New Eden

Baker jumped at the warning’s flash and cracked his head against the girder he was crouched beneath. His helmet softened the impact, still his ears rang.

“Okay, boss?” he heard through the din.

Baker steadied himself then crawled out from underneath the hulking spherical tank and left his tools where they laid. Once out he pushed himself upright and stood facing his apprentice. “Just fine,” Baker said dismissively. “Better head in though.”

“You leaky?” Pablo asked.

“Ain’t like that.”

The two men trudged in silence the hundred meters from the tanks to the hab complex: three ruddy mounds connected by low ridges. Simple structures of aluminum framing and partially sunken layered plastic pressure vessels tamped down by a meter of dirt.

They reached the main entranceway, an oblong hatch ringed by lights at the bottom of a paved ramp, and Pablo pulled the lever and pushed in the door. The men shuffled noiselessly into the brightly lit vestibule. The hatch closed and noise returned as the pressure rose like the turning of a volume knob on a static comms channel. Baker unlatched his helmet and felt his ears pop lightly. The inner door’s light blinked green and a metallic thunk signaled the retraction of its locks. They levered it open and stepped over the raised threshold into the mud room.

Baker slid his helmet onto the top shelf of his locker. He could feel Pablo’s gaze on his back and he turned to face him. The young man’s curly black hair poked out of his skull cap in places and sprang lazily over his forehead. He had the sallow complexion of a native who’d never felt direct sunlight and his double-lidded eyes were crinkled at the corners with apprehension.

The older man pursed his lips and considered how to start. “Y’ought to get going,” he said finally. “Take the truck’n head into town for supplies. Don’t stop there.”

Pablo looked at him blankly. “Pardon?”

Baker sighed and turned back towards his locker and began to unzip his suit. “Y’been watchin’ the feeds’n know what’s what. Convoy just detached from the main column n’are heading here. Eighteen hours, maybe.” He wriggled his hands out of its gloves and slipped it off his shoulders. The torso dangled around his waist, the gloves fingertips dragging along the floor. Crouching over, he worked his left foot then his right our of their bootees.

“So?” Pablo asserted timidly. “They try’n take the farm, we give’m hell.”

Baker laughed. He was wearing only his undersuit and he cut a withered figure next to the young man’s still-suited bulk. He picked his crumpled suit up from where it lay at his feet and hanged it by its armpits from the pegs in his locker. “What hell’ve we to give?”

“We’ve enough hydrolox out there for a big one,” Pablo said. “Draw’m over to the tanks and whoop,” he whistled and made a tossing gesture with both gloved hands.

“I ain’t sabotaging my farm,” Baker said flatly.

He walked over to the door at the end of the room and pushed it open. On the other side was an octagonal room ringed by cabinets and dominated by a table in the center with seating for eight. He pulled a chair over to the wall and clambered onto it to reach a cabinet abutting the ceiling. He produced a half-full bottle of amber liquid and two glasses and climbed carefully down and set them on the table. He poured two fingers into each and drank his and set it down on the table. He filled it again and pulled over his chair and sat.

Pablo lingered in the doorway. “I got a rifle. Make short work of a couple’a suited goons.”

“Lord.”

Neither spoke for a minute. Pablo was leaning on the doorframe and looking at the floor while Baker sipped his whiskey.

Pablo looked up. “Picked it up a couple’a months back in town,” he continued. “Some of us ain’t ready to give up so easy.”

“You know how to shoot it?”

“Yessir,” he said with a nod. “Guys who sold me it showed how it works.”

Baker held his gaze until the younger man looked away. “I been watchin’ videos too,” Pablo said. “Mostly stuff outta old Earth.”

“You shot it?”

“Naw.”

Baker scoffed. “Get yourself killed.”

Pablo straightened up. When he wasn’t slouching he broke two meters easily. He had an athlete’s wide frame with an adolescent’s musculature. “Better’n runnin’ or rollin’ over.”

“It ain’t.”

Pablo stepped forward and put his hands on the table. “Something wrong with you a’sudden?” he said with what snarl he could muster. “Three years I been here and y’ain’t once backed down from what needed being done.”

“Nothing to be done here,” Baker hammered his fist on the table and the glasses rattled against its hard plastic. After a long pause Baker leaned back in his chair. “We drop these guys’n a dozen more come,” he said. “By then we gave up our chance to walk away.”

Pablo picked his hands up off the table and sat down in a chair. Baker pushed the second glass across the tabletop. Pablo drank a nip and coughed. He cleared his throat and downed the rest then wiped his mouth. “Won’t be like that for me,” he said.

Baker gestured for him to return his glass. “Have another,” he said. Might need it where you’re goin’, he thought.

Pablo was gone in an hour. With him went his rifle and the only vehicle capable of making the trek into town. Baker had suggested he tow a couple hydrolox tanks to sell for a bankroll and Pablo had tried to refuse. Done enough for me already, boss, he’d said. When’ll you learn, thought Baker.

Pablo left and Baker stayed at the table and finished the bottle.

Dawn hadn’t yet broken when the party arrived. Baker suited up and stood out front as two vehicles rolled down the long access road that divided his acres of solar panels. The vehicles drifted to a stop side-by-side twenty meters away, their low beams illuminating the clearing.

Baker lifted a hand to his visor to block the glare from the headlights as three figures curled around from behind each vehicle in a coordinated march. The leader of each group bore a tall staff from which a fringed standard draped. The silhouetted suits came to a stop in a line five meters in front of him, the flags on either end.

A brassy fanfare started playing in Baker’s headset. He flipped through comms channels and found all of them flooded. He muted his audio. A seventh figure emerged from behind the vehicles and strode towards them lazily over the ocher dirt. The inner two guards parted to let him pass and re-formed their line. The figure came to a stop in front of Baker.

They stood in silence for what felt like a while to Baker, then the figure stepped forward and stuck out his hand. Baker realized the man must have spoken and unmuted to find only expectant silence. A document appeared in his visor titled Rights, Entitlements, and Responsibilities of Citizens of New Eden (rev. 2.16.1). He opened it and flipped through the first few pages of hundreds.

He sighed and stepped forward, grasped the outstretched hand and shook.

Tinny trumpets blared. “Give our newest citizen a warm welcome!” a smarmy, unnatural announcer chirped in his ears. The invitation was met with a raucous ovation from an unseen crowd.

The applause died down quickly. “Two of our finest will be on hand around the clock help you through the onboarding process. As a valued member of our community, you have our full support to enable you get the most out of your privileged status as an Edenite.”

Baker started to speak then cleared his throat and started again. “Gonna need a truck to haul fuel to town’n supplies back.”

“Not to worry,” came the wheedling voice without hesitation. “Our tireless logistical engineers will ensure a supply vehicle comes by at the right time to collect your yield and bring any materials you need to keep living your best life.”

“Sounds’t me like—” Baker began.

The voice cut him off. “You’ll find all of the information you need in our welcome package. We appreciate your unyielding dedication to our shared cause. Remember: together we’ll sow the garden of New Eden on this this planet.” The figure turned on his heel and sauntered back towards the vehicles.

Two of the guards stepped forward and withdrew long drills from holsters on their backs. In unison each bored a meter down into the ground and kicked up a cloud of slow-settling dust. When the air cleared the standard bearers stepped forward and unseated the sharpened ends of their staffs from the mounts fastened around their waists. In teams of two they drove the flagpoles down into the holes left by the drills. The standard-bearer and the driller of each group marched off and disappeared and the vehicles wheeled around and started down the access road in single file. The remaining two guards stood next to the twin flags and looked fixedly past Baker towards the entrance to his hab.

Baker shifted on his feet but held his position as he watched the vehicles disappear over the horizon. In the dim pre-dawn light he felt the towering presence of the twin standards but could not make out the insignia they bore as they rippled gently in the thin wind.