The Lost Colony by DM Arnold (thriller books to read .txt) 📕

“In addition,” the captain said, “we will be transporting the diplomatic envoys to the surface. Mr Kyhana...”

Nyk stood. “There is a single national entity on Varada. The two continents are referred to as Varada Major and Varada Minor, and each has its own continental government. The national capital city is located on the eastern coast of Varada Major.

“Our diplomatic mission is to await the arrival of Special Envoy Tomyka Wells, at which time we will begin negotiations. Our objective is to agree upon a Letter of Intent to begin discussions exploring normalization of relations.”

“A Letter of Intent to begin discussions?” Zane asked. “We spent all this time and effort -- and all we'll walk away with is a Letter of Intent?”

“That's enough Ensign,” the captain retorted. “You are out of order.”

“I'm sorry, Sir,” Zane replied.

“Let me address this,” Nyk interjected. “I agree this sounds like a ... a modest objective. There are ... complications regarding Varadan society that we must understand before we can proceed with full normalization. This mission will be a step in that direction.”

“And -- don't forget that comm relay,” the captain added. “That alone will facilitate further discussions after we have obtained that Letter of Intent. Any questions?”

He looked around the table.

“None heard. Once we have transported the envoys, and once the tachyon uplink is in place, we will continue our mission of hyperspace contour mapping in and around the Varadan system while the talks progress. Upon conclusion of the diplomatic mission -- we return home.”

Hayt looked around the table again. “This concludes our briefing,” he said. “Advise your teams accordingly. Dismissed.”

Nyk headed toward his cabin. “Well?” Andra asked.

“Planetfall Varada this watch,” Nyk replied.

“It's about time. My eagerness to be off this bucket is tempered only by the knowledge we'll need to ride her home.”

Nyk belted himself into a jumpseat mounted to the aft bulkhead of the bridge. He felt the jolt of the jump.

“Gentlemen,” the captain said. “I give you Varada.”

The crew erupted into a cheer.

“We need to subjump to orbit,” Nyk said.

“We need to offload that comm relay,” the first officer replied.

Nyk followed the crewmen to the shuttlebay. Through the pressure door he watched suited crew haul the relay station out of the bay. Then, he saw Zane astride a personal thruster heading toward the station. Zane hooked a tether from the thruster to the station; then unhooked his own safety line. He opened the docking tunnel door and stepped inside.

The station's formation and safety lights came on; then the tachyon antennas blossomed. The docking tunnel door opened, Zane emerged, hopped onto his steed and guided it back toward the shuttle bay.

The clamshells closed and the bay pressurized. Zane unhooked his helmet and walked through the door.

“Status?” asked the captain.

“Operational,” Zane replied, “though I don't know for how long. That is the biggest piece of junk I've ever worked on.”

Nyk pulled out his handheld, switched it on and saw the comm uplink indicator. His vidisplay would now operate as if he were sitting at home on Floran. He switched it off and tucked it back into his sash.

“Well,” the captain said, “This thing only needs to work long enough to get us through the first round of negotiations. Well done, Ensign.”

“Let's hope,” Zane replied, “they don't drag the talks out.”

“Now, let's get this boat into orbit. Stations everyone.”

Nyk followed the officers toward the bridge. He poked his head into the cabin. “Andra -- come to the bridge. We're about to subjump to orbit.”

She joined him, sat on a bench at the aft bulkhead and took his hand. The warp indicators flashed white to blue and the subjump jolted the ship.

The captain addressed his first officer. “Take her in.”

“Yes, Captain ... Navigator, hyperbolic approach vector, if you please.”

“Locked in.”

“Helm...”

“Engaging...”

A blue world flecked with white began to loom in the forward viewpane. Andra leaned to Nyk. “I have to admit -- despite myself I'm giddy inside. Other than Lexal, I've never been offworld. This is exciting.”

“What about that stint you did on Earth with Zander?”

“That was harrowing. THIS is exciting.”

The blue sphere grew to fill the viewpane. Nyk could begin to make out surface features -- the coastline, cities, lakes and rivers.

“Decelerating to elliptical orbit,” the pilot reported, “apogee five hundred fifty kilometres; perigee four seventy-five.”

“Place her into orbital station-keeping,” the captain said. “Warp systems to standby. Away teams -- prepare for your missions.”

The scout's shuttlecraft swept toward the Varadan capital city. Nyk looked out viewports and pointed toward the green-brown continent that spread before them. “A remarkably Earth-like colony,” he remarked to Andra.

She nodded. “The most Earth-like of them all,” she replied. “What's that brown smudge over the capital city?”

Nyk peered. “Air pollution. New York City looks the same from this altitude. This society uses internal-combustion engines to power their transportation.”

“We've been instructed to land on the roof of one of the administration buildings,” the pilot said. “They have a landing area intended for rotary-wing aircraft there.”

Their craft went into station-keeping over a helipad atop a low building situated in a green, groomed park. Nyk watched as the roof approached and felt a bounce as they touched down. The hatch opened. He stepped out and headed toward the edge of the roof and looked toward the ground.

Below him were formal gardens planted with brightly colored shrubs arranged in geometric patterns. He glimpsed motion among the greens and reds and made out a bare-chested, dark-skinned figure tending the beds.

“Nykkyo Kyhana,” he heard someone call. Approaching from a stairwell was a middle-aged man in tan shirt and trousers. His shirt was cut to expose his left clavicle, on which were tattooed three scrolls. Insignia embroidered on his right sleeve identified him as an official of some sort.

“Nykkyo Kyhana, I am Prefect Ogan. Welcome ... welcome to Varada. It is my duty and my privilege to extend hospitality as we await the arrival of the envoy.” Through concentration, Nyk could piece together the meanings of his words, sifting through the nuances differentiating Old Lingwa from Esperanto.

He attempted to apply the nuances in formulating a reply. “Good day, Prefect. Please accept our thanks. I would like to introduce my companion and assistant Andra Baxa.” He gestured in her direction.

Ogan nodded a greeting and Andra made a deep curtsy. “I had heard she was accompanying you. Ms Baxa, you are a very beautiful woman. Please, this way. Our luncheon table is set.”

Nyk grasped his case and followed Ogan into the stairwell and down several flights to a conference room. Set on the table were three plates, each mounded with off-white, finger- length strands. Topping the mounds were scoops of a green puree.

Nyk sat and picked up a flat implement -- a rectangular, shallow spoon with three stubby prongs on the end. His eyes met Andra's and she smiled. He scooped some strands.

“Mmm, very good,” Andra said.

“No need to translate that,” Ogan replied. He stabbed some strands and held them up. “Pomma -- the staple of Varada. The whole grain provides all essential nutrients. We eat it with every meal.”

“Don't you tire of it?” Nyk asked.

“Never. To tire of pomma is to tire of living -- a Varadan aphorism.” Nyk took another mouthful. The flavor and texture reminded him of an Earth pasta.

“Pomma IS Varada,” Ogan continued. “Pomma gives us everything, from food to fiber to fuel.”

“Really,” Nyk replied. “Fuel, Prefect?”

“Alcohol, distilled from pomma mash. Do Florans still grow food and fiber under domes?”

“We certainly do.”

“Varada needs not. Pomma is a native plant, well adapted to the climate here.”

“You're fortunate to have a native biosphere compatible with humans.”

“Fortunate, indeed. Our colony wouldn't have survived otherwise.” He skewered and again held up some pomma grains. “It is a very labor-intensive crop to grow.” He touched his finger to the pointed end of a grain. “Each of these is a single kernel. From this end grows a tassel. It is essential that the tassel be removed before it matures. Left on, the kernels mature to become inedible. The only way to de-tassel pomma is by hand.”

“It must be difficult work,” Nyk remarked between bites.

“Yes,” Andra added, her Varadan thickly colored by a Floran accent. “It must explain your need for slave labor.”

“Please,” Ogan protested. “The cultivation of pomma was but one reason we developed a ... a stratified society.” He moved his hand back and forth at his eye level. “Whenever you encounter strata, by necessity some reside at the top...” He slid his hand along the table top. “... and some at the bottom. The bottom stratum is as important as the top, for it supports those above it.”

Nyk picked up Andra's thread. “Nonetheless, you found it necessary to impose involuntary servitude.”

“Given the choice of the top or bottom, one naturally chooses the top. If everyone inhabited the top, the structure becomes top heavy and collapses.” He made a collapsing gesture. He looked up and into Nyk's eyes. “I take it the notion of our stratified society does not appeal to Floran sensibilities.”

“Stratification? No, we have no problem with stratification. Some of our existing colonies have societies stratified to one degree or another. We do have difficulties with involuntary membership in a given level. And, lack of opportunity for advancement -- that's a problem, too. These were the principal stumbling blocks in normalizing relations.”

“We have solved both problems,” Ogan replied. “The bottom stratum is now...” He waved his hands in a cutting motion. “...gone. Absolutely gone.”

“How did you solve this problem?” Andra asked.

“Yes, how?” Nyk added. “With automation?”

“No ... perhaps yes in a loose sense. You will see shortly...” He scooped the last of his meal. “For dessert we have pomma cake. You won't believe it's made of the same plant. The kernels are ground into flour...”

“I suppose you have pomma bread,” Nyk interrupted. He skewered his last kernels.

“Certainly.”

“I'm finished,” Andra said as she set down her utensil.

“Excellent,” Ogan replied scarcely concealing his anticipation. He stood and pressed his hand to a control.

The door opened and a young man entered. Nyk struggled to conceal his surprise.

Standing before them was a figure about as tall as Nyk. His features were pleasant bordering on handsome. He was bald -- hairless to the point of lacking eyebrows and eyelashes, and he was bare-chested and dressed only in a pair of mid-thigh length shorts and sandals. His eyes were a bright yellow-orange. Tattooed on his left clavicle, in Roman characters was LKK882821.

His most conspicuous feature was the color of his skin. He was a deep forest green.

Ogan addressed him. “Eight-two-one, please clear the table and bring dessert.” The green man nodded in acknowledgement, picked up the plates and left. The door closed. “THAT, Nykkyo and Andra, is our solution.”

“What ... who ... was that?” Andra asked.

“He is an artificial being -- developed and bred in Varadan labs to fill the lowest stratum of our society.” Ogan's glance shifted between Nyk and Andra. “I apologize for the dramatics. He represents Varada's finest achievement, and I felt he needed an appropriately spectacular introduction.”

“He looks human,” Nyk replied. “Aside from the green skin -- he is human.”

Ogan shook his head. “He is not. Nykkyo, I understand you are a biologist...”

“A botanist -- an exobotanist to be precise. My training is in Earth plants.”

“Indeed. Tell me as a biologist, Nykkyo -- what is the primary test of species?”

“The ability to interbreed,” Nyk replied.

“That young man cannot breed with humans. No matter how he tried, there would be no issue. Even though his DNA is based on a human pattern, it is incompatible with human genes.”

The door opened and the man entered with plates holding golden squares dripping with a dark syrup. He placed them on the table and began to leave. “Eight-two-one,” Ogan said, “please wait.” He turned to face the table.

Ogan stood. “Let me point out some features... Structurally, similar to humans. Skeletal and muscle topography are identical to ours. Our genetic designers had some fun when it came to this species. For example, even though the external features resemble yours or mine -- internally, the anatomy is flipped.” He pointed toward the man's right ribcage. “The stomach