Tara Soñador

By Steve Whitting

In this thrilling sequel to Terror in the Void, Pete Soñador and his crew have travelled for over a thousand years in hibernation to a terraformed moon where Pete serves as the Governor Captain of a vast climate-controlled archology named Futura.  Not everyone prefers to live under Futura's strict "candle rules", and many have left to live a more primitive existence in the vast steppes that cover their world.  When Pete's rebellious son, Max, leaves Futura to meet the "Outsiders" who live at Boob Mountain, he triggers a sequence of unforeseeable events that ultimately result in a bloody civil war pitting primitive artillery against futuristic rocket planes.  With Pete gone and Max incapacitated, it falls to Max's amazing daughter Tara to save their world from an insane despot and his sadistic enforcers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Whitting
• Release date: May 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224152575

Steve Whitting

Geologist, cyclist, home brewer, and author all describe Steve Whitting. His formative years were spent in Fayetteville, Arkansas building model rockets, stargazing with his friends, and reading science fiction. Graduating with a Bachelor of Science degree from the University of Arkansas in 1978, he had aspirations of becoming the first Geologist to visit the planet Mars. When that didn't pan out, he began writing short fiction in his spare time. Over the years those story concepts grew and eventually coalesced into his first novel, "Orchid in the Void". When he isn't busy pursuing his profession as an Environmental Geologist, he can be found aboard his beloved bicycle cruising along Alligator Bayou Road near Prarieville, Louisiana, concocting ales in his home brewery, or working on his next novel.

Book preview

Prologue

A thousand years.  Has it really been a thousand years?

No, it’s been longer than that.  A lot longer.  Out here it doesn’t really matter though.  When you’re hurtling through the void in hibernation at almost half the speed of light, what is time really?  Time is relative.  It’s an abstraction.

We’re a long, long, long way from Mars.  Sol is just a faint, barely visible star even with enhanced optics where we are.  Our new sun with its multiple gas giants and hundreds of moons, many fortunately within the star’s habitable zone, looms ahead of us.  Many of those moons already have names, and one is named Soñador.  That’s our new world.  It was Em’s idea to name it that.  I suppose that it does have a nice ring to it.  All the numerous gods, demi-gods, heroes, and famous personalities’ names were claimed long ago, so why not name it after yours truly?

Despite her numerous upgrades over the centuries, Eon Princess has gotten a bit too crowded for the several thousand who call this ol’ candle home.  So yeah, I’m going back to playing captain of my own world again.  It’s considerably larger than Pete’s Rock, but there are still all the same hassles (albeit this time on a macro scale).  I’m better prepared to govern this time, I think.  That’s what Marvin has assured me, anyway.  This time we’ll be living on a world where you can go outside without a pressure suit.  That should help.

The terraforming nanobot swarm that arrived ahead of us has done its job and transformed a previously lifeless moon into a lush, green world with seasonal, vast lakes and smaller, permanent seas at the polar caps.  The ‘bots have also thoughtfully constructed a massive, climate-controlled archology where we can all reside so that we don’t have to attempt to dwell among the tall, expansive grasslands that dominate our new home.  Apparently, our off-the-shelf-bargain-priced instant-world terraforming package that we’d purchased during a clearance sale had a few bugs.  In our case that translates into some very large insect and arachnid-like lifeforms that dwell in the over two meters tall grasslands and occasional mega trees.  (Isn’t it amazing what an oxygen-rich atmosphere and less-than-one-g can do?)  Think spiders as big as our rabbits.  Yeah, that big!

Someday, when we have a son, he’d better be ready to take over this lovely dust ball when Em and I finally decide to check out for good.

Yeah, I suppose that even immortality gets old after a while.

––––––––

Part 1: Max

CHAPTER 1

Elvis, it was so ‘effing big!

He’d first observed their world from the high balcony when he was barely able to walk, and it still took his breath away.  To this day it seemed all wrong.  Living on the outside of something where there wasn’t a wall holding the air in was just unsettling, even though he knew their world’s g would keep the thin atmosphere from escaping.  Thin, but not too thin to breath thanks to the oxygen-rich content.  That’s why the steppes were so important.  The tall, genetically engineered grasses made the oxygen and fed the giant rabbits that supplied their meat.

The air outside Futura was the same as the air inside, except that the inside air was filtered by the archology’s air scrubbers to remove dust, pollen, and spores.  Max was immune to those as well as anything else that might get in, as was the rest of Futura’s population, but the stuff could still dirty the city’s interior, so it was filtered out.

He heard Madras Ohm’s footsteps approaching the balcony while his mentor and guardian was still inside.  He could do that because his parents had intended that he have enhanced senses.  They hadn’t had to tell him that.  He’d figured it out on his own.  He was the son of the famous Pete and Emma Soñador.  He had lots and lots of cousins and Elvis-knows-what else relations that defied description to whom he was genetically connected, albeit removed by many generations.  His older sister had many sons and daughters with her multiple husbands who’d joined the exodus from the Sol System long ago, so Soñador was a common name.  Max was the real deal, the only son of their world’s exalted Governor Captain, the man everyone called Great Grandfather even though in reality he was their great, great, great, great, great, great, great, etc. and so on.

Max knew that he was special.  He got to call Dad the man that everyone else referred to by the honorific title Governor Captain or, if they were close friends, Captain Pete or simply Pete.

The door behind him hissed opened and Madras emerged.  Max immediately caught his scent, confirming his identity.

Standing with your back to a door?  That’s not a very smart idea, said Madras.

Why, Madras? asked Max.  Everybody loves me.  I’m the favorite son, remember?

The only son.  It would make you a prime target for an outsider assassin.

Dad says that they’re all way out there, Max replied as he turned to face Madras and then gestured toward the endless carpet of green that stretched to the horizon.  Anyway, why would they want to kill me?  I haven’t done anything to harm them.

You live here, and your name is Soñador, Madras replied as he walked up and stood beside the boy.  If you were exiled to that bug-infested green hell for breaking our laws, you’d have a reason to want revenge.

If they decided to break the law, then it’s their own stupid fault.

That doesn’t make them any less resentful, Max, Madras explained to him patiently.  There are those within our walls that think ‘candle rules’ are too strict for our city.  They don’t appreciate the fact that, even though we don’t live in a candle any longer, we still live in a climate-controlled bug-free environment.  They don’t appreciate it until they’re outside.

I was born on a candle, but I still follow the rules here, Max replied.

I would certainly hope so! Madras said and laughed.  In any case you must always be situationally aware.  I could have been an outsider sneaking up on you from behind.

I heard your footsteps approaching from behind the door.  I smelled your scent when the door opened.  I knew it was you and not a stranger.

A skilled assassin could fake those.

They’d still have to catch me, Max said as he switched sides with Madras in a blur.  His mentor knelt down and looked at him sternly.

Don’t assume you’re the only one with enhanced senses and physical attributes, Madras scolded him.  Don’t assume that the exiles don’t have sympathizers or even operatives waiting to strike within our walls.

Okay, I won’t, Max said somberly.  What about the Moongoonies?  Will they try to attack us?

Max, you know that there are no such things as Moongoonies, Madras scolded.

This sure looks like an awfully serious conversation, said a familiar voice that came from a new arrival to the airy balcony.

Dad! shouted Max as he ran toward the tall, smiling, dark-haired man standing just beyond the doorway.  Max hadn’t heard him approach, but he hadn’t been paying attention, either.

What’s going on here? Pete asked as he hugged his young son.

Madras was warning me not to stand with my back to a door in case someone tries to assassinate me, Max explained to his father.

Good advice, Pete said and winked at Madras.

Do the outsiders all really hate us because we made them leave when they broke the law? Max asked his father.

"Hold, they don’t all hate us! Pete explained.  Those in the settlements are friendly.  They trade with us, and they tend our rabbits.  They left Futura because they wanted to leave.  It’s just those that broke the law and chose exile over correction.  Some of them didn’t like life on the outside and blame their situation on us.  The don’t want to take responsibility for their own actions."

Do the ones who don’t like us live far away?

Yes, they aren’t welcome in the settlements because they’re troublemakers and must leave.

Do the bugs eat them?

Some of them.  Some make it to Boob Mountain and live there.

I want to go see Boob Mountain.

Maybe someday.  Now, I need you to run along so I can talk to Madras.

"Ah, do I have to?" Max protested and pouted.

It’s boring business talk, said Pete.  Hey, why don’t you see what your cousin Ty is doing?  Maybe he’ll play ‘Sky Gypsies’ with you.

Oh, alright, Max said and shuffled off dejectedly.

Pete watched his son reluctantly pass through the same positive pressure door that he’d emerged from scant minutes earlier.  He turned and faced Madras, who was absent-mindedly stroking his black full beard with his fingers.

You told him someone might try to assassinate him? Pete asked.  Don’t you think you’re taking this whole infiltration conspiracy thing a little too far?

The boy needs to learn not to take his enhancements for granted, Madras responded.  It doesn’t matter if a threat is real or potential, he needs to always be situationally aware of his surroundings and prepared to react appropriately.

"Roger that, but here?  Nobody without the right permissions gets anywhere near here."

Put a sharpshooter with enhanced optics and a rifle firing ultra-high velocity smart bullets out there beyond our sight, Madras said.  That’s a potential threat.

Where’d your mystery assassin get the tech? Pete asked him.  The ‘back door’?

The backdoor is real, Pete.  We both know about it.

We know it exists, but we won’t know it’s location unless there’s an emergency, Pete said pointing to his head.  It’s a situation-triggered subliminal memory, remember?  That means nobody else knows where it is, either.

Unless they figured out a way to trigger the repressed memory.

What would be their reason for doing that?

Madras looked at Pete with an expression of sadness, and said, Maybe someone who left us with a grudge.

"Elvis, let’s not start that again," Pete said with a look of exasperation.

Oh, come on Pete.  You exiled John and Ellie’s daughter.  Do you think John will ever forgive you for that?

John and Ellie helped write the ‘effing laws! Pete replied to Madras angrily.  What was I supposed to do after we gave Astarte multiple chances to adjust her attitude?  Even Ellie said that if we made an exception for her daughter then our laws were just a joke.

John didn’t see it that way, Madras replied.

Can you blame him?  It was his youngest daughter who was being exiled.

It was their choice to accompany her, wasn’t it?

I would have done the same if our positions had been reversed.

Would you have sought revenge? asked Madras.

No, and John wouldn’t have either, Pete argued.  "He may hold a grudge, but not that kind.  He held a grudge against Jason Marx for years, but after Jason died, he wouldn’t stop blaming himself for not forgiving him.  He’s not your culprit, if there even is one."

The man who attempted to enter the North Portal with a knife and an improvised explosive device needed serious coaching to get as far as he did.

That sort of ‘coaching’ wouldn’t have ever come from John.  Besides, the intruder didn’t attempt to use the backdoor to get inside, did he?

Not if he didn’t want us to know he knew the backdoor’s location, Madras suggested.  Maybe the attack was intended as misdirection.

It put us on alert.  Especially you.

That’s part of my job, Pete.  I take it seriously.  If I seem overly cautious, then I apologize.

Situational awareness, right? Pete asked and smiled wryly.

We’ve been here barely five standard years, and we already have problems that I wouldn’t have expected to materialize so quickly, Madras replied.

"We had personality conflicts aboard Eon Princess after we defrosted, said Pete.  I recall some of them being rather serious.  I wasn’t surprised when there was a mini exodus from Futura after we dusted."

They’re not the problem, Pete.  You know that.  It’s those that we exiled who didn’t want to leave but didn’t want to undergo correction either.

To tell the truth, I’d chose exile over having my brain overhauled if it were up to me.  Just because we can do it doesn’t necessarily make it right.

What would you prefer as an alternative? Madras asked.  Throw them in the brig?  What does that accomplish?

It’s works when you’re awake in the void and need to temporarily neutralize a threat.  Not so much dirtside.  History says so.

You’re the expert in that department, Madras remarked.

"History is a hobby of mine that was useful way back when I was writing scripts for Out to the Void, Pete explained.  It’s also helped me deal with some real time situations over the years.  I’m no history professor, though."

History professor or not, would you have expected this? asked Madras.

"Eon Princess was at full capacity when we arrived here.  There were lots of social pressures when we revived everyone after the last hibernation.  Futura is a lot bigger than our candle, but it’s still a closed environment.  But, to answer your question, I didn’t expect a mini exodus on the scale that took place, and I didn’t foresee all the exiles that have occurred since then.  Between the two we’ve lost almost a fourth of our population to the outside."

There have been plenty of births since we dusted, Madras said.  Futura’s population is steadily growing.  We’ll easily be over 100,000 in just a few generations.  I anticipate that something very similar is happening out there among the malcontents at Boob Mountain.  What did you honestly expect given the circumstances?

Honestly, I never thought about any of this, Pete replied defensively.  How could I have?  I can’t see into the future.  I’m just a script writer who took up spacing after I got drunk one night and bought a used candle.

You’re the history buff.  You know about balkanization, right? Madras asked him.  Give the exiles enough time and they’ll eventually become a rival state.

So, what do you suggest we do?

I have two suggestions, Madras began.  The first is to stop exiling convicts and make correction mandatory.  Correction worked on Old Earth, and it would work here.

Mandatory correction helped produce a population of ‘sheeple’ that allowed themselves to be ruled by A.I.s and they lost two interplanetary wars to Mars as a consequence.  It’s a non-starter here.  What was your other suggestion?

We eliminate the outsiders at Boob Mountain.  We prevent them from becoming a greater threat.

Elvis!  I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Pete said as he stared wide-eyed at Madras in shock.  What you’re suggesting amounts to genocide!

A milligram of prevention is worth a kilogram of cure.  Better to sacrifice a few dozen now than lose tens or even hundreds of thousands in a war that could have been prevented.  The greatest good for the greatest number.

I was never a fan of Jeremy Bentham, said Pete.  You’re talking about murdering hundreds of people to prevent a war that may never happen.  Even if we had the resources, which we don’t, I won’t do that either.  One attempted re-entry by a disgruntled exile doesn’t justify what you’re suggesting.  Don’t forget that John and Ellie most likely ended up at Boob Mountain.

In that case I have no further suggestions, Madras said shaking his head in frustration as he left Pete’s side and walked back toward the door.  I just hope for all our sakes that the attempt was an isolated incident and not the start of a trend.

Pete watched Madras exit the balcony and sighed.  He appreciated his friend’s concern for his son’s safety, but he also found Madras’ extreme disdain for the exiles puzzling.  He suspected that it had something to do with Madras’ prior life as the Governor Captain of a struggling space colony that utilized a lottery system for population control out of necessity.

The greatest good for the greatest number.  Applied to their current situation, eliminating the exiles at Boob Mountain might make perfect sense to someone like Madras.

Hadn’t Madras said that they sent the lottery winners off to another colony, though?  They hadn’t spaced them.

Pete turned and gazed out at the vast green carpet of grass.  A herd of lepus gigantus was grazing not far from the North Portal.  It all looked so peaceful from up here on the balcony.

He hoped it would remain that way.

CHAPTER 2

Max had wanted to visit Boob Mountain since he was a small child.  He wanted to see their world’s only mountain, an odd artifact of terraforming, and meet the mysterious outsiders who lived there and supposedly hated him.

Max qualified as a pilot on a floater when he was still an adolescent.  He’d first flown the rocket plane that Professor Dart had helped him build when he was nineteen standard years old.  Meteor flew on simple chemical propellants, in this case a combination of plentiful methane and oxygen, rather than anti-matter and ice like the massive drive that brought Eon Princess across the void to their home.  Max had piloted Meteor on multiple suborbital and orbital flights, but this would be his first flight into the void.  Max’s planned flight was to slingshot around the Fat Man and return.  His planned circumnavigation would carry him inside the orbits off the other moons and back out in a trajectory that would intersect Soñador’s orbital position again in nine days.

Plans frequently don’t go as planned.  Max’s rocket motor prematurely cut out eleven seconds into his flight.

Okay, so maybe it was planned after all, because it allowed him to conveniently put Meteor down on the low grass near the location of the exiles’ settlement at Boob Mountain.  The self-maintaining satellites seeded in orbit before Eon Princess dusted had identified the settlement’s location, and the broad, flat plain on the south side of the settlement made a good landing site.

Max descended in a fast glide, breaking his forward speed with brief bursts from his retros before finally descending almost vertically on Meteor’s belly thrusters.  Boob Mountain was visible in the distance, steep sided at its base but rounding towards its summit which was topped by tiny peak that caused the mound to resemble a woman’s breast.

He dusted.  He powered down and removed his helmet, then shed his pressure suit before cracking the hatch.  He’d landed far enough away from the settlement that his landing shouldn’t have been noticed by any scouts, but close enough that a half-day’s walk would bring him to its outskirts.  The vegetation here was scraggily, low to the ground, and easily traversed.  He could run in such terrain and cover the distance in a fraction of the time, but he decided against it.  Better to keep up appearances in case he was spotted approaching the camp.  He needed to initially appear as another exile to be accepted by them, then only reveal his real identity to them after earning their trust.

He dressed as an exile would likely be clothed in