In a Season of Storms
by Harry Lang
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7 |
part 6
The old pilot rarely dreamed but, as the ship drifted away from the great globe of Uranus, he tossed and turned. Red skies and silver wings filled his head. As deserts passed below and clouds of dust and ice flew by, a young girl’s hand reached across the controls to take his—
“Wake up, Mr. Zant,” the ship called quietly. “Wake up, Mr. Zant.”
When Philip opened his eyes, he found the bony gray terrain of Miranda rolling slowly beneath them. They were on course and on time.
He decided not to wake Miss Olivia until they touched down. She was terrified of the approach across the top of the cliff of Verona Rupes and the sudden leap over the edge, when the ground dropped five kilometers into the deep shadows, with the lights of the tiny settlement at the foot of the scarp twinkling far, far away.
Philip stopped the ship’s forward motion out in the middle of nowhere and began his final descent. The ship floated straight down, out of the sunlight into the dust kicked up by the gentle push of the ventral thrusters. It came to rest on the deck of a small hangar ringed with blinking lights.
Philip went through the shutdown procedure as the hangar doors closed, blotting out his view of the stars overhead. As the pressure rose the busy mechanical sounds of the hangar environment faded in like the gradual intrusion of the waking world upon a vivid dream.
“Miss Olivia,” he called through the passenger compartment hatch when all was secure, “we’re home.”
Olivia sat up unsteadily, suppressing a momentary wave of nausea as Miranda’s negligible gravity asserted itself. Her head was filled with air and eiderdown. Grimy, oily scents from the hangar washed into the ship as Philip cracked the main hatch and climbed out to unload the luggage.
Philip signaled for one of the house bots to pick up the luggage, then he and Olivia headed down a short, dimly lit corridor ending at an airtight door. At first Olivia struggled to maintain her balance without letting go of the urn. She always had trouble after a visit to the big planet. The nearly Earth-like gravity and weak yet plentiful natural sunlight of Uranus were like nectar to her; the brief exposure of the last few hours had even brought a little color to her cheeks. But she had chosen the tunnels and black sky of Miranda as her home. She could live without the niceties of light and weight as long as she had the satisfaction of “independence” from her father and the security of concealment from her daughter’s father.
Philip recited a code in his mind, and the door slid into the wall, opening upon a cozy circular room with curved walls that formed a dome and a sunken hardwood floor covered in scattered rugs and deep, colorful cushions. A holographic fire was blazing in a stove that threw heat and produced a pleasant scent of wood smoke.
Three large windows made up half of the domed space, showing a view along the shattered terrain at the base of the giant cliff. Stars shone big and bright, and a sliver of the globe of Uranus peeked from behind a pile of boulders that had plummeted into the valley during some ancient cataclysm.
A heavyset woman with short, gray hair was dozing on a futon near the stove. “Mrs. Yi,” called Olivia softly as she set the urn on a shelf beneath the center window. Then a little louder. “Mrs. Yi.”
“Oh,” said Mrs. Yi, sitting up suddenly and looking surprised. “Olivia. What time is it?”
“It’s two a.m.,” answered Olivia. “Everything okay here?”
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Yi sleepily as she got to her feet. “Candace worked on her report on the Martian clone insurrection and the cat may be pregnant. Candace thought I should be the one to break it to you. She thinks our Butch is the culprit. Hello, Mr. Philip.”
“Good evening, Mrs. Yi,” answered Philip. “Or good morning, I suppose. May I see you home?”
“Oh, no,” said Olivia. “Not at this ungodly hour. Why don’t you stay in the guest room? Philip can take you home after breakfast.”
“That’s very generous,” said Mrs. Yi, “but I’d like to sleep in my own bed. Thank you, Mr. Philip. Let me just collect my things.”
Mrs. Yi’s domed house was a short way down the settlement’s main tunnel. There was no traffic at such an early hour. Most of the residents were construction workers involved with expanding the settlement. Sleep was precious to them.
They soon reached the Yi home. As Philip stepped inside to put down Mrs. Yi’s bags, Mr. Yi emerged from the bedroom attired in robe and slippers, his sparse gray hair comically tousled like horns on the sides of his head. The fat orange tom named Butch hid behind his legs, looking guilty.
“Good morning, Mr. Yi,” greeted Philip.
“Mr. Philip,” acknowledged Mr. Yi. As always, he had a suspicious look on his face.
Philip put down the bags and left. The Yi family had been the first settlers to befriend Olivia and Candace when they arrived ten years ago. Mrs. Yi warmed up to Philip almost at once, but Mr. Yi always seemed to suspect him of some hidden crime or subterfuge.
By the time Philip got home, Olivia had gone to bed. The living room was dark except for the glow from the stove and the pale green radiance of Uranus. He started unpacking the luggage the bot had dropped off by the door, not bothering with the lights. He could see just fine in the dark. Now and then he paused to look at the urn on the shelf and shake his head.
“Philip!” The whispering voice sounded like a mouse behind the wainscot. “Philip!”
“Yes, Miss Candace,” answered the pilot without looking up from his work, happier than he let on. He thought he wouldn’t see her until breakfast later that day.
“What did Mrs. Shaje send me this time?”
Philip picked up the boxed cake and turned around. There stood Candace in the pastel illumination of Uranus, the very image of her grandmother Muriel. Her long, wavy hair was the same blonde with a hint of red, the features of her youthful face just as fine and delicate, infused with the same unmistakable character, her green eyes clear, bright, filled with enthusiasm for all the good things life had for her. The very image of her grandmother. Except...
“Let me see,” she said as she stumbled toward him, her matchstick legs struggling to support her feathery weight.
“It’s angel food,” said Philip like a conspirator. “Contraband. If the medical officer found out...”
“My lips are sealed,” she promised, “except when it’s time to eat it!” The sugar content of the illicit cake was higher than allowed by the dietary regimen required to help counter the effects of Miranda’s low gravity. “I’ll be strong. I’ll wait till after dinner.”
“I almost forgot,” said Philip, reaching into his tunic. “Here’s a birthday present from Uncle Leo.”
Candace tore off the wrapping and found an ornately carved jewelry box inlaid with mother of pearl. She opened the box, which was illuminated inside. A silver, highly detailed model of a spacecraft sat on a bed of black velvet. When she took the model from the box, a pair of long, narrow wings opened out.
“That’s pretty!” she marveled. “I wonder why Uncle Leo gave me this. Philip? Are you all right?”
“Um... yes, Miss,” answered Philip as he reached for a light. “Look, there’s a card.” He took the model as Candace read.
“‘My dear young lady’,” she began, imitating Leo’s deep, sonorous voice, “‘ask Philip to tell you about this fine old craft. Never forget where we came from. Happy birthday! Your devoted Uncle Leo.’ Well. What do you say to that, Philip?”
“This is a very old Martian shuttle,” answered Philip. “Before the turn of the century. If you look closely, you can see the Kwon family crest on the rudder. You know your great-great grandfather came here from Mars, from the Red House at Valles Marineris. The family had a number of these made to present to the transport staff for their faithful service. I guess there was still one rattling around the old place the last time Mr. Leo was there.”
“The turn of the century?” said Candace. “That’s when the Clone Insurrection was, right? I’m doing a report. Mrs. Yi said you might be able to help me.”
“Did she?” said Philip, still examining the model.
“Yes. She knows you read a lot. She thinks you have a great head for history.”
“I do, Miss,” said Philip, gently folding the wings and placing the model back in its box. “How can I help you?”
“I don’t know,” said Candace with a shrug. “Just tell me stuff, I guess.”
“Just tell you stuff. Let’s see. Which stuff?” The holographic fire crackled quietly as Philip collected his thoughts. “You know that clones were developed in the mid-21st century, mostly to do dangerous or menial, unpleasant jobs, right?”
“I know,” answered Candace.
“Well, development of the clones coincided with humanity’s expansion into the Solar System. It wasn’t long before scientists figured out how to create artificial men and women who were uniquely qualified for space missions. They were designated Space Applications.”
“S.A. for short,” said Candace.
“That’s right. S.A. for short. These clones were designed to withstand conditions that natural humans could not. Radiation, low pressure, prolonged service in low or micro-gravity environments and so on.
“They had enhanced sensory and cognitive capabilities. For instance, a human in an out-of-control spacecraft is likely to get dizzy and disoriented due to the effects of the motion on his inner ear but an S.A.’s inner ear is designed to keep him cognizant of his true position and orientation at all times. Most importantly, they were very strong and made to last a long time.”
“There were a lot of them on Mars, right?” said Candace. “Why Mars?”
“It was the first planet to be developed,” answered Philip. “It was like the American frontier or what they used to call a boom town. Once the environment was settled enough, all kinds of people came. Towns were built. Councils and governments were established. The Kwons and the Grays went into business together and opened mines in Valles Marineris. They were the first of the great families of Mars.”
“Did they have clones?” asked Candace. “Did their clones rebel?”
“That’s a complicated question,” answered Philip. “Nobody actually rebelled. Back then, all clones, not just S.A.’s, were highly specialized beings made for specific jobs. But the process for making them was costly, so it was decided that they should have the ability to... to—”
“To reproduce?” ventured Candace. “Honestly, Philip, I know all about those things!”
“I’m sure you do, Miss,” acknowledged Philip, “but I’m old-fashioned. Yes, to reproduce. They married and started families. The idea was that the children should be trained by their parents, a sort of family-based occupational guild system. Once a child reached adulthood she was to go into service.”
“What happened?”
Copyright © 2018 by Harry Lang
