Gaia’s Lost Children

By R. J. Pearson

Gaia’s Lost Children is a politically conservative sci-fi novel of a near-term dystopian future. In the story, the Extinction Reversal Corp. (ERC) genetically engineers and reintroduces the recently extinct moas, woolly mammoths, and passenger pigeons species to the Earth’s environment. Unfortunately, these reintroductions unsettle the Global Union (GU), a carefully balanced, all-encompassing world government. In reaction, the members of the ERC are banished to a huge space habitat located equal distance from the Earth and Moon. A later attempt at further punishment leads the space exiles to rebel.
The novel follows two childhood friends, Peter Tanaka and Ivar Hardford, as they try to navigate the turmoil in the GU. Peter joins the ERC and becomes a leader of the space exiles. Ivar establishes himself as the head of a mercenary band used as off-the-books government enforcers. Peter and Ivar end as mortal enemies on opposite sides of the space rebellion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781669817727

Book preview

GAIA’S LOST CHILDREN

R. J. Pearson

Copyright © 2022 by R. J. Pearson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance

to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 04/25/2022

Xlibris

844-714-8691

www.Xlibris.com

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Gaia’s Lost Children

CONTENTS

Shit Storm

The First Phoenix Rising

The Frankenfood Fiasco

Moa Mayhem

Dance of Death, Rehearsal

Dance of Death, Performance

The Second Phoenix Rising

A Mammoth Mess

Boots and Saddles

Exiled on High

The Last Phoenix Rising

The Pigeons Come Home to Roost

Toll Road

Road to Rebellion

When Committees Attack

Tightening the Noose

Manning the Ramparts

The Moon Dance

The Best-Laid Plans

The Slings and Arrows of Fortune

Harold Do or Die

The Battle of L5

Storming the Sky Fortress

Choosing Sides

Peace Treaty, the Lies We Tell Each Other and Ourselves

List of Characters and Locations

SHIT STORM

Peter Tanaka and Ivar Hardford were born in the MidAlt Arcology, a major urban center housed in one enormous building. They had grown up in a community where everything was recycled and exchanges with the outside world were carefully controlled. The people of the arcology were organized as a commune dedicated to zero environmental impact living.

The MidAlt Arcology’s commune enforced its values through a system of social credits. The credits determined how resources were distributed to individual inhabitants. The Creativity Related Experiential Engagement Program (CREEP) that Peter and Ivar participated in was part of the social credit system that sought to imbue young people with community values.

Early, as usual, Peter looked around the Creativity Discovery Center for his friend Ivar. The centers’ tables, arranged with a carefully studied randomness, were mostly empty. Peter selected a table and sat down to wait. Moments later, his friend came striding in carrying a bag of human waste. Spotting Peter, Ivar came over and placed his bag on the table where it sat, wiggling, jiggling, and sloshing. Peter smiled and reached down to retrieve his own bag of feces from the floor. When he placed it on the table, it landed with a firm plop and stood upright.

Ivar shook his head. You’re the only one I know that can create a tidy bag of shit. How long did you have to stay on the Basic Community Nutrition Plan (BCNP) to produce that perfect pile of turds?

Peter looked embarrassed. Two weeks, as instructed.

Ivar laughed. You are the ideal commune member, aren’t you?

Peter looked a little embarrassed. No! Not really.

Well, how was it? Ivar asked.

Peter frowned. Bland and tasteless but filling. I had very little gas, and it did produce very firm and consistent stools as promised.

Ivar smiled. So, you spent two weeks eating tasteless cardboard to prepare for a two-hour session sculpting your own crap?

Peter poked Ivar’s bag and smiled. The contents slushed back and forth with a gluggy sound. I think I’m going to have a much easier time sculpting my crap than you are yours.

Ivar smiled back. At least I didn’t have to spend two weeks eating plastic BCNP nutrition bars.

It also comes in liquid form, Peter said defensively.

Ivar laughed. Delicious, I’m sure.

At the front of the room, the facilitator smiled and greeted the group around her with a sweeping arm gesture. Welcome! Welcome, aspiring creators! I’m so glad you decided to join us today.

Ivar rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath. What choice did I have?

Peter struggled and said, You could have stayed home.

I need to maintain my CREEP hours to stay in the culinary enhancement plan, Ivar bumbled under his breath.

So, no CREEP, no crapes the delicious little pancakes you like. Peter whispered back.

Peter poked Ivar’s bag of feces, which responded with a watery jiggle. You like that high-end cuisine too much.

Seeing the bag jiggle, the facilitator turned to Ivar with a satisfied smile. I see that you failed to take my suggestion and stick to the BCNP in preparation for this creative experience. It not only provides a completely balanced diet but also results in firm, easy-to-sculpt stools.

The experience coordinator emptied her own bag of stool on the front table with a flourish, where it landed with a satisfying plop. Grabbing the mound of poop with her bare hands, the facilitator began to expertly form it into the shape of a whale.

The scatological sculptor smiled blissfully. Ah, there’s nothing like running your hands through your own excrement to reconnect with your body flow. If you follow the community diet, your output doesn’t even smell. For those of you who decided not to follow the BCNP, I have twenty kilograms of dried production from the arcology’s excrement recycling facility that can be mixed with your own bio-output.

Peter mumbled, The experience coordinator believes her own shit doesn’t stink.

Ivar chuckled softly. Nothing new there. I better start mixing crap, or I won’t get my CREEP hours today.

Peter shook his head. Yeah, what you have there is disgusting even for shit.

It won’t hold any shape! Ivar said as he mixed in more powder excrement.

Peter backed away from the table and covered his nose. Hey, watch it! You’re getting powder crap all over the place. Wow, that stuff smells!

Even after a heavy dose of dried waste, Ivar’s poop pile just slumped down on the tabletop. He desperately mixed in more powder.

Nearby, the experience coordinator was praising another young creator’s work. How wonderfully phallic!

Ivar looked over at the other creator’s sculpture. I can make one of those.

Ivar quickly formed his bio-material into a column. Unfortunately, when he pulled his hands away, his poop pillar slumped.

Peter nearly burst out laughing. You seem to have an erectile dysfunction problem, my friend.

No!

The experience facilitator drifted over and glared at Peter and Iven. To enhance your creativity, you must take this experience more seriously. I won’t endorse your CREEP credit unless you make more of an effort.

Before emptying his bag of turds, Peter pulled a small flat piece of plastic out of his pocket. Dumping his pile of feces on the table, he used his hands to form them into a roughly pyramidal shape. With the flat piece of plastic, he carved steps into the pyramid’s side and flattened the top. He placed a small lump of crap on the top and modeled it into a cube. He rolled four of the firmer turds into cylinders and positioned one at the middle of each side. He molded the cylinders into ramps.

Peter smiled and asked Ivar. What do you think?

What is it?

Peter frowned. It’s a Mayan step pyramid.

Ivar smirked. Shit-chen Itza?

Peter looked puzzled. What?

Just then, the experience coordinator came striding over and glared down at Peter’s work. Have you exhausted your creativity for today, Peter?

Peter looked up and nodded.

The coordinator sighed and frowned. You should strive to make a sculpture that evokes an emotional response. It needn’t be an exact copy of reality. Your sculpture is a cultural appropriation from the Mayans. You need to work on your social sensitivity. I’ll certify your CREEP credit for this session, but you need to do better.

Peter hung his head as the coordinator walked away.

Ivar smirked and whispered, Mayans everywhere weep.

Peter glared at him and shook his head. They’ve all been dead for centuries.

Peter started to clean up his work as Ivar tried to complete his scorpion sculpture. Unfortunately, the scorpion’s raised stinger fell off, and the rest began to flow into a shapeless mess.

Ivar shook his head. I’ve got to get some CREEP credit for this session, or I’ll be down to eating BCNP all the time.

Peter smirked. You should have stayed on the BCNP to prep for this session.

Ivar glared at him. Oh, don’t give me that shit!

Peter inclined his head toward his sculpture, standing tall on the table. Are you sure!

Ivar’s shoulders slumped. Yes, yes, please give me that shit!

Peter smiled and swept Ivar’s watery crap into his bag for disposal. Ivar grimaced and moved Peter’s sculpture over in front of him and began to turn it into a scorpion.

Peter got up and headed for the door. I’m going to the STEM center where I can get some CREEP credit based on hard work.

Ivar grimaced when he ran his hands through Peter’s bio-output, but it retained its shape when he modeled it. Looking up, he said, You were right, this is truly great shit.

***

After leaving Ivar, Peter stopped off at a community hygiene management facility and spent ten minutes scrubbing human waste off his hand and arms. He worked particularly hard to get the stuff out from under his nails.

By the time he arrived, only a few others were in the Science Technology Engineering Math (STEM) Discovery Center. Most people were working on computers. A few were working on experimental setups.

Peter found John Chen, the center’s chief facilitator, working under a chemical exhaust hood. Peter tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped a little.

John pulled his head out of the niche in the lab’s wall. Hello, Peter. Sorry, I couldn’t hear you with the air roaring in here.

Do you have to work in there? Peter asked.

Yes. This stuff isn’t too dangerous, but you knew how sensitive the commune is about releasing any toxic gases into the closed environment of the arcology. This way, everything gets sent up a stack into the open air. So, where have you been?

Peter frowned. I was in the Creativity Discovery Center working on some CREEP credits till just now.

How did that go? John asked.

Peter shrugged. Not well. Free-floating creativity doesn’t appear to be one of my strengths.

John smiled and shrugged. Isn’t one of mine either. Would you like to help me with some grounded creativity? I’ll be happy to give you some CREEP credits.

Sure, what do you want me to work on?

John gestured toward a computer workstation. We just got some new field data on coyote counts in the neighborhood. I want them put into the wildlife population model to see how the coyote/wolf balance is trending. First, I’ll show you where the input files are. Then I’d like you to graph up the results so that we can present them to the community.

Peter got busy reformatting the field data and designing the model’s graphical output for this project. After a while, he heard an alarm chirping in the background. He ignored it. There had been many false alarms since the Earth Day fireworks display in the arcology’s main celebration center malfunctioned. Peter assumed this was just one more.

Looking up, Peter saw that John had backed out of the hood and was looking at some lab instrumentation. He appeared a bit agitated. Other people were beginning to look around. Peter noticed a strange new smell.

Suddenly John announced, OK, everybody, please save your computer files and secure your experiments. I think we may have to shelter in place.

Someone in the group asked, What’s going on?

There appears to be a fire in the arcology, John answered.

What? The structure is fireproof, isn’t it?

John frowned. Well, it is, for the most part.

Another louder alarm began to scream. The automatic fire door shot out of its storage space in the wall to close the STEM center entrance but instead stuck in its track, leaving a half-a-meter-wide gap.

Shit! John yelled. He fumbled for his ID card and headed for the center’s utility closet at the back of the room. Pushing his card against the closet’s lock, he clawed its door open and slipped inside.

***

By the time the first fire alarm began to chirp in the Creativity Discovery Center, Ivar had almost finished his sculpture. In deference to the creativity facilitator’s aversion to reality, he had replaced his scorpion’s stinger with an eyeball. A row of upward-pointing stingers ran down the imaginary creature’s back. Ivor smiled. He hoped his creation was weird enough to earn him some CREEP credit and a better diet.

Everyone looked up when the main fire alarm started to screech. The facilitator looked bewildered but shook herself. OK, stop what you are doing. Shelter in place, everyone. Shelter in place!

The center’s automatic fire door shot out of the wall but stopped suddenly, leaving an opening a third of a meter wide. The facilitator stared at the jammed door with her mouth open.

Frack, that can’t be right, Ivar said.

The facilitator grabbed her phone and shouted into it. I have a fire alarm, and the fire door to my center is stuck partially opened . . . What utility closet? OK, I’ll see if I can unlock the door.

As Ivar watched the facilitator search for the door to the utility closet, a burnt smell was beginning to permeate the room. He wandered over to the fire door and looked at its track. It was jammed with debris. He retrieved Peter’s carving tool and began scraping away at the dirt, obstructing the door.

What are you doing! the facilitator yelled.

Ivar looked up and responded, Clearing the track. The door is jammed.

The facilitator gave Ivar an angry look. I didn’t tell you to do that! Leave it alone! I’ll get the door closed. Sit quietly. Shelter in place! Shelter in place!

Ivar backed away from the door but didn’t take a seat. He noticed that the burnt smell was getting stronger. The facilitator finally found the utility room entrance behind a stack of boxes and started fumbling with her ID card, trying to work the lock. Minutes passed before she opened the door and disappeared inside. Ivar edged closer to the fire door.

The fire door retracted slowly and then shot forward again. It jammed almost in the same spot. Ivar watched the fire door run through the same cycle several more times with a sinking feeling. Finally, the facilitator came flying out of the utility room, phone in hand.

In a voice edged with panic, she yelled into the phone. It won’t close! It won’t close! I need help up here.

When Ivar heard the facilitator say, What do you mean no one can get to us . . ., he made his decision. He ran for the door and squeezed through the gap. Several other of the smaller creators followed him. As the group fled down the hallway, the facilitator’s panicky voice echoed after them. Stop! Shelter in place! Shelter in place!

***

Peter watched as the door to the STEM retracted and then slammed forward only to stick again.

John stuck his head out of the utility closet. OK, that’s not going to work. Peter and Abdul, grab some tools and clear the junk out of the track. Let me know when we’re ready to try again.

Peter squeezed through the gap and chipped away at the rust and debris in the track from the outside. Abdul Soliman scraped the rails from the inside. When they reached the doorframe, Peter nodded at Abdul, OK, let me get back inside.

Once Peter was safely back in, Abdul yelled, OK, try it again, please!

The fire door retracted and then slid forward and closed with a thump. Abdul smiled and gave Peter a fist bump.

John came out of the utility closet, Good job, gentlemen. Good job!

Speaking into his phone, John said, We got our fire door closed. Is the fire still spreading in the arcology? . . . What happened to the sprinkler system? . . . Contaminated? . . . How long? . . . OK, we’ll hold on here.

John held up his hands to get the attention of the people in the STEM center. We may be here awhile. The fire suppression sprinkler system is offline. They are trying to get it restored, but it will take some time.

Why is the system down? Abdul asked.

John looked down. When the system was triggered by the Earth Day pyrotechnic display in the main celebration center, people noticed that the water smelled really bad. It turns out that the piping hadn’t been flushed in years. They found the water was contaminated with legionella bacteria, so the system had to be cleaned and sterilized. They were doing maintenance on the system when they opened one of the closed mechanical rooms. Apparently, the pyrotechnics had started a fire that was smoldering in that closed space. Opening the door allowed oxygen into the room, and the fire flashed over into the main sprinkler pump room. Several people were burned, and the wiring of the pump system was damaged.

How long will it take to get the sprinklers back online? Peter asked.

John rubbed the back of his neck. They don’t know. Several hours at least. They have to work in respirators because the fumes in the room are so bad.

Abdul raised his hand. How is the fire spreading? The arcology is supposed to be fireproof.

John tilted his head to one side and gave Abdul a sad little smile. It was, as initially built. It had very plain, sterile hallways and fire doors that cut off rooms with flammable furnishings. But the fire doors haven’t been maintained in years. I guess many of them failed as ours did. Decades of painting murals in the hallways and hanging banners have turned them into fuel-rich environments.

What do we do now? Peter asked.

John looked down. Since the arcology is a closed, zero environmental impact community, there are few ways to get to the outside world. With toxic gases building up in the passageways, it is unlikely we can find a way out. Now that we have the fire door sealed, we probably have several hours of breathable air in here. I think it’s best if we shelter in place and hope that they get the sprinkler system and air handler working again soon.

Reassured, Peter went back to working on the population model as the STEM center group waited to be rescued. Remarkably, in the middle of the catastrophe, the power and Internet service continued to work. Unlike fire suppression, these systems were routinely used, well maintained, and had many redundant subsystems. In contact with the outside world and with John to lead them, the group in STEM remained calm as the hours passed.

***

Ivar and the young people from the Creativity Center staggered along, trying to escape the cloud of smoke and fumes moving down the hallway. The passageway was lined with fire doors that were closed or jammed partially open. Ivar choked and coughed as he moved blindly upward along the ramps in the arcology.

When Ivar’s group reached the farm, the commune’s rooftop hydroponic garden, its fire door was jammed open by a misplaced plant container. Ivar clambered over the rack of pipes and plants into the greenhouse. Row after row of kale, cannabis, and a few other crops filled the vast space. Sunlight streamed in through the glass roof and walls.

Ivar ran along the farm’s perimeter, looking for a way out. He didn’t find any. He saw a narrow ledge on the outside of the glass wall but couldn’t reach it. A decorative ribbon of metal joined the ledge. The metal ribbon ran around the arcology and stretched from the rooftop farm all the way to the ground six hundred meters below.

Looking under a plant rack, Ivar saw that it was mounted on wheels. He pushed, but the plant stand wouldn’t budge. He got down on the floor and found the wheels were locked. Ivar opened all the wheel locks. When he pushed this time, the rack moved a little.

Ivar looked around for the others from the Creativity Center. Hey, help me. Help me push this rack, it’s heavy.

With the help of several others, Ivar got the plant stand moving toward the farm’s glass wall. It picked up speed. When the rack hit the wall, it went right through. Ivar watched it fall. It tumbled end over end until it hit the side of the arcology hundreds of meters below and shattered.

A fresh breeze flowed in through the hole in the wall and hit Ivar in the face. He heard a roar behind him. Looking back toward the fire door, he watched some of the plants near the entrance catch fire. The oxygen flowing through the hole was feeding the fire.

Shit! Ivar yelled.

Kicking out the last remaining glass shards, Ivar wormed his way out onto the ledge. Let’s go. We have to go.

Ivar put his back against the farm’s outer wall and started to work his way over to the building’s decorative metal ribbon. Behind him, the fire was leaping from rack to rack, setting the plants ablaze. Faced with a spreading fire, the others from the Creativity Center followed him out on the ledge.

When he reached the decorative strip, Ivar had to move away from the wall, bend forward, and grab the side of the ribbon. He began to lose his balance and landed hard on his knees. He gripped the edges of the metal strip and froze.

Behind him, someone shouted, Move! We got to get out of here! Ivar recognized the voice. It was Calvin Smith, one of the toughest young people in the group.

Ivar forced himself to crawl forward headfirst down the ribbon. He could feel Calvin bumping into his feet from behind. Ivar crawled faster, not wanting to get caught up in a panicky tangle and fall from the metal strip. Then, suddenly, there was a high-pitched cry, and Ivar saw someone falling. The scream stopped when the body hit the arcology side and disintegrated into a red mist of blood and bone.

Ivar froze again. Calvin screamed, Move! Damn you. You got us into this, now move.

Ivar forced himself to crawl forward with a death grip on the sides of the metal strip. After a while, his hands began to cramp, and he stopped to ease his grip. Calvin bumped him from behind again.

Crawl, damn you! Calvin yelled.

Frack you! Ivar shouted without looking back. You bump me again, and I’ll knock you off!

You’re bluffing!

Ivar was bluffing, but he doubled down anyway, Try me! he snarled and kicked Calvin in the face. A hand grabbed Ivar’s foot and tried to twist him off the metal strip. Ivar desperately yanked his foot free and kicked Calvin in the face even harder. Calvin groaned. Ivar heard him scrambling to regain his balance.

The bumps and the comments from behind stopped. Ivar crawled on for what seemed like hours. His hand blistered. The blisters broke, and his hands left sticky red spots where he gripped the ribbon. His pants wore through, and his knees began to bleed. He could feel his toes start to poke out of the holes worn in the front of his shoes. Nearing the bottom, his arms began to shake uncontrollably, and Ivar had to stop every few feet to rest.

Down below, a crowd was leaving the arcology and milling around in the outside garden. People spotted Ivar and the group behind him. They came running over to help. When Ivar got close enough, hands grabbed him and helped him down off the metal strip. Someone helped him get to his feet and held on so he wouldn’t fall over. Ivar’s legs trembled, and he felt light-headed.

The person holding him up said, Man, you were lucky. I saw that guy fall when he tried to get onto that metal ribbon from the ledge. There’s nothing left of him but a red smear.

The memory of how close he had come to falling in that transition came flooding back. Ivar shook off his helper, ran behind a row of tomato plants, and violently vomited.

***

Peter watched John examine some sensor readings. The air was getting thick, and the smell of burning was getting worse in the STEM center.

John picked up his phone. The air in here is getting bad. How long before the sprinklers are back online? . . . Why so long? . . . Oh, I see . . . I’m not sure we can hold out that long.

Peter and the others looked at John. Rubbing the back of his neck, John said, As you can tell, the air in here is getting foul. I just talked to the repair crew, and they say it will be a few more hours before they can activate the sprinklers. The fire damaged the seals in the pumps more than they thought. So they’re bringing in some big truck-mounted pumps, but it will take some time to plumb them into our system.

Can we last that long? Abdul asked.

John looked down. I don’t know. Something broke a hole in the farm. Air flowing in has accelerated the fire up there. Sensors show the oxygen in here is being depleted and that carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide are building up.

Abdul smiled. "Can we use the chemical exhaust hoods to get the toxic gas out of the room? That’s what they’re for, isn’t it?

John frowned. Well, not exactly. If we open the doors to the hoods and turn them on, they’ll pull out the relatively clean air in here and send it up the chimneys. Toxic gas from the hallway would seep in to replace it.

Could we reverse the flow? Peter asked.

Hmm! Maybe we could, John said.

John grabbed a flashlight and some tools. He tried to crawl into a hood but had a hard time fitting.

Peter tugged on John’s leg. Let me try. I should fit easier.

Peter and John exchanged places. John said, OK, unbolt the frame and hand me the motor and fan blades.

Once Peter got the fan and motor out, he said, There’s a baffle in here that drops down and blocks flow from coming down the chimney. We’ll have to jam that open, won’t we?

Yeah, good point, John said.

Abdul looked at the frame, went over to the supply cabinet, and grabbed a small piece of metal tubing. He cut the tubing to size and handed it to Peter. Peter wiggled back in the hood.

Pete dropped back down. Perfect. Good eye, Abdul. That should keep it open.

John finished rewiring the fan motor and tested it. It ran backward. John reinstalled the fan and motor in its frame and headed back to Peter. Peter crawled back into the hood and bolted the structure in place.

John turned on the hood, and clean air flowed out. John smiled and gave Peter and Abdul a fist bump each. With the air supply secured, the people in the STEM center settled down to wait again. Hours later, Peter heard hissing and gurgling noises as the sprinkler system finally came to life. Since there was no fire in there, water didn’t spray into the STEM center. However, the sprinklers did drench rooms nearby.

More hours passed before the fire doors opened, and a person wearing a respirator looked in. Frack! We got some live ones in here. Closed the damn door, quick!

The first responder pulled off her respirator and looked around in amazement. We’ve found nothing but corpses for hours. How are you still alive?

John explained how the reserved hood worked to supply fresh air.

The first responder shook her head. OK, stay here a little longer. I’ll be back with some more respirators so we can walk you out.

The first responder came back and equipped everyone with a respirator. When they started down the hallway, Peter noticed several open fire doors. Inside, people were sprawled on the floor, not moving.

When they passed the Creativity Center, Peter stared inside. The creativity facilitator was facedown on the floor near the entrance. Peter stopped and stared at her corpse.

The first responder grabbed Peter from behind and dragged him out of the center. Peter shook her hand off. I want to look for my friend Ivar.

Not now! We barely have enough air in our respirators to get out of the arcology. I’m sorry if Ivar is still in there—he is dead. We checked them all.

Peter bowed his head. I should have stayed with him.

Then you’d be dead too. Come on. We have to go.

All the elevators in the building were locked down. So Peter’s group had to walk down a long series of ramps to the ground floor. Their nightmare journey took them down endless hallways lined with rooms filled with the dead. It wasn’t until they reached the lowest level that they encountered other survivors trying to reach the outside.

When Peter finally broke out into the sunshine, he ripped off his respirator and took a deep breath. The first responder came over to collect the breathing equipment.

Peter smiled and put his hand on her shoulder. Thank you for coming to get us.

You’re welcome. It was a relief to discover some people still alive. Finding only the dead weighs on us. Well, I’ve got to recharge this equipment and go back in. Maybe there are some more survivors in there.