Short Stories

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One by one the telltales and instrument lights came on, a choreographed light show culminating with the opening hiss of the Cryo Chamber. The naked man inside sat up stretching and scratching, coughing and hacking. He crawled out and went rummaging through a cabinet, looking for something to wear. A quick trip to the 'john' and a 5 minute warm shower produced a semi-presentable human being, who grabbed a container of liquid refreshment and flopped down into the command chair, sipping the beverage while hitting the "on" button for the viewscreen. He spoke in a dry, raspy voice.
"Okay, HAL, I guess we're here or you wouldn't have warmed me up."
A soft metallic voice filled the room. "We are 12 hours from Epsilon Delta Epsilon Nu, our programmed destination, Dave."
Actually, my name isn't Dave. It's Steve Behr. We spacers are allowed to program our companions with our choice of voice and personality. Most choose a spouse or favorite actor, but I'm a 20th Century history buff so I picked the HAL 9000 from a popular video of the time.
By trade, I'm a WAG Field Tech. That's W.A.G., for Williamson Atmosphere Generator, named for the literary giant who first coined the concept of Terraforming, back in the 20th Century. The WAG is manufactured by SONY (what isn't these days) and is the single most important link in spreading the human population among the stars. Find a planet of sufficient size and rotation the right distance from a sun, soft-land a WAG on it, wait, oh, 10 to a 100 years, depending on its initial atmosphere, and voila, another Earth. WAGs are so well engineered they rarely fail, and they come with a lingual capability that makes servicing easy-- you just ask it what's wrong. That's why I'm here. The mental giant who programmed this WAG suddenly disappeared and BIO is concerned about its umteen-billion dollar baby.
To fill the time before planet fall, I fed Epsilon's data disc to HAL's display and the more I read the more curious I became. This planet is so far off the beaten path that its effective chance of being discovered is virtually zero, yet not only did someone find it, that someone had the power to grant it a WAG. It has but one continent and its mineral wealth is quite low. Unless some bigwig wanted it for a personal water sports rec world its uses are very limited. No Settler Group would consider it worth the Claim investment. A WAG Programmer must know about his planet in order to set his parameters, but he doesn't choose the planet. That decision is made higher up, at Parsec Central. No one has the money or power to create their own world.
As we approached the world, I got my second shock of the day: there was another ship already in orbit, an old cargo ship hanging in the blackness, its running lights the only sign of life. Since the ship's shields were down, I scanned it and found no life forms. Its lander was in its bay, so that meant the trespassers had invaded the planet and sent the lander back on remote. They planned to stay, forever, if they didn't have a satellite hook-up. That made me mad! There are certain procedures for settlement: first, a WAG Tech certifies the planet habitable, next Survey sends a BIO Team to map it out, then Central decides if the planet should be kept out of circulation for any number of reasons, and if not, finally it is released for Claim. None of this had occurred, so these were claim-jumpers! I parked next to the cargo ship and took my lander down to the planet.
I spotted the WAG at the edge of a clearing and landed nearby. When I exited the airlock, I was hit by a wall of warm, fragrant air. Not only did this planet possess a near perfect temperature of 75 degrees and lush vegetation, weighed down with edible fruits, it was also blessed with a rich, black soil able to grow about anything. I saw brightly colored birds in the trees and small quadruped ruminates grazing in the tall grass. I didn't see any weeds. This place was a paradise, and since a WAG couldn't create these things, one of the approaching humans must have been with BIO.
As I waited, I calculated their numbers and made my observations. Roughly eighty humans, of mixed race, age, and gender, several children gamboling around the edges of the group. They all wore flowing robes of various colors, and the older males affected long facial hair, beards I believed they used to be called. They walked with practiced ease, and seemed untroubled by my landing. The man I assumed to be their leader carried a walking stick, or staff , and wore a peaceful smile as he spoke.
"Welcome, Brother Behr, we have been expecting you. I am Moah, and we are the Chosen of God. We offer you refreshment and rest from your long journey."
A bloated, skin-like vessel and a woven reed basket of fruit was placed at my feet. Never one to pass up a real meal, I nodded thanks and sat in the shade of my lander to eat. The group sat around me, except for Moah, who remained standing. The silent children stared with wide eyes at my body armor and weapons. I wouldn't need them here. I also wouldn't need my anger, and I felt it slipping away.
"How did you know I was coming?" I asked between bites.
"Our God, Who led us here, and provides all things, told of your coming," said Moah.
"May I meet this God?" I asked.
"We will take you to the Son, as none may meet the Father except through the Son."
Whatever, I thought. I searched for memories of old Earth history and recalled a "Testament" connected with certain beliefs or "religions". Those practices were fairly prevalent in bygone days, but had been replaced with modern pragmatism. Give me money anytime, I can believe in the religion of Profit.
A short pilgrimage brought us to the WAG, and then an unexpected ritual occurred. The people all bowed low at the waist and backed out into the clearing, leaving me alone with the WAG. It appeared normal except for the "Y" in the manufacturer's logo was missing. I waved my ID in front of the sensor and the machine spoke in a rich, deep voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The programmer was obviously an excellent molecular sound technician.
"The prodigal son has arrived, the final link in My Plan."
"Whoa there, big fella, I'm not one of your Believers. I know what you are, and I think, who you are, and I know where your 'off ' button is," I warned. "You obviously got tired of playing God, programming WAGs, and decided to become God, by imposing your matrix on the computer brain. Exposing you will earn me a hefty bonus."
"Be still and listen, Judas," the WAG intoned. "If you obey My wishes, I can promise you riches beyond your dreams. Look at these simple people, they are like sheep, and they cannot survive in your modern, greedy world. I have gathered them from the reaches of My universe and have led them here, to the land I promised, where they can live in peace and tranquility. Would you have these children taken from their parents? These gentle people thrown in prison? This world has no commercial or military value. Search your heart, Technician, and for once, look beyond yourself."
"You mentioned riches beyond my dreams?" I queried. "I don't Believe, but I dream big." I could almost hear the WAG smile.
"Go to Moah, My servant, and he will tell you of My wishes."
I returned to Moah, who was standing apart from the group. He handed me two "scrolls", as he called them, but they were really data crystals. I plugged them into my reader, and God's plan was soon evident. Two of the followers had worked in BIO and CENTRAL, as I surmised, and had paved the way for this planet to be set aside, so except for the Claim, it was a done deal. The Claim had all the whereas and wherefores it needed, with one brilliant exception. It claimed the protection of an old law, still on the books, the Endangered Species Act, from old Earth. If I remembered correctly, that law was used by government to usurp private lands under the guise of protecting some obscure plant or animal life from extinction. The WAG programmer was using it to take government land for his private use, to protect his followers, endangered by the modern, technical world, and if granted, the planet would be effectively quarantined. And . . . I was going to help him.
Back in space, I circled their ship, checking to see that all was battened down for the tow back to Starbase. I was to sell the ship to another Settler Group, pay the taxes and the Claim, and keep the rest for myself. Inside it was spotless, and the command center readouts showed the engines were still over 92% effective. My big dream would come true. I noticed a hand-lettered sign on the bulkhead, and I took it down and put it in my pocket. There would be plenty of time during the trip back to figure out the meaning of 'The Ark.'

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