Нэнси Кресс - Terran Tomorrow

Zack had been designated the explainer, a role he did not want. Jenner was busy barking orders to the two signal officers in person and the Praetorian Guard remotely, presumably trying to save the ship and the station from drone attacks, if that was possible. Probably it wasn’t; Jenner was breaking radio silence, which of course had already been broken by contact with the ship, and New America would be tracking him through their comsat. Zack hoped that nothing stronger than a drone-carried missile would be fired at this underground bunker. During the Collapse, when Army bases were all charnel houses of the dead and dying, all sorts of organizations had taken over the bases. What eventually became New America had gained nuclear capability—and used it two years later, during the war. But if they had any nukes left, wouldn’t they have already used them? And wouldn’t they want to capture this ship from the stars, not destroy it?

It wasn’t as if the New America survivalists were as psychotic as the Gaiists had been. Just as evil, but not as deranged.

Zack sat on a hard, straight-backed chair—trust the military to think comfort unimportant—and waited while Dr. Lindy Ross examined the nine star-farers. No, not examined—she could hardly palpate anything through an esuit, let alone take blood samples. These people would have to be introduced, or reintroduced, to Terran microbes. Did Lindy have the means to do that at the base? Meanwhile, she passed her portalab over their hearts and heads, studied the results, talked to humans and aliens.

No. They were all human, including the Worlders. Zack, who had been five years old when the Worlders left Earth thirty-eight years ago, had of course seen pictures. At university he had studied the reports of blood and tissue samples. The Worlders—Denebs, Kindred, the names kept changing until the Collapse, when nobody was interested any longer—were human, brought from Earth to their planet 140,000 years ago.

By whom? Unknown.

Why? Unknown.

They looked human, with minor evolutionary adaptations. Copper-colored skin, like aged pennies. Coarse black hair, all of them. Tall and slender—was gravity less on World? Zack couldn’t remember what he’d read about that. The only strange thing was the eyes, much larger than Terrans, genetically selected to gather as much light as possible under a dimmer sun. He did remember that much.

One of the two young girls was translating. A fine-boned, very pretty face. The other Worlders were a scowling young man, an older man, and a large boy. The boy turned, clutching at the other girl. Zack startled—the boy’s features were unmistakable, even across cultures and light-years. Why bring a mentally challenged kid to another planet?

Marianne Jenner broke away from the group and walked over to the colonel. Zack was glad to not overhear that conversation. Her face went through changes: questioning, shock, anger. She stalked away.

What was that all about? It almost seemed as if they already knew each other. “Jenner”—were they related? It wasn’t that uncommon a name. During the hectic ride in the FiVee from the base to the station, the soldier in charge had refused to answer any questions at all: “You will be debriefed at the appropriate time.” Lindy had made a moue of disgust.

Now Lindy walked over to Zack and smiled wryly. “You’re on. Jason wants you to give them the abbreviated version of the past twenty-eight years. They’re all healthy as far as I can tell through esuits, but bewildered and upset, especially Kayla Rhinehart. She’s the one sobbing. One of the Terrans got left behind at the ship, Branch Carter. Claire Patel—she’s the Indian-American woman—is a physician and says they’re all asymptomatic from the virophage they’re infected with. She says that on Kindred, it counterattacked R. sporii .”

“Really? And they’re all infected?”

“So she says. We have to get them to quarantine stat, but Jason is still trying to save the ship from drone attacks. Apparently it’s not e-shielded. Everything’s all fucked up out there still. He—Shit!”

A direct hit on the hill. The bunker shuddered, but nothing fell from the ceiling and the station held. They were probably all right down here. Probably.

Lindy, who had nerves of titanium—and most likely needed them to have been married to Jenner—said, “You want me to stand by while you do the dismal?”

“Yeah. Thanks. About this virophage—”

“I don’t know any more than that,” Lindy said.

“Are the ali—the Worlders fluent enough in English to understand me?”

“Jane is, if you talk slowly. She’s the translator.”

“‘Jane’?”

“Apparently self-chosen. She seems very bright. Come on, they’re waiting.”

“Just one more thing—did you happen to see Susan and Caitlin before they brought you here?”

“No. But Caity will be fine, Zack. She’s learned to cope with her condition remarkably well for a four-year-old, and she’s getting better all the time.”

Zack walked across the underground bunker to the waiting star-farers. How did you explain in a few paragraphs what Earth had become? Especially to people who must have expected something far different.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Dr. Zachary McKay, a virologist. I’m sorry for this upsetting arrival. Colonel Jenner asked me to tell you about Earth and to answer the questions you must have.”

“Yes,” Marianne said. “This is Dr. Claire Patel, Kayla Rhinehart, and Private… no, I guess he’s over there with… with the colonel.”

A catch in her voice. So she and Jenner were related. How? Zack said, “I’ve read your paper on mitochondrial haplogroups, Dr. Jenner. Seminal.”

She grimaced. Okay, a sensitive subject. It had, after all, started so much. She continued. “This is Jane, our translator. Ka^graa and Glamet^vor¡, both biologists. La^vor and her brother Belok^.”

He would never remember the names, which involved rising-and-falling inflections and, for one, a click at the end. Zack settled for a friendly nod. Jane murmured in low, musical translation.

“All right,” Marianne said, “tell us what happened that we need to wear esuits, that there are no city lights visible from space, that missiles are falling on California. Start at when the Friendship left Earth.”

Zack looked at her. Late sixties, maybe, although she looked older. Clearly braced for the worst, yet she asked, clear-eyed and ready to bear whatever she must. Admiration flooded him.

He plunged in. “After your ship left, climate change on Earth accelerated, even worse than had been predicted. Feedback loops became engaged. CO 2levels rose, ice at the poles melted, there was severe coastal flooding and increasing superstorms and radically decreased ocean phytoplankton—that was why the Friendship was originally built, wasn’t it? By that entrepreneur who thought we only had a few generations left and the best hope for humanity was to start spreading to the stars?”

“Yes.” Short and clipped—she didn’t want to talk about Jonah Stubbins. Zack could only remember part of that story; he would look it up when they got back to the base. If they got back to the base.

“Stubbins was actually right. The entire global ecology was on the way to destruction, or at least to being drastically altered. Then a group of environmental fanatics—”

“Please, slower,” Jane said. “And what is ‘fanatic’?”

Claire Patel said, “Hubon^tel,” and Marianne glanced at her in surprise.

“This environmental group,” Zack continued, “called themselves Gaiists. They—”

“Please,” Jane said, “I am sorry—but how can people be too much dedicated to environment? It is Mother Earth and without care, it will not support life.”