Heirs of the New Earth Read Online Free Page B

They sat down to a dinner that looked more like it was from the 20th century than the 30th. A turkey steamed in the middle of table, surrounded by bowls full of potatoes, green beans and cranberry sauce. Gibbs’ subconscious had pulled the image of the meal from stories of the first Thanksgiving when colonists had come from England to the United States. Certainly, Gibbs had never experienced food set out as he saw in the dream.
    Someone banged at the door. Gibbs excused himself from the table and answered. His jaw dropped open when he saw his mother. She pointed an accusatory finger at her son. Charlotte Gibbs’ skin began to dry and decay on her skeleton. Her jaw, no longer attached by muscle, fell open in a silent scream.
    "Mom,” called Gibbs. “You're still alive?"
    A voice croaked from the recesses of the open mouth. “No. I died ten years ago.” The mummified vision of Timothy Gibbs’ mother moved past her son and turned. “I've come to ask why you never tried to contact me. Why didn't you try to find me? Didn't you love your mother?"
    Gibbs gasped for air. “Of course I loved you, Mom. The government took you to a retirement home. They didn't tell me where."
    "Why didn't you ask?"
    "It wouldn't have done any good. You owed too many taxes. I couldn't help. I wanted to, but there was nothing I could do.” Gibbs hugged himself, trying to keep his emotions at bay, trying to keep from being overwhelmed.
    "You could have fought the government,” said Gibbs’ mother. As she spoke, Charlotte Gibbs desiccated further, becoming little more than a skeleton.
    "No one can fight the government. I would have been destroyed!” Gibbs chewed on his finger.
    "Your body might have been destroyed, but you would have proven that you had a soul. You would have proven your worth as a human being. You would have proven you cared about something besides yourself."
    Timothy Gibbs woke in a cold sweat, clutching his sheet to himself. He stood and rushed over to the table with the hologram of his mother, picked it up and hurled it to the floor, smashing its micro-circuitry. The image of his mother was gone forever. “Leave me alone!” he shouted to the smashed holographic display. “I'm only a guy doing his best to make it in this world! Leave me alone!"
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    DOOMSDAY
    The next morning, Nicholas Sanson arrived at Alpha Coma Bereneces. Repairs to the Sanson proceeded immediately under the supervision of Chief Engineer Mahuk. The space-suited repair crews swarmed about the ship like gnats around a light post. Many of the people on the repair crew shook their heads at what they perceived to be an amateurish job of rerouting the conduits. Many commented that it was a miracle that the ship had not simply vaporized upon leaping into the fourth dimension of space-time as it returned from the globular cluster. It would take nearly two weeks for the crews to return Sanson to her former grandeur.
    The Nicholas Sanson was an elegant and beautiful ship. Most star ships in the 30th century were simple and functional black cylinders with engines glowing blue at the stern. Those ships were like arrows in the night, designed to shoot through the fourth dimension as quickly and efficiently as possible. The Sanson , on the other hand, was designed to map the fourth dimension, feeling its way along, charting the subtleties of gravity's ever-changing pathways, ultimately allowing all other ships to thrust their way through the void. Like the other ships, she was built of black Erdonium: the only material known that could withstand the ravages of the fourth dimension. She was also generally cylindrical, but she bulged in places Navy ships did not and attached to her hull were eight fan-like sensor arrays that swept back toward the vessel's stern—almost like sails. They pivoted subtly, sensing the gravitational interactions of many stars. Each of those arrays controlled a seemingly petite engine. The glow from each engine