Ellie Quin - 04 - Ellie Quin in WonderLand (10 page)

Shelby had definitely mentioned there'd been a caretaker team of twelve left to run this place. And she was pretty convinced there was something about them that the young man didn't want to discuss.

The number one question in Ellie's head was…
where the hell did they go?

CHAPTER 13

'Look at them, running around like bloody headless chickens,' said Deacon. He led Leonard and Karl across the busy intersection, through a swirling morass of foot traffic and impatient d-peds weaving their way perilously through them.

News of The Administration enforced quarantine had finally been officially announced on all the news streams yesterday evening and inevitably, a herd-like panic had spread among the population of New Haven overnight.

Deacon shook his head derisively at them.
Look at them rushing out this morning to spend whatever spare creds they have to stock up on that protein crap and drinking water
.

'You see, Karl, this is the problem we have with most of the colonised systems in Human Space. On every planet there's too much over-reliance on cross system distribution networks. A properly colonised planet should be able to stand on its own two legs. To feed itself. Not panic like this. Isn't that right, Leonard?'

'Yes, Deacon.'

'A world should be able to produce the essentials it needs instead of relying on everything being delivered to it.' He supposed this planet would last no more than a few days on whatever it had if it wasn't for a steady convoy of supply ships feeding it like a fat cuckoo in a nest.

They pushed their way through the squirming mass of people, many of them already shouldering shopping carryalls and rollbags laden with protein products.

'I blame commercial interests. Corporations sponsoring the cost of terraforming then dictating the economics of the planet. There are too many worlds, Karl, and far too many that specialise in producing just one thing. Holstein exports just meat, Rama…the minerals cerium and uranium. Celestion used to export water. And this place?' Deacon laughed.

'Produces nothing as far as I can see, sir' said Karl.

'Quite. A waste-of-space world. Nothing but a complete resource drain populated by lazy do-nothings.'

They crossed to the far side of the intersection, heading towards the southern entrance to the city; the entrance that led to the spaceport. It was guarded by a dozen well-armed and extremely trigger-happy looking law marshals. They looked on warily at the increasing chaos around them; a flurry of activity like an ant's nest stirred to life by the thump of a heavy boot.

Yesterday, Deacon had assumed direct control of this planet's largely ineffectual police force and deployed its limited manpower to guard the spaceport, the government block, New Haven's fusion reactor and its oxygen distribution plant. There were too few left over after that to try maintaining or enforcing any kind of order in the districts.

He stepped out of the chaotic flow of people and noticed a grubby shuttle-stop diner called
Dionysius
, fifty yards away from the guarded entrance. The owner of the business was busy securing thick wire-mesh grilles over grime-encrusted windows. Closed until further notice, quite clearly.

Deacon turned to his hired man.

'I'm going to get a synthi-caff. Do you want one?'

Karl seemed taken aback by that. 'Uh…that's…uh, yes. Thank you, sir!'

Deacon nodded and strode over towards the diner, picking his way through plastic bucket chairs and tables. Karl and Leonard watched him approach the owner and flash his ID card. The owner stared goggle-eyed at it then, flustered, ushered Deacon quickly inside holding the door wide open for him.

'Deacon must
really
like you,' said Leonard with a hint of resentment in his voice. 'He
never
normally does something like that.'

A minute later Deacon emerged again, a steaming styrofoam cup in each hand. He made his way back towards them.

'Here you are. Very strong and very sweet.' He peeled the plastic lid from his cup and inhaled deeply. He nodded approvingly. 'Not that bad for a slap n grill.'

'Thank you, sir.'

He blew on it then took a sip. 'Drink up, Karl. You'll need the caffeine. We have a very busy day today.'

A greyhound rumbled noisily overhead, thrusters hissing as it descended to street level and disgorged yet more anxious-looking tower-dwellers desperate to fill their shopping carryalls with whatever meagre offerings were left on the shelves.

'Come on.' Deacon led the way towards spaceport's entrance. He flashed his ID at the law marshals, and led them through the entrance, along the connecting corridor into the immigration hall beyond.

For once it was cavernously empty. Only a dozen immigration officers standing beside their booths talking to each other in muted voices that still managed to echo off the arched ceiling, all of them clearly wondering what was going on. The Port Administrator caught sight of Deacon and hurried over. His forehead glistened with beads of sweat and his cheeks were mottled pink with stress. Or anger. Or both.

'You must be
the man
The Administration has sent over, right?' He didn't wait for an answer. Clearly word had spread. 'Just what the hell is going on here?'

'Well now, I presume you saw the news last night?'

'Administration enforced quarantine, yes. That's what they
reported
. But I've not come across
any infectious
-.'

'There may have been an outbreak of H0-N1.'

The Port Administrator stopped. His eyes widened. 'H0-N1? The…that….my god, that's the
melting
disease isn't it?!'

The pathogen was one that had been experimentally developed by a corporation meddling with 'viral terraforming' technology; a virus that could transmit across
any
species barrier, infect any organic host and transform it into a neutral cellular soup. Needless to say the experiment on one particular world hadn't gone well. Turned out a small number of people had a natural genetic immunity to it and could carry the pathogen in their blood without any symptoms. A number of worlds in the same system had experienced horrifying outbreaks.

'Yes, the 'melting disease'. The very same. Now listen, I arrived here a few days ago with a pathology investigation team. We identified several possible
carriers
. I've had them and their immediate families and associates isolated and…neutralised.'

Neutralised
. The man probably guessed what Deacon meant by that.

'We're not taking any chances with this. This entire system is locked down and all commercial traffic between planets within it will be grounded immediately until we give the all clear.'

'But…but, that's impossible! We need-'

'Emergency supplies
will
be distributed by The Administration. Don't worry, we're not going to let you all starve out here.'

'But this is-!'

'This is not a discussion. This is how it is. As of now this spaceport has been appropriated under emergency protocol measures and will be handed over to the Colonial Marines and used as a supply and control point for Harpers Reach.' He smiled politely at the administrator. 'So, as of now…your services and those of your staff are no longer required.'

Deacon offered his hand to the man. 'Thank you for your cooperation. I suggest you and your people go home and spend some time with your families. It's going to be a difficult few weeks, I'm afraid.'

The administrator's face blotched more darkly. His forehead glistened. He ignored the hand. 'This is an outrage! You can't just take over my port without-'

'Oh?' Deacon's expression hardened. His patience was being stretched pretty thin this morning. He really didn't have any time for this kind of Little Napoleon bullshit. 'Let me guess, you're worried you're not going to have access to your black market kickbacks for a while? Your little luxuries? Your special perks?'

The man's mouth snapped shut with a
clup
.

'Oh, dear.' Deacon offered him a pout of mock sympathy. 'I'm afraid it looks like you'll have to put up with basic emergency rations just like everyone else for a while. Pity.'

The man glared at Deacon. An ineffectual, neutered challenge.

'Off you go then, before I order a full audit of your files and desk work.'

The administrator turned to go but Deacon grabbed his arm and stopped him. He took a final slurp of his coffee and handed the half full cup to him. 'Find a bin for this on the way out, would you?'

The man looked at the cup. Deacon dared him to say something more. Instead, his glower became nothing more than a curl of the lip. He took the cup, turned round and called out to his staff to follow him and vacate the hall.

Normally, this place would have been a deafening cacophony of queuing, chattering immigrants and barked conversations between surly immigration officers and the desperate and hopeful. Now it was silent. Deserted.

'Finish your coffee, Karl. You're going to need that caffeine. We have lots to do.'

Karl nodded obediently and drained the styrofoam cup.

Deacon led him and Leonard over towards a large observation blister. The large plastex blister was scuffed and scoured by decades of wind-blown grit but still clear enough for them to see the foggy view across the hodge-podge shanty town of welded together habicubes below; an encrustation of labyrinthine squalor around the base of the dome. Those were the homes of hopefully waiting immigrants. Beyond that, the infinite acres of checkerboard landing pads stretching out as far as the eye could see. No parked vessels today. Every occupied pad had been cleared, the occupants of every below-ground bay evicted to make way for the imminent arrivals.

Deacon leant forward and shaded his eyes as he gazed up at the pink morning sky. 'And about bloody time.'

Hanging high up in the planet's thin atmosphere loomed a long dark shape. Deacon could just about make out its outline and the faintest shimmer of the sun reflecting off the belly of its vast carbo-steel hull.

From its underside spilled a line of dark dots as small as midges that increased in size as they descended towards the spaceport; orbit to surface shuttles. The nearest of them shimmered momentarily as its entry shields swung down and deployed, deflecting the friction heat of atmospheric entry.

Much closer now, they could be seen in far more detail; inelegant brick shapes of olive green carbo-steel with ident-numbers stencilled on the sides. Thrusters flared beneath them as they approached the landing field and as their descent reached the last few hundred feet each bright flare was accompanied by a dull roar that vibrated through the observation blister.

Landing struts emerged mechanically beneath the first barge as it slowly descended towards a pad in the middle of the field kicking up a cloud of red dust and grit. They felt a final faint vibration as it touched down.

A moment later, out of the swirling dust, figures began to emerge in two untidy columns. Figures wearing oxygen masks, hunched over with kit bags slung uniformly over their left shoulders slowly trudging their way across the vast field of landing pads towards the domed city.

'The cavalry's arrived,' said Leonard in a singsong voice.

Deacon nodded. 'Quite right, lad. The cavalry's finally arrived. Boots on the ground.'

Leonard looked up at him. 'You think we'll find her, Deacon?' Wide doe-like eyes, full of trust. He could the tell the boy the universe was made of cookies and cream and Leonard would happily throw away every bit of understanding his troubled mind had painstakingly assembled thus far to accommodate that.

Deacon reached out and squeezed the young man's shoulder. 'We'll find her.'

He looked at Karl. 'Won't we?'

The mercenary nodded. 'Yes, sir.'

OMNIPEDIA:

[Human Universe open source digital encyclopedia]

Article: Damnation and Hell - popular interpretations

The last census of all of Human Space was conducted during the time of The Administration. Among the subjects examined were Belief Systems. This last census - conducted over seven centuries ago - listed one hundred and twenty-six clearly defined marginal religions, as well as the mainstream ones; Chrislamic Faith, The Rebornist Church, WangeePaPa/WangeeMaMa and Jedism. The vast majority of these can be traced back to the original Old Earth faiths, the variations multiplying as these faiths travelled with their followers to far off worlds and evolved over time to create many different versions. Those faith variants that most quickly adapted to suit their local planetary conditions consequently flourished, while those that hung onto old values, soon withered and died. Ironically, a very Darwinistic survival principle.

Localised environmental variables had a strong effect on some of the more exotic versions of these exported faiths. For example on high UV worlds, those with darker skins were more capable of getting out and about under the glare of sun light and achieving more things. Thus, faiths on those types of worlds tended towards depicting their figures of authority and virtue as having darker skins, while their characterisation of evil or moral decadence tended towards figures with paler, almost snow white, skins. On high gravity worlds, the virtuous are depicted as short and squat, the evil as tall and thin.

It is, however, most interesting to examine how differently these varying faiths and cults depicted their versions of Hell. The Church of Koplar WangeeMaMa represented the underworld as a place where the genders were separated and sexual interaction never occurs. The Holy Burners (from ice world - New Nirvana) depicted Hell as frozen and cold…while their Heaven burned in an eternal, luxuriously warm, fire. But perhaps the most curious Hell was that proposed by the Church of Envisionist Pragmatism who believed all virtue and goodness appeared solely in the present. Thus history itself was seen as the domain of the devil.

User Comment
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Hugzenkissus

We all have personal heavens i think. My personal heaven would be bottled starlight and a sky full of love beams. My warm cuddly genokitty on my lap and my favourite volume of headpad stories.