Never Paradise

They were nearly to the ground when the shuttle’s sensors beeped, notifying them of the presence of human lifeforms awaiting them next to the decayed hull of an old hyperlight vessel that they’d only detected moments before.

“How the hell did we miss that too?” Ronson muttered, running a third calibration sweep of the shuttle’s sensor array—not to mention the score or so he’d need to do of the Starlight’s systems when they returned to her back in orbit.

“Atmospheric interference, isotopic distortion, a half-dozen or more other natural explanations. Does anything really surprise you anymore?”

Ronson could only grunt at Eonyn’s reply. He was right. At this point, nothing should surprise them. Still, three humans—that they could see, with others certainly somewhere out of sight with no alert before imminent landing was difficult to explain. And on a world that seemed to be something of a paradise, if the information they had managed to gather from the Starlight’s instruments could be trusted at all. That was a bit too much for Ronson and he knew Eonyn probably had similar suspicions and no doubt his own supply of questions.

#

When the men exited the shuttle, the valley overwhelmed their senses with the delightful aroma of exotic flora, vibrant purples and yellows bursting from manicured beds, and a sweet-smelling carpet of bluegrass. Eonyn couldn’t help but notice that everything around them was of human stock. No small accident and maybe even a minor miracle. The rusted hull of a ship not so very different from their own landing craft, though much older and considerably larger from the features that still remained visible despite the decay, was the only thing despoiling what otherwise could only be described as Gaia to all the senses. The shuttle’s scanners had appeared to indicate as much, but neither man much trusted their ships’ instruments after their previous oversights. The oddest thing, though, was their welcoming committee. Three men, with a seemingly-generational gap between their ages, but with nearly identical features awaited them.

“Do we just get back in the shuttle and go?” Eonyn asked.

“If we had any sense we would,” Ronson answered.

“But if we had much of that we wouldn’t have signed on to be Colonial Scouts.”

“So … maybe we stay for a bit and find out what’s going on here? Could make for an interesting report back to Alpha for once.”

“They don’t ever seem to believe the interesting ones.”

“Almost makes you wonder why they send us out here.”

Both men grinned, neither removed the small transparent helmet of their exosuits. The sensors said the air was perfectly breathable, but ten minutes ago it said there was no living thing or technology on this world. Suspicion had kept them alive so far and would hopefully do so again.

The three men approached after several moments of hesitation, and the oldest of them began to speak almost as soon as they were close enough for him to not have to raise his voice.

“I greet you in the name of the Father.” His words were uttered quickly, almost as if by rote, his eyes unfocused and his voice a bit hollow as if he did not want to speak the words but had no choice. “We request in his name that you keep atmospheric use of your thrusters to a minimum for the duration of your stay here. Their use could upset delicate and vital experiments that are currently underway as a part of our efforts to make this world optimally habitable.” The man grinned, the expression completely devoid of emotion to the point that it would’ve been more believable if he’d simply put on a poorly carved mask of a happy clown.

Ronson and Eonyn nodded almost in unison, both men noticing immediately that the other two stood behind their elder, their heads slightly bowed almost as if in reverence.

“We greet you in the name of the Emperor—”

“We are glad that the Empire still stands. This is good news. Unfortunately you have arrived much earlier than anticipated.” The man frowned, this gesture much more convincing. “Even so, the Father desires to meet with you, and his time is short. You must come with us now.”

Eonyn started to protest, but the trio were already walking away and the oldest man spoke again.

“You must come.” His tone offered no room for argument or negotiation. The explorers followed.

On the way to see the one they referred to as Father, the younger two men of the welcoming trio took turns rattling off random facts and statistics regarding planet habitability and environmental suitability, while also occasionally entreating the explorers to remove their helmets. Twice, the older man interjected that while the figures given by his younger compatriots may sound excellent, things still were not optimal in the environs and there were many issues that still required intensive research to come to acceptable resolutions. The duo kept silent, discreetly checking their monitoring equipment every few seconds to make sure every syllable of what was being said was being recorded and transmitted back to Starlight.

Father was in a clearing, reclining on a beach chair beneath a flowering tree of a variety Eonyn was ashamed to realize he didn’t recognize. The clone guide hadn't been exaggerating about the urgency; they had bypassed the ancient ship entirely, brought straight to the old man with no delay.

Ronson’s first impression of the old man laid out on the elongated chair was that they had very unfortunately just missed him in a permanent way. Eonyn almost sighed, having thought the same thing until the seemingly ancient man—made primarily of skin and bone, it seemed—stirred.

Father’s eyes snapped open suddenly and he fixed his gaze on Ronson and Eonyn, making an effort not to blink after several moments of surprisingly intense staring from a man that they’d mistaken for deceased only moments before. The old man cleared his throat in an effort that seemed like it might kill him and waved dismissively at his clones. Ronson wondered how long it had taken him to age so much, and how young he might’ve been when he arrived on this world.

“Go now. There is much that must be discussed, but—”

“There is always work to be done, Father.” The oldest of the group bowed before all three of them dismissed themselves from the clearing, obviously eager to head back to whatever new experiments or studies demanded their attention.

When the explorers returned their attention to Father, he had a deeply dissatisfied expression plastered across his face. He began to speak but it was less than a whisper even amplified by their suits’ external mics. Both men drew closer and took a knee but his speech was still difficult to make out, if somewhat more intelligible. They looked at each other and sighed almost in unison before cracking the seals on their helmets and removing them.

“It’s all they can do. A flaw in their design. I was impatient. Short-sighted.” He shook his head in exasperation. “This place has been as nearly perfected as it can be by us for almost a decade now. Which, truthfully, is pretty damned close if I do say so myself. Seventy years I labored, and a good many of those years my sons labored beside me, hand in hand, assistants in all my many efforts.” The old man was quiet for a few moments. “I had hoped they would change as I have. That they would one day come to cease their genetic programming and … relax, but it’s starting to seem as if that isn’t possible.”

“Even after you’re gone they can still change. Morbid as it is, maybe your passing will be that catalyst. A wakeup call, if you will.” Eonyn blurted into the silence. Ronson considered strangling him for a brief moment.

“A catalyst … yes, but not in the way you think. There are others, as well. A newer generation … I suppose generations, now. They came about more naturally. They have their own defects, but not one so fatal as to be able to only work when you live in paradise. There is … tension between them and my sons. I fear that my continued presence and known desire that there be no conflict among them is all that has kept open war between the factions. I fear my sons will win. Then what?”

“Wait, they’re your grandchildren … or possibly great-grandchildren, right? You think your sons would kill their own offspring to maintain an optimally efficient ecology?”

“Would they make weapons of war and slaughter their children and grandchildren? Perhaps not, but there are other ways. They don’t think I pay attention anymore, or maybe they think I’m just too frail and weak-willed to do anything about it, but I do pay attention. Enough to know that Prime cut off Sector Eight’s water last week because of what he likes to call ‘inefficient allocation of resources.’ Some of the new children opened an irrigation tank to fill a little pool they’d made to cool off in. I didn’t spend my life creating a paradise with my sons so that their children couldn’t go swimming on a hot day.”

“Surely if things were that bad you would’ve put a stop to it. What can we do if you can’t do anything about it?” Ronson gave Eonyn an incredulous glance. The primary option available to young, fit outsiders would be physical violence, and they were scientists, not boxers.

The old man let out a wry chuckle and shook his head bitterly. “Unfortunately, there is nothing this dying biological unit can do to stop my eldest, now.” Father shifted his gaze and so did Ronson, to Prime, who had rejoined them at the edge of the clearing, apparently content to silently monitor their conversation without interfering.

“And we should do what?” Eonyn asked. “You want us to tie him up and stuff him in a utility closet somewhere? You say he cut off a sector's water a week ago. If he had, wouldn't they have all died of dehydration by now?” His questions were half for Prime, but he offered no answer. He just watched them with that same smooth, unblinking serenity, his hands folded like a statue.

“My Imperial master codes have lapsed, almost nine years ago, in fact. The administration hard at work as always. I cannot override another account administrator.” He motioned to Prime, who continued to be a biological statue. “But either of you would be able to with your Scout clearances, I’m sure. You don’t need to fight anyone. My sons were engineered with flaws, as has become apparent to me, but they were also engineered to be unable to harm Imperial citizens, as a safeguard for the eventual arrival of other men to this place. Had I imagined what they might do to their own kin, I would have engineered better safety protocols. This is the burden of hindsight. I have failed, but you could walk into the command center and override his master access. You could put an immediate stop to this madness!”

The old man’s eyes went wide with the exertion of his last exclamation and he sat up straight for a moment, almost as if he would rise from his recliner, before he slumped—his final breath slipping out in a gasp, eyes fixed on Prime.

Ronson turned and started for the edge of the clearing. “Where’s the command center?” he asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I would be happy to assist you to the command center, but that really isn’t necessary.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Eonyn asked, following quickly after his partner.

“I’m putting an end to the madness. Now.” Ronson’s tone was not an invitation for debate, but he stayed planted where he was, standing between Eonyn and Prime.

“Listen, I get where you’re coming from, I do, but if you go into the command center and override his master controls you don’t know what happens next. Hell, we don’t even know for sure what’s happened up until now. You’re a scientist, so start acting like one.”

“He cut off their—”

“No. A dying, potentially senile man told you he did. We don’t know that. We don’t know anything except what we’ve been told and that’s far too little to start making drastic changes to someone else’s civilization.”

Ronson looked past his partner's shoulder to Prime, who simply stood waiting in the shifting sunlight—a perfect, unreadable monument to an old man's obsession, while the sweet air of a borrowed heaven drifted over them, entirely silent.