Chapter 1
Son of a whore.
Captain Alonzo winced and gnashed his teeth as he dropped as gingerly as possible into the command chair. He looked around at the twisted, charred bridge of the transport ship, and felt a strange sort of pride in realizing that it was not nearly as burned, twisted, and scarred as he was. That was good. That was as it should be. A Captain can be replaced. A truly good ship never could.
To his left were the blackened and gnarled remains of the control panel where he had come across a saboteur’s bomb. The metal conduits twisted obscenely into the subtle curve of the ship’s interior. It was offensive to the Captain, who had prided his transport on always being in peak condition, in impeccable order. To see chaos like this, on his own bridge, and know that there was nothing he could do about it, that was like learning that your mother was a whore. It shamed him. It made him angry. It made him want to do something to fix it.
There was still the smell of sulfur and carbon in the air, even after days of atmospheric recycling.
The Captain’s right eye was gone. The gaping socket was now covered by a makeshift patch he had crafted, one-handed, from leather and cushion foam ripped from a console chair. Seeping burns and wounds were spread over his face and his entire right side, field-dressed in strips of torn uniform and what little gauze could be found in the bridge’s emergency kit. He had not bothered to go to the medical bay. All of the truly useful medical supplies had been sent down with the colony.
The Captain’s right hand was all but useless — two fingers were missing, and those that remained were raw and burned, weak and difficult to move. Still, he had his left hand, and with that he was able to tap commands into the command terminal. Ship systems had been severely compromised, including those that kept the orbital platform in a stable, geosynchronous orbit. If not for the Captain’s commands, and the unbelievable good fortune that the propulsion system and attitude thrusters were still intact, the platform would have crashed days ago. And with it any hope of rescue for the colony below.
But the pain — Alonzo hadn’t felt pain like this before. It was a searing agony that clung to him like napalm.
No, it was worse than that. It was as if he’d been infected by fire. It roared over him and within him constantly, like a lava flow. His veins pumped with magma. Even the pain meds were pathetic lawn sprinklers in the face of this world-eating inferno.
Death, the late old whore, would be a welcome guest when she finally got here. If not for his sense of duty, he’d go find her himself.
Alonzo stared into the main view screen and wondered exactly how he was going to give the colony below a fighting chance at survival. The destruction of the orbital platform would be a blow to the colony. It might even be the final stab, the finishing stroke for the colonists, who were already staggering from multiple wounds.
If the orbital platform fell into the planet’s atmosphere, there was only a slim chance that it might fall on the struggling colony. But there were, unbelievably, far worse possibilities than a collision. The orbital platform had stores of materials and resources that were vital to survival on a colony world. There was food, yes, but also equipment for cultivating land, mining and processing ore, and even purifying air and water. Of course, there were also a few hazardous materials that could cause serious ecological damage, but most of that would be long-term. Alonzo didn’t expect there to be a long term for these people.
And then there were the lightrail relay hubs — absolutely vital if there was to be any hope of returning to the colonies.
Citadel had crashed on the wrong world. It was confirmed now, not just by the platform’s navigational and survey systems but also by the surveys taken on the ground, and the detailed study of maps and satellite data performed by the Esool captain, Somar, who was both diligent and meticulous about reviewing and verifying the survey data.
The conclusion was clear on all counts. The colony was not where it was supposed to be, and that meant that no one would be coming for them.
Alonzo was certain that if the orbital platform did fall into the atmosphere, it would mean almost certain death, or at the very least certain isolation, for the colonists below. However, repairing the station would take more manpower than he had at present. With his bridge crew trapped in stasis, and Alonzo himself badly injured, there was simply no one on board who could take on the repairs, and he had ordered that no one on the surface should come up until all of the colonists were found and taken care of. That had to be the priority.
A klaxon sounded. Alonzo checked the display in the arm of his chair and saw that it was an alert from the proximity sensors. The colony’s sole operational shuttle craft was leaving the planet’s atmosphere and entering an intercept trajectory, orders be damned.
Son of a bitch, the Captain thought. What the hell do they think they’re doing?
He arose painfully, immediately furious, and then got control of himself.
What they’re doing is disobeying orders, he concluded. No help for it now. Might as well use the situation to its best advantage. He hailed them. “Incoming shuttle, Bay 3 is clear for docking.”
“Roger that, Captain,” a female voice responded. Reilly. She was the best pilot Alonzo had ever met. He had already noted as much in his log, citing the fact that she had somehow managed to fly a 200 ton brick safely to the ground. If they ever managed to get back to civilization, he was recommending that she be promoted to senior status at the very least. She could have her pick of any pilot's post in the fleet after this.
In fact, all of his crew were getting glowing recommendations. Especially the stand-outs. Posthumous citations would go to First Commander Marcos, for certain, and PFC Billy Sans (the poor boy). Mitch Garrison was due an award and a promotion for his leadership during the crisis. In fact, every Blue Collar crew member would get a promotion, once they were safely back in the Earth lightrail network.
Even Jack Phelps, despite the fact that the Blue Collar crew leader had lead a mutiny against Captain Somar. Per Somar’s request (but against Alonzo’s better judgment), all was to be forgiven. All of the mutineers would receive amnesty. Somar’s position was that this was vital to the immediate well-being of the colony. Alonzo’s position was that showing his support for Captain Somar’s orders was essential to maintain Somar’s authority in the eyes of the humans on the surface.
Were it up to Alonzo, he’d have Jack’s body exhumed and burned publicly. Mutiny was the highest crime the Captain could think of. But maintaining order was crucial, and Alonzo’s personal feelings were irrelevant in the face of that.
He reached out and took hold of a piece of metal conduit, a makeshift cane he had used to stumble about the ship over the past several, painful days. Every movement was excruciating, but he inhaled and exhaled smoothly, keeping his mind focused on the task of greeting the shuttle in Bay 3.
He hadn’t yet decided if he should welcome them or court marshal them. He’d make up his mind when he got there.
Mitch Garrison was the first to step out into Bay 3. The security detail was next, followed by Thomas and the team of engineers assigned to fix the orbital platform. Doctor Michaels, his arm in a sling and his attitude as biting as ever, came out last, with Reilly at his side.
Mitch turned to the security team. “I want a full sweep. Every corner, every panel. The saboteur placed explosives in a control panel on the bridge, so be alert for any signs of tampering. The priority is to find any remaining explosives and disarm them. If you find evidence of sabotage to ship systems, alert the engineering crew. The sooner you get this ship cleared, the sooner we can get repairs underway.”
The men on the security team each nodded then organized quickly and moved out of the bay in moments.
The engineers were setting up tables and equipment in one corner of the bay. Thomas was leading them in creating a command center for their repair effort.
Mitch watched Thomas as he quietly directed the team of engineers. It was hard to believe — impossible to believe — that this was the same John Thomas Paris that history referred to as “the destroyer of worlds.” Since the crash Thomas had been a source of strength, leadership, and ingenuity for everyone, including Mitch. He had gained Mitch's trust as well as that of Captain Somar.
How could anyone reconcile this man with the monster that history claimed him to be?
Reilly slipped up beside Mitch, tactfully and briefly placing her hand on the small of his back. Mitch turned to her, and couldn’t help smiling. Their “relationship” was new, and completely against regulations. But in all of this, Mitch had found that for the first time in his life he couldn’t care less about regulations. This wasn’t about chain of command or maintaining order. This was need. This was air and water and food. The relationship might be new, but he was starting to see that there had been something brewing for a long time.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Reilly said.
“You do? That’s a neat trick, because I don’t have a clue what I’m thinking.”
“You’re thinking that everything’s changed. The colony. Thomas …” she paused. “Us.”
“I wouldn’t disagree with that,” Mitch said, glancing toward Thomas and the engineering team.
“Double speak? From you?"
Mitch shook his head. "Doesn't everything have a double meaning these days?"
Reilly's arched an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Well, you’re right. It has all changed. But that doesn’t mean it’s all for the worse, does it?”
He turned and studied her for a moment, then smiled. “No, I guess not. Still,” he glanced back to Thomas, “some surprises have been bigger than others.”
She followed his glance. “Yeah, I guess so. Who knew? What … what do you think his story is, anyway?”
Mitch shrugged. “I figure that when he’s ready, he’ll tell us. I just hope …” he left the sentence unfinished.
Reilly, however, knew what he meant. “Yeah, me too. If the crew finds out … wow. They might tear him to shreds.”
Mitch nodded. He found that the idea that Thomas might be hurt, just because of who he was, really bothered him. It was somehow unjust. Jack, Taggart, the mutineers below — they’d all gotten amnesty and a clean slate. But Thomas? Would he get the benefit of a fresh start?
The door to Bay 3 slid open, and Captain Alonzo limped in. He was relying heavily on a piece of conduit to help him balance and step. Mitch’s heart sank when he saw the Captain. He was a raw and bloody mess, with soiled, makeshift bandages over his wounds and a ragged patch over his right eye. He still moved with purpose, confidence, and authority, but there was something "off" with him. He looked grim and determined. He looked as if he had resolved himself to make the best of everything for as long as it took before moving on.
Mitch was pretty sure the Captain expected to die, and soon.
“Report,” Alonzo said, a touch of irritation in his otherwise clear and strong voice.
Son of a bitch, Mitch thought. Not even a quiver in his voice. He really is tough as hell.
“Sir, I’ve got a security detail scouring the ship for any signs of sabotage. We’re holding the engineers back until we get the all-clear on explosives. Thomas is organizing them here in the bay.”
Alonzo turned to watch Thomas, who was helping to set up one of the portable computer systems. After a moment, he turned back to Mitch. “I thought I gave orders that you were not to come back up here?” His tone was hard, with a biting edge.
Mitch hesitated. “No sir,” he replied. “No such order was given, that I’m aware. Captain Somar agrees, sir.”
There was a long pause while Alonzo regarded Mitch with his good eye. Mitch knew that the Captain was weighing his response, considering the best way to deal with the blatant disregard of orders. Then his expression changed somewhat, softened slightly. “I believe you’re correct,” Alonzo said. “I was mistaken. No order was given. At any rate, you’re here now. It would be tragic to send you away.” He looked at Reilly. “But you are leaving immediately, pilot.”
Reilly was startled. “Sir?”
Alonzo nodded toward the shuttle. “It’s too dangerous to keep the only working shuttle here. If something happens, the colony would lose its only means of spaceflight. There’s still the possibility of getting the shuttle onto the lightrail system. It’s happened before.”
Reilly blinked. "A shuttle on the lightrail?"
Mitch smiled, then gave a brief chuckle. “The Hidalgo? Now that was a piece of history, there.”
“What’s the Hidalgo?” Reilly asked.
Mitch turned to her, grinning, “Back during the war with the Esool, a colony ship called Hidalgo was hit pretty hard. It survived the battle, but there was no way it was going to survive getting back onto the lightrail. So the captain had her engineers rig lightrail relays to some of the shuttles. Sort of used them in reverse, so they could move along the lightrail instead of just re-transmitting it. It was ugly, and unstable, but it worked. They were able to save about half the crew.”
Reilly’s eyes were wide. “Wow. That must have been a hell of a ride. Shuttles aren’t built for relativistic speed.”
“They survived,” Alonzo said. “Barely. They made it back to the colony lanes, where a ship picked them up and rescued them. It was a bold move, and one that every captain studies and keeps in reserve, hoping they never have to use it.”
“Why?” Reilly asked. “Sounds like it worked out pretty well.”
“Maybe you missed the part where only half the crew survived,” Alonzo said, his tone harsh. Reilly, taken aback, was silent.
Mitch inhaled and let out his breath slowly. “OK. Reilly, down you go. Get back to Citadel, and brief Captain Somar. We’ll take the rest from here.”
Reilly didn’t hesitate. “Aye, sir,” she said, and turned to walk back into the shuttle. She glanced back briefly and caught Mitch’s eye, her eyebrows raised, questioning.
Mitch nodded, then turned to the Captain. “Sir, Captain Somar has asked that we bring you back to the surface.”
Alonzo glared at him. “Chief, I will turn a blind eye …” he paused, “I will accept that my previous order was a … faulty memory. But I was more than clear on the topic of returning to the surface. The answer is no, and your orders are to forget it.”
Mitch nodded. “Yes sir. I was afraid you would take that position, sir.” He looked past the Captain to Doctor Michaels, who quickly stuck a needle into the Captain’s neck.
Alonzo was startled. “What …!” Before he could say another word, the Captain staggered, then drooped, the metal conduit clanging to the floor. The doctor caught him with his one good arm, and Mitch swooped in to help. Within moments they had dragged the Captain into the shuttle and Reilly was helping them get him into a waiting stasis pod.
“I can’t believe that worked,” she said.
“He’s not at the top of his game,” Mitch replied.
Doctor Michaels grunted. “He’s barely alive. Stubborn son-of-a-bitch. The stasis pod will keep him stable, if it doesn’t kill him first.”
Mitch hesitated. “You said this was the best bet.”
“The man’s half gone, son. This isn’t the best bet — it’s the only horse running. Get him in and get this thing working.”
Mitch and Reilly lifted and placed the Captain into the pod and Mitch closed the hatch and activated stasis. Within moments all three of them stood back, wary, looking at the stasis pod the way one might look at a man-eating crocodile being held back by nothing more than a length of frayed rope.
After a moment the pod's display showed stable life signs, then stasis. All three of them let out a breath that none had been aware they were holding.
“Well,” Mitch said. “This could be a career ender. Reilly, you get the Captain down to the surface. The Doc will go with you. Somar says he has a treatment that could help. I’ll stay here with the rest of the crew and see if we can keep this platform from falling on your heads.”
Reilly nodded, and Doctor Michaels went into the forward compartment, leaving the two of them alone with the stasis pod. “He’ll be mad,” Reilly said.
“Yep,” Mitch replied.
Then, impulsively, Reilly rushed forward and kissed Mitch on the mouth, hard. She turned quickly and went to the forward compartment before he could say anything.
Mitch hesitated, then stuttered “Suh-safe flight!” for lack of anything more coherent to say. He then wandered back into Bay 3, only looking back once. In moments the shuttle had closed its cargo bay door, lifted off, and gently pushed through the energy field at the edge between Bay 3 and open space.
Thomas had the engineers organized and in place. The mission now was to wait.
Thomas hated waiting.
When the shuttle lifted off, with its abducted cargo inside, everyone watched it intently. Thomas watched Mitch.
Things had been … awkward … since it had come out that Thomas was actually the “destroyer of worlds.” Such an unfair title, Thomas thought. Even if he’d been guilty, he was technically only a “destroyer of one colony ship.” But that hardly rang well in the media, now did it?
But he wasn’t guilty. He’d been framed. And as a result of that colony ship explosion, and his scapegoat status, a series of events had been set into motion that culminated in the here and now, a century later.
Thomas had essentially been brought here, to this future and this world, by Alan … his honorary "nephew." Alan — John Thomas Alan, named for Thomas himself — was the son of two of the colonists that had been aboard the ship known as First Colony. Louis and Angela Alan and been two of Thomas’ best friends, working with him side-by-side. They were brilliant engineers and programmers, and their son was following in their footsteps — maybe even surpassing them.
Still, it was Louis and Angela who had discovered the pebble that had set all of the events of Thomas’ life into an avalanche. They had discovered a vulnerability in the stasis systems — a bug that would allow someone to reprogram the person inside. It was because of this vulnerability that things had gone so …wrong. A colony ship destroyed, a world cast into fear and paranoia, a corrupt government that knew exactly how to channel that fear, and a fanatic organization dedicated to keeping mankind planted firmly on Earth — Thomas had somehow found himself dead in the middle of it all, and then taken for a century-long ride away from the world he knew, and to which he could never return.
He shook himself. No time for feeling sorry for himself. There was plenty of work to do. The engineers were all looking to him for leadership and advice. Later, when one of the people who had stumbled onto his true identity managed to finally leak it to the rest of the colonies, these folks would probably all gather around to lynch him. But for now, he was one of them, and he had a job to do.
Mitch was talking with a group of security personnel and engineers. When he was done, the group left as one, into the network of corridors of the ship. They were searching for booby traps, and assessing the situation onboard the orbital platform. They had all been briefed in advance, for which Thomas was grateful. It made it easier, having a plan. He had improvised enough for multiple lifetimes. It felt good to be grounded again, to be leading a team again. Even it if was here, in this uncertain future.
“Thomas,” Mitch said as he walked toward him. “I think the teams have the ship covered, as far as the search goes. Is there anything we can do until they find something?”
“Mostly wait,” Thomas shrugged. Noting that Mitch winced slightly he added, “I hate it too.”
“I’m just not the waiting type. See a job, get it done, ya know? The problem is, I don’t see any jobs to do.”
“Right,” Thomas said, then halted. He felt … off? Sad? He’d had a creeping feeling all day. He recognized it. It was the same feeling he’d gotten after he’d been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment after First Colony had been destroyed. It was the feeling of impending doom, of an unjust and unavoidable sentence. It was the feeling of the sword of Damocles hanging over his head. He felt as if he were one thread away from being impaled.
“You OK?” Mitch asked.
Thomas glanced around Bay 3. His team was busily working on assembling equipment, running scans and diagnostics. The remaining security detail was scouring every crevice in the room for explosives or other traps. For the moment, he and Mitch were as alone as they could be here. He stepped in a little closer, and spoke in a low voice. “Mitch … about me being … you know …”
“Yeah,” Mitch said, a little too quickly. “Yeah, I know.”
“Are you … does it bother you?”
One of the engineers must have been just close enough to hear them. He gave them a sort of knowing look, and Thomas realized that he had misunderstood the conversation. The engineer caught Thomas’ gaze, then smugly walked away.
Perfect, Thomas thought.
Mitch seemed to think about the question for a moment. “Yes,” he said, “it bothers me a little.”
Thomas blinked. “Really? I mean … I expected you to say something else. You know, ‘Nah, Thomas, it’s OK. You’re a good guy in my book! No exploding colonies for you!’ Something like that.”
Mitch smiled. “I could say that, I guess, but the truth is it does bother me. At least a little.” Thomas felt a crushing disappointment, and his dread increased. Mitch must have noticed. “Hey, listen, don’t worry. I’m not going to bring the roof down on you. I trust you,” he placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, and Thomas noticed a smirk and a thumbs up from the other engineer. Mitch was oblivious.
“I know, in my head, that you were framed,” Mitch said. “You said it. Alan, for what it’s worth, said it. But hearing it and knowing it in my head isn’t enough to just wipe out history I’ve heard my whole life, right? I grew up hearing that you … that you were a bad guy. That you were Hitler. You were the devil. And now I actually know you, and I’m having trouble meshing the two ideas. That someone I know is also someone I was taught to hate. It’s … complicated.”
Thomas laughed. “Complicated. That’s probably the biggest understatement I’ve ever heard.”
Mitch smiled, then chuckled. “But you know what I mean, right?”
Thomas thought about it. “It’s like … it would be like finding out that the guys who blew up the World Trade Center were still alive, and living in a loft in Manhattan.”
Mitch paused. “World who now?”
Thomas peered at him, “9/11? Terrorist attacks on U.S. soil? Happened in 2001?”
Mitch laughed. “Oh. Sorry, I’m not much of a history buff. It all starts to sound the same to me after a while.”
Thomas paused for a moment, then burst out laughing.
“Something I said?”
Thomas, tears in his eyes and stifling his laughter as best he could, was finally able to respond. “If people can forget 9/11 in a couple of centuries, maybe there’s hope for me!”
Mitch, still confused but at least a little more confident, left his friend to laugh himself into tears.
On the surface, with the orbital platform high above, Somar stood at the base of the gleaming Citadel module and stared into the sky. It was the way of his people, the Esool. It was a calming exercise. And right now, Somar very much needed calm.
He found himself standing alone on this world, with thousands of humans depending on him for leadership. It had been this way since the Citadel module had crashed. Somar, alone, was still trying desperately to keep the humans from killing themselves..
There were simply too many variables to contend with. Somar’s gift was to find simplicity in complex models, but even he was having trouble sorting out the twisting roots of this situation. Before him, a ramshackle colony was forming. Humans were using parts from the Citadel module, stasis pods, and the crashed colony module to build and repair what they would need to survive. Tents and emergency shelters were slowly giving way to solid structures of metal and plastic. Conduits for water and power were snaking their way outward to provide these necessary services for the colony. All seemed well on the surface, if one looked only at the machines and the architecture and the miles of piping and cables.
But under the surface there was a boiling mass of confusion, fear, anger, and hatred. These feelings had nearly overwhelmed the colony, and would surely have destroyed it, if not for the sudden change that had come over the colonists.
Somar looked at the “town square,” as the humans called it. The space was a large, open area where a stage had been erected. It was where the colony gathered for announcements. It was the site of what had almost been a bloody battle among the humans.
Taggart, head of Taggart Industries and a natural leader, had stirred up dissent among the three social classes of humans here. He had, at first, counted himself among the wealthy Colonist class. But upon seeing that his goals would be thwarted, he had used his affinity with the space-faring Blue Collars, the working class who would prefer to be on their ship rather than on the surface of a world. Taggart tapped into the Blue Collar animosity toward the colonists and the White Collars — well-educated professionals who filled the roles of engineers, doctors, and more in the colony. They were a minority among the humans, and yet the whole colony would depend on them. The Blue Collars seemed to hate them for that role.
Taggart had manipulated the resentment and distrust of the Blue Collars, channeling their anger until he had amassed a mob willing to do anything he commanded.
He might well have succeeded. Animosity had almost given way to bloody conflict when suddenly the colonists, including Taggart, had simply … changed.
The young man, Alan Angelou, had used a vulnerability in the cryogenic stasis system to “reprogram” the colonists. He had implanted within them the personalities of those who had died in the terrorist destruction of the ill-fated First Colony space craft, over a century earlier. On Alan’s command, each of the colonists had gone through a sudden and radical shift, each taking on the personality of one of the long-dead colonists. Taggart had changed with them, and was now programmed with the personality of young Alan’s father, Louis.
The sudden change in the colonists, as well as the loss of leadership and goading from Taggart, was enough of a firebreak to keep the Blue Collars from attacking. The colony was safe.
For now.
Somar felt the sun and the wind on his face. This world, so beautiful and perfect, was not the world they had been looking for. It was, in fact, the very world slated to be the first colony world of humanity. Alan’s plan had not been without its poetic twists.
In addition, thanks to Alan’s machinations a century ago, the planet had disappeared from the memory and history of humanity. All records of it had been lost, all this time, until Alan had sabotaged the Citadel spacecraft and brought this colony crashing to the surface of the first colony world — part of his effort to reclaim his lost parents and redeem his “uncle,” John Thomas Paris.
Somar felt sympathy for the young man. Who could blame a child for doing everything he could to get back the parents he had lost? Of course, Alan had been no mere child. He had been a genius of the highest caliber. He proved himself capable of achieving miracles. He brought Thomas, he who was named by history as “the destroyer of worlds,” into this future, where he would have a fresh start. And he brought back the minds of that first fateful colony — or as many as he could before being arrested.
It was Alan who Somar now had to see. The boy was the only one who could answer the questions the Esool captain had. And he was the only one who might have a possible solution to reprogramming the colonists and repairing all of this damage.
There had not been time to build a proper prison, and so they had been forced to lock Alan in one of the maintenance corridors of the Citadel module itself. Mitch Garrison, the Chief Engineer and one of Somar’s most trusted confidants, had gone to great pains to ensure that Alan would have no access to any of the module’s systems. He had installed pod doors on either end of the corridor, welding them in place with a molecular disruption welder. The entry-side door had been installed with hinges, making it possible to swing it inward and allow entry.
Somar unlocked the door and pushed it slowly open. He had no fear that Alan would try to escape. Since his capture, the young man had been more than cooperative. He had voluntarily given them as much information as he was able, regarding the reprogramming process and any of the sabotage he had performed on ship systems. He still insisted that he was not the saboteur responsible for Captain Alonzo’s injuries. Nevertheless, his actions had been unquestionably criminal. Regardless of his cooperation, Somar intended to see justice done.
When he entered the corridor, he was surprised to see Taggart seated and talking with the young man.
But then, of course, this was not Taggart. It was in fact Alan’s own father, Louis Alan. He was currently the dominant personality in Taggart’s brain — a long-dead colonist who had achieved a resurrection of sorts, thanks to his son’s betrayal. Or was it, rather, a reincarnation?
“Mr. Alan,” Somar said. “I left strict orders that the prisoner was to have no visitors.”
Taggart … Louis … turned to the captain, and his expression was one of great sadness. “Yes. My apologies, Captain. I … well, I’m not quite sure how things will turn out, or whether I’ll ever have the chance to speak to my son again. Forgive me. I can go now.”
Somar watched as the man began to rise from his seat. Alan was somewhat reclined on a cot that lined a length of the corridor wall. He had not spoken since Somar entered the cell. In fact, he had not taken his eyes off of his father.
“No,” Somar said. “You are a unique part of these events, and have a special relationship with Mr. Angelou.” Somar, and others, continued to use Alan’s assumed name in an effort to keep confusion to a minimum. Alan, for his part, made no protests, answering as readily to one name as to the other.
In fact, Alan had remained unbelievably calm throughout all of this. His only sign of emotion, in fact, was when the young girl, Penny, had shown signs of resisting the waveform effects, the stasis vulnerability.
“Waveform collapse” seemed to be the proper term. According to Alan and his father, the reprogramming of the minds of the colonists depended on an inherent function of the stasis systems. The sleeper was placed into the pod and a complex cocktail of gases were used to bring about deep unconsciousness, as well as a complete cessation of molecular movement.
Well, not complete, as it turned out. Somewhere in the recesses of the mind there remained some small activity, enough to dream. And in these dreams, the sleeper would eventually become lucid. They would realize that they were unconscious, in stasis, and unable to awaken. So for weeks and months and sometimes years at a time, the sleeper would remain immobile and disconnected from the outside world, but perfectly conscious and thinking. It was enough to drive most minds over the edge, into deep madness.
But the waveform collapse resolved this problem. The humans had discovered that every human mind operates on a specific and unique waveform. Using specially designed technology, the stasis pods could create a “cancellation wave,” or a waveform with properties exactly opposite of those of the mind. The cancellation wave would collapse the mind waveform, and the mind would cease all function until the sleeper was awoken at their destination.
It was a system that had been in use for more than a century, with no apparent ill effects. But it did have an unknown vulnerability. If someone implanted a second, different waveform, after the first had collapsed, then the new waveform would effectively reprogram the subject. The sleeper would essentially become someone else.
The result was that someone, such as Alan, could implant a new mind, with full control of the sleeper’s body and mental faculties.
The thought that you could go to sleep as yourself and awake as someone else was horrifying to the humans, who valued their individuality. This was a concept that Somar’s people, the Esool, had little understanding of. Each Esool was the product of centuries of genetic memory, passed down from generation to generation. An "individual" was merely one branch of the family tree, which itself was a continuously growing collection of DNA and experiences.
It was a notion that gave every Esool a sense of peace, knowing that part of their knowledge and self would always exist, spread far and wide through multiple offspring and multiple generations.
But Somar knew that humans did not share this trait. For humanity, the life of an individual was unique and finite. To lose the self was to lose everything, to drop into oblivion, as if one had never existed.
To that end, the manipulation of the waveform collapse was a horror beyond anything else that humans could imagine. In addition, the existence of this technology opened the door to potential abuse on a level never before seen in human history. It had to be contained, and that meant that the present damage must be undone.
“Mr. Angelou,” Somar said, “You have shown signs that you would be willing to help us undo the waveform reprogramming.”
Alan exchanged a slow and steady look with his father. “Yes,” Alan said, without breaking his gaze. Louis Alan, for his part, continued to look into his son’s eyes without turning away or even blinking. He seemed at peace with the idea of undoing the programming, even though it might mean the end of his existence — death, for a second time.
“Mr. Alan … Louis … You do realize the implications of reversing this process?” Somar asked.
Louis turned to the Captain, a weak smile on his lips. “Yes, of course. Reversing the waveform collapse will mean that the First Colonists, including me, will die. I’ve … accepted it. But I haven’t discussed it with the rest of the colonists.”
Somar nodded. The personalities of the First Colonists had, so far, been quite helpful and were even a calming influence on the rest of the humans here. They were not part of the class system of the others. They pre-dated the conflict between Blue Collars and White Collars. They were not the “colonists” that these people were used to. The First Colonists pitched in, helped with building and repairing, gathering food and water, taking care of the sick. They treated everyone equally, regardless of their class.
In some ways, Somar was relieved to have them here, and somewhat reluctant to be working to restore them to their former natures. But if this was the price of peace in this colony, it was too high.
Somar had developed enough of an understanding of the humans to empathize with the feeling that this was an obscene crime. The sacrifice of even one individual, in this way, was unjust. No matter how pampered, spoiled, or arrogant some of the colonists may have been, wiping their minds and enslaving them to the personality of another was wrong.
But what of killing all of the First Colonists? For the second time in history, these souls were on the brink of destruction. Where was the justice in that?
“Alan, how do we reprogram the colonists and restore their original personalities?”
Alan regarded the Captain for a moment, and then answered, “I don’t know.”
Somar nodded. “But you believe it can be done?”
“Yes,” Alan said.
It was Louis who spoke next. “But how, son? Even if you placed each colonist back into a stasis pod, the original waveforms are gone. The pods had no protocol to keep a copy of the waveform after the colonists were put under. You overwrote the original patterns.”
Alan nodded. “Yes. But I think that the originals may still be there.”
His father's eyes widened. “How?” Louis asked.
“Habit,” Alan responded.
Louis looked to Somar, an expression of bewilderment on his face. Turning back to his son he asked, “Habit?”
Alan reached out and brushed his fingers through the hair at his father’s right temple. “You were bald,” he said.
Louis, his face going slightly blush, nodded. “Yes. I started losing my hair at 25, and after that your mother made me shave it all off. I’ve been bald … was bald … for 20 years.”
Alan nodded. “But when you got up this morning, you combed your hair after you showered.”
Louis nodded. “Yes. It just … seemed like the thing to do.”
“I see,” Somar said.
Louis looked to him, “What?”
“Habit, dad,” Alan said. “Without really thinking about it, you reverted to the habits of Taggart, the man who had this body before you. The original.”
Louis, his eyes widening slightly, nodded and smiled. “Yes! You’re right! All of us, the First Colonists … we’re all dressing the way the originals did. We’re all styling our hair or grooming ourselves the way they did. We should have no idea about that. Everyone here should be falling back on old habits, but they aren’t. You’re right!”
“It’s still there,” Alan said quietly. “The original waveform. Maybe it’s hardwired. Maybe it’s just an echo. Or maybe it’s filling in the gaps, where the minds of the First Colonists can’t quite reach. I saw it in Penny, I think.”
Somar nodded. “When she reasserted herself, to rescue you.”
Alan looked at the Captain, and for the first time Somar saw something in his eyes that he had not expected to find there: Regret.
“Yes,” Alan said. “For a few minutes, she was back. Actually, she’s … different somehow.”
Louis understood. “She’s been near catatonic since she was rescued,” he said.
Alan shook his head, “Not just that. She wasn’t quite right immediately after I activated the program. She was different, more of a shadow, somehow. Not quite converted.”
“Do have any thoughts as to why?” Somar asked.
“Not without studying her closer,” Alan said, peering intently at Somar.
And there it was — a request for a bit of freedom, from the one man being held accountable for his crimes since crashing on this world. Alan had been nothing less than cooperative since he’d been arrested. It was as if, having succeeded in his plan, he suddenly wished he could take it all back. It was as if he wanted to cancel it out, in much the way the waveforms had cancelled out the minds of the sleepers.
Somar considered this. All of the colonists, even the mutineers, had been given amnesty for their crimes. Their sins were forgiven, up to now. Why shouldn’t Alan get the same benefit? Was he truly a danger to the colony? Did he truly deserve to be locked away for trying to restore life, while those who would have killed and destroyed were allowed to roam free?
It was different, Somar knew. It was political. Somar wasn’t very political-minded, and had difficulty at times understanding the nuances of such things. They were so foreign. The notion of one party having influence and power at the cost of others — it was counter to all that the Esool believed and practiced. He had no solid background in this sort of manipulation, and wasn’t sure how to proceed.
It occurred to him, however, that of every soul on this world, he alone might be qualified to make a decision such as this. He was, after all, an Esool. His traditions, culture, and background were grounded in what, to the humans, would literally be an alien mindset. As such, he could truly claim to be unbiased.
“Mr. Angelou,” he said, after a brief pause, “I will see to providing you with a facility and equipment. You will remain under arrest while you work there, and your work will be closely monitored by armed security and a supervising engineer. But you will have complete freedom in pursuing your study of this issue, and in developing a solution.”
Alan regarded him steadily for a moment, and then nodded. “Fair enough,” he said.
Somar returned the nod, exchanged a solemn look with Louis, and then left the cell, closing the door firmly behind him. He nodded to the guard posted at the door’s entrance, considered chastising him for letting Alan’s father in, then thought better of it. The spirit of amnesty that had permeated the colony was a good thing, and should be preserved as long as possible.
While he walked back to the command center, Somar pondered the young man, Alan Angelou. He was quiet, brilliant, and respectful. He could almost be an Esool himself. Ironic, that of all the humans in the colony this young man was a kindred spirit. And yet, he had committed an atrocity. Could he ever redeem himself for that?
It seemed that they would soon find out. And if it went badly, Somar himself would likely pay the price with his own life. The young man’s last words seemed most appropriate.
“Fair enough,” Somar said, and entered the command center.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012 at 9:33AM 
