1
Harolyn DeBruce kept a close eye on the remote scanning summary depicted on the console in front of her. It showed a fusion of data collected not just from the Rockhound’s scanners, but also those of a half-dozen drones the ship had deployed into orbit around the target planet.
“I love that new planet smell, don’t you?”
Harolyn turned to the speaker, a young geological tech named Alin that had joined the Cygnus Realm only recently. Alin smiled, his eyes bright at the prospects of an entire planet to call home.
“Yeah, it’ll last ’til people start using it—then it’ll be nothing but smoke, sweat, and spoiled food,” Harolyn replied.
Alin grinned back. But it faded as the young man’s attention returned to the data. “Hard to believe this planet was actually manufactured. That somebody actually assembled it, like a big kit.”
Harolyn tapped one of the graphical displays. “I draw your attention once more to the isotopic ratios. This planet is far too young to have developed a complex biosphere, complete with ample water and a breathable atmosphere.” She shrugged. “Of course, that means the Unseen cheated a bit and used some old hunk of barren rock as their substrate, then layered all this air and life and stuff on top of it. But hey, whatever works, right?”
Alin shook his head. “Guess I just still find it hard to believe there was a race out here that could do that—you know, actually build a planet. Oh, and do it sixteen times.”
They settled back into their review of the data. Frankly, it wasn’t really a job that required them, or anyone else, to be on-station. It could all have been done with automation. The worlds that the Unseen had gifted to the Cygnus Realm at the end of the war had all proven to be much the same—geologically and environmentally stable, with terrestrial conditions almost perfectly fine-tuned for human life.
Sure, each had its share of storms, earthquakes, volcanoes, and the like. But those were natural phenomena, all part of the life processes of a planet. A perfectly static paradise wouldn’t be stable. Just as a human being needed to breathe and sleep, so, too, did a planet have its own life processes to keep it dynamic and healthy.
Harolyn sat back for a moment, pulling her attention off the data and letting it wander around the Rockhound’s survey compartment. It was crowded but functional. There were maps, samples, data cores—the tools of the trade, all in a tumble that fell somewhere between chaos and comfort.
What a difference just a few years makes.
Not long ago, this same compartment was laden with bulky tech that collected data from remote sensors—the basics, really, a survey that would, over days, assemble a crude, basic picture of the target planet.
All of that was gone now, replaced by tech of Unseen design, just some of the enormous trove of tech gifted to the Cygnus Realm along with the sixteen virtually perfect terrestrial worlds. The systems were smaller, lighter, and far more capable. In a few hours, the Rockhound could do a preliminary planetary survey across hundreds of channels, making Harolyn’s old surveys look like pencil sketches done from memory.
“What’s so funny?” Alin asked.
Harolyn glanced at him. She hadn’t even realized she’d been chuckling.
“Oh. Ah . . . nothing in particular. Just thinking about—”
A chime pinged, and a graph turned red, drawing attention to itself. Harolyn and Alin both frowned. A parameter had suddenly and dramatically changed—but it wasn’t one of the channels being collected from the planet scrolling beneath them. This was from a reconnaissance probe, an automated drone they’d sent to the next planet on their survey list, the fifteenth and second last to be surveyed. The probe was assembling a very rough overview of its target, which would allow Harolyn and her people to properly calibrate the more detailed surveys to follow.
Harolyn studied the output. She’d opened the window to review the distant probe’s data a while ago and forgotten to close it. The AI would probably have popped it back open anyway, because—
“Uh-oh, that’s not good,” she said, glowering at the data.
“I’m not sure what that means,” Alin said, shrugging. “Something about seasonal variance?”
Harolyn nodded. “More specifically, orbital parameters. For some reason, this planet has started to wobble.” Her stare hardened, brows then lifting in disbelief. “That’s causing its orbit to change shape, which is going to start affecting the characteristics of its seasons.”
Then the wobble stopped. The planet settled into a new, slightly different orbit—emphasis on slightly because the variation was only a tiny fraction of a percent. Ultimately, that wouldn’t be enough to make much of a difference. But that wasn’t the point.
Why had it happened at all?
“Am I correct in assuming that’s weird?” Alin asked.
“What? For a planet to wobble like it’s hit a bump in the road? Yeah, you might say it’s weird.”
“I wasn’t sure. These planets are all, you know, assembled—built by the Unseen.” Alin gave an affable shrug. “This is my first time surveying one of them with you guys. I’d kind of assumed they’d be more or less perfect all the time.”
Harolyn exhaled in disgust. “Yeah. So did I.”
Dash tried to remember what the simulation had taught him. Draw the rod back then snap it forward, releasing the bail on the reel as he did. The hook and lure sailed out across the water and landed with a soft plink.
Now, he waited.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a drone or something to dive in there and retrieve the fish for you?” Leira asked.
Dash shot her a mock glare, but most of it was lost in the early afternoon sun. She was picking her way down the muddy bank, her boots skidding in the black muck. She reached a log, regained her footing, then stepped across the rocks to where Dash was sitting.
“The point isn’t to catch fish, Leira. I told you that already.”
“Yes, and I rolled my eyes and said, Ah, okay, yes dear, as though that made any sense.”
“So what has brought your natural wellspring of judgmental cynicism bubbling back up to the surface like this?”
Leira stuck out her right hand and gestured to her arm, where several red welts blared angrily from her otherwise smooth, pale skin. “This. There are things biting me, Dash. Feasting on me like I’m some sort of delicacy.”
He gave her a look of wide-eyed innocence. “You are a delicacy, my darling Leira—”
“You can stick that right up your exhaust port, you know that?”
Dash chuckled. “The bugs are just part of the package. A basic part of the ecosystem here. Custodian explained it all, remember?”
“Of course I do. I just—” She paused as another of her tiny tormentors appeared, then she slapped at it. “What the hell do they eat when they can’t feast on fresh Leira, anyway?”
Dash, still smiling, shrugged and turned back to the lake. His eyes tracked the line to his bait, which was dancing through the water in a jerky motion a half-meter under the bobber. He’d discovered this thing called fishing from an Old Earth text, something that had, for some reason, been included in the vast archives opened up by the Unseen at the end of the war against the Golden.