Heirs of the New Earth Read Online Free

actually saw a few of the brighter stars overhead. He traced out the Big Dipper then the Summer Triangle, made up of the stars Vega, Altair, and Deneb. Four lights, brighter than those stars leisurely moved across the sky. His forehead creased. They weren't blinking like aircraft and they seemed too bright for Confederation spacecraft, which were the raw black of their Erdonium hulls. However, the four lights looked like a group of Confederation spacecraft moving in a diamond formation.
    Gibbs shrugged, then shook his head, remembering that being outside on the streets wasn't entirely safe. Continuing on, he stepped into his apartment building and frowned at the new graffiti that had appeared on the walls; the local gang felt it necessary to mark their territory. Timothy Gibbs sighed relief after he used his palm imprint reader to enter the apartment and the door was safely locked behind him.
    Gibbs removed his uniform shirt, then turned on the teleholo with the volume down low providing a simple background noise. The hologram showed a picture of four of the Clusters. A red light flashed under the three-dimensional image. It was some kind of a news alert. Gibbs was too hungry to pay much attention; newsflashes were a routine occurrence during the war against the Cluster. As Gibbs had mentioned to Sinclair, the events all happened so far away, it hardly mattered to him.
    After selecting a meal of roast beef and potatoes, he stepped over to the dresser and frowned at the lack of underwear. While dinner cooked, he made his weekly round of the apartment and picked up the dirty clothes and tossed them into the washer-dryer unit. The dinner-ready chime sounded. Gibbs retrieved his meal from the preparation unit and shoved plates aside on the table, upsetting the flies, and sat down, habitually reaching for a bottle of Dairtox—a drug necessary for human life on most parts of Earth, as it kept the pollutants in the atmosphere from building up to toxic levels in the lungs.
    The teleholo flickered and the image blurred as Gibbs began to eat. He slumped, a forkful of beef smothered in gravy halfway to his mouth. He would probably have to take his own unit into the shop the next day so he could fix it. The picture of the Clusters morphed into an indistinct shape and a single syllable began repeating from the speakers: “da ... da ... da..."
    Annoyed, Gibbs put his fork on the plate, stepped over to the table, and slammed his fist down next to the teleholo. The image solidified into that of a young man with strangely haunting eyes. Gibbs appraised the image wondering if he was getting an incoming call. That seemed to be it—the interrupt function on the teleholo was broken. It should have chimed and thrown the image into one section of the view. Instead, it was trying to play over the broadcast, causing interference. Irritated by the confirmation that the teleholo was on the fritz, Gibbs fingered the volume stud. He assumed it must be a sales call. It would be quickest to answer and be done with it. “Hello, this is Tim Gibbs."
    "Dad?” said the figure on the teleholo.
    Gibbs fell into the chair facing the teleholo. “Uh, I think you have the wrong number."
    "Are you Timothy Allen Gibbs?” asked the figure as Gibbs reached out to disconnect the call.
    Gibbs blinked a few times. He looked at the young man's eyes again, then looked over to the hologram of his mother—they were identical. No wonder the eyes were haunting.
    "Are you Timothy Gibbs?” asked the young man again.
    "I am,” Gibbs responded, cautiously. “Who are you?"
    "I'm Jeremy Williams,” said the young man. “I'm pretty sure I'm your son."
    "Pretty sure?” Gibbs leaned forward, examining the young man. “How did you find out? How could you find out?” Fatherhood anonymity laws prevented Gibbs from reporting his name at the Depository. The only information they had came from the DNA he'd left behind. Sure, someone could use that to trace his identity, but it