Dryad Hatchery 42, Eneah III

  Space colonization. It was viewed as humanity’s crowning achievement. Governments and corporations did everything in their power to expand as fast as possible, determined to gain an advantage over their opponents. It was difficult to imagine that six centuries ago, the entire human race had been locked on a single planet with no intention of leaving it.

  The end of the Reversal Wars had brought in a period of staggering technological development. Clay huts had been replaced with massive spaceports overnight. From horseback to spaceship in three generations, the saying went, and that was just the beginning.

  The first terraformed planet had been a monumental occasion. The entire race had marveled at the achievement, making even skeptics inspired. The success had whetted people’s appetite, ushering in the first and second waves of expansion. Within generations, every colonized planet had transformed into the staging ground for further enlargement, forming clusters of inhabited worlds throughout known space.

  Eneah was one such center. Starting as a name on the star charts of the Bureau of Colonial Expansion, it was designated as one of the early stepping stones of the United Orthodoxy. Before fleets of seed-ships could start their journey, the strategic significance of the planet had been carefully assessed, the pros and cons analyzed, and all logistical and financial costs calculated. A plan was composed, meticulously detailing the entire development of the sector for the next several decades. Planets in the nearby systems would be terraformed and settled, planetary and orbital infrastructures built, local production expanded, until everything in the sector was filled up. Once that happened, the Orthodoxy would focus its attention on a new location on the fringes of its territory.

  At present, the planet had reached the halfway point of its development. Its importance had substantially grown, although it couldn’t compare to Earth and the other baptized worlds. Decades would pass before it reached its zenith, but even now it was granted a permanent branch of the Bureau of Colonial Expansion. More importantly, it was the only planet in the sector with its own dryads.

  “Just a little longer,” Jillian said as he stood by the large metal cube. “It would be stupid if you gave up now.”

  The boy kept leaning against the large metal cube. Around him was a lush field filled with the typical Eneah white poppies.

  “Remember when you said that you'd never get close to steel?” the boy continued. In his mind, he was counting down the seconds until the end of the exercise.

  Many would have wondered what a child was doing in such a highly restricted area. Of the entire planet, barely a few hundred people were allowed access. Even members of the church would require special permission to approach. The difference between them and Jillian was that the boy’s job was to prepare dryads for space travel—something he was exceedingly good at. Barely fifteen, he had been overseeing their training for a quarter of his life. Since the start of the year, it had even been decided that he no longer needed supervision.

  “Just concentrate on my voice,” the boy moved his face closer to the metal surface. “Don’t think about anything else.”

  A faint noise from inside the cube let him know that he’d been heard. That was good. The current exercise was among the more difficult that dryads were subjected to. Unofficially, people referred to it as “the third threshold.” Few dryads passed it on their first attempt. The vast majority lost self-control, quickly becoming destructive. Jullian’s job was to calm them down, should that occur. Right now, the boy was overseeing Silvena, which made his task easier. Of the current crop, she could be said to be among the overachievers. So far, there hadn’t been a task that she had set her mind upon and failed. By the looks of it, this was going to be no different.

  “There you go!” Jillian kept encouraging. “It’s almost over.”

  Within the metal cube, the dryad remained curled up, her fists clenched so hard they’d crush concrete. All her instincts screamed for her to break free of the metal prison. It was only thanks to her years of training that she was able to resist. Also, she didn’t want to disappoint Jillian.

  Gritting her teeth, the girl slammed her fists against the floor. The entire metal cube shook.

  “Silvi!” Jullian scolded her from outside. “Enough with the nonsense! There are only seventeen seconds left.”

  Seventeen seconds… For a dryad, it might as well have been half an hour. There was no way for Jillian to realize that. He was human. If he wanted, he could easily endure five minutes locked in the terrifying cube, maybe even more. Silvena still remembered the first time he had led her up to the box. The sensation had been so terrifying that she had summoned a whirlwind to take her as far away in the garden as possible. It had been so bad that a few of the older dryads had to swoop in to calm her down. It was at that point that Jillian had calmly ventured into the cube and remained there for an entire minute.

  The dryad had improved considerably since then. Now she could easily remain in a steel box for over a minute, often a minute and a half. Sadly, the requirement was two.

  “Ten left,” Jillian said, as if hoping that his words would make time flow faster. “You can do it.”

  Yeah, only ten seconds, the dryad thought.

  Silvena took a deep breath, trying to imagine the garden. An image formed in her mind, yet it was faded, sterile, almost dead. The cold embrace of steel prevented her from getting in touch with the life and beauty that nature brought. How could humans condemn themselves to such a painful existence? The holovision shows allowed in the hatchery had shown how people lived, constantly surrounded by stone, steel, and glass, not to mention the thousands of synthetic materials. Cities, colonies, ships… all were nothing more than giant prisons in which humans voluntarily locked themselves in. Just thinking about it made the dryad tremble.

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  “Three,” Jillian started the final countdown. “Two. One. Done!”

  There were a series of loud clicks, after which the metal cube broke up, disassembling into its main components. Before any of the segments had reached the ground, the dryad had leaped out into the open. Finally, she could feel the cool breeze, the warm rays of the sun, and the soft grass beneath her feet.

  “Told you.” The boy went up to her. “A few more times and you won’t need me anymore.”

  “No way,” the dryad laughed.

  Now that the exercise was over, she had the rest of the day to do whatever she wished. Her immediate thought was to ask Jillian to spend the time with her walking about the garden. That was impossible, though. The boy had enough duties as it was. A new crop of dryads had been scheduled for training. Many of them would come into contact with metal for the very first time—a painful and traumatic experience for everyone involved. That wasn’t the main reason for Silvena’s hesitation, though. Jillian, like all other training assistants, remained human, while she wasn’t. She hadn’t been born in a hospital, but emerged in a part of this very garden under the care of her elder sisters. Her only goal was to help humanity conquer the stars.

  In several years’ time, the dryad would be sedated and placed on a seed-ship from where she’d start her fateful journey to a foreign planet. Jillian would remain behind, helping to prepare others for the trip. The thought filled her with sadness. She didn’t want to leave Jillian or her garden, not one single bit.

  Maybe I can stay behind? Silvena thought.

  Her elder sisters always spoke of the journey as the most significant event in a dyad’s life. Many looked forward to it. According to the church’s promise, every dryad that terraformed a planet would be granted a domain of her own as well as the right to create further crops of her own. Was it worth it, though?

  “Why so silent all of a sudden?” Jillian asked.

  “Just wondering how well I’ll do when it’s for real,” the dryad lied. “I can barely endure two minutes in the box. I don’t even know how to create flora… How will I seed an entire planet?”

  “That’s not how things work.” Jillian laughed and ruffled her hair. “You won’t be alone. Hundreds, even thousands of your sisters will be with you. It takes more than one to terraform a planet. If you ever get into trouble, there will be others there to help you. Just as you’ll help all those that need it.”

  “Yeah, I know…”

  It took thousands of dryads to render a planet habitable. She was just part of the whole. As the slogan went: Making a dead planet fit for life was the duty of every dryad.

  “You’ve nothing to worry about. Grandpa told me that there hasn’t been a dyad under twenty to pass the third threshold in decades. Most need a decade of training to do what you did.”

  “Now you’re lying.” The smile returned to Silvena’s face.

  “Well, to be honest, I’ve heard that the dryads of Mars and Earth are a lot more capable…

  “Hey!” Silvena shoved him with her elbow. “It’s your job to encourage me, not—”

  Jillian’s communicator pinged. The boy took it from his belt and started reading the message on the small screen. His expression abruptly changed.

  “What happened?” the dryad asked.

  “I don’t know. They’re calling me to the dome.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Seems like.” Jillian quickly put the device away. “Probably one of the new ones has created a mess.”

  The boy did mention that the message was marked urgent nor that it had come from the hatchery’s administrator himself.

  “I’ll have to go,” he said.

  “I know. I guess I’ll go see what the others are doing.”

  “Sure.” Jillian walked away. “Just don’t distract them too much,” he added over his shoulder.

  The dome—officially referred to as the center—was the only artificial building in the territory of the hatchery. Rising fifty meters high, made entirely of polymer-glass, like a giant glistening pimple. Home to all human personnel, it also housed the bio-labs, storage facilities, administrative offices, and everything else necessary for the hatchery to function.

  Jillian broke into a sprint, heading straight for the north entrance. He knew from experience that important people didn’t want to have their time wasted. For the administrator to have called him directly, something had to be seriously wrong.

  Passing by the elevator, the boy rushed up the flights of stairs. The administrator’s office was located on the seventh floor. Normally, access was restricted to senior assistants. Seeing the boy approach, the security guard at the door waved him to head right in.

  “Thanks,” Jillian said, rushing into the corridor. At the very end was a large wooden door with the words “Administrator K. I. Assira” carved on the surface in large block letters.

  Upon reaching it, the boy paused for a few moments to steady his breathing, then knocked.

  “Enter,” the administrator said from inside.

  Straightening his shirt, Jillian did just that.

  Three people were waiting inside the office: the administrator and two others—a man and a woman—whom Jillian had never seen before. Based on his clothes, the man looked like a pilot of some sort. As for the woman, there could be no doubt that she was a battle cleric.

  “Is that him?” the man asked, skipping all introductions. “He doesn’t look like much. Do we need him?”

  “Whatever you decide,” the administrator quickly said. Seeing him so hesitant, almost apologetic, felt beyond strange. “Statistically, the odds of her losing her sanity are roughly seventy percent greater if she travels alone.”

  “How long did it take you to come up with those odds?” the man mocked, then went up to Jillian.

  Something in his behavior irked the boy. It wasn’t just arrogance; there was something that went deeper. It was as if the man wholeheartedly despised the boy.

  “Anything he must bring along?” The “pilot” turned to the administrator.

  “Maybe some clothes and personal belongings—”

  “I want him and the cargo ready in ten minutes,” the man interrupted. “The cargo won’t cause problems, right?”

  “Not as far as I know,” the administrator chose his words carefully. “Provided that precautions are taken.”

  “Prep her or sedate her,” the man said, then left the room, followed by the woman.

  Jillian stood speechless. What the hell had just happened? Everything had been so sudden and confusing that he couldn’t even think of a single question. The visitors had to be important—they wouldn’t behave in such fashion if they weren’t. At the same time, they hadn’t seemed at all pleased to be there.

  “Sir?” the boy turned to the administrator in the hope of answers.

  “Well, Jill.” The other sighed. “Apparently you’ll be flying to the capital.”