Dale Thomas Vaughn

Excerpt from Birthright: Recall

Chapter 1

Did it work? It’s been four hours—it should only take twenty minutes to reach them on Mars. If they are even there. 

Bryan Hoover exhaled a puff of swirling breath that drifted across the beam of his flashlight. His nose felt painfully numb. He put the tangy metallic end of the light in his mouth and rubbed his hands together for warmth. He glanced around at the frigid cement room, tossing illumination into corners to assure himself that the darkness didn’t hide anything anti-Hoover. He shivered. It was a perfectly normal chill. He’d spent his whole life cold and alone, his extremities forever flirting with frostbite, but he had always held the poets to keep him warm and cuddled. He tapped his pocket, where he kept a copy of Lord Byron. This was one of those bizarre experiences when he knew he wouldn’t be solo for long. He was comfortable in moments of long, isolated silence. This was not one of those. This was a long, tense, wish-I-could-get-the-hell-out-of-here silence. 

If someone is up there, they should have at least acknowledged. Who knows if they even survived these last 500 years? We barely did. Suppose they did survive; why haven't they come home already? Nah, I think the help has to come from inside the house. 

He checked his watch again. 

On the other hand, our information could help them. These Hadrians are taking our kids for their space force, and it’s really only a matter of time before they… 

He heard footsteps in the hall. A part of him steeled itself while another part skittered away from the sound like a cockroach.

Damn. Time’s up. Keep staying alive.

He shoved the equipment into a canvas pack and shrugged it over his thick, fur-lined coat. Hands in gloves and goggles pulled down, he prepared to face the icy world outside. He pulled his pistol from the holster under his left arm, turned off his flashlight, and felt the business end of its heavy steel in his left hand. He crouched by the old doorway, stilled his beating heart with conscious slow breathing, coiled his frame, and readied his psyche for intuitive movement and some possible resulting gore. 

The footsteps grew louder in the hallway. For a moment he admired the rhythm of the footfalls. Step, step, Step, step. Some part of him without words knew this person favored their left leg ever so slightly. He hoped they’d just keep moving.

Then the steps slowed outside his room. 

Hoover felt the air pressure change from the door being pressed open only a few inches. He watched a headlamp highlight a gloved hand with a pistol aimed toward the part of the room where Hoover had been only a few moments before. The door continued to open. The lamp searched the room but neglected the corner behind the door—coincidentally the same corner where Hoover crouched. He saw the face of a creature not-quite-human but also not-quite-inhuman as it emerged into the room. 

A Hadrian. So that’s what these bastards look like.

The creature sniffed the air with animalistic curiosity, then moved toward the control panel. It was investigating.

It knows I’ve been here. Time to see what these monsters can do.

Hoover crossed the four steps between his hiding point and the Hadrian, raised his heavy flashlight and… was struck in the gut with a boot that emptied Hoover’s lungs of air. The Hadrian turned with its pistol raised; in the resulting flash Hoover leapt forward to close the distance between himself and the monster. Hoover’s leap drove the Hadrian into the panel behind him. He desperately bashed both his pistol and his flashlight toward the cranium of the Hadrian, hoping his years of pure unadulterated luck would serve him in this moment of need. He felt a crack as his flashlight landed on something solidly fleshy. He felt weakness in his assailant for only a fleeting moment, but long enough to raise his own face and put the purposeful end of his pistol under the chin of the creature. He pulled the trigger and heard the gut-wrenching sound of exploding bone and sinew. He looked into the eyes of the thing he had just killed and he saw its humanity. Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a voice… No… I don’t want to die... 

Hoover sobbed, inhaled, and immediately retched to the side of his assailant’s twitching face. He had heard stories about them… but here was one… and it looked human.

Chapter 2 - Mars

Renwick Hector sat in the quietest patch of grass in the park of the colony’s central dome. He quietly penned a journal entry when suddenly his intuition twinged violently, swaying his balance. What was that? 

He stood, stretched his full 200 centimeters, and turned to see the stocky athletic frame of his sibling Kesh striding toward him with characteristic self-assurance. The pointed fade and high pompadour cut made Kesh’s jet black hair look like an arrow – accenting their forward momentum. If Renny looked long and lithe, Kesh lit up the ground like a lightning bolt.

“I’m glad I’m here, Renny,” said Kesh. “Otherwise you’d have to finish whatever garbage you were writing. Instead, you have me to entertain you.”

Renny’s face scrunched.

“Don’t pretend it was good,” said Kesh. “You’ve already forgotten what you were writing anyway.”

Renny felt offended, but then he couldn’t remember what he’d been writing anymore… which infuriated him in the parts of his identity that only a sibling can reach.

“It’s not important what I was writing,” said Renny. “It’s important that I was writing.”

Kesh tilted their head and looked sideways at Renny. “Were you always an Earthgeek, or did that start after Mom and Dad died?”

Renny closed his eyes, picturing his parents. It was well known on Mars that there were Earthgeeks who dabbled in pre-colonial history, philosophy, and culture. Most saw it as a natural self-identity phase; but Kesh suspected it was a longing that had set roots in Renny.

“This was Mom’s; she got it from her grandfather,” said Renny, pointing to the stylus pen. “Our great-grandfather.”

Kesh flushed red, pushing their amber skin tone more toward saffron. They looked away to diffuse their embarrassment and buried pain. 

“Mom and her eccentricities,” said Kesh. “Ah! That’s it! Of course. You’re caught up in the quincentennial celebrations. Your obsession with the prehistoric bores me.” 

“It wasn’t that long ago,” said Renny.

“Twenty-four generations—and some healthy evolution—since the Launch of the Phoenix,” said Kesh. “We’re basically a different species—”

“We’re not!” said Renny, more forcefully than he had intended. “We’re not. We’re the same species, just... removed. Different tribes. Same people. You know?”

A moment passed between them like time often does between siblings who will never understand each other, yet who accept each other as they are.

“Why are you here so early, anyway?” asked Renny.

“I wanted to get a good view of the president’s address,” said Kesh.

“You want a good view of Eva’s dress,” said Renny, mostly under his breath.

“I’m shocked! Shocked, I say!” Kesh made a pantomime show of their feigned offense.

“You possess no concept of chivalry, my dear clutchmate,” said Renny.

“Chivalry, dear brother, died when our ancestors left Earth, if it ever lived outside of fiction,” said Kesh. “However, I am an elite game-ist, and I respect strategic behavioral economics. If you make a case for romantic grandeur that heralds any reasonable advantage, I will lay rose petals at my love’s sweet feet.”

“Stars! Let’s go. I need a crowd to buffer me from your ego,” said Renny. He pulled on his long chocolate brown coat, buttoned the front and popped the left collar up to match the wave of his light brown hair. He had created the garment himself using ancient fashion images as a guide. He didn’t really care what other people thought about his old world style. It made him feel more like himself than the standard white and gray jumpsuits everyone else wore. 

The gigantic geodesic structure that formed the central space in the colony—most often just called “the Dome”—functioned as the central greenspace for more than 600,000 colonists. The Dome showed 360-degree views of the actual Martian landscape, but the sky was altered to mimic “normal” solar cycles so it could function as a greenhouse for the many layers of fauna and flora throughout. 

At the center of the dome was a patch of old-growth forest with trees that were now more than 150 years old. The substantial pond at its center gathered whole generations of birds, bees, and bugs, along with varmints, vines, mosses, and all sorts of life seeded in the vast bio-engineering laboratories. At night, the earthly symphony of frogs and crickets made people feel as if a piece of their home had been transported… or perhaps that they themselves had been transported back to the primal home of their DNA. 

The glass walls of the Dome itself were also used as a giant screen. Spectators watched tournaments for the vibrant game-ist leagues, films from the colony Entertainment Department, even live concerts featuring classic old-Earth songs along with new modern compositions. 

“Renny! Over here,” shouted Orson Hsu over the crowded amphitheater as Renny and Kesh approached. “I saved a few seats.” 

“Seats? Wow, we’re moving up in the world,” said Renny. 

The two siblings politely and quickly moved through the enormous crowd toward the several rows of amphitheater seats that were now prime real estate during these types of events. 

Orson had reserved the entire row behind Eva and a few of her friends. Kesh smiled broadly as they noticed Orson’s cleverness. 

“Did you all feel the energy shift?” asked Orson, his thick black eyebrows rising as he spoke. Orson was bookish, a bit short, round, with flat facial features and cheeks that seemed too large. He was made up of circles. Consequently, he was often mistaken as cartoonish or simple, but Renny loved his earnest sense of wonder. 

“I felt it,” said Renny. “What have you heard?” 

“Earth!” said Orson. “It’s gotta be about Earth. The feeling was so alien.”

Kesh scoffed openly.

A melodic recording signaled everyone to look up at the Dome. The circular icon of the Phoenix flashed in blue and orange before transitioning to a live feed of a familiar face.

“My fellow Phoenicians,” said the woman appearing on screen. President Sara Ramone’s pixie cut silver hair framed the hard facets of her crystalline jaw line. There was something subtly unsettling about the earnestness of her deep amber eyes. Even through the screen, her people could see the warmth of her rich brown face was drained of its color, leaving an entire image clouded with gray tones. 

“No doubt many of you have felt an intuitive fluctuation among us, so I’ll address it immediately in the hopes that we will be able to move forward on a day that our forefathers would surely demand a celebration,” said the president. 

If leadership were an art, she was a symphonic conductor. Even in this moment, she respected the colonists enough to address the highest priority first. 

“Five hundred years ago we were cut off from Earth—” 

Orson nudged Renny. 

“—for reasons we cannot confirm. Through our research missions, we are able to monitor the temperature, atmospheric particulates, and many other vital statistics of the planet. What we don’t know is what has happened to the human species on Earth. We know there is no contact, and little if any organization on the ground. Our best guess is that a mixture of environmental catastrophe, economic collapse, and some measure of violence derailed human society and perhaps life… but the order in which these things happened is not clear. I reiterate these points so that the following information has a proper context.” 

Never before had so much palpable tension hung in the air of the Dome. 

“We have confirmed an intelligent signal from Earth,” said the president. 

Vibrating emotions and guttural sounds punctuated the pent-up silence. Five hundred years of festering dismay came to the forefront of the minds of more than half a million people. 

A cacophony of questions began to fly at the projected image. “What did it say? Who sent it? Did we answer it? What does this mean?” 

“Please,” said the president. “I will answer as much as I can, beginning with the obvious questions. The message was rudimentary, and the meaning only vaguely comprehensible, but we believe it is a distress signal. We don’t know who sent it. We have yet to reply, for security purposes. If there is indeed a threat to the human species on Earth, we must first identify the level of threat to our own survival before engaging. This is momentous, but we do not yet know the true significance. Until we do, I chose to include you in our process. There are long nights ahead for everyone in the relevant research departments.” 

“Madame President,” shouted a voice from somewhere behind Renny. 

“Yes,” said the president. 

“What did the message say, exactly?” asked the voice. 

“Exactly? It said, ‘HELP, RECALL HOME,’” said the President. 

“A recall? Will there be a mission to Earth?” shouted Skye McCullough, a female Earth researcher who taught one of Renny’s favorite classes on Earth societies and government. 

“It is among the options, I suppose, though not likely,” said the president. “There’s no consensus among the leaders as to the safety or even the goal of a manned mission to Earth… much less an appropriate means of transport. We’re still working on whether we should respond and who—” 

The waves of murmurs drowned out the sound of the president’s voice. Fear and uncertainty dominated the conversations. Kesh began arguing with conviction about the danger of revealing the colony to cosmic neighbors with itchy trigger fingers. Orson and Skye chimed in about the pros and cons of returning to restore Earth to balance. Others, including Eva, simply stared ahead at the Earth-like foliage in the Dome. For many, the possibility of existing anywhere other than this planet was never a consideration outside of wild dreams. One voice pierced through the blanket of anxiety. 

“I volunteer!” shouted Renny. 

The crowds paused enough for President Ramone to be heard again. 

“Volunteer for what?” asked the president. She was deeply empathic, but she had clearly not anticipated this turn in the conversation. 

“The mission to Earth,” said Renny. 

“There is no mission to Earth,” said the president. 

“Then the mission to decide what to do about the beacon from Earth,” shouted Renny, undeterred. 

The Dome was silent. “What is your name?” asked the president. 

“My name is Renwick Martin Hector, Madame President,” said Renny. 

“Are you of research age?” asked the president. 

“I... take my tests in three weeks. I want to study Earth cultures and anthropology,” said Renny. 

She turned to someone off camera and said something inaudible. “Yes, I will... Why would you volunteer for this mission, may I ask?” 

“I believe we owe it to our ancestors, both colonists and Earthbound, to reconnect with our home. If we do, I volunteer,” said Renny. 

“A principled position and sentiment. However—and I’m not saying there will be a mission to Earth; but if there were—there will be a high likelihood that the mission may never return, or indeed ever arrive safely,” said the president. “Consider this before you leap to volunteer for anything in life.” 

In her manner, she defused the tension and also saved face for Renny. 

“Now, we all have many questions, naturally; but in the meantime, I believe we owe it to our ancestors—to borrow a phrase from Mr. Hector—to celebrate the powerful accomplishment of our 500th year as residents of this challenging red planet we call home,” said the president. “I would make a speech, but I know your minds and mine are all elsewhere. So I’ll trust you to keep conscious of all of the sacrifice and genius of the men and women who bore us and bred us to share the survival we’ve carved out of the dust. I will leave the gossip mill to itself.” 

Some sparse applause and some light laughter signified that the crowd had mostly accepted her suggestion, and even in their shock, could appreciate the wisdom presented. 

“Mr. Hector. You will report to the Earth Studies laboratory immediately,” said the president. “I’d like to meet our first volunteer for the mission to Earth.” 

This small jab drew significant laughter and applause. The president smiled and signed off as metal casks began making their way through the park toward the throngs of colonists. 

Renny moved to leave and felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see the faces of Orson, Eva, and—to his surprise—Skye gazing intensely at him. He met Kesh blocking his exit. 

“You heard her,” said Kesh. “Think about what volunteering could mean. You don’t really want to—” 

“I’m going, Kesh,” said Renny. He turned to the others. “You understand, right?” 

They nodded. Kesh’s head drooped. 

“I have to go meet the president now,” said Renny. “Besides, we don’t even know yet what’s happening.” 

Renny stepped around Kesh and began to walk down the steps toward the grassy park. He paused after a few steps and turned back to his friends. 

“Well, who’s coming with me?” he asked.