The Garden Of Eden

A whispering wind played lullabies as it blew through crystal leaves that acquired color changes from the notes. Shades of orchard swelled to purple or faded into pampered pinks and powdery violets. Waterfalls of radiant shades of rainbow colors inserted their plaintive tunes. Atamar was not always a generous host and gentle moments like this on the small planet’s surface were of short duration.

The couple stepped into a stand of umber pines. She yanked her hand from his. In her grumbling it was evident that she didn’t appreciate any of these fantastic sights. Since he had intentionally brought her to the gardens he was disappointed when she didn’t appear at all impressed by their beauty.

He could still feel warmth from the memory of her grip. You were holding hands with a general. He struggled not to laugh out loud.

The highlighted blonde hair of this general was on a level with the tall lieutenant’s shoulder. Her uniform was constructed to down play the figure beneath. So while it fit snugly to minimize wrinkles it gave no hint of feminine curves. Icons that adorned her collar and chest advertised her rank and many accomplishments. Her hard eyes matched the lieutenant’s own blue-gray shade but while his twinkled with mirth, the general’s were contemptuous.

“You didn’t always have blonde hair?” he said.

“So, that’s important, why?”

He knew she was going to make this difficult. She might admit the face was familiar to her from old photographic images; but it didn’t belong on this body adorned in the alien clothing he wore like a second skin.

“My name is Lieutenant Anderson O’Brian,” he said.

“You are out of uniform, O’Brian. You have an explanation?”

“Lack of a tailor. Sir.” He added the ‘Sir’ as an afterthought. If she noticed it made no impression. He paused to pluck several ruby colored fruits; offering her one, he bit into the other.

She followed the action and her remarked, "Not bad," was another unpleasant surprise causing him to snarl in annoyance, “How could anyone not be impressed by this flavor?”

She took another small nibble then tossed it away in disgust. “When you’ve survived on synthesized food...” She paused and snapped, “That’s not important.”

He halted to demonstrate a flaming bush by only changing the shade of its flowers from apricot to brilliant orange.

She barely glanced at the oddity before she sank on to a convenient rock and demanded in her finest officer’s tone, "Give it to me straight, O’Brian, how long have you been here?"

"I'm not sure.” He hovered above her --deliberately standing tall. “The Conamar found me badly injured some time back and patched me up." He gave a soft laugh before he continued. "Made me as good as new. I think. I haven't discovered any parts they left out."

"Or added?"

He felt uncomfortable. She’s studying me like a bug. He knew instant anger. Why should she presume there was something weird about him when actually she was the one in the wrong time and place. "Just a damn minute!"

"Hold on. Don’t flip out." A brazen grin suddenly played at the corners of her mouth. "I wasn't trying to be nasty lieutenant. How long do you figure you've been here?"

He received the impression she thought she was talking to a certified idiot. So his tone never softened as he said, “Not certain, a year? Maybe a little more."

"Try forty some years?"

"Hell no! The ship I left Earth on didn't have any fancy sci-fi machines to freeze dry me!"

"Look, O’Brian or whatever the hell you call yourself, stop yelling at me." Her own pitch wasn't exactly subdued. But then her voice dropped and she motioned to another large rock. “Park,” she said. A curious smile formed on her mouth as she watched him seat himself. His long legs stuck straight out meshing into the tall grass like slender fallen logs. “You certainly are the right height,” she remarked.

"I don't have the answers.” She continued. “ I can give you a few particulars.  Thirty-eight years ago, by our calendar, a spatial phenomenon, we tagged The Rift, formed in an area of space close to Earth’s moon.

“My father's name happened to be Anderson O'Brian. He was a pilot on one of the ships sent to investigate. Several weeks later the remains of the others were recovered. My father’s ship was never found so it was assumed he made it through The Rift. It took two more years before another attempt was made.

“Those ships returned with one hell of a tale. Another star system with several unpopulated planets with breathable atmosphere. Can you imagine the reaction?"

Interested but still peeved by her superior attitude he said, "More land to pollute." The look she gave him reflected her lingering disgust. He regretted the outburst. The last thing he wanted was for her clam up. There were too many answers he was desperate to learn.

She stood and brushed off the seat of her trousers. She slapped the helmet she’d been carrying in her left hand against her thigh in a gesture of agitation. "We didn't see it that way. Most of us saw it as a second chance for mankind. Relief for our over-populated Earth."

Quickly he got back to his own feet. "So you built the armada loaded with the means to clone whatever armies you needed and set off to conquer those planets?"

"Not exactly O’Brian. I told you, we believed those planets had no sentient life. Our mission was to colonize.  As for human cloning, that started as individual cell copying for medical purposes. Eventually a group in London discovered they could clone an adult; bypassing the childhood stage entirely. Some of those scientists accompanied our Colony Ships. The reasoning was we could carry less people then clone those needed to build a colony. Since the clones themselves are sterile with no family ties, they could remain, while the Originals would return to Earth with the necessary information so new colonists could come to populate the planet."

"Colony ships?" he said as a question that reflected his knowledge of what those ships had been doing in the Star system of Atamar.

"We were colony ships.” She went to her knees at the edge of one of the silver-blue ponds that dotted the gardens. She cupped her hand and scooped the liquid, and he watched with her as it drizzled through her fingers. “We were sent off with prayers.” She seemed to be reminiscing.

“An awful lot of people believed God had opened The Rift for the benefit of mankind. Only we didn't find that new horizon. Either we took a wrong turn or were spit out in the wrong place.” Her voice now hinted of desperation. "The Originals were growing old, tired, and desperate to go home when we entered this star system."

She leaned her back against a tree truck. She hugged her legs to her chest like a small child. She stared at him with hard gray eyes. "And Christ,” was a whisper, "now I discover a friggin' father who is a good thirty years younger than me. And you bitch about cloning? What the hell are you, mister?"