond hair hung in knotted shapeless hunks, almost like the ferals' matted dreadlocks, and her clothes were stained and wrinkled as if they had been slept in for days. Her face was flushed and startled, just like the day their mother died.

"Welkin?" Lucida cried out in amazement. She rose halfway off the bunk, reached toward him, then abruptly stopped. The flush of happiness left her face as though wiped off with a cloth.

Welkin, dismayed, let his hands drop. He was swamped with disappointment. A disappointment he decided was wholly irrational. "You're supposed to say welcome home. Like they do on the vids." He put on a cheerful smile.