Paul Collins - The Earthborn

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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 bridgebefore 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 howslow these
things were! He checked himself in the mirrored surface of the elevator doors. Everythinglooked 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 asColony 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 ofColony 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 carrydiseases. 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.
"But enough of the past! We return not to the Earth our ancestors left, nor to a world full of thriving
superior humanity. No! We return to a planet infested with a degenerate species that once was human, a
species that is little better than animal, possessing a dangerous cunning. Our mission—and it may take
years!—is to cleanse the home-world, restore civilization, and rebuild the supremacy of true human
beings!"
An enormous cheer drowned out his final words and reverberated through the ship, bursting forth
from every corridor and community room. When it eventually settled, Sobol resumed.
"We have entered orbit. We have begun atmospheric braking.Colony will touch down in twenty-four
hours. It will not be an easy landing. This skyworld—like the others sent off to different
destinations—was not meant to endure three hundred years of cold, hard vacuum and cosmic radiation.
The outer hull is riddled with fatigue. Our propulsion systems are weakened. But we will land tomorrow.
Of that I assure you. So now, Skyborn, go about your duties with the flame of destiny in your heart. For
we are going home!"
The silence in the mess hall continued long after the vid screen snapped to black.
Despite the uplifting words, a chill feeling sleeted through Welkin. He recognized it was a dull surprise.
He was scared. Scared of something he'd rarely thought about before. The future.
* * *
Welkin and Harry hurried into the briefing room and took their seats. Elder Tobias was at the lectern,
looking grimmer than usual. A low buzz of conversation filled the room as ensigns and other low-ranking
officers—all about Welkin's age—discussed the latest events.
Tobias rapped for silence.
"Settle down! Last time I heard this much squawking was in the henhouse on farming deck!"
A titter of laughter snaked around the room. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"
He hit a switch on a console. The lights dimmed and a vid screen lit up. The scene showed a prison
cell somewhere on the detention level. A long-haired youth was strapped to a chair. His clothing was
ragged and he had a wispy beard. His eyes were wide with fear.
There was a loud click, and something wentwhump through the boy's body. He arched back, his
mouth agape, his paralyzed diaphragm muscles preventing an agonized scream from escaping his throat.
Just as abruptly, he slumped back, barely conscious.
A stern voice addressed the boy in the chair. "You are from the lower decks, correct?"
The boy nodded feebly. Saliva dribbled from his slack lips. All his muscles were flaccid.
"Repeat what you said before!"
The boy blinked, trying to concentrate. He licked his lips. Haltingly, in a voice slurred by
electroshock, he answered. "Planning— surprise attack . . . this time tribes united. Tired of lower decks.
Not fair!" He regained more muscle control. "Not fair! Our destiny, too! We're human. Just like you ..."
He started to laugh. The click came again and his back arched in a bone-wrenching spasm.
Tobias shut off the vid. The lights came up.
Welkin noticed that Harry looked slightly ill. He didn't feel good himself, but the boy was a lower
decker, after all. What could he expect if he was caught? Welkin had no illusions as to his own fate
should he ever be cast down to the lower decks. He might live a whole minute, possibly two, before they
tore him apart and carried pieces of his carcass back to the tribal cooking pots!
"Welkin! Are you daydreaming again? What did I just say?"
Welkin jumped to his feet, confused. Harry whispered something that sounded like "go to bed hurt."
"Sir! All wounded will retire to quarters for bed rest!"
The class erupted in laughter. Welkin swallowed.
"Interesting interpretation, Ensign," said Tobias. "I think your shipmate needs to articulate more clearly
next time. What I said was, we shall shortly 'go to red alert.' I think that's clear enough. Now sit down
and pay attention!"
Welkin sat down, trying to shrink into his chair. He gave Harry a quick but blistering "Thanks a lot!"
look. Harry shrugged, barely containing a smile.
"We shall remain on red alert untilColony has landed, at which time new duty stations will be
assigned. As you saw from the vid, we are expecting a breakout from the lower decks. Steps have been
taken to neutralize this threat and I believe the danger has been contained. Nevertheless, we cannot allow
ourselves a moment's respite! And it is with great sadness—and disgust!—that I broach a subject that
until now has been a closely guarded secret known only to the elders."
A tense but expectant silence enveloped the room. Welkin found himself actually leaning forward,
along with all the others.
"It has become known to us that lower decker sympathizers are among us!"
A collective gasp sprang up. Welkin stared in disbelief at the elder.
"You see the danger? What before was merely a dangerous turn of events regarding the degenerate
criminals on the lower decks is now part of an ugly, treasonable conspiracy!" He paused. A vein
throbbed in his temple and he stared at them with an implacable malevolence. "Mark my words,
Skyborn. Rebels are among us, and we shall root them out and destroy them all—starting right now!"
The rear door burst open as if on cue. Four burly heavies, carrying stun rods and neutralizers,
shouldered into the room. They came straight for Welkin. He froze, shocked into numbness.
But the security guards pushed past him and grabbed Harry, dragging him from his chair.
Welkin stared at his friend, whose face had drained of all color. "Harry?"
Harry looked back at him expressionlessly.
A sudden fury welled up in Welkin, and as the other officers hurled abuse at Harry, he found himself
joining in, becoming part of the mob and its ugly, barely restrained violence.
A gloved fist slammed into Welkin's jaw, snapping his head back. A trickle of blood appeared. He
wiped it away, sat up straight, teeth chattering.
He was in a portless, nondescript room, containing a chair bolted to the floor and equipped with
leather straps for wrists, ankles, and throat. The heavies had come for him soon after Harry's arrest,
dragging him from his duty station. Harry must have accused him of being a lower decker
sympathizer—maybe to save himself. . .
The man in front of Welkin, Harlan Gibbs, was head of security on boardColony. He was thin,
ascetic, almost emaciated. He believed in little other than order. Order at any cost, and obedience as the
rigid path to that goal. In a previous era he would have made the perfect Gestapo commandant. Right
now he was smiling a thin, dangerous smile that made Welkin's skin crawl.
"Harry told us everything, Welkin, so why not confess? Cleanse yourself of your sins. Be free of the
awful guilt. I know what a terrible burden such secrets can be. Let me take them from you. You'll feel
better for it."
Welkin knew he would like nothing better than to end his interrogation, except he had no secrets to
reveal. Indeed, if this went on much longer, and if some of the rumors of Gibbs's tortures were true, then
he would desperately be making up secrets to divulge.
"Sir," he said weakly. "I have nothing to confess, sir. Harry was my shipmate, but I didn't know he
was a ... collaborator!"
You would have denounced him if you had, wouldn't you, Welkin?"
"Yes, sir! I would have. Sir."
"Good boy."
Welkin started to relax. Suddenly the fist shot out again and caught him on the temple, rocking his
head sideways.
"I believe you," Gibbs said in his oily tones. "But I have protocol to follow. One must be absolutely
certain, don't you think? This is an infection after all. And it must be rooted out!"
"But, sir, I'm innocent!"
"You might well be. But there is value in punishing the innocent along with the guilty."
"Sir—?"
"Ever since the Age Plague when everyone over the age of twenty died, except for the chosen few,
the elders, we've understood that social diseases are like those of the flesh. Slow and cunning, moving
from one healthy organ to another, destroying from within. I'm afraid that once you have been exposed . .
. well, I'm sure you understand, Welkin. It's for the goodof Colony."
Welkin took up the refrain. "For the goodof Colony." But he didn't understand at all.
Klaxons blared. Welkin recognized the code, even though he had never heard it before. It was one
that had not been heard on boardColony for one hundred and fifty years, not since the terrible days of
Tau Ceti. It meantplanetfall.
Welkin steadied himself against a bulkhead as the skyworld tilted. He could picture what was
happening. Indeed, he should have been a part of it, would have been, if it weren't for Harry!
But it was no good thinking about that now. Harry was either dead or cast down to the lower decks,
which was worse than being dead. Welkin's fate was more complicated. Even a few weeks ago he
would have followed Harry in quick order, but Harlan Gibbs had intimated a different fate. A possibility
of redemption. The word was tantalizing. Even coming from the cruel, thin lips of Gibbs, Welkin had
found himself feeling dizzy, feeling . . . hope.
They would need cleansing teams once they landed, Gibbs explained, to exterminate the Earthborn
vermin. It would be dangerous work—many would not return. But it was for the glory ofColony, and for
Welkin it held the faint chance that one day he might work his way back into the good graces of the
elders. After all, what else was there?
He had heard of Skyborns, condemned to the lower decks, who curled into a fetal position and died.
No physiological reason, they just died. They wereColony, born and bred. Without it, there could be no
existence, no continuation, nothing . . .
"Let me out of here!" he screamed.
His voice went nowhere. He could scream forever in the cells and no guard system would hear. It was
useless banging on the cell door, but he staggered around the wall and banged anyhow, in a panic reflex.
He had never been claustrophobic in his life, but locked inside a prison cell on an aging skyworld about
to make planetfall somehow overcame the genetically engineered suppressive mechanisms that normally
protected him. He yelled again. Better than most he knew how dangerous this landing was. The entire
skyworld could crumple like a tin can!
The light panels dimmed and flickered as the power source drained.
Welkin murmured his mantra for keep-calm:
I call upon the center of silence
Calm my senses
I call upon the center of the birth of light
Dispel the darkness of this time
So it be . . .
Repeating the mantra over and over, Welkin slid onto his bunk.
I'm going to die in here,he thought with a morbid kick.Our shields •won't last for long. They used
to blow out regularly just in normal cruising mode.
Then the floor plating shuddered. A deep basso profundo rumbling grew in the bowels of the gigantic
ship, grew into a full throated roar, and somehow seemed to crawl inside his head and make his skull
ache. He put his feet to the floor and felt the trembling under his grip-contact boots.Colony was going
down, descending toward planet-fall.
You couldn't strictly call it landing. A skyworld didn't land—it was more like worlds colliding.
Welkin watched as the metal plating buckled like a living thing. The walls crumpled in around him as
massive g forces came to bear on the ship.
That's how the surface will look down there. All uneven and corrugated.
It'll be hard to walk around. But the Earth vermin manage okay. And if they can do it, we sure
as Space can!
Colonyhad drifted between the stars far too long. It had been programmed to land on Tau Ceti III
when it was a much newer skyworld, in its prime. Now it was a run-down rusting hulk that had barely
made it back to the solar system.
Welkin had heard the old, sad story—about the elliptical orbit of Tau Ceti III and all the data on why
the prime colonists decided to abort the mission and return through the darks of space to find another
planetfall. There had been other plans, other systems and planet projects.
But landing wasn't suicide. He reminded himself that Systec— Systems and Technology—had
calculated the stresses and forces facingColony during planetfall. If they shunted all power into thrust
resistors, they could achieve touchdown with minimal damage.Except for the lower decks, Welkin
thought, with a twinge of guilt. Just as a man falling from a height can cushion the landing by letting his legs
shatter, absorbing the impact energy, so too couldColony enhance its chances of survival by using the
lower decks as a kind of giant shock absorber. Of course, at least half the lower decks would cease to
exist in the blink of an eye as they pancaked together on landing. But as the elders pointed out with
unimpeachable logic, that merely solved the two problems at the same time.
An elegant solution, except that Welkin had a momentary pang about Harry.
Welkin felt the slowdown from orbital speed asColony plummeted through the stratosphere. He tried
to stand, was thrown flat on his back. He dragged himself into the bunk alcove.
The ordio cut in: "All personnel are instructed to keep strictly to emergency-landing procedures. This
is not a drill. Repeat: This is not a drill. Planetfall: twenty seconds and counting ..."
A handhold, something to hang on to . . .
Colonyabruptly bucked, flinging him out of the bunk, slamming him into a wall. He tried to grab hold
of the waste unit.
"Eighteen seconds ..."
Welkin lost his footing and tumbled across the floor, banging his head on the bunk.
"Sixteen seconds ..."
He scrabbled back to the waste unit and clung to it in white-knuckled panic. Pain shot through him in
a torrent.
"Fourteen seconds ..."
The air suddenly became stiflingly hot. Power to the aerators had been siphoned elsewhere.
"Twelve seconds ..."
A slow, rending noise sliced through the ordio voice.
"LET ME OUT!"
Welkin heard the echo of his own voice, screaming.
Colonyjuddered.
He felt a moment of weightlessness as power to the gravity plating missed a beat. Simultaneously
auxiliary thrusters cut in.
"They've done it! We're reducing drive speed." He could imagine the frantic hum of activity on the
bridge right now. Captain Sobol would be standing in the center of barely controlled chaos, the one still
figure in the storm. Quick shouted commands would be flying back and forth. "Fuel cells go!" "Shields at
maximum!" "We are go for landing, Captain!"
"Seven seconds ..."
Welkin's mind went into a tailspin.Colony had been spying on Earth from as far away as fifty
light-years out. It was no longer a planet on those database RMVs. There were no "thriving megacities"
anymore. And no "rapidly expanding technology." The whole place looked like what used to be called
the third world, but where were those international organizations and caregiving agencies?
Earth was beautiful. It was all there on the monitors, the green grass, the blue hills, the oceans, even
the people. Humanoid, better than that, genuine human, blood sibs, products of the gene pool. . .
He knew the history of Earth, he thought he knew the face of Earth. Now in these last seconds he
gave himself up to pure fantasy. It was not his past life flashing before his eyes but the past life of his
ancient homeworld.
Can't wait to smell the fields! See the colors! Feel the breeze—the breeze! Strong enough to
knock you down sometimes! And the sea. Huge waves—so big they pick you up and throw you
down. And animals . . .
And dancing. He could see the Earthborn dancing—black skins, brown and white, throwing their
arms everywhere and kicking the air ... He had found dancing listed as a pagan ritual in databases.
He thought fleetingly of his sister, Lucida, and wondered if she was all right, or if Harlan Gibbs had
paid her a visit, too. How far does a "bacterium of treason" spread? Or a "viral conspiracy"? Welkin
didn't know. Perhaps he never would. Families were no longer the unit of childhood maturation as they
had been on Earth centuries ago. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters—outdated modes of thinking,
dangerous modes of thinking!Colony had done away with such sentimental and socially corrupting
concepts. There was only one family that existed now: the family of humanity. And by definition that was
to be found only onColony.
Hysterical screaming broke into his thoughts. The lights dimmed, flickered, and went out. Welkin
almost screamed himself. For all his officer training, for all the endless neural simulations he'd
experienced,darkness was still the most dreaded cataclysm that could befall the Skyborn. A thousand
souls screamed as one in a darkness blacker than space.
Colonyhit. It plowed into the Earth with vast and implacable inertia. Nothing could possibly stand in
its way. Welkin was thrown across the room. Somewhere deep in the ship the thrust resistors screamed
as more power surged through their overheated circuits and they died. But before they expired in a
spectacular shower of sparks and smoke, they did their job, the last that would be asked of them. They
broughtColony safely home.
Almost immediately, a frightening cacophony of noise filled the ship in all directions: tons of hardened
plastisteel twisting and buckling as the ship warped under gravity, fractures spiderwebbing through
bulkheads and decking . . . Farther still, on the edge of hearing, Welkin could make out a cascadeof
pings andcracklings as the mighty hull cooled.
Despite his fear, he knew he was high enough up inColony not toget crushed, although he could feel
the vessel tilting as more lower decks folded in on themselves.
He prayed Lucida was somewhere safe, and he prayed that the lights would come back on.
This was worse than any nightmare.Colony was like a living organism, and like any organism it was
susceptible to disease or, in this case, contamination. Bulkheads would be ruptured, portholes smashed.
If all duty stations were still functioning, then danger spots would be quickly sealed off. Under no
circumstances could they permit the skyworld to be contaminated by the insidious disease-infested
environment of Earth.
Colony'slast massive groan, as it settled into its final resting place, almost drowned out Captain
Sobol's last ordio announcement:
"We are down. We are home."
The multitieredColony would have burned out high in the atmosphere were it not for its shields and
antigravity stabilizers. Even so, it struck Melbourne, a city in the southeast of what was once called
Australia, at sixty miles an hour.
Colony'sshields took the brunt of the collision, then dissolved asColony's power overloaded and
shorted. The lower levels collapsed like trodden cardboard as thousands of tons of extruded titanium
concer-tinaed on impact.
The resulting shock wave toppled tall buildings in a five-mile radius. A cloud of dust shrouded
Melbourne's skyline for forty-eight hours.
The pallid sun broke through on the third day.
Elder Jamieson, in charge of Earth reconnaissance, pursed his lips. Now was as good a time as any to
make an initial foray. They'd need to establish safe territory from the earth scum and construct a barrier
aroundColony until its massive damaged infrastructure could be sealed from outside contamination. But
first they needed to know what was out there.
"Leeson," he said, without turning. His subordinate, a short, thickset man, responded. "Sir?"
"We need a foraging team, to get the lay of the land. I doubtwhether the Earthborn will have much
food. Supply the scouts with scanners; there might be some ancient food vaults that haven't been
desecrated by the heathens."
"Yes, sir, Elder, sir."
"And Leeson."
"Elder, sir?"
Elder Jamieson turned slowly. His voice was crackly and held no pity. "Expendables, Leeson. I doubt
they will last long out there. Wire them up for telemetry. I want continuous readings for all possible
contaminants, infectious agents, and background radiation." He waved his hand dismissively.
"As you wish, Elder . . . sir."
"One more thing. If any of them make it back to the ship, throw them down below."
Welkin was among the fifteen-strong party that was dispatched outside. The team comprised several
suspected lower deck sympathizers plus those, like Welkin, who had had the misfortune to be exposed
to the "contagion." There were also three army personnel who had volunteered for this mission. One thing
Colony would never be short of was dedicated zealots!
They fell about like bowling pins at first. On boardColony, where corridors were perfectly flat and
even the farming and recreational areas were designed for safety, few Skyborn had ever developed the
need to learn about rough terrain. They coped as poorly as Earthborn might if confronted with
weightlessness.
"Take it easy," a voice rasped loudly in Welkin's headset. "All of you. Get a puncture in your suit and
we're leaving you out there."
Welkin swallowed, fighting a moment of panic. Nothing could be worse than to be left in hostile
territory. It was certain death.
Wearing heavy-duty work boots and a gray contamination coverall withColony in black letters
embroidered on the upper right arm, Welkin gingerly picked his way through the skeletal remains of a
building. He ducked beneath twisted girders and more than once losthis balance on jagged outcrops of
concrete and tangles of sharp metal.
The vid sims onColony had said that it would be bad, but this was worse than he had imagined.
There was nothing here, just a desolate wasteland and a never-ceasing wind that keened eerily
through the ancient buildings. Even the broiling, sullen sky bore no resemblance to the smog-laden
atmosphere he had expected.
Could the entire planet be like this? Maybe somewhere—on another continent—it was different.
Either way, it was hard to imagine that this was the birthplace of humanity, that his ancestors had evolved
on this desolate speck of mud. He looked back quickly at the quietly rumbling ship, squatting on tons of
smoking rubble. Even stronger in his mind now was the silent thought that Harlan Gibbs had placed there.
Redemption. Hope. A way to rejoinColony . . .
Welkin knew then that he must prove his loyalty to the rest of the Skyborn. He must win his way back
into the folds of the only family he had ever really known. With a sudden chilling resolve that he had never
felt before—that was somehowadult —he knew he would dowhatever it took . . .
But right now he had to concentrate, had to stay focused. He pushed those other thoughts away. He
knew why he had been sent on this mission. He was an expendable, a "discard." It was either this
broken, tumbled hellscape, or the lower decks. He almost laughed, which was a strange thing in itself.
From where he was standing, he wasn't quite sure which was worse.
He tried to block out the excited voices on his headset. He felt more sadness than excitement. He felt
resentment tear through him. He hadn't even been given a chance to farewell Lucida. It was just so—
"For crying out loud! Quinn!" shouted a voice. "We're under attack!"
Welkin jerked from his thoughts.
Over to his left, three of his party had broken rank and were stumbling back to the ship.
"I don't see anything!" Welkin shouted. Panic swept through him.
"Go to ground!" their group leader snapped. Two of them followedthe order. The other kept going.
He had almost made it to the gaping docking tube when bullets thudded into him. He crashed down and
was still.
"Cover!" snapped a voice made tinny by the transmitter. "Sightings?"
"Glover here," came a cautious voice. "I've scanned them." He paused, but Welkin could hear his
labored breathing. "They're everywhere," he whispered in a disbelieving tone. "Space demons above!
The ground's crawling with Earthborn!" he shouted suddenly.
Welkin looked about frantically. Before he could see anything, gunfire sent him scurrying for cover.
He hugged the ground so closely he could almost smell the dirt through his filters.
The others started fleeing through the rubble. Erratic gunfire echoed off the decaying walls. Welkin
chanced a quick look and saw two make the ramp. He watched with horror as the doors closed. A third
crew member barely touched the ramp when he suddenly flung up his arms and toppled to the ground.
"Flankers' report," Welkin said hesitantly. None of his training onColony had prepared him for this.
Welkin switched channels, frantically searching for voices. A white silence overrode the busy static from
the field station."Colony. Do you read me,Colony? Red Tag reporting."
Through his faceplate he saw the crippled craft tilted at an unnatural angle. Its solar shields were up. It
may as well have been a blank wall of metal.Colony was maintaining radio silence."Colony, do you read
me?" His communications circuits cut out.
"Ohmistars," Welkin mumbled. "Ohmistars. Ohmistars." He wanted desperately to be out of here. He
wanted space. He wanted the dull thready thrumming ofColony's main drives as he slept. He wanted to
look out of a viewer and see the comforting vastness of star-flecked space. Most of all he wanted his
摘要：

      Fourteen-year-oldWelkinQuinnglancedatthebulkhead.Thetimedialshowedthathewasfiveminuteslateforhisdutyshift.Thecaptainwouldprobablyhavehimtossedintheship'srecyclersandinquireastohistardinesslater.Hefinishedtuggingonhisboots,checkedhisuniforminthetinymirrorhisensign'squartersbarelywarranted,andex...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：111 页 大小：1.22MB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-22

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