Paul Collins: Earthborn The

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.