Echoterminus: Echogenesis Book 3, page 4
The sun was a little too large, and not quite the right colour. The trees were—well, not trees, not exactly, but it was clear they occupied the same evolutionary niche as trees back on Earth.
Nor was the grass quite grass, either. The colours were all wrong, too, and a riot of unfamiliar odours filled the air—some pleasant, some rather less so. A cacophony of hoots and howls and odd grating sounds seemed to come from all directions.
Animals, Sam realised. Or perhaps insects and birds, or whatever their equivalent was here.
But the thing that really struck him the most was how fecund this new world was: how full of life. In that respect, it was much like Earth—or Earth as it had been, before it became clear the damage to the climate was irreversible.
Joshua and Sun had followed close behind Sam. “Look at it,” he said over his shoulder to them, gesturing at mountain peaks that were visible in the far distance. The lander had touched down on a gently sloping glade high on a hill, giving them a view over a forest that extended to the horizon in every direction he could see. “I can’t believe we did it. But we did, didn’t we?”
“We did,” Sun agreed. But when Sam reached out to take her hand, she suddenly stepped past him, making her way down the ramp and onto the not-quite-grass.
Sam worked to push down his disappointment. He hadn’t wanted to keep her in the dark for so many years, but it had been safer for her that way. If his and Traynor’s conspiracy had been uncovered, she could truthfully say she had known nothing.
Not that it changed the fact that he’d spent years lying to her.
Shading his eyes with one hand, Sam saw four young men and a girl standing together to his left and halfway to the nearest trees. After a moment, he realised these must in fact be Amit, Kim, Ethan, Kevin and Irish, all of them nearly half a century younger than he remembered. Ethan scowled at him, his arms folded, while the others stared at him in varying degrees of anger and confusion.
Vic Traynor and his people had taken up a station close by one of the lander’s legs, where it had sunk deep into the dirt. They, too, looked barely more than children to Sam—much as he must appear to them.
The space between these two groups looked like a virtual no-man’s-land.
Piper Rubin, standing by Vic’s side, raised a hand in greeting to Sam when he looked her way. Sam nodded back, but Vic had his back turned to the lander: he was in deep conversation with DeWitt Thomas.
“There the hell you are,” Ethan growled.
At these words, Vic finally turned to Sam and grinned widely.
Sun, meanwhile, had made a beeline for Ethan and the rest of the crew she recognised. Sam listened as she told them their commander was, in fact, entirely aware that fully half of the crew were people who shouldn’t be there.
The funny thing was, Sam had spent years preparing a speech in his head for precisely this moment: something that he hoped could pacify those members of the original crew long enough for him and Vic to present sufficient evidence to justify their actions. But now the time for that speech had arrived, his mind was a blank.
Ethan stepped past Sun until he stood almost directly in front of Sam. “What the fuck is this?” he declared. “You know who these people are? How about you tell us where the living hell the rest of our people are?”
Sam nodded at Vic, Piper and the others standing separately. “They are the crew now.” Sam gestured to Vic. “Could you join me, please?”
There was enough of a breeze coming across the treetops to carry his words to both halves of the crew without him having to raise his voice too much. That they had immediately split into two separate groups was hardly surprising, but now the moment of truth had arrived, he realised his first priority was to bring them together—however hard that might prove to be. Survival meant their being able to operate as a team at least as well as the originally planned crew.
Vic nodded and stepped up beside Sam where he stood on the ramp. At the same time, Vic reached into a pocket and took out a silver pendant on a fine chain. The dharmachakra glittered beneath the alien light as he placed it around his neck.
This came as a surprise to Sam. The only way Vic could have such a thing was by adding extra alterations to the Tsiolkovsky’s mission code to ensure the pendant was printed and placed inside his pod with him. Such a thing was stupid, risky and unnecessary—but entirely in line with the Vic Traynor Sam had come to know.
“How’s Sun taking it?” Vic asked quietly. “She doesn’t look happy.”
“Do any of them?” Sam replied. He sighed and tried to force his shoulders to relax. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Just remember what I told you,” Vic warned him. “Some people don’t like to be told the truth, even if you hand them a mountain of evidence.”
“I’m well aware.” Sam glanced again at the tiny buddhist symbol around Vic’s neck and decided not to comment. Most of the original crew were a mixture of agnostics and, in the case of both Amit and Kim, outright, even militant, atheists. How the latter in particular would react once they realised they were stuck for the rest of their lives on an alien world with a bunch of PTSD-riddled, ex-military Repentants was a question that had been praying on his mind for a long time.
“You!” Ethan stepped closer to the ramp and stabbed a finger at Vic. “Let’s start with you. Who the fuck are you?”
“His name,” said Sam, “is Vic Traynor. I’m here to explain everything, but it isn’t going to be simple, and it isn’t going to be easy. First, however, I need to tell you some hard truths about Martin Tenenbaum. Then, hopefully, you’ll understand why nothing’s like you thought it was going to be when you woke up.”
The other Repentants stood quietly together, watching Sam stand next to their leader—although Sam wasn’t sure priest might not be the better description. They, at least, knew exactly what was going on.
“Tenenbaum,” Sam continued, “was not remotely the man you all thought he was. I know you’d all heard the rumours.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, the truth is a lot worse than anyone imagined.”
For the better part of the next hour, Sam told Ethan and Sun and the rest of them everything. He told them of how the Initiative’s program to select future colonists only from the best and brightest had been quickly and secretly abandoned. Instead, they selected from among the wealthiest and most corrupt—anyone willing to pay for a future copy of themselves to start a new life under an alien sun, far from the consequences of Earth’s ongoing ecological disaster. Many had made deals to ensure their clones would have a place at the very top of any future colony’s social order, while everyone else would wake to find themselves relegated to near-slave status.
Martin Tenenbaum, Sam continued, would then use the same cloning technology he had employed to survive an assassination attempt to grant effective immortality to anyone who helped him maintain this state of affairs.
“How do you know all this?” Joshua demanded, his voice wavering with uncertainty. “And why didn’t you tell us all this before?”
“I was being watched too closely,” Sam explained. “I had friends in security, like Vic here, and I spent years gathering evidence until I was sure I had rock-solid proof. The only way to avoid being discovered was by keeping our plans secret.”
They were, at least, listening, he could see, even if Amit Subarash still looked deeply skeptical.
“Yeah,” said Irish, pointing at Vic, “but who is he?”
“Vic was head of security for Tenenbaum’s enclaves in Southeast Asia. He saw and heard things that disturbed him and eventually that led to him seeking me out. The truth in what he showed me was undeniable once I carried out my own investigation.”
“I approached Sam,” said Traynor, addressing Irish, “because Tenenbaum was going to create a paradise for despots, oligarchs and dictators, along with their private armies.” His fingers again brushed his dharmachakra. “Before I found my way to the truth, I saw, and did, terrible things. I started as an army sniper, then later became a hired killer. I didn’t care who I hurt, or why—and that,” he said, gesturing to Sam beside him, “includes your Mission Commander. It took him a long time to believe me when I told him I sought redemption beneath the eyes of God for my crimes.”
“Wait a second!” Kevin’s outraged voice carried across the clearing. “Is this asshole telling us he’s a Repentant?”
“Aren’t they terrorists?” asked Joshua, staring first at Vic, then at Sam. “You’ve got to be shitting us, right?“
“Call us what you like,” said Vic, his expression almost serene. He gestured to his people, gathered close by the lander on his right. “We all sinned against the Earth. We all sought redemption through undoing the wrongs we helped bring about.”
“It feels like we’re just supposed to take you at your word,” Sun spat, her eyes red and wounded-looking. “How can you tell us all this and just expect us to believe you?”
“Yeah,” Irish added, “and why are the rest of us still here? Why me, and not, say, Tomas Sancristan?”
“Everyone we removed from the mission manifest,” Sam explained, “was a member of Tenenbaum’s inner circle. Their only job was to make sure Tenenbaum’s true vision came about, instead of the lies he fed all of you. The reason you’re here, Irish, is that I trust you.”
Vic gestured to Piper and the other Repentants gathered nearby. “If you don’t like us, fine—but at least hear what we have to say before you pass judgement. Tenenbaum hired me specifically because he wanted me to get rid of anyone who was asking difficult questions. I did that by paying them off, threatening them—and sometimes worse.”
Including killing the woman I loved, thought Sam. He drew in a breath, feeling his hands tighten into fists at his sides. A long time ago, in another life and under a different star, Sam had sought revenge for Sarah’s death by hunting Traynor down—only to fail in his mission to kill him. Back then, he could never have imagined that Vic might one day hunt him down—first, to ask for his forgiveness, and second, to present him with irrefutable proof of the depth of Tenenbaum’s corruption.
“And with a story like that, we’re supposed to just believe you’ve got our best interests in heart?” Ethan demanded. “Are you insane?”
“I’m still the commander of this mission,” said Sam. “But I’m more than willing to step down and let someone else take over if any of you think you can do a better job. And I’ll accept your judgement, good or bad. But before you decide,” he said, nodding to Piper and the other Repentants, “listen to the rest of what they have to say.”
FOUR
THE OTHER AMIT
It has been two days since I witnessed the arrival of a new lander. In the hours since, I find myself pondering the following question: what, precisely, will this newest crew remember when they wake?
Until half a century ago, the Tsiolkovsky had become trapped in an endless loop by which it sent down landers crewed by amnesiacs, all of whom died without ever knowing how or why they came to be on Aranyani. That seemingly ended when a previous iteration of Sam Newman managed, however briefly, to return to the Tsiolkovsky. By doing so, he believed he could end the cycle of rebirth and destruction.
Instead, as I now know, the Tsiolkovsky created two new missions, both landing simultaneously, but separated by more than a thousand kilometres. The crew of my own lander comprised precisely those individuals whom Martin Tenenbaum intended for it: a mixture of qualified civilian scientists and engineers, such as myself, and members of his inner circle. Unlike all those countless previous missions, my crew, and myself, retained our full memories.
The parallel lander, by contrast, the same as all the preceding missions, substituted former members of the Initiative’s private security force for Tenenbaum’s inner circle.
As I subsequently learned, these security personnel were traitors to Tenenbaum’s cause, having tasked themselves with preventing Tenenbaum from fulfilling what I now know to be imperialistic plans for any prospective colony. But, remembering nothing past the early 2050s, they were entirely unaware of the reason for their being placed on the crew.
Which begs the question: what will the people aboard this third lander awake knowing? Who will they be? And, assuming they wake with full knowledge of their past lives, to whom will they be loyal—Sam Newman, or Martin Tenenbaum?
One could be allies, the other, enemies. And if they were to learn of the existence of the two other landers, with whom might they choose to ally themselves?
At first, such concerns filled me with an urgent need to travel to this newest lander with all haste, either to seek their aid, or, if necessary, destroy them. Yet the development of the pathogen by my own lander’s crew makes it clear that first taking action against them is by far my greatest priority.
To this end, I made use of a mini-copter salvaged from a derelict lander, only for it to become critically damaged during a storm, forcing me down. Once I had my bearings, I realised I was no more than a few days from a cache of equipment I had last visited years before. Among that equipment was another mini-copter.
Over the next several days I made my way on foot to the cave where the cache was located. The fire season had arrived, and the wind carried the scent of burning from afar. There is a species of winged insect, the life-cycle of which involves an exothermic reaction that—
I digress. A woven net, threaded through with dried leaves and vines, hides the cave entrance from direct view. Sometimes caches are disturbed by wildlife, or time has its way with complex equipment. The ‘copter, fortunately, appeared to have survived the years undamaged: its titanium shell and plastic-coated components had resisted the ravages of damp and mould, and its batteries, once charged, proved to have sufficient capacity for my needs.
After spending the rest of the day breaking it down into modular components and carrying them to a clearing below the caves, I reassembled the mini-copter, fearing as I did so that it might yet fail. The machine was centuries old, after all, and operating far beyond its expected lifespan. There is always the risk that such a machine might fail at a critical moment, plunging me into the forest.
I told myself to stop worrying and continued with my work. Once fully assembled, the mini-copter lifted off smoothly, filling my ears with a thunderous whine as its rotors sliced through the air. Smoke still drifted from afar, and I knew from previous experience burner-ticks were, at that very moment, incinerating whole swathes of the forest, as is common in fire season. I took care to avoid drifting clouds of the creatures, since they often combust the moment they land on a surface of any kind.
After that, it took me only another day and night to fly most of the way to the continent’s western coast. Once the mountains came into range, I dropped lower, until I was barely skimming the forest canopy. From then on I relied on my memory from long ago of traversing these same mountains to find my way. Flying over the mountains and landing on the shoreline north or south of my own lander would have been far quicker, but I would almost certainly be spotted and apprehended if I did.
Instead, I chose a landing on the eastern flank of the mountains a hundred kilometres north of the hidden caves.
There wasn’t time to conceal the machine. Susan Wells had surely seen the new lander descending through the atmosphere. And of course, she and Otto and the rest knew by now of the existence of the community on the mesa. I could not imagine her ignoring the existence of two other landers: she would be determined to approach one, or both—most likely with hostile intent.
That made it even more imperative that I act decisively, and without hesitation. I say this knowing that someone—most likely, a future Amit—will one day read these words and judge me for the things I intend to do.
To them, I say: I do not expect, nor ask, for forgiveness.
It was almost night when I left the ‘copter behind me and slipped into the forest in search of a place to rest for the night.
I have written here before of how I, having discovered the research left behind by my antecedents, ceased to think of myself as an individual. Nor was I the first Amit to adopt this way of thinking. Instead, each of us came to think of ourselves as instances of a single individual, with a lifespan measured in centuries, despite occupying distinct and separate, if genetically identical, bodies.
In truth, this is not unlike the epiphany Martin Tenenbaum had: that the instantiation technology he had created allowed for a type of immortality, one whereby the same mind could be ported into new clone bodies as each wore out. Yet where he saw an opportunity to maintain his power indefinitely, I—by which I mean, of course, both myself and my predecessors—had an entirely different vision for how the technology might be used.
By now, vast hordes of indigenes will be making their way toward the newly arrived lander, the crew of which are, of course, entirely unaware of the danger they are in. An equally vast horde are surely headed toward the mesa, if they are not in fact already there.
They are here, as well, but in lesser numbers than I might have expected. Looking out across the mountains from my vantage point high in the canopy, however, their campfires were clearly visible throughout the forest.
These, however, were not the focus of my attention. Rather, while scaling the tree, I had caught sight of a tallstone close enough for me to observe it through my binoculars. Once I had lashed myself to an upper branch, I noted dozens of claw prints pressed into the soil all around the stone. Clearly, a number of Cents had recently visited the tallstone.
The night passed uneventfully. At daybreak I made for a river several kilometres distant, consulting my notes as I went. Even so, it took several hours to locate the coracle where I had left it wedged between two rocks at the base of a hill overlooking the river. Fortunately, the carbon composite shell remained intact, although over the years since I had last been this way, the little boat had become half-buried in the dirt. It took longer than I would have preferred to make it river-worthy, but once I pushed it into the water and took hold of its paddle, it sailed well enough.
