Robyn Tallis - Planet Builders 1 - Mountain of Stolen Dreams

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To the Panama-Texas Connection

With thanks to Bruce Coville, Debra Doyle,

Jim Macdonald, and Sherwood Smith—

who built the planet.

Ivy Books

Published by Ballantine Books

Produced by Butterfield Press, Inc.

133 Fifth Avenue

New York, New York 10003

division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.

All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover illustration by Bob Eggleton

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 88-91131

ISBN: 0-8041-0201-5

Manufactured in the United States

First Edition: December 1988

CHAPTER ONE:

Sky Ride

Sean Matthews stood at his father's right-hand side, waiting for the elevator that would carry them into

the sky. Because it was morning, and they were facing north, the sixteen-year-old was in the older man's

shadow.

Five minutes dragged by. Sean began tapping his foot but stopped when his father turned to glare at him.

The elevator arrived. Governor Matthews stepped in. Sean followed him. Six other people came behind

them: the official greeting team that would welcome the newest batch of colonists to arrive on Gauguin.

Once inside the elevator, Sean chose to face the clear wall. Most of the adults, however, chose one of

the opaque walls—in order to avoid seeing what was about to happen.

Sean nudged his father and pointed to a trio of

theskies pressed against the fence. The large, lizardlike animals were watching the proceedings carefully,

their amber eyes wide with interest. Governor Matthews scowled. When the colonists first arrived the

theskies had been terrified; now they were so friendly they were becoming a nuisance. The fence around

the loading dock had been erected specifically to keep the theskies from getting entangled with the

elevator mechanisms.

Sean heard the door close behind him. By craning his neck and squinting, he could just see the absurdly

slender cables that would guide and support the elevator on its trip. Though he couldn't see them more

than an arm's length past the elevator, Sean knew the cables stretched thousands of meters into the sky

to a satellite locked in an orbit precisely matching Gauguin's daily rotation. Even though the satellite

traveled over a thousand kilometers per hour, it always remained directly over the loading dock.

Technically, this was a "geosynchronous satellite." But Spacers referred to them as "flyspecks," because

from space they looked like flyspecks on a globe.

The elevator began to move. Looking out, Sean fixed his eyes on the ground. Soon the surface of the

planet was several meters below him and receding fast. His stomach began to flutter. He glanced over his

shoulder. Only one of the adults had turned to look through the clear wall. The man's jaw was set, but his

face seemed to

have gone pale under skin that was usually the typical amber-honey color to which the human race had

blended itself over the last five hundred years. The man nodded at Sean, then shifted to face the blank

wall.

Sean looked straight out into the sky and fought back a wave of dizziness. He began to review the way

the elevator worked, a trick he used to help himself through this part of the ride. He envisioned the four

slender but enormously strong cables linking the satellite to the loading dock, making it possible for an

"elevator" to climb into space without the tremendous burst of energy it took for a conventional rocket to

escape the pull of the planet's gravity.

He turned and looked at the indicator above the door. Two thousand meters and still climbing. Looking

back out over the planet, undoubtedly the most beautiful he had ever seen, Sean fought to keep himself

from loving it. He had done that too many times before, on too many worlds. When his family moved to

Gauguin, Sean had vowed not to let himself to be hurt that way again.

Who am I? thought the girl. The question scared her. She really ought to know who she was.

Maybe if she could see something it would help. She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn't work. She

tried again. When they still wouldn't open she started to scream, only her mouth wouldn't work, either.

Nothing came out.

She tried to move an arm, a hand, a finger. Anything. Nothing happened, not a single twitch. It was as if

she had been bound with rope from head to foot.

A wave of panic surged through her mind. But before it could overwhelm her, a soft voice began to

whisper soothing words in her ear. "Good morning, Clea. Please relax while you wait for your body and

your memory to reactivate. You are safe and well. I repeat, you are safe and well. You will see your

family soon. All of you are safe and well."

Clea! That's who I am. Clea Tourni. Her panic began to subside. At least she wasn't dead—or even

alone, which at the moment seemed worse.

"You have been asleep for over two months," continued the voice. "Now you are starting to wake. It will

take some time, for you have been in a very deep sleep. When you can move, press down with your right

hand. Someone will come to help you. Please relax. You are safe and well."

Clea forced her eyes open again, long enough to see a curved sheet of clear blue material. She realized it

was the last thing she had seen before falling asleep, and suddenly remembered where she was: on a

starship bound for Gauguin, the planet her family had agreed to help colonize.

Oh, hurry! she thought to her body. Hurry!

Suddenly her right foot began to tingle. It was sharp, almost painful, and she decided her body could take

its time waking up after all. But the process had begun. It felt like the pins and nee-

dies she experienced when she sat on her leg the wrong way. Only this was a thousand times more

intense, like a wave of liquid fire rolling up her side, sweet and hot and electric but just too powerful to

bear. She tried to scream again, but her mouth still wasn't working.

Hold on, she told herself. You can make it. They warned you waking up would feel like this.

Ah. That was good. Her memory was coming back. She let her mind drift back, first to the les* sons she

had taken to prepare for the journey through hyperspace, then to the pictures of Gauguin itself: the black

sand beaches and glowing seas, the soaring mountains and great jungles had been truly spectacular. As

the instructor had said—any planet so beautiful the advance team decided to name it for one of Old

Earth's greatest artists couldn't be all bad.

Clea smiled as she remembered the instructor. / wonder if there'll be anyone that cute on Gauguin.

Goh-gaan, she reminded herself, determined not to be marked as an outsider by saying the name of the

planet incorrectly.

Suddenly her left side began to tingle. More fire rippled through her. She lurched in response, realized

that she could move, and pressed down with her right hand.

Seconds later the blue shield rolled back, and she found herself looking up into the greenest eyes she had

ever seen.

"Good morning! And welcome to Gauguin—or

more precisely, the space above Gauguin. I hope you slept well."

Clea nodded, thinking it was unfair of them to send a boy who looked like this to wake her from a

two-month sleep. She wondered what her breath smelled like.

"Do you want to try standing?" asked the boy. She nodded again, thinking that if this were a fairy tale, he

would have had to wake her with a kiss, which might not have been a bad idea. The boy touched a

button at the side of her sleeping case, and the edges folded down like the petals of a drooping flower.

He held out his hand and helped her to a sitting position. She tried to stand, but the room started to spin,

and she fell back onto the bed.

"Whoa!" laughed the boy. "Give yourself a little time. Your body's lost the habit of being vertical. Here,

put your head between your knees for a minute."

Clea did as she was told, not caring how undignified she looked in front of this strange, handsome

stranger.

Suddenly her stomach rolled over. No! she thought desperately. Don't let me be sick. Not now. Not

here.

With relief she realized that as queasy as she felt, there was nothing for her to throw up. Her stomach

was totally empty.

A voice nearby distracted her from her troubles. "Good morning, Mrs. Tourni," said a pleasant-sounding

young woman.

Good. Her mother was awake. Clea lifted her head, thought better of it, and put it back between her

knees.

"Don't rush yourself," said the boy beside her. "Take a few slow, deep breaths. Then I'll give you some

medicine to counter some of the side effects of your long sleep."

Clea nodded and did as the boy said.

"My name is Sean," he continued, as she practiced the deep breathing. "Sean Matthews. I'm part of the

welcoming team—mostly because my father is a local big-wig."

She glanced up. He flashed her a dazzling smile.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'm glad you're here. We've spent a lot of time getting ready for new settlers

over the last two years. Once the construction program was going full tilt, we had lots of buildings but no

one to live in them. Very depressing. It will be good to have them filled with real human beings. Especially

pretty ones like you."

The unexpected compliment disrupted Clea's breath pattern. "You're taking advantage of me," she

murmured, lifting her head again. Good—the room held still this time, and her stomach didn't do more

than flutter a bit.

She examined her "prince" more closely. He was tall and slender, with deep green eyes and hair as black

as space.

A familiar rumbling noise to their right informed Clea that her father was awake. He had

been making that sound when he woke for as long as she could remember. "Hullo, Daddy!" she called.

"Sleep well?"

"Mmmprhh grzznichh," muttered a gravelly voice.

Sean smiled. "Does he always sound like that?" "That's his happy noise," said Clea. "You don't want to

be around on a bad day."

Fifteen minutes later the entire Tourni family was on its feet. With her parents on one side of her and her

little sisters, Andrena and Sara, on the other, Clea felt ready to walk to the observation deck to take a

look at their new home. To her delight Sean excused the other "awakeners" and offered to stay with the

family until they finished getting their bearings. She walked beside him as he led them down a long,

curving corridor with smooth blue walls.

Sean glanced sideways at Clea as they walked along the blue corridor. She was about ten centimeters

shorter than himself, with honey-brown hair that rippled halfway down her back—about the same color

as Zach Yamoto's, but much more attractive on Clea than on that skate. Her eyes held flecks of brown

and amber and gold, as if they had been designed to go with her hair. Sean wondered if the Tourni family

was into genetic engineering, or if Clea's beauty was just the luck of the draw.

When they reached the observation deck, Sean heard the Tournis make the same involun-

tary sound—a quick little intake of breath—that he had heard from almost everyone he had escorted to

the deck. He understood. The captain of the starship had drawn away the opaque shielding to reveal a

clear wall two meters high and fifteen meters wide. To stand here with no lights behind you was to stand

on the edge of space. A single object dominated the viewing wall: the green, blue, and white sphere that

was Gauguin.

Clea grabbed Sean's elbow. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

Sean smiled. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," he answered.

Gauguin was indeed beautiful. Of all the habitable worlds the human race had found in the hundred years

since the starship drive had made colonization of the galaxy possible, it was said that Gauguin was the

closest to what Earth had once been.

In fact, many people thought Gauguin was even more beautiful than Old Earth, although it was

considered "politically incorrect" to say so. Unlike most planets discovered so far, Gauguin had plenty of

water. A great, interconnected ocean circled the globe; all three continents held scores of huge inland

lakes tied together by mighty rivers; and almost everywhere, lesser bodies of water—minor lakes and

rivers, ponds and streams—could be found in abundance. Only at the polar ice caps and in three small

desert areas was liquid water scarce.

Looking down at Gauguin, Sean felt a thrill of excitement at all there was to explore and discover, all the

mysteries that might be waiting for them down there. He clamped down on the feeling the moment he

identified it. Let others love it if they wanted. He couldn't afford that luxury. Gauguin was his fifth planet.

He had no reason to think it would be his last.

CHAPTER TWO:

The Restless Planet

Zach Yamoto whistled contentedly as he ambled along the path to the Greendomes. The trail bordered

the Tati, a small river that ran through Gauguin's first city, Ambora. Zach enjoyed the sound of the river

splashing along beside him, and when he came to a small bridge he felt an almost irresistible urge to sit

and dangle his feet for a while. He checked his watch. Good! By his calculations he had fifteen minutes

before Grumps would consider him seriously overdue. To Zach's way of thinking, that changed mere

desire into something resembling a moral obligation. "Definitely time to dangle," he said, slipping off his

sandals and sliding his legs over the edge of the bridge. His feet came within inches of the water. He was

wearing a shortsleeved boorman, the one-piece outfit favored by many in Ambora's semitropicai climate.

A light breeze

played through his shoulder-length brown hair. The rays of Gauguin's blue sun felt good on his bare arms

and legs, which were the color of coffee mixed with milk.

It was a beautiful morning, made even more so by the fact that he had managed to skate through the first

half of the day's drudge without actually doing anything he didn't want to.

He gazed down over Ambora. The five major domes of the city seemed to glow in the midmor-ning

sunshine. Beyond them the great blue-green sweep of Sanjo Bay was joined by the laughing waters of

the Tati. Beyond the bay, stretching endlessly into the distance, lay the great Kartai Sea itself.

Zach felt a great wave of contentment overwhelm him. After the incredible crowding of Earth, it was hard

to believe his family had actually ended up in a place this beautiful. He used to resent the time his father

spent on his job, but if this was the final reward, maybe it had been worth it.

His reverie was interrupted by a quufer scuttling across the bridge to nestle in beside him. Though the first

settlers claimed the quufers had once been shy, like the theskies, they were now so friendly they were

nearly always underfoot.

Zach smiled and ruffled the creature's scales, which were so long, thin, and soft that everyone had initially

thought they were hair.

"Kwoo," said the quufer, making the noise that had given the species its popular name. "Kwoo."

"What are you doing out here, fella?" asked Zach. He used the term "fella" lightly, since no one had yet

figured out how to determine the sex of a quufer.

"Kwoo," responded the quufer, hunching into itself so that it became about the size and shape of a stack

of dinner plates. The skin beneath its transparent scales grew dark, indicating contentment.

Human and quufer sat in companionable silence. Zach was just thinking that he should get moving when

the quufer uttered a small shriek and turned bright green, the color of alarm. It stretched to its full length,

about the distance from Zach's wrist to his shoulder, then raced away, its tiny legs scrabbling against the

wood of the bridge. Zach watched in astonishment as the creature dove into the bushes at the edge of the

path, where its green scales blended so effectively with the tropical foliage that it disappeared almost

instantly.

"Now what was that all about?" he said to no one in particular. He wondered if the quufer had heard

something he hadn't, something it considered a potential threat. The creatures were known to have

incredibly acute hearing, better even than humans wearing amplification implants.

Shaking his head, Zach slipped into his sandals. Still trying to decipher the quufer's strange behavior, he

returned to the trail leading to the Greendomes.

A door slid open as he approached the main dome. Zach stepped through and followed a corridor past

the offices to the growing rooms, where he spotted Sean Matthews using an electronic clipboard to

record the level of certain chemicals in the sprouting tanks. From the way Sean shook his head when

Zach entered, it was clear the dark-haired boy was wondering how Zach managed to skate out of work

so often.

Since he knew they would be in the same cohort when school started, Zach decided it would be smart to

try to keep things flowing. "Been out procuring a vital chemical," he said, holding up the small bag he was

carrying. "We were nearly out of it, so Grumps sent me to Central Storage to pick up some more."

"Nice job," said Sean, looking at Zach closely. "How did Grumps happen to choose you?"

Zach hesitated. "It's part of my system," he said at last.

"System?"

"Well, it's only a system now. But I'm hoping to refine it to the point where I can consider it a science. I'm

going to write a book: Zach Yamoto's Complete Guide to Skating."

Sean made a face. "Skating" was the practice of trying to get out of as much work as possible. He had

watched Zach long enough to know that the guy was a master skate. Having been brought up by parents

who emphasized civic duty above everything, Sean found Zach's attitude pretty distasteful.

"So how did you manage it?" he asked again.

Zach shrugged. "As soon as I come in, I make it a point to check the supplies. Usually we have plenty of

everything. But about once a week we're low enough that I can convince Grumps to send me out for

replacements. Since I'd rather be outside than in here, I consider that a score."

Sean nodded, and turned back to his clipboard. But Zach didn't go away. "I hear you were part of the

welcoming committee two days ago," he said. "Now there's a job I'd like! Traveling up to the High

Station when the starships come in, checking out the new arrivals. Not bad, if you ask me."

Sean grunted.

"So," said Zach, "anyone 'interesting' aboard?"

Sean smiled in spite of himself. He knew what Zach was really asking. Clea Tourni definitely classified as

"interesting."

"At least one," he conceded.

"So?" urged Zach.

Sean laughed. "Why should I tell you? Who wants to help the competition?"

Zach shrugged. "I thought you were tied up with Philippa Bidding?"

"We've gone out," said Sean cautiously, not mentioning that Philippa was supposed to meet him here at

the end of his shift.

Sean had met Philippa the same way he met Clea Tourni; on a welcoming mission. She was very

attractive, in an exotic sort of way, with skin and hair that were almost white. But unlike Clea,

who seemed warm and friendly, Philippa was reserved and distant. Sean found her company pleasant

enough, yet somehow they never really seemed to connect. An evening with Philippa often left him feeling

more lonely than an evening spent by himself.

And yet on one or two occasions, he had seen another side of her, as if she were letting go of something,

dropping some kind of mask. When that happened, Philippa Bidding lit up in a way that was altogether

different and altogether dazzling.

Sean had never had this kind of trouble with a girl before, and he didn't know what to make of it.

Nor was he about to discuss it with Zach Yamoto.

"Have you seen the newest topo maps?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Boy, have I!" said Zach. "Did you notice that cave system they project about a hundred klicks south of

here? I'd give anything to explore that. How about you? You like that kind of thing? I'd bet a week's

ration credits it'll be two or three years before they get around to it. Maybe we could be the first."

Zach's enthusiasm was contagious— dangerously so, as far as Sean was concerned. He had no wish to

talk about plans for something that probably wouldn't happen until his family was getting ready to ship out

to the next planet.

Fortunately for Sean, Zach changed the subject on his own.

"Not bad!" he whispered, staring at the doorway. "Is she the one you met on the ship two days ago?"

Sean turned toward the door and saw Clea Tourni standing in the entry with a slip of green paper in her

hand. She looked confused, but her face lit up when she saw Sean.

"Hi, Sean," she said, walking over to where the two boys stood. "I didn't know I'd find you here."

Zach, standing behind her, rolled his eyes in a clear indication that as far as he was concerned, some guys

had all the luck. Sean took the hint and introduced him to Clea.

"You on drudge here?" asked Zach, glancing down at the green paper Clea was holding.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked.

"Drudge," said Zach. "You know, your 'voluntary' community service."

Clea smiled. "We call it 'harness duty' where I come from," she said.

"And where is that?" asked Zach.

"Galahad," said Clea.

"Ah, the Arthurian system," said Zach. "Some of those early star-hoppers were real romantics."

"I liked it there," said Clea defensively. "Where are you from, anyway? You talk funny."

It was Zach's turn to laugh. "Milady, what you are hearing from my lips is the original version of Earth

Standard. Anything else is a local variant."

Clea's eyes went wide. "Are you really from Earth?" she asked in astonishment.

Zach nodded smugly.

"But I thought that was supposed to be the best planet in the galaxy. Why would anyone want to leave?"

"You're the victim of rumors," said Sean. "The Earthies have nearly destroyed the planet, and everyone

knows it."

"Wow," said Zach. "That's heavy talk from someone whose father works for the Planetary League."

Sean started to say something, then stopped. "I've got to get this finished," he said, glancing down at his

clipboard."You seem to have some spare time. Why don't you introduce Clea to Grumps?"

"Gladly take I the Galahadian," said Zach. "This way, if you will, milady."

Clea followed Zach between the long rows of clear plastic sprouting tanks. She turned back to say

something to Sean, but he was already immersed in his work.

They found Grumps two domes over. He was a slender man, a little stooped, taller than Clea, but shorter

than Zach. He had kinky black hair, liberally sprinkled with gray, and dark brown eyes flecked here and

there with bits of orange. Deep lines ran from the sides of his noise to the corners of his mouth, and his

scowl looked like it had been permanently carved into his face.

"So you're the newbie," he growled, when Zach introduced Clea.

"Y-y-yes sir," stammered Clea.

"Well you've picked a fine one to hang out with," he said, gesturing toward Zach.

Zach smiled benignly, as if he had just received a compliment.

"I just met him, sir," said Clea. Instantly she wished she could take back the words. She felt like a traitor.

"Well, come on," said Grumps. "I'll show you around. You—Yamoto. Get back to work."

"I was just on my way," said Zach, a statement so obviously untrue that Clea couldn't help but laugh.

Grumps snorted and gestured for Clea to follow him. "We have seven greendomes in this complex," he

said, as Clea scurried to catch up with him. "As you probably know, the Planetary Settlement Act

requires us to grow all our food in domes for the first five years."

"No," said Clea. "I didn't know."

He looked at her in surprise. "Where are you from, girl?" he asked.

"Galahad."

"Ah," he said, "one of the older worlds. By the time you were born you wouldn't have had to worry

about this sort of thing. But here we have to be very careful about tampering with the basic ecology of

our planet. Other than humanity and its attendant microbes, no alien life forms can be

released without an environmental-impact study."

"Why?" asked Clea. "I don't see what harm growing a patch of peas can do."

Grumps snorted again. "Didn't you ever hear about what happened on Plessius II?"

Clea shook her head.

"It was one of the first worlds colonized. The fools planted a new variety of squash, all excited because it

was so hardy. Hardy is right. It turned out that the growth of the vines was stimulated by unusual trace

elements in the soil, and their resistance to disease was jacked up by a native microbe. The damn things

grew so well it was almost impossible to kill them! And they spread so fast that within three years they

were starting to squeeze out a lot of native plant life—including a certain fern that provided the only

hatching grounds for an insect that just happened to be the primary pollenator for several important plant

species. No pollenation, no seeds. No seeds, no new plants. After that, it was like dominoes falling

down. Those squash raised hell with the entire ecology. Within twenty years the idiots who planted them

had managed to wipe out or seriously endanger over twenty thousand species of plants and animals."

"I see," said Clea, overwhelmed by the image of so much destruction from such a simple beginning.

Grumps snorted and led her into the next dome.

An hour later Clea found herself back in the first dome, trying to separate seedlings so they wouldn't

become too cramped as they grew. She had already broken more than a dozen of the fragile stems, and

was feeling clumsy and frustrated. The fact that when Grumps showed her the job, he had managed to

separate over two dozen seedlings without damaging a single one did nothing to help her mood. She was

still astonished by the tender, almost loving way his stubby fingers had pulled apart the plants.

She tried again and made a little noise of frustration as she destroyed another seedling.

"Having a hard time?" asked a deep, friendly voice.

She looked up and saw Sean Matthews standing beside her.

"I feel like a mass murderer," she said, pointing to the results of the last half hour's massacre.

"Here, let me show you," said Sean. Reaching past her, he deftly began separating the plants.

"How do you do that?" she asked.

Before he could answer, the world went crazy. It began with the floor, which started writhing under their

feet like a snake. A noise, unlike any Clea had ever heard, seemed to fill the air. Soon the rows of

sprouting tanks were vibrating so hard they were splashing their nutrient fluid into the air.

"What is it?" yelled Clea.

Before Sean could answer, she dove into his arms for safety.

CHAPTER THREE:

Do They Cancel School for Earthquakes?

It took only a few seconds for the world to begin behaving properly again. The rumbling faded away.

The floor stopped moving. The tanks ceased their vibration.

As the earthquake subsided, so did Clea's panic. Slowly she became aware of her surroundings again,

including the fact that she was being held by a pair of warm, strong arms. She looked up and saw Sean

Matthews smiling down at her. She felt her cheeks grow warm.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, "I didn't mean to ... I didn't ... I was frightened, and..."

Stop babbling! she told herself firmly. She swallowed, and tried again. "I panicked."

"How convenient," said a sharp, cool voice from behind her.

The expression on Sean's face told Clea as much as the speaker's tone. She pushed herself

away from Sean and turned to find herself facing a girl who would have been breathtakingly beautiful, if

not for her unnaturally pale skin. Long white-blond hair cascaded around her shoulders. The only real

color in her face came from her intense, almost electric-blue eyes. A pale, cream-colored shirt and white

shorts emphasized a figure that made Clea feel inadequate at best.

As she looked at the two of them—Sean, tall and handsome in his light blue boorman, the newcomer like

a princess carved from ice—Clea wondered how they could be so calm after what had just happened.

How often do they have earthquakes around here anyway? she wondered nervously,

'"lo, Philippa," said Sean casually. "Didn't see you come in."

"Too busy, I imagine," said Philippa, with a hint of a smile. "From the way the earth just moved, I assume

you've discovered the secret of the cosmic kiss."

Clea felt herself blush.

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TothePanama-TexasConnectionWiththankstoBruceCoville,DebraDoyle,JimMacdonald,andSherwoodSmith—whobuilttheplanet.IvyBooksPublishedbyBallantineBooksProducedbyButterfieldPress,Inc.133FifthAvenueNewYork,NewYork10003Copyright©1988byButterfieldPress,Inc.AllrightsreservedunderInternationalandPan-AmericanCop...

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