The Next Generation



   Bailey stepped out of the ship that had been his home for the long voyage; he didn't expect the sudden feeling of floating caused by the unbounded horizon after becoming accustomed to his bunk. His feet barely sank in the fine, hard-packed ground and he his skin breathed in the once-arctic winds while the sun's sharp rays balanced out the chilly air, leaving a refreshing sensation.
   This planet clearly was not like Earth. The contrast made Bailey think of Earth's stale, stained, crippled atmosphere, overcrowded cities (sometimes fatally so), and endless wars of attrition. Though it had been the most intimidating thought upon initial consideration, he was glad he had left with the colonists and now saw himself as part of a future legend; a legend so far removed from the present that none of its characters would have a name or origin, but where they would be revered by their ancestors with something akin to faith. He was glad he wouldn't have contact with his old world during his lifetime-a world he had had to leave behind to finally realize how ready he had been to leave it. He was glad to start this new life in a fresh place.
   Really, when he thought about it, he was one of the first in a new race. Like a pioneer species that is the first form of life to cling to an otherwise barren environment, Bailey knew he had the tenacity to not let this opportunity slip between his fingers. It reminded him of something he had heard in one of the traditions of his childhood. "'This is what the sovereign Lord says: I will gather you from the nations and bring you back from the countries where you have been scattered, and I will give you back the land of Israel again.'" Finally he and the others from Earth-the others who would undoubtedly have packed with them their scattered traditions from their scattered cultures from their scattered nations-finally they had reached their promised land.
   Bailey looked up from the ground and let the impressions of this new nature sketch themselves upon his mind. It was funny that though the natural surroundings would never change, it seemed to him that they would forever carry the novelty he now experienced.
   In the west lay the promise of fragrant fertile fields at the gently sloping base of a large mountain range. The peaks jutted out in an absurd juxtaposition from the smooth lower portions and one couldn't discern whether the gleaming multi-faceted summits were covered in ice or formed directly from crystal.
   These transitioned sharply to the feature that had gripped his gaze during the ship's approach to this patchwork planet just a few hours ago: a small sea in the north, now marked by purple-blue clouds where the warm air cooled as it moved over the water. Bailey sifted through words to describe them, but could only call them perfect: no wisps, no misty edges. They looked like cataclysmic eruptions of dust frozen in time to allow their normally uncontainable power and form to be studied minutely.
   To the east and south continued the curious lowlands in which the colonists had landed. The earth (though to Bailey it sounded strange to call this ground "earth") undulated regularly as it stretched away. Orange blossoms poked through the blue-green grasses like staccato notes played out in paint on the northern faces of the rolling hills. These lowlands, full of the potential that had haunted Bailey's dreams, would be where the colonists could dig in and give birth to a new race.
   This world was stunningly beautiful, but in Bailey's mind its brightness was outshone by the brilliance of his future. Their future.

* * *

   Calvin stepped out of the domicile unit that had been his home since the mining company had transferred him and his wife to City 19 only a few weeks ago. The city itself wasn't much older than that, but on his planet all of the cities appeared to be the same age; only by observing its inhabitants could one get an idea of a city's legacy. Of course, this could also be attributed to the fact that it had only been three generations since the original colonists had arrived on this planet. Older cities, located in the lowlands of the original colonists, were filled with portraits of a life almost over: men and women who had done their time in the mines and seen them become depleted and who were now relying on their water-pensions to provide for them. Calvin likened these people to cunning predators that had forgotten how to hunt: indolent, carefree, and unprepared for the difficulties that they had once faced and conquered. Newer cities, on the other hand, were rife with individuals in the midst of these difficulties; haggard looks and a sweeping bustle of bodies told of each inhabitant's concern for his or her own welfare.
   Calvin looked at the sky to the north and slightly east, concentrating on the purple-blue clouds that were perpetually forming and disappearing above the sea. That great body of water that had once been this planet's hope was now a mocking reminder of how quickly hopes can be unraveled. Water was the planet's most precious resource. He recalled hearing the stories passed down from his great-grandfather Bailey, one of the first colonists, about how they all expected the sea to be the cup of life, about how it would be the fire around which they would gather, about how it would provide all of the water they would need, and how those brave and brilliant pioneers had saved themselves and their future by starting the first water mines. Only under the planet's resistant crust was there water without the subtle and complex contaminants of the sea.
   "What happened on my great-grandfather's planet?" Calvin thought, just as he had countless times before. "What could make them leave a world with all the water they'd ever need? Didn't they see how good it was? Didn't they recognize what they had?" He shook the unanswerable question from his consciousness, sucked in air sharply over his teeth, and set out for the land-bus that would take him to the newest mine.
   The bus's exterior resembled a line of ants carrying a prized sugary acquisition back to their hill; a train of tires rolled along the ground while a mag-lev unit above each axle supported part of the passenger-cabin's load. Inside however, there was little sign of sweetness. Most riders simply stared at their feet like machines on standby while others slept. Calvin couldn't keep back his worrisome thoughts despite his best efforts.
   His mind kept circling back to the growing disagreements between the cities to the southeast (only a handful of the total number) and the more established areas further west, away from the sea. The mining company's prized southeastern cities were reporting record water-harvesting quotas. Normally this would be a blessing, but problems seemed to be springing up: the fortunate cities were restricting their water sales to squeeze greater profit from cities needing to purchase water, and the mining company was looking the other way. This was in turn inciting protests and even some water-strikes; there was an alarming amount of water-theft taking place and suspicions were being aroused that even the thieves themselves were working for the company.
   Calvin wondered to himself what this would all come to. Could serious dissensions and factions be born in this world that was supposed to be utopian? He kept telling himself that it was one of those situations that would never happen, but somehow that only made him more wary of its inevitability. These people-his people-had worked together so long to grow and develop these cities, these livelihoods, and these lives: lives free from whatever drove the original colonists off of their home planet. But now they were witnessing the first seeds of trouble that could grow to envelop and oppress their future and potential. Wasn't the future worth guarding above all? Calvin closed his eyes to shut out his thoughts but found that only left him more alone with them. It was just another day for him, and another day for the small world he knew.

* * *

   Martin peeked through the windows of the former housing unit that had recently become a makeshift bunker. The steely dawn was minutes away and the streets so far were quiet. He knew this peace wouldn't last for too much longer; it was like the last breath one takes before diving into icy water. Soon small skirmishes would break out along the street, swelling and passing but never leaving peace until late into the night.
   Martin wished he could leave this place-this city that had become the greatest spot of tarnish to his civilization. In the history of this planet, violence had never broken out on such a scale. Sure, there existed the petty, cruel, wasteful acts of an individual harming another individual, but never had a group attacked another group. He wished he could leave, but knew he'd be ashamed to abandon this place. How could he not take action to put things right again? How could he ignore the damage being wrought by this slowly metastasizing conflict? He had to choose a side, and he had chosen. That was not the most difficult part.
   What was more challenging was understanding how it had gotten so bad and why so few people were willing to invest themselves in the future of their flowering race. It hadn't been more than a couple of generations since the Source-Cities in the southeast (as they were now called) had revealed that their water mines were replenishing themselves, somehow filtering out the nearby sea's contaminants. At first such a realization was a boon to the whole society; having the extra water was like relieving the pressure in an over-inflated balloon: having a reliable water source provided a sense of relief as the population continued to expand and explore. Unfortunately, these turned out to be rumors wrapped in gold. The Source-Cities had hoarded the fruits of their serendipitous discovery more and more tightly. Their behavior worsened until it could only be described as extortion supported by the infrastructure, and it had turned the remaining cities against them. Now the Source-Cities were like Spartan city-states reveling in their sovereignty instead of bigger siblings taking care of their weaker counterparts.
   Of course, Martin hadn't been alive for most of this. The downward slide had been too subtle and most of the population had been too apathetic to take action; the burden would fall on the next generation. But now there was no denying the injustice being perpetrated upon most of the planet's inhabitants. Families were destitute from such high water prices and occasionally a small community would perish of thirst. The greediness of the mining company was a splinter that had been constantly worked deeper and deeper but had only now hit a nerve and upset its host. This handful must not rule over the rest. How did the company not see what was best for all of the people? How did they not see what was best for their very brethren: those whose fathers and grandfathers had worked the water-mines in arduous harmony with the very ancestors of the Source-City leaders? And how did so many from the other cities not recognize the need to dig their heels and stakes into the dirt-to choose the greater good and fight for it?
   There was an ancient reference that had been floating around for years to rally and encourage those resisting the Source-Cities: "'I will set free the people that you ensnare like birds. I will tear off your veils and save my people from your hands, and they will no longer fall prey to your power.'"
   Martin knew this civilization could not last if there existed the dichotomy of predator and prey. He knew the battle to save their future would be damaging. It would be the cauterizing of the wound that hurts more than the wound itself, but he sensed it would be necessary if health was ever to return. The only uncertainty that might prevent more cities from joining the resistance was whether the pain of healing the wound would be worth it, and whether it would kill the patient. As the first shots opened up across the street, he said to himself, "We will no longer fall prey to your power." It was worth it.

* * *

   Aaron exited the airlock. He had been anticipating this moment for what seemed like weeks; he had waited inside the ship and held his impatience in check as his mind kept track of the days, hours, and minutes until he would finally step onto this surrogate planet. He squinted into the diffuse, dusky sun as his eyes adjusted from the artificial lighting of his bunk and surveyed the land about him.
   This planet clearly was not like Earth. Earth consisted more of porcelain and plastic than planet now; like a cyborg that piece by piece becomes more mechanical until there's no human left under it all. Earth was almost totally covered with interconnected buildings-giant inhabitable spiders and stacked boxes that were the only environment most people ever experienced. Aaron had almost called himself a coward and chosen not to leave that home as the bombs started to fall. Indeed, it had taken something akin to faith to step onto the ship and head for a new life in a new world, to start a new people that would not make the mistakes the old had.
   He studied the squat, domed structures that had clearly been used by whatever indigenous life-forms had once ruled this place and realized that he was surely one of the first of a new race. If only there were a way to make his memory and thoughts as clean as this new world. The destruction that he had witnessed from the ship as he departed Earth had shaken his confidence that these stragglers-these survivors, these colonists-with whom he had traveled would be able to depart from the destructive nature that appeared to taint even the grandest of human endeavors. From somewhere in his past, probably from his grandmother's anachronistic pontifications, came a passage: "'But I will spare a few of them from the sword, famine, and plague, so that in the nations where they go they may acknowledge all their detestable practices.'" He decided to take this to heart. He acknowledged what had happened to his old home and vowed never to let it happen to something he was a part of.
   Aaron let his gaze flow beyond the immediate area of what had once been a city. There were so many new tastes, touches, smells, and sights to experience and he wanted to take his time to let each one filter slowly into his consciousness.
   In the direction that must have been the west Aaron saw fields that looked scorched and damaged-he had no idea what natural disaster would have caused that-at the feet of an indomitable mountain range. The peaks appeared to be shear and smooth as the sun glinted off of their many faces. In his line of sight was a structure that had the same appearance: a structure that once must have been a fine and important emblem of what those who had lived here previously had accomplished and stood for but was now tattered and shattered with its once-perfect surfaces now collapsed into a sharply angled point.
   The mountains sloped quickly down to a low sea that met the land in the north and was greeted there with a bank of violent velvet clouds that churned their slow revolutions and unfoldings. In this sky he saw virgin nature untouchable by any of the planet's previous inhabitants.
   To the south and East stretched what could only be described as more cities (though to Aaron it was a generous to call them "cities") that followed the rolling landscape for nearly as far as he could see. Broken walls that were still half-standing poked through the dusty-grey rubble of what was once a living center of a society. Aaron could visualize the hustle and bustle of sentient minds interacting with each other and their world. These ghost-drenched reminders of ancient lives and legacies haunted Aaron's mind as he let it wander. It seemed that the world's previous rulers had fallen into the same sticky vice of brinksmanship and myopic leadership as those on the Earth he had just left.
   This land, filled with reminders of a world-destroyer greater than any weapon, would soon be sown with the seeds of hope and guarded against the fruits of avarice and ambition. The memory of the past would be the impetus for hope. Their hope.





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