The Great Tree

By Geof Johnson

Zeta colony seems like the perfect place to settle and raise a family. The air is clean, and magnificent forests cover the planet. Its only city has a friendly, small-town atmosphere and a strong economy, thanks to the export of super tree lumber to Earth and other lumber-starved planets.
But when houses mysteriously start collapsing, killing the unsuspecting families inside, scientist Ed Ralston begins to suspect that the genetically engineered super trees may somehow be responsible. It’s up to Dr. Ralston and his daughter Lindy to find out how and why before more people die and the colony turns into a ghost town.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Apr 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781626756991

Book preview

you.

Chapter 1

The house collapsed with a deafening crash, killing the sleeping family inside. The younger trees celebrated, but some of the older ones did not, including the Great Tree.

Nothing good will come of this, he thought. This is a mistake that will haunt us.

He tried to close his mind off to the excited chatter of the younger trees. Saplings, he groused to himself. They are nothing but a bunch of saplings.

I hope the humans don’t cut us all down.

Ed Ralston’s friends laughed so hard that they nearly fell out of their seats. Kevin, however, wasn’t amused.

Here, Kevin. Ed tapped a button on the control surface behind the ball return. Let me slow the demo down for you.

All four of them watched as the holographic bowler appeared again in the lane before them. The man in the projection held his bowling ball to his chest with both hands, then stepped toward the line, pulled the ball back, and released it in a smooth motion.

I see your problem, Wally said as the image vanished. You’re supposed to roll the ball toward the pins, not the gutter. Wally and Bob guffawed again. Ed squeezed his lips together to stifle a laugh, but a little grunt escaped through his nose.

All right, smart guys. A scowl crossed Kevin’s dark, clean-shaven face. The small man crossed his arms and sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs. "Let’s see you do better."

It was Monday night, three weeks after the official opening of the colony’s first bowling alley and recreation center. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air and the fixtures and the equipment still had a store-room shine. Ed, Wally, Bob, and Kevin were trying to learn to bowl in preparation for league play.

Wally picked up a ball, held it up as the man in the projection had, stepped to the line and released it. They all watched intently as it rolled down the polished wooden lane to the pins.

Wally shook his short, stout body. I got it. I got it. I.... Oh. His shoulders slumped.

You got two, at least, Bob said, raising his voice to be heard over the racket from the nearby lanes. It’s a start.

We’re going to have to do better than that. Ed frowned as Wally sat next to him. League starts in two weeks, and rumor has it that the guys on the city workers’ team already know how to bowl.

Bob scratched his close-cropped black beard. How’s that possible?

Most of them are from Earth. That’s what I heard, anyway.

Wally smacked his fist on the small table next to him. Off-worlders shouldn’t be allowed in the league. That’s not fair.

Ed shrugged. We’re just going to have to practice. It’s all technique, not art. Technique can be learned.

Wally grinned. Except by Kevin.

Real funny, Wally. Kevin scowled. You’re as bad as the rest of us.

Maybe we could hire a coach, Bob said.

Ed looked down the alley, across the other lanes. The other bowlers seemed to be struggling, too. He shook his head. Where are we going to find one?

We could post on the faculty community board.

The only people who read that are geeky scientists like us, Wally said. We need somebody good.

I’ll ask my wife, Ed said. She’s done a little bowling.

Maybe one of her co-workers can bowl.

They’re all teachers. We need some blue-collar, off-world type.

Kevin scratched his chin with one fingertip. Maybe I could get my wife to talk to her cousin. The one that works at the power plant.

Yeah, Wally said. Someplace like that oughta have somebody who knows how to bowl.

Hmm. Bob reached into his pocket. By the way, did you guys see the vid of that other house that collapsed early this morning? I got it on my phone.

Another house? Kevin’s eyebrows shot up. Let’s see it.

Bob put his phone on the table, and a three-dimensional image of a wrecked wooden house appeared in the air above it.

What a mess. Wally gestured with his hand to expand the image and leaned closer, an intense look on his round face. No wonder they all died.

It’s a shame, really, Bob said, his deep voice rumbling inside his barrel chest. It was a young family with a three-year-old girl.

Does anybody know how it happened? Kevin said.

Not yet. The big man shut down the display and pocketed his phone. They’re still going over the wreckage.

Do we have forensic investigators in this colony? Ed asked.

I doubt it. Not with a population of...what are we up to now? Eighty thousand?

Yeah. Wally nodded. "Not an occupational priority."

Ed slowly shook his head. It might be now.

By the time Ed got home, it was after 9:00. His wife Jessa sat in their living room, watching TV.

Hi honey, Jessa said. How was bowling?

We’re terrible. I like the facility a lot, though.

It’s wonderful, isn’t it? It’ll give the kids someplace nice to go.

Speaking of kids, where’s Lindy? He sat on the couch next to Jessa.

Over at Sherice’s house, studying for a test.

"Hmph. I bet she’s studying."

Jessa frowned. Lighten up, Honey. Don’t you remember what it was like to be a senior? She looked at him for his answer and raised her eyebrows.

He ground his teeth for a long moment, arms crossed. That’s the problem. I do.

Lindy Ralston scowled to herself as she walked home, the street lamps flickering on as she neared each one, briefly illuminating the quiet neighborhood. Every fifth energy-efficient light stayed on permanently, the others only came on as needed. It was enough light, but it wasn’t bright.

I bet all of Paris’s street lamps stay on all night, she thought sourly. Paris, the City of Lights. Or New York. Surely they’re civilized enough to leave their lights on, probably millions of them. Not this little dump. And everybody’s so excited about that stupid bowling alley. Please! A bowling alley? How backwater can you get?

She kicked at a rock on the sidewalk and her scowl deepened. We don’t even have a proper name. Zeta Colony? What kind of name is that? What am I going to tell somebody on Earth when they ask me where I’m from? Zeta? Sounds like acne. I’m from Planet Acne. The Acne Colony. Gross.

When she got to her house, she glanced at the garage door. Behind it was the new car, she was certain, plugged in and charging. I’m sure Dad’s home. It’s almost 9:30. It’s past the old man’s bed time.

She opened the front door and heard her parents’ voices in the living room. She closed the door quietly and paused in the foyer, hoping to be unnoticed.

Lindy, is that you? her mother said.

No.

Why don’t you come say hello? We’ve hardly seen you all day.

Lindy exhaled sharply through clenched teeth and reluctantly stepped into the living room, where she found her parents sitting side-by-side on the couch. The TV was on but the sound was muted.

There they are. Mr. and Mrs. Bland.

Mrs. Bland sat on the left, with her bland teacher clothes (technically, administrator clothes, Lindy reminded herself) and her bland, brown hair, cut in a bland hair style, which her mother thought was cute. Please, Mom, you can’t get a cute style here. I know. I’ve tried.

Mr. Bland sat on the right, with his nondescript, desperately-out-of-fashion pants and shirt, comfortable (but ugly) shoes, and thick dark hair that always looked like it needed help, a little too long and never brushed quite right. He was hopeless. They both were.

How was studying? her mother asked.

Fine, Lindy mumbled, hoping to escape to her room as quickly as possible.

Do you have any tests this week?

Couple.

Well, you got two syllables out of her, her father said.

She wrinkled her nose at him but didn’t respond.

I’m driving to school tomorrow, her mother said. Do you want to ride with me?

Lindy only shrugged. Her mother opened her mouth to say more, but Lindy cut her off. I gotta take a shower before I go to bed.

Oh. Okay.

Lindy figured that was her chance to escape.

Ed continued to stare at the space where Lindy had stood, shaking his head. "Do you remember when she used to actually talk to us?" He turned to Jessa and raised one corner of his mouth.

It’s just a phase, Ed. They all go through it.

I don’t remember being like that.

Oh, really? You came home from school bursting with news of your day? Couldn’t wait to tell your parents?

Well, no. But I talked some.

I doubt it. I was just like her at this age, and you probably were, too. She’ll grow out of it.

I still don’t like it. It causes a lot of tension around here.

You only make things worse when you push her. Try to be a little more understanding.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She probably thinks we’re the biggest daffies ever.

She patted his knee. That’s because we are.

Jessa waited patiently for the garage door to open before backing the car out, the charging cable automatically retracting into the wall. Her surly daughter sat in the passenger seat.

Do you have everything? Jessa asked.

Lindy looked at her sideways but didn’t answer.

I guess that means yes.

Lindy was engrossed in her phone. Like most teenagers, she wore earrings that were tuned to it so that she could hear it but no else could. The display must’ve been set to private, because Jessa couldn’t see anything from her angle, though Lindy stared at it intently.

Mom, can I get optical implants so I don’t have to look at my phone all the time? Lindy said without shifting her gaze.

Absolutely not. Jessa put the car in reverse.

Why not?

Jessa put her foot on the brake and looked at Lindy. For one thing, it’s illegal to drive if you have them.

Lindy grunted. Dumb law.

Jessa backed out of the driveway and turned the car in the direction of the school, one of only three high schools in the colony, where she was the assistant principal and Lindy was a senior.

She regarded her daughter, purse in her lap and totally focused on her phone. She was lanky like her father, legs a little too long, and she had a tendency to slouch when she was around her shorter friends. To Jessa, she was beautiful, even if she did wear too much makeup, but to others, slightly plain. Smart, but unmotivated — Ed called her our brilliant underachiever.

All she needs is something to spark her interest, Jessa often told Ed. Something will get her going. Right now, Lindy was only interested in boys and her friends. She did enough at school to get by but wasn’t going to win any academic awards. Not like when she was young. Lindy was a mind on fire, then.

I wish she’d talk to me. Would you like to use the car this weekend?

Lindy looked at and lowered her eyebrows, not hearing the question.

Would you like to use the car this weekend? Jessa said a little louder.

Where am I gonna go, Mom?

You could go to the bowling alley.

Lindy rolled her eyes and looked back at her phone.

Oh come on, Honey. Have you seen it?

"I don’t need to see it. It’s a bowling alley."

You’ve never tried it. It’s fun.

"Right, Mom."

No, it is. I used to bowl a little when I was in college back on Earth.

With Dad?

No. Before I met him. He never bowled before until last night.

Bowling is for daffies. I’ll pass.

They have four holo game rooms.

Those are for little kids.

Your dad said he saw teenagers using them. Brent was there.

That’s ’cause Brent’s a.... She gave her head a tight shake and mumbled, Never mind.

Jessa waited to see if Lindy was going to elaborate, but she didn’t. Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, you can still use the car.

Lindy didn’t hear her. She was back in her own little world, so Jessa sighed and focused on her driving, enjoying the short ride to school. It was a beautiful morning and the sun was just clearing the treetops as their little vehicle hummed along the newly paved road. Those not fortunate enough to have a car yet rode bicycles or waited on benches for the transit shuttle, waving to her as she passed. She had ridden the shuttle for years until her family’s lottery number came up and they qualified for a car from one of the recent shipments from Earth.

The little cars were popular.

There were over a thousand of the identical white automobiles in the colony already — there was only one model available so far — with dozens more cars arriving every week, waiting to be snatched up by eager families. She passed several of the little vehicles on the way, some already customized with clever paint jobs and accessories.

Some entrepreneuring soul has started a new business, she thought, admiring a candy-apple red car that passed. Good. We need more of that. Maybe we should get this one painted, though she knew Ed liked it white. Or get some fancy wheels! Maybe I should just do it without asking him. It’s my car, too.

Ed heard the tinny horn and knew that Wally had arrived to take him to work. Ed put his coffee cup in the sink, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out the front door to the driveway, where Wally waited in his already-customized car. Wally had gotten the back extended and put racks on top to hold his kayak.

They call it a station wagon, Wally explained when Ed asked him about it. It’s one of the options at the custom shop. You should do something like that.

No thanks. I like mine just the way it is.

How are you going to find it in a parking lot full of cars?

I’ll remember where I parked, Ed said confidently. Besides, we don’t have any parking lots big enough to be a problem.

The civic center. They’re expanding that to five hundred spaces. That’s five hundred little white cars. You can’t even remember where you put your head, half the time. How are you going to remember where you put your car?

"Everybody else will customize theirs?"

Zeta colony council chairwoman Li Eng sat at her office desk that morning, scrolling through the newest list of colonist applicants. As usual, she scanned quickly for occupational priorities, those skills and professions most needed by their community. The highest priority, in her opinion, was farmers, though that was a topic of heated discussion at many council meetings.

Li, like her predecessor Lou Gatling, wanted the colony to be as self-sufficient as possible, and she believed that food production was the most important industry. We can’t live without food, she argued. We can live without other stuff. We’re still importing too much of what we eat, and it’s too expensive. Besides, what if something happened to the jump ships? How are we going to eat?

One applicant caught her eye immediately — a dairy farmer with a herd of 200 cows. A dairy farmer? Can they put that many cows in a jump freighter? She shrugged to herself. Probably can. They wouldn’t have put him on the list, otherwise. Sure is gonna smell, though. Those big ships take at least five or six days to get here.

We could have fresh cheese! She imagined sitting down after work to a delicious snack of cheese and crackers, with a glass of wine. Nice, sharp cheddar cheese. She closed her eyes and sighed.

Then she clicked approved by the applicant’s name.

On a whim, Ed decided to eat in the park. With lunch bag in hand, he made the five-minute walk to the edge of the well-landscaped campus, past the dorms, and through the brick archway of the south gate, where Zeta Colony College was spelled out in polished metal letters.

Every time he passed that gate, he remembered the president’s dedication speech when it was completed, nearly five years ago. She had called their school the little college that could. He also remembered Wally snickering and saying, Could what?

Ed, like his friends Wally, Bob, and Kevin, taught classes and did research there. Wally was a geophysicist, Bob taught electrical engineering, and Kevin taught computer science. Ed taught biology, but his PhD was in botany, with a particular interest in trees. And there was no tree anywhere like the Great Tree.

He could see it looming to his left above the other treetops, even before he reached the park, where it anchored one end of the large, oval-shaped grassy clearing. Smaller trees, maples, circled the park at evenly spaced intervals. A green-roofed bandstand with white columns and railings stood at the other end of the green, where outdoor concerts were held in warm weather. Ed and his wife enjoyed those, listening to the community orchestra or a band, sitting on a blanket and eating a picnic dinner while children buzzed around like excited bees.

Ed walked past the maple trees and into the park’s clearing, looking at the Great Tree, towering over 200 meters into the sky, with a trunk at least 17 meters in diameter. He remembered a field trip to the park when he was in first grade. All of the schoolchildren had joined hands, trying to encircle the tree, and they still came up short.

Hello, Old Friend, Ed said as he neared it, walking past the benches around the tree. He patted its enormous trunk and inspected it briefly — no carvings. When he was a boy, he’d cut his initials there with a pen knife, only to see them vanish days later as it grew new bark over the wound. It had a remarkable capacity for self-healing. You’re looking good, as usual.

He remembered an earlier time, when Lindy was little, running around the gargantuan trunk and squealing, while he and Jessa pretended to chase her. Big fun for little girls. He smiled wistfully and sat on one of the benches to eat his lunch.

The Great Tree sensed the human at its trunk. The Familiar One. The younger trees insisted that all humans looked alike, in the limited manner that they could see, but the Great Tree knew that they were wrong. There was something about this one. He had sensed him many times — hundreds of times — more so than any other human.

Ed finished his lunch, rose from the bench, and turned to face the tree. He said his ritualistic farewell, Goodbye, Old Friend. I’ll see you again soon, and headed back to campus, whistling as he walked.

Jessa had just stepped into the school cafeteria when she heard the commotion. She looked at the line of students snaking into the serving area and saw a dark-haired boy shove a red-headed boy. The red-head lunged at the other boy and they went down to the floor in a heap, wrestling and cursing as Jessa ran to break it up.

Five minutes later they sat across from Jessa at her desk, one boy holding a bag of ice to his swollen lip. Jessa crossed her arms and regarded them silently for a moment, mentally putting names to the faces. Ty Branson, she thought as she looked at the red-head on her left. Off-worlder. That figures. Seems like most of my problems come from them. On her right, nursing his lip, was William Willis. Native. Both parents are researchers, I think.

All right, she said, what’s this all about?

He started it! they both said at once, pointing at each other.

She held her hand up to silence them, and then looked at William. He said, He punched me.

Ty sat up in his seat. He pushed me first!

She held her hand up again, and then looked back at William, who continued, He cut in line at lunch, so I pushed him out and told him to get in the back like everyone else. That’s when he hit me.

Ty, Jessa said, this is your second trip to my office, and we’ve only been in session for three weeks. Is this going to be a pattern with you? If I have to expel you, you’ll get home schooling with a teaching ’bot. Can your family afford that?

Ty slouched sullenly in his chair. After a moment, he mumbled, No ma’am.

And you, William? She looked at him and tilted her head to one side. Do you need the ’bot, too?

No ma’am. He shook his head. My dad will kill me.

All right. Both of you report to Mrs. Macy. Inside suspension for the rest of the week. She narrowed her eyes at them. Now don’t let me see you in here again.

Lindy thumbed her locker open and heard a boy’s voice from behind her.

Hey ladies. What’s going?

Her heart fluttered as her friend Rianni said, Hey Brent. Nothing. What’s going with you?

Lindy’s breath caught in her throat and she turned to see the dark-haired boy with the cocky smile.

Not much. He leaned one shoulder against the lockers and crossed his arms. Trying to get a gang together this Friday night to go up to the bowling alley. Interested?

Rianni glanced at Lindy, whose power of speech had deserted her. Sure. We’ll go. Right, Lindy?

They looked at Lindy. Frozen, she could only nod.

Yeah, we’ll be there, Rianni said.

Great, he said with a wink. S’ya.

They watched him walk into the crowded hallway and Rianni turned to Lindy. Very impressive. Have you considered a career in public speaking?

Lindy closed her eyes and exhaled through clenched teeth. Damn!

Watch your mouth, girl. And stop slouching. It makes your boobs look small.

Lindy frowned. "They are small."

Rianni squeezed Lindy’s shoulder. They’re fine. C’mon. We’re gonna be late for class.

Mr. Harlan Sturgitz was important. He had the office to prove it. It was the largest one in the colony, even bigger than Chairwoman Eng’s, and paneled in maple, all of the furnishings imported from Earth.

Come to think of it, her office isn’t very big.

He faced the back of his sumptuous room and said, Transparent. The wall responded, becoming clear as glass and revealing landscaped grounds that gradually sloped away from his building to the river, bits of sparkling blue visible through the trees.

The wall to his right was covered with bookshelves full of leather-bound books, all classics, all printed on real paper. He ran his finger over the spines of the ones nearest him, admiring the beauty of the matched collections and the rarer titles. He’d never read them. They weren’t there for that.

He got to the mirror at the center of the wall and stopped to inspect his hair, making sure that every blond strand was plastered perfectly in place. It always was. He checked anyway.

Sturgitz’s title was complicated: Executive Vice President of Logging and Export Operations, Zeta Colony. But his job description was simple: Keep the wood flowing. Out of the forests, onto the sky lift to the jump freighters, and then to Earth and the other colonies.

He took his job seriously.

He walked across the room to where his portrait hung, and regarded the name plate below it. Then he reached out and placed his thumb over the word Vice in the title. That’s more like it. President. President of Logging Operations. Then I can move back to Earth and have a real office, like my boss’s. I’ll have mahogany paneling everywhere. That wood is valuable as gold.

Why can’t we grow that here? I need to talk to that scientist guy, Ed Rollins or Walston or whatever. He knows trees. Get some mahogany started...genetically engineer some fast-growth stock...I can erase that Vice from my title real quick. Maybe have my boss’s job before long.

He looked back across the room at his reflection in the mirror and winked.

I’m home. Ed closed the door behind him. Hel—lo. Where is everybody? He set his briefcase down in the foyer and went into the kitchen, where he found the note from Jessa. Bowling. I forgot it was ladies’ night.

He walked down the hall to the back of the house. Lindy? You home? He got no answer and tapped his knuckles on her closed door. Lindy? He tried the handle but it was locked, so he knocked harder.

Hmm? he heard a muffled voice within.

Lindy, Mom’s bowling, so it’s just the two of us for dinner.

Already ate.

Where?

Steadman’s.

Honey, you can’t eat junk food every day. Your mom made a nice dinner for us. When he got no answer, he said, Grandmama and Granddaddy are calling tonight. He waited, but she didn’t respond. Don’t you want to talk to them?

Not really.

He had to resist the urge to override her door lock. They’d had some major battles over privacy. But you haven’t talked to them in months, and I won’t get time again on the Q.E. for awhile.

When she still didn’t answer, he put his hand on the doorknob for a moment before turning away. Dinner by myself? What do I have a family for?

Ed was nearly finished cleaning up the kitchen when he heard the alert from the computer. You have a call on the QE link in five minutes.

Good, he said. Thanks. He dried his hands and went into the living room to the station in the corner.

The communication link worked on the spooky phenomenon of quantum entanglement, or QE for short. Two particles can become entangled in such a way that when they are separated, they still act as pairs. Change the state of one particle, and the other changes, too, instantly, no matter how far apart they are, even thousands of light years — the distance between Earth and Zeta.

If you entangle large groups of pairs, then separate each pair, you can put the entangled mates on a jump ship and take them far away, to somewhere like a Zeta, and set up a communication link. Then you can take an electronic signal such as audio or video, encode it to excite the Earth-bound particles, and their corresponding mates on Zeta will also become excited, the signal can be decoded and presto — instant communication over vast distances.

Unfortunately, there was only one public QE link on Zeta, so if you wanted to make a call, you had to sign up far advance for your turn, and the video quality was grainy 2D black and white. The only alternative was to record vid letters and send them via jump ship as mail, which could take nearly two weeks, depending on where the recipient lived. The college had a QE link, but using it for personal messaging was frowned upon, as there was always a waiting list of scientists wanting to communicate with their peers on Earth and the other colonies.

An image came to life on the wall, a gray-haired man and woman, Ed’s parents, Bert and Maggie, looking older than he remembered, the graininess of the image adding years to their appearance. They exchanged greetings quickly because of the strict time limit on their call.

How’s Jessa? Maggie asked.

Fine. She’s bowling tonight.

"That’s right. I heard about the new bowling alley."

We never had anything that fancy when we lived there, Bert said.

Where’s Lindy? Maggie asked. Is she bowling, too?

No. She’s hiding in her room, chatting with her friends.

She’s a teenager. Maggie