The Last Colony

 

“The Obin called it Garsinhir,” General Rybicki had said to me and Jane a few days earlier, as we took his personal shuttle from our transport to Phoenix Station for our formal briefing, and to be introduced to some of the colonists who would act as our deputies. “It means seventeenth planet. It was the seventeenth planet they colonized. They’re not a very imaginative species.”

 

“It’s not like the Obin to give up a planet,” Jane said.

 

“They didn’t,” Rybicki said. “We traded. We gave them a small planet we took from the Gelta about a year back. They didn’t have much use for Garsinhir anyway. It’s a class-six planet. The chemistry of the life there is similar enough to the Obin’s that the Obin were always dying off from native viruses. We humans, on the other hand, are incompatible with the local life chemistry. So we won’t be affected by the local viruses and bacteria and whatnot. The Gelta planet the Obin are taking isn’t as nice but they can tolerate it better. It’s a fair trade. Now, have you two had a chance to look at the colonist files?”

 

“We did,” I said.

 

“Any thoughts?” Rybicki said.

 

“Yes,” Jane said. “The selection process is insane.”

 

Rybicki smiled at Jane. “One day you’re going to be diplomatic and I’m not going to know what to do,” he said.

 

Jane reached for her PDA and pulled up the information on the selection process. “The colonists from Elysium were selected from a lottery,” she said.

 

“A lottery they could join after proving they were physically capable of the rigors of colonization,” Rybicki said.

 

“Kyoto’s colonists are all members of a religious order that avoids technology,” Jane said. “How are they even going to get on the colony ships?”

 

“They’re Colonial Mennonites,” Rybicki said. “They’re not whackjobs, and they’re not extremists. They just strive for simplicity. That’s not a bad thing to have on a new colony.”

 

“The colonists from Umbria were selected through a game show,” Jane said.

 

“The ones that didn’t win got the take-home game,” I said.

 

Rybicki ignored me. “Yes,” he said, to Jane. “A game show that required the contestants to compete in several tests of endurance and intelligence, both of which will also come in handy when you get to Roanoke. Sagan, every colony was given a list of physical and mental criteria that every potential Roanoke colonist had to fulfill. Other than that we left the selection process up to the colony. Some of them, like Erie and Zhong Guo, did fairly standard selection processes. Some of them didn’t.”

 

“And this doesn’t cause you any concern,” Jane said.

 

“Not as long as the colonists passed our own set of requirements, no,” Rybicki said. “They presented their potential colonists; we checked them against our own standards.”

 

“They all passed?” I asked.

 

Rybicki snorted. “Hardly. The Albion colony leader chose colonists from her enemies list, and the colonist positions on Rus went to the highest bidder. We ended up supervising the selection process on both those colonies. But the end result is that you have what I think is an excellent class of colonists.” He turned to Jane. “They’re a damn sight better than colonists you’re going to get from Earth, I’ll tell you that much. We don’t screen them nearly as rigorously. Our philosophy there is that if you can walk onto a colony transport, you’re in. Our standards are a little higher for this colony. So relax. You’ve got good colonists.”

 

Jane settled back, not entirely convinced. I didn’t blame her; I wasn’t entirely convinced myself. The three of us fell silent as the shuttle negotiated the terms of docking at the gate.

 

“Where’s your daughter?” Rybicki said, as the shuttle settled in.

 

“She’s back at New Goa,” Jane said. “Supervising our packing.”

 

“And having a good-bye party with her friends that it’s best we not think too much about,” I said.

 

“Teenagers,” Rybicki said. He stood up. “Now, Perry, Sagan. Remember what I said about this colony process having become a media circus?”

 

“Yes,” I said.

 

“Good,” he said. “Then prepare to meet the clowns.” And then he led us off the shuttle to the gate, where apparently the entire news media of the Colonial Union had camped out to meet us.

 

“Holy God,” I said, stopping in the tunnel.

 

“It’s too late to panic, Perry,” Rybicki said, reaching back and taking my arm. “They already know everything about you. Might as well come out and get it over with.”

 

 

 

“So,” Jann Kranjic said, sidling up to me not more than five minutes after we had landed on Roanoke. “What’s it like to be one of the first humans to set foot on a new world?”

 

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