Free Alien Earth by Megan Lindholm Page B

probes. But the results always come back the same. Toxic. Poisoned. Dead and deadly. You know why? Because all our raw data becomes the property of the Conservancy, goes directly into sealed files. We aren’t even allowed to see the readings we get. All we’re allowed is the Conservancy’s interpretation of what the raw data meant. It’s been very frustrating and very expensive. But the solution is obvious. Get permission for another reconnaissance. But this time there’s a man on the ship who’s ours, one who can step in and pirate the data before they can steal it from us and ‘interpret’ it to their own liking. We’ve set up ways for it to be done.” Deckenson paused, and John wondered what worse thing he was about to introduce.
    “And there’s one other possibility, even more exciting. We have reason to believe there exists a time capsule that was left for us, created by those who stayed behind when we evacuated, in the faith that someday we’d come back for it. Firsthand data about Earth’s ecology. We believe it’s there, waiting for us. You can retrieve it. Or try. That’s all we ask.”
    All they asked. The words seemed to echo in John’s ears. He couldn’t imagine anything worse they could ask of him.
    “Deckenson,” he said pleadingly. “It’s completely crazy. Earth’s dead. Any ‘time capsule’ that was left there is destroyed, centuries ago. And it’s treason. If I do it, I’ll return to condemnation. There won’t even be a pretense of adjusting me. They’ll simply eliminate me like a contagious disease. And my crew.”
    Deckenson didn’t smile. The very flatness of his mouth was somehow more intimidating. “No. Because you won’t fail. And when the information you gather is released, eliminating you will be impossible. You’ll be a hero. We’ll see to that. Refuse us, and we’ll see you’re condemned. So focus onthis. If you serve us, you’ll return to wealth and acclaim. We promise.”
    “There isn’t really a choice for me, is there?” John said slowly.
    “Not really,” Deckenson agreed. His flat eyes smiled at John over the rim of his stim mug as he drained it off.

3
    S HE WAS WALKING TOO FAST . Connie consciously slowed her stride and surreptitiously glanced around to see if anyone had noticed her hurry. She caught one pair of eyes staring at her, but the young woman seemed to be studying her orange coveralls rather than her face. Normal, Connie told herself. She was in a residential section of the station. It wasn’t an area usually frequented by the merchant marine. The standard coveralls that blended in among the port traffic made her stand out here. That was all. Nothing to worry about.
    She forced herself to take the relaxing breaths, told herself that her uneasiness was groundless. Her Adjustment counselor had promised her that these feelings of not belonging, of vague paranoia, would pass. A small side effect of the Readjustment, actually a very small price to pay for being adapted. Time, she had assured Connie, would erase all the uneasiness. Well, Connie had given it time. A year and a half, in her relevant time. Almost forty years elapsed time. And she still felt as if there were no place where she was truly comfortable and at home, no place where people couldn’t see she was a patched and mended thing, a repaired mind. Even if the corridor had been empty, she would still have felt the knowing eyes on her, the looks that pitied or condemned her.
    “Connie.” She heard the soothing voice cut into her mind, the last fading vestige of all the post-hypno helps they’d placed inside her head. Guaranteed to expire withinten years. Usually. But maybe it wasn’t even a post-hypno anymore. Maybe her mind had obediently replayed it so many times, whenever her thoughts turned this way, that now it was just part of her. “Connie, dear. Remember this, when you feel out of place. Over seventy percent of the population will undergo Readjustment at some time in