Seven Seeds are Sown (Original Sci-Fi)

[Mingo]

With the Human race on the brink of extinction, ten interstellar ships are built. Their mission is the continuation of the species on another world. Of the ten ships, only seven will launch before Armageddon, and of those seven, only one will truly achieve its mission. Each ship has it's own story. Seven stories for seven seeds.

Chapters by Characters

Prof. Saul Erinford
I

Capt. John Møller
I

Kim Min-seo

Mohammad bin Imaad Al Saud

The Shepard

Kap. Anastasia Alexandrovna Mordashov

Katrine Nygard

 

[Mingo]

Sydney, Australia
14.06.2128


"Professor Erinford!"

A haggard, dark-skinned man wearing a neatly pressed suit marches down the crowded university hallway, dodging around students and grimacing every time he comes into physical contact with one. He is a man on a mission, Professor Saul Erinford has been avoiding him for days and he's determined to finally corner the elusive astronomer. Recent events... he's just glad to have something else to focus on. Turning a corner, he continues deeper into the astronomy building, with fewer and fewer students there to get in his way. Approaching his quarry's office, the young Dean of the University of Sydney yells out the Professor's name a final time in his thick Aussie accent.

"Professor Erinford sir!"

Seeing the door ajar, the man, Richard Ryde, strides into the large office. There, at the desk, asleep and resting his head his desk's glasstop screen, is the man he's looking for. There is little doubt that Professor Saul Erinford is one of the brightest minds in the field of astronomy alive, but at this moment, one simply couldn't tell just from looking at him. The Brit, normally looking exactly like how one would picture a stereotypical English professor, tweed and all, now looks like a bum, at least to Richard's eyes. His skin looks pale and clammy, his usually combed dark brown hair is wild and unkempt, his normally clean-shaven face is dark and stubbly, his normally pristine dress shirt is looking incredibly scruffy and wrinkled and his tweed jacket with elbow patches, which, while ridiculous, in Richard's mind does quite suit him, is lying in a heap on the floor, surrounded by empty coffee cups, strange, seeing as Erinford is well known to hate coffee.

Before the UN's revelation ten days ago, this was a man who could always be counted on to lift people's spirits, the perennial life-of-the-party, and a constant thorn in Richard's side, always voting against his motions, always encouraging dissent among the student population, and always doing it with a bright, charming smile on his handsome face.

It honestly hurts seeing him in such a state, but at this moment the hurt is drowned out by annoyance. Richard angrily pounds his fist down on the only bare part of the messy desk other than the projection screen, causing the marble bust of Johannes Kepler to wobble a bit. Erinford shoots right out of his chair at the sound, fear and alertness quickly chasing away the tiredness of his eyes. Richard feels shame once he realizes the cause of that fear, it's well known to the staff that Erinford was one of the millions of British men and women drafted into the army during the war, the Third World War of course, and that PTSD was a common issue for the survivors on both sides. Seeing that there's no danger, the professor sags back into his chair before rubbing his eyes and asking Richard in his typical posh London accent "Was that absolutely necessary?"

"You would not wake" Richard simply replies.

Saul merely harumphs at this, switches on his computer's holographic interface and begins typing away at a projected keyboard, staring blearily at the screen. Richard clears his throat.

"Professor, you know why I'm here."

The raggedy professor doesn't show any outward sign that he can hear him and is now typing and tapping at a furious pace. Half a minute later he finally he responds. "You're here to shut me down." There's a hard edge to his voice, and his eyes, just for a second, angrily flicker to Richard's face before returning to the screen but aside from that, the only emotion he projects is indifference, as if this is a man beneath his notice. Unimportant.

That thought hurts Richard more than he would like to admit.

Feeling like tearing his own hair out, though he is a man known for his calm and controlled demeanor, the recent revelations and their likely consequences have frayed his nerves and he raises his voice. "No! Not shut you down! Merely redirect your focus. If you would just listen to reason-"

"Reason? Ha!" Erinford exclaims, a tinge of hysteria in his voice, his usually handsome features now twisted by the temporary madness gripping so many across the world. "You've wanted to slash my budget for years, Richard, this is simply the latest excuse!"

"It's no excuse Saul, the Moon's deterioration will have serious repercussions, if the worst happens it could wipe out all life on Earth!" Richard begins gesticulating wildly as the sleep deprived professor continues to half-ignore him.

Why can't that man ever just listen?

"The whole world is banding together to stop it! We're part of this world! We have a responsibility! Figuring out a way of stopping Armageddon is more important than studying supernovae and nebulae thousands of light years away!"

Finally focusing his gaze and attention away from his computer screen, only now does Saul really look at him. His sky blue eyes are maelstrom of emotions, fear, malice, and... something else.

Narrowing his eyes and raising his voice, Erinford fires back. "So you're 'part of the world,' eh? Funny, you didn't seem to be part of it fifteen years ago! Just stayed fucking neutral. Hell! Even the Swiss got off their arses and fought, but you bloody Aussies, who used to act so fucking macho, decided to all bury your heads in the sand while the Alliance bombed the shit out of us! Were you 'part of the world' then?"

Richard's eyes narrow as well. "At least we weren't stupid enough to nuke the moon like you Thule Pact fuckers! We wouldn't even be in this mess if-" When it looked like Erinford was about to respond he cut him off. "ENOUGH! If you won't do your duty to your university, let alone your species, then I have no other option but to-" but before he can finish, an alert on the professor's terminal rings out, interrupting him. When the professor returns his attention back to the screen, it doesn't know it, but whole world changes in an instant for the second time that month.

The professor makes no noise but his entire demeanour changes. All the anger in his face and body language quickly bleeds away as he stares in shock at the screen in front of him, his eyes bulging out and his mouth slacking open. The change is so sudden that Richard completely forgets what he was saying and steps behind the desk to look at the screen himself. Aside from several incomprehensible mathematical formulas and and lines and graphs there's a single text box.

Erinford-Byron Deep Space Telescope
Analysis of exoplanet Kepler 1168d
N₂ - Confirmed
O₂ - Confirmed
CO₂ - Confirmed
H₂O - Confirmed

"Profes- Saul, what does this mean?"

In a quiet voice Erinford replies "Life, Richard, everything a world needs for life."

Richard just stands there, absolutely stunned, until he feels Saul's hand on his arm. Looking into his eyes, Richard can't find any trace of the tiredness, hopelessness and anger that was there previously. Instead those bright blue eyes are filled with joy and excitement. He looks alive. With renewed vigor, and still clutching his arm, he speaks.

"Richard," he says his name warmly, a complete 180 from just a couple minutes ago, "I'm going to double check this but you should um a..." Saul's eyes flicker around the room before settling on him again.

"You should call a press conference."

Looking into the bright shining eyes of his long-time rival, and just now realizing the enormity of what had just been discovered, Richard Ryde feels something he hasn't felt in ten days and even rarely before then...

He feels hope.

 

[Mingo]

Globe, Arizona
07/26/2141

A lone cockroach skitters across the filthy, trash-covered floor of the nursing home apartment. It hugs the decrepit walls, keeping away from the harsh light from the television and the old man on the beat-up recliner, staring into it.

This is not a happy place. It's where an old man was sent to die.

Thirty years ago, no one would have believed that General Asbörn Møller would ever be living in such a sorry state. He was THE General for the Thule Pact during World War 3, known as 'The Undefeated' and was the most effective at both saving AND taking lives, on a massive scale. Many didn't like the fact that he used nuclear and chemical weapons to do it, but those voices were drowned out by the hundreds of millions of its citizens who were just happy that someone was turning the tide and not particularly caring if some rules were broken or if a few Alliance cities were destroyed. Despite it all, he was loved, considered his generation's Patton.

So how did it all come to this?

The old man sees the cockroach as it passes by, glaring at it hatefully through his only eye. He had cut an imposing figure once, a stark grey dress-uniform which couldn't hide his muscles, numerous facial scars, a head full of black hair and a patch over his left eye socket which made him look even more intimidating, though even as a General he got his fair share of pirate jokes. Now? Well, he kept the scars and he's still got the eye-patch though he doesn't wear it that often, but the muscles and hair are long gone, he burned the uniform over a decade ago. Now, when he looks in the mirror, all he sees the wrinkled face of a man well past his prime, finally defeated by the most insidious foe: time.

All that's left is a bitter old man, ruined and (perhaps) unfairly punished for a single mistake, a world-ending mistake...

As if sensing his angry gaze, the cockroach skitters away through a gap in the floor board and 'Andrew Smith' lets out a sigh.

Alone again.

He shifts in his seat before returning his focus to the screen, tapping 'unpause' on the remote. Fox News' Gavriella Torres continues:

"-king news tonight as Alliance Chairman Kou Iat Seng announced in a press conference the planned launch date of the Alliance's Colony Ship, the Akatsuki on August 8th, 2148, just over seven years from now. This comes just weeks after President Dwight Walker himself announced the planned launch date of The Intrepid in 2147. Morgan Adams, Chief Political Correspondent, has been gauging the mood in New York since the Alliance press conference ended 45 minutes ago. Morgan?"

The screen shifts, now showing two windows, the left one with Gavriella and right with the political correspondent. In contrast to the primly dressed Latina, the white man on the right can be best described as artfully scruffy, from his clothes to his hair and goatee.

"Thanks, Gavvy. As you could probably imagine, Chairman Kou's announcement has been met here at the Senate Building with equal amounts distress and disdain. As you know, Gavvy, the Alliance, for years, had been struggling to pay off the heavy, but fair, indemnities it was forced to pay after the war. It was only a few years ago that it's economy was considered solvent enough for long-term investment, and yet now we're meant to believe that they're able to afford the trillions in spending required for building a spaceship meant to ferry 40,000 people through space for a thousand years? While that is just half the occupancy of Intrepid, yes, many here are openly skeptical and see this as simple posturing, but many more are also hesitant to simply write them off. Regardless, this announcement, whether it was the intention or not, has really kicked the hornet's nest over here. In any case, intelligence sources within the CIA do suggest that, while the Alliance may, and I stress that word 'may,' be able to match the Thule Pact's launch schedule, they certainly can't match the tens of trillions funneled into the Vault Project. Gavvy."

"Thank you Morgan, we'll speak again soon. In other news, the Al Saud family are again in the news today, following another wave of con-"
"Dad?"

'Andrew' quickly switches off the TV and stands up as his eldest son enters the small kitchenette/living room. After two knee surgeries and a hip replacement, his legs shake under his own weight but he resolves to stay standing. In contrast to his father, John is still young, and looks like Asbörn had in his prime, though with both eyes. He's tall and quite muscular, and still has a youthfulness and vitality despite being near 40. Walking into the room, he takes measured steps and his eyes quickly scan the place. Even on leave, he still has the Army in his stance, his walk, everything.

Good, it'll keep him alive, with my name he'll need it.

Some days, Asbörn has hardly even look at his son, not without being reminded of his own failings, not only because he reminds him of what he's lost, but because of how John's been harmed by Asbörn's ruined reputation. Having served in the Army for 17 years, and with his exemplary service, John should have been made a Lieutenant Colonel by now, but because of his name, his superiors have conspired to find any reason to keep him below the rank of Major. Neither of them have any proof of course, but-

"Christ, Dad! This place is a pigsty, what happened?"

John starts picking up trash off the floor but Asbörn waves him off, the action causing him to violently cough into his hand, it's a wet, hacking cough, and exactly as painful as it sounds. The sight and sound of it are enough to cause John to drop the trash on the counter and really look at his father. He sees his pale skin and red eyes, his shaking legs, and his old and bony hand clutching so tightly to the armrest of the beat-up chair that his knuckles are white. What he doesn't see are the red spots on the hand he used to cover the cough.

"Dad! What happened? Why aren't they taking care of you?"

Asbörn lets out the barest chuckle, the best his aching lungs can manage.

"They stopped cleaning the place or checking on me weeks ago. I think..." he gets a far-away look in his eye for a second, "I found some money missing, I think they were looking for something to take and found the medals, the ones the government didn't already take away."

Another round of coughs strikes Asbörn as his son looks at him in dawning horror, just realizing how bad his father's health has gotten, but still not noticing the blood mist on his father's hand. Once the cough has subsided, he firmly sits his father back on the chair, Asbörn's first instinct is to fight it but he sees the determination in his son's eyes and relents.

"Dad! You look like Hel! This place is no good, I'm getting you out of here." The old man starts to complain but John isn't taking no for an answer. "Eric and Sarah can take you for a month or two while I figure something out. Wait here, don't get up, I'll get a wheelchair." John is already rushing out the door before Asbörn can argue.

He knows John's plan won't work. Eric, the youngest of his two sons, has hated his father his whole life. There's no way in the old man's mind that he'll let him stay even an hour, let alone a month! Disobeying his son, Asbörn slowly lifts himself from the recliner and hobbles over to a cabinet, opening it. He burnt the uniform, more as a sacrifice than out of malice, but kept the few medals his government hadn't stripped from him, as well as his Mjölnir pendant, a keepsake from when he was a fervent Ásatrúi and still worshipped old gods such as Thunar and Wêda, commonly known as Thor and Odin.

Grabbing a plastic bag off the floor, Asbørn starts stuffing his medals, eyepatch, and whatever else will fit inside it before another painful coughing fit starts, worse than any before. Once it's passed, Asbörn looks down at his hand. There's more blood coating his palm than he's ever seen before. Suddenly feeling incredibly faint, he collapses to the floor, the pain from hitting the hard wood hurts little compared to the pain in his lungs and the fear stabbing at his heart. Through it all, he can't help but stare at his hands.

Blood on my hands. Blood on my hands.

Not like this...

After a few moments of incredible pain, a veil of darkness descends and Asbörn Møller knows no more.

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This story is now on Wattpad and that will be where the official (polished) version of this story will be published once it's finished. There's also artwork for the story and each chapter. If you like this story please vote for it there and, if you're feeling especially generous I would love it if you left a comment, even if it's a critical one. Thanks.