Note: You will have to bear with me with this chapter. I have a lot to say,
and so it may come across a bit wonky. Oh, and in the previous chapter
(poor Landing) I made a mistake. It is not a white oak. It is a white pine.
For the sake of my sanity, I am turning the pine into an oak, and that is
final, so mmmeeerrrrr! *pulls a tongue*
Enjoy!
"Deirdre Skye, for achieving a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture and Environmental Biology; a Masters in Biology, and Ph.D. Biology and Genetics. A little about Deirdre, ladies and gentlemen. She is the daughter of Harold Skye, distinguished security consultant, whom I am sure you have all heard of. It is the honour of Cornell University to present Deirdre with her degrees, and to wish her well in her chosen career, which," the speaker said slowly, scrolling down the list. "Is to aid the biological researchers in Bionex Research Lab, White Plains, New York. Deirdre will be a sorely missed student here in Cornell, and our heart goes out to her."
Deirdre stands. She is a twenty-six year old woman now, and her heart is thudding with excitement, and her face betrays the fact that she is nervous. In the crowd, she can make out her mother, unobtrusive in her simple grey dress. Deirdre's father is nowhere, and the young woman breathes a sigh of relief. No yelling, no accusations, no scalding remarks.
Deirdre knows her father hates her. He has hated her since her mother and he divorced, and since his daughter took on a role as a peaceful young girl, instead of a woman who embraces war as a necessity, as he does in his missions for the security forces. Smiling, she accepts the scroll, and wonders on the traditions of universities, still intact from the fifteen hundreds, back when the only two universities in England were Cambridge and Oxford.
Still smiling, Deirdre steps off the podium, down the steps, and into her new life. The sun is strangely bright today, and she smiles at its prettiness as it touches the plants and as it begins to set off the bright yellow and red roses.
She groaned. Pain. Pain. Pain. Hot, fiery agony that ripped through her entire body. She found it difficult to breathe, and she blinked back tears. Screams escaped her lips, as she fought against the darkness. It was no use it claimed her once again.
The Bionex laboratory Deirdre stands in is uniform to say the least. White walls, white floors, white ceilings. It is supposed to focus the minds of researchers. She knows that. However, surely a spot of colour could provide some relief from the work? Surely a healthy plant could be placed within the white confines?
She shrugs. It is only a small complaint. The time she has spent in Bionex Labs seems like heaven. Away from the oppressive regime of her father, away from the pressures of university exams and tests. It is a simple institute, designed for the garnering of knowledge. Deirdre loves it. Now aged thirty, she is a prominent researcher in the facility, yet despite the acclaim she has won, she wants to keep herself to herself.
These microbes she studies through the concentrated lens of a microscope are a complicated set of organisms. They multiply, then decrease, multiply then decreases.
A new kind of life, she thinks to herself, created by the team. A living animal cell, that holds many plant characteristics. The faint blotches of the chloroplasts can be seen, as can the crossover between the cell wall and membrane. Magnificent, the way it leans towards the light, without even knowing it.
Pulling her eyes away from the microscope, Deirdre leaves the white room, and steps out into a large cloister, into another strangely bright day.
Again, the pain woke her from the darkness, and this time she could make out faint shapes moving. A pressure was forced against her chest, and she coughed, groaning as excruciating pain lances through her spine.
"-an she live?"
The answer is lost in pain, as the darkness pours over her in overwhelming tides.
The city is a wreck. New Chicago, established in South America, is now suffering from terrible radiation, and that much can be seen from where she stands. Despite being protected by the highest level of technology available, Deirdre is wary of walking anywhere near the highest concentrations of radiation.
She does not have to stay here long. Just enough time to supervise the release of her strain of wheat into the area. Within a few decades, the specialised strain would clean this area of radiation, allowing the re- colonization of the city.
Deirdre bows her head, and whispers a prayer to the God, and wonders how her mother fares now, resting in the arms of the Lord. Slowly, once the strains have been released, Deirdre enters the chopper, and ascends into the sky.
The sky is bright.
"-hat is going on?"
The pain was unbearable. Scalding tears rushed down her face, and she whimpered. How could she stand the pain? Every time she moved, it felt that her bones were jarring. She tried to move her hands to smooth her face, to worry at the source of the largest pain. Her hands have been tied down.
Shrieking with agony, Deirdre collapses again, into cool oblivion.
The Unity is flying in the dark, timeless void between the two planets. The glimmering stars never cease to amaze Deirdre. An ebony sheet, studded with glowing diamonds, a priceless wonder, space.
Behind the ship, through the hardened diamond windows, Deirdre observes the blue and green jewel of Earth receding behind them. It is gone forever, now. The cool mists of morning, the rosy sunsets, the waves crashing against the cliffs of Scotland. The graceful rolling hills of the Cotswolds, the unmatched awe of the Lake District. Earth in its diversity is incredible, an unmatched organism, a living, breathing planet of unlimited scope. Yet we have still managed to ruin it. Allowed it to die, suffering from fire and radiation, suffering from poison and war.
Deirdre turns to face the sun. It is stupendous in its glory, brilliant and white, a writhing ball of gas, providing light for Earth, providing life that is soon to be extinguished. The light fills the bridge, and Deirdre hums a quiet song.
"Mother!"
Why did she scream that? Her mother had been dead for centuries now, a product of ancient memories of Earth, useless memories now. Everything was useless now. Deirdre could not remember why, but she knew that something was making her feel worse than unhappy. She had never felt this way, even on the worst encounters with her father. Breathing in, the pain made her gasp.
It was no longer as bad as it had been, but it was enough to worry her. Still she could not see, though. Nothing but brilliant light, and dim, indistinct moving figures. "-e shouldn't even keep her alive. Not like this. Her face, its-"
Darkness prevents her from hearing the completion of the sentence.
Now the memories flash rapidly, faster than the computation of a calculator, faster the warp-drive she had seen mentioned on so many Star- Trek films, films her grandfather had fed her, the young child feeding on them avidly.
All the images told her something about herself. The journey on the Unity, the first years after Planetfall; the First Council; the War of Affirmation; the Seven Nevus Revolutions; the Datalink Wars; all the memories of communiqués with faction leaders, her emotion driving her into tears.
Nobody listened to her views, ever. She was the youngest, the most naïve, certainly the easiest to pressure, and bully. Over the years, her ideals were shrugged off, as exactly that. Ideals. Indistinct, unrealistic ideals. A young woman's vain hope for peace, and for the survival of a youthful Planet.
Finally, the memories reached the showdown in the throne room, and then Deirdre screamed with horror once again, as Gaia's Landing burned. Those copper spires were never again going to testify to Planet.
Her cause was dead. Ashes dying on a fire, mist evaporating in the warm sun. Still sobbing, Deirdre awoke, into a living hell of pain and torment.
Hideous.
That was the first thought that struck her when she looked in the mirror. Tears sprang into her eyes. A once-beautiful woman now stared back at her, an alien hag. It wasn't her. Not this scarred and charred remnant, not this dried up lump of skin. By Planet, why? Was she destined to lose everything dear to her?
Could fate really be that set against peace?
Her face.
One half of it was a scarlet mass of scars, red-hot burns, and any other mar imaginable. The other half, where, her medical staff said, she had fallen into water was still normal, but what use was that?
Her beauty was gone. Gaia's Landing was gone.
She would have liked to say the second hurt her more. Damnit! What was she, an adolescent teenager more concerned about her face than her people? Try as she might, she could not get it out of her head. Three days ago, when she had awoken, and they had shown her the remnants of her face, she had wanted to die.
She still wanted to die, but somehow, she had been banned from the peace of death, and had been refused, sent back into the conflicts and turmoil of life, of Planet, and of a dying faction.
The Council had come once again to her aid.
Once again, they had come too late.
The First Paradise lay in ruins. The two centres of her factions beliefs lay in ashes. New Glasgow was years gone, true, and the repair work had not captured the old imagery of the city. It was a pale shadow. She had told herself, looking at the new New Glasgow, that it didn't matter, that she still had the Landing.
Shattered dreams.
Landing was gone. New Glasgow was gone. Earth was gone.
Why could she not have died?
The ruins of Gaia's Landing were silent. No cheers came from Gaian lips, at the news that Santiago had been executed. No cheers came from anyone, when news came that Sparta Command and Freehold Keep had fallen. They had triumphed, but at an inexcusable cost. It remained to be seen whether Gaia could recover from her loss, or whether she would fade away, a lost memory, an intangible dream.
Throughout the days she remained in Landing, Deirdre prayed for death.
Enjoy!
"Deirdre Skye, for achieving a Bachelor of Science in Agriculture and Environmental Biology; a Masters in Biology, and Ph.D. Biology and Genetics. A little about Deirdre, ladies and gentlemen. She is the daughter of Harold Skye, distinguished security consultant, whom I am sure you have all heard of. It is the honour of Cornell University to present Deirdre with her degrees, and to wish her well in her chosen career, which," the speaker said slowly, scrolling down the list. "Is to aid the biological researchers in Bionex Research Lab, White Plains, New York. Deirdre will be a sorely missed student here in Cornell, and our heart goes out to her."
Deirdre stands. She is a twenty-six year old woman now, and her heart is thudding with excitement, and her face betrays the fact that she is nervous. In the crowd, she can make out her mother, unobtrusive in her simple grey dress. Deirdre's father is nowhere, and the young woman breathes a sigh of relief. No yelling, no accusations, no scalding remarks.
Deirdre knows her father hates her. He has hated her since her mother and he divorced, and since his daughter took on a role as a peaceful young girl, instead of a woman who embraces war as a necessity, as he does in his missions for the security forces. Smiling, she accepts the scroll, and wonders on the traditions of universities, still intact from the fifteen hundreds, back when the only two universities in England were Cambridge and Oxford.
Still smiling, Deirdre steps off the podium, down the steps, and into her new life. The sun is strangely bright today, and she smiles at its prettiness as it touches the plants and as it begins to set off the bright yellow and red roses.
She groaned. Pain. Pain. Pain. Hot, fiery agony that ripped through her entire body. She found it difficult to breathe, and she blinked back tears. Screams escaped her lips, as she fought against the darkness. It was no use it claimed her once again.
The Bionex laboratory Deirdre stands in is uniform to say the least. White walls, white floors, white ceilings. It is supposed to focus the minds of researchers. She knows that. However, surely a spot of colour could provide some relief from the work? Surely a healthy plant could be placed within the white confines?
She shrugs. It is only a small complaint. The time she has spent in Bionex Labs seems like heaven. Away from the oppressive regime of her father, away from the pressures of university exams and tests. It is a simple institute, designed for the garnering of knowledge. Deirdre loves it. Now aged thirty, she is a prominent researcher in the facility, yet despite the acclaim she has won, she wants to keep herself to herself.
These microbes she studies through the concentrated lens of a microscope are a complicated set of organisms. They multiply, then decrease, multiply then decreases.
A new kind of life, she thinks to herself, created by the team. A living animal cell, that holds many plant characteristics. The faint blotches of the chloroplasts can be seen, as can the crossover between the cell wall and membrane. Magnificent, the way it leans towards the light, without even knowing it.
Pulling her eyes away from the microscope, Deirdre leaves the white room, and steps out into a large cloister, into another strangely bright day.
Again, the pain woke her from the darkness, and this time she could make out faint shapes moving. A pressure was forced against her chest, and she coughed, groaning as excruciating pain lances through her spine.
"-an she live?"
The answer is lost in pain, as the darkness pours over her in overwhelming tides.
The city is a wreck. New Chicago, established in South America, is now suffering from terrible radiation, and that much can be seen from where she stands. Despite being protected by the highest level of technology available, Deirdre is wary of walking anywhere near the highest concentrations of radiation.
She does not have to stay here long. Just enough time to supervise the release of her strain of wheat into the area. Within a few decades, the specialised strain would clean this area of radiation, allowing the re- colonization of the city.
Deirdre bows her head, and whispers a prayer to the God, and wonders how her mother fares now, resting in the arms of the Lord. Slowly, once the strains have been released, Deirdre enters the chopper, and ascends into the sky.
The sky is bright.
"-hat is going on?"
The pain was unbearable. Scalding tears rushed down her face, and she whimpered. How could she stand the pain? Every time she moved, it felt that her bones were jarring. She tried to move her hands to smooth her face, to worry at the source of the largest pain. Her hands have been tied down.
Shrieking with agony, Deirdre collapses again, into cool oblivion.
The Unity is flying in the dark, timeless void between the two planets. The glimmering stars never cease to amaze Deirdre. An ebony sheet, studded with glowing diamonds, a priceless wonder, space.
Behind the ship, through the hardened diamond windows, Deirdre observes the blue and green jewel of Earth receding behind them. It is gone forever, now. The cool mists of morning, the rosy sunsets, the waves crashing against the cliffs of Scotland. The graceful rolling hills of the Cotswolds, the unmatched awe of the Lake District. Earth in its diversity is incredible, an unmatched organism, a living, breathing planet of unlimited scope. Yet we have still managed to ruin it. Allowed it to die, suffering from fire and radiation, suffering from poison and war.
Deirdre turns to face the sun. It is stupendous in its glory, brilliant and white, a writhing ball of gas, providing light for Earth, providing life that is soon to be extinguished. The light fills the bridge, and Deirdre hums a quiet song.
"Mother!"
Why did she scream that? Her mother had been dead for centuries now, a product of ancient memories of Earth, useless memories now. Everything was useless now. Deirdre could not remember why, but she knew that something was making her feel worse than unhappy. She had never felt this way, even on the worst encounters with her father. Breathing in, the pain made her gasp.
It was no longer as bad as it had been, but it was enough to worry her. Still she could not see, though. Nothing but brilliant light, and dim, indistinct moving figures. "-e shouldn't even keep her alive. Not like this. Her face, its-"
Darkness prevents her from hearing the completion of the sentence.
Now the memories flash rapidly, faster than the computation of a calculator, faster the warp-drive she had seen mentioned on so many Star- Trek films, films her grandfather had fed her, the young child feeding on them avidly.
All the images told her something about herself. The journey on the Unity, the first years after Planetfall; the First Council; the War of Affirmation; the Seven Nevus Revolutions; the Datalink Wars; all the memories of communiqués with faction leaders, her emotion driving her into tears.
Nobody listened to her views, ever. She was the youngest, the most naïve, certainly the easiest to pressure, and bully. Over the years, her ideals were shrugged off, as exactly that. Ideals. Indistinct, unrealistic ideals. A young woman's vain hope for peace, and for the survival of a youthful Planet.
Finally, the memories reached the showdown in the throne room, and then Deirdre screamed with horror once again, as Gaia's Landing burned. Those copper spires were never again going to testify to Planet.
Her cause was dead. Ashes dying on a fire, mist evaporating in the warm sun. Still sobbing, Deirdre awoke, into a living hell of pain and torment.
Hideous.
That was the first thought that struck her when she looked in the mirror. Tears sprang into her eyes. A once-beautiful woman now stared back at her, an alien hag. It wasn't her. Not this scarred and charred remnant, not this dried up lump of skin. By Planet, why? Was she destined to lose everything dear to her?
Could fate really be that set against peace?
Her face.
One half of it was a scarlet mass of scars, red-hot burns, and any other mar imaginable. The other half, where, her medical staff said, she had fallen into water was still normal, but what use was that?
Her beauty was gone. Gaia's Landing was gone.
She would have liked to say the second hurt her more. Damnit! What was she, an adolescent teenager more concerned about her face than her people? Try as she might, she could not get it out of her head. Three days ago, when she had awoken, and they had shown her the remnants of her face, she had wanted to die.
She still wanted to die, but somehow, she had been banned from the peace of death, and had been refused, sent back into the conflicts and turmoil of life, of Planet, and of a dying faction.
The Council had come once again to her aid.
Once again, they had come too late.
The First Paradise lay in ruins. The two centres of her factions beliefs lay in ashes. New Glasgow was years gone, true, and the repair work had not captured the old imagery of the city. It was a pale shadow. She had told herself, looking at the new New Glasgow, that it didn't matter, that she still had the Landing.
Shattered dreams.
Landing was gone. New Glasgow was gone. Earth was gone.
Why could she not have died?
The ruins of Gaia's Landing were silent. No cheers came from Gaian lips, at the news that Santiago had been executed. No cheers came from anyone, when news came that Sparta Command and Freehold Keep had fallen. They had triumphed, but at an inexcusable cost. It remained to be seen whether Gaia could recover from her loss, or whether she would fade away, a lost memory, an intangible dream.
Throughout the days she remained in Landing, Deirdre prayed for death.
