Islandia: A Prequel to the McKinnah Chronicles Read online

  A prequel to the

  McKinnah Chronicles

  detailing the lives and actions of the McKinnah family as described in the novels

  Islandia the Lost Colony

  The Rise of the Confederation

  The Muhyba War

  The Khruelian Encounter

  The Seeds of Rebellion

  By

  C.J. KLINGER

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  The Planet Earth

  Captain’s Log

  Islandia

  The First Colonists

  The Ares

  Young Jonathon McKinnah

  The Planet Earth

  General Council Chambers

  2749 ME

  THE CHAIRMAN OF THE World Council, the Honorable Douglas Alejandro Mercadoria, cleared his throat. That simple action was enough to get the attention of the twenty people sitting around the oval table in front of the dias. Normally, he would be looking at the ambassadors from Earth’s twenty remaining republics, but today it was heads of state, representing Earth’s total population―twenty billion people.

  “We have failed,” he said without preamble. “We have sent out fifteen interstellar colony expeditions in hopes of finding solutions to our overcrowding and our lack of an effective FTL drive.”

  The chairman paused, not for dramatic effect, but for time to bring his emotions under control.

  “It has been thirty years since the last expedition left Earth and we have not received a single shred of evidence that any of these expeditions reached their destinations. We can only assume they were lost in space.”

  This was not new to the heads of state listening to the chairman, but even so, his pronouncement caused a ripple of comments between the leaders.

  “The net result is, we are bankrupt,” the chairman continued, cutting off the conversations.

  Madam Sinling Xu, president of the Asian Republic, rose and said, “You called us together because you said you had a solution. Time is critical, Honorable Chairman. The people in my republic are starving, and in my experience, starving people can become violent people very quickly.”

  The presiding chairman acknowledged her statement with a simple nod and said, “We have been offered a possible solution by a newly formed group called The Industrial Council. Here to present the details of that proposal is Mr. Willard Howell of GenSpace.”

  The chairman made room for a large man in a well-tailored suit. His face spoke of a blunt negotiating style and his words delivered on that promise.

  “The world governments owe us sixty trillion credits,” he said, “and the currency with which you promised to pay us is now worthless. By ‘us’ I mean the ten largest companies in the world who have financed your folly of launching fifteen colony ships in the hopes of finding a practical, FTL space drive.”

  The leaders of the world’s governments sat silently during the abrupt delivery of what they knew to be true. The spokesperson for the Industrial Council smiled thinly.

  “We will forgive your debt if you agree to two conditions. Number one, place all the world’s industries and agriculture under our management control. We will stabilize food production and keep the lights on. Number two, consolidate the world’s governments into one elected body. We will not deal with twenty different entities.”

  He smiled again and left the podium. Silent stares followed him out the great hall. As the door slammed shut, pandemonium broke. The World Council knew they had no choice but to agree to the conditions.

  Captain’s Log

  Day One in orbit around the planet Islandia

  2717 ME

  WE KNEW EARTH WAS A desperate place, but after a closer inspection of Islandia, our future home, I wonder if we have traded one hell for another.

  Islandia is a planet unlike any other in explored human space, an ocean world with hundreds of thousands of small islands, none larger than a few hundred acres, and scattered uniformly across the globe.

  The most notable feature our survey has revealed are six narrow and open channels around the planet meandering from pole to pole. Our chief geologist has suggested these “rivers” allow meltwater to escape from the northern and southern poles during Spring and Fall melt.

  I fear they may turn out to be the only practical way to move around this planet.

  Islandia

  The Island of Gruenwald

  2717 ME, Year 0 AL (After Landing)

  THE RISING SUN CLEARED the horizon, backlighting the islands immediately east of Gruenwald. Captain Rodriguez shaded his eyes against the glare, hoping to see something different than the reality he knew existed in all directions. After five months, he still had difficulty accepting Islandia’s peculiar geography, but after a minute of reconfirming the reality of the world around him, he shrugged his shoulders, signaling his acceptance of what it was, not what it was supposed to be.

  “Damn shame,” he muttered, quiet enough so none of the men around him would hear him.

  In spite of his pessimism, he admitted to himself Islandia was a lush island world. It was one of the few pieces of good news, that Islandia was a cornucopia of plants and fish compatible with human needs. The agriculture scientists had tested as much of the fauna and flora as possible and stated unequivocally that no enzyme interference was necessary. They had subsequently released a large variety of terrestrial birds and fish in the hopes they would be able to establish themselves on Gruenwald.

  “At least we won’t die of thirst or starve to death,” thought the captain.

  Captain Rodriguez turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. His face broke into a smile when his aide, Lieutenant Randall Lewis, handed him a cup of steaming hot coffee.

  “Good morning, Randall,” the captain said, gratefully accepting the cup.

  “Good morning, Sir,” said the lieutenant.

  He respectfully waited until the captain he had served throughout the planning of the fifteenth colony expedition had taken his first sip.

  Captain Rodriguez took note of the lieutenant’s respectful pause and added it to the growing debt he owed the young man who never once lost his demeanor during the past four years, even when one of his best friends had died in the shuttle crash, a crash that had killed the mining engineers and destroyed the deep mining equipment.

  Losing his friend was one thing, but losing the mining equipment was a disaster. Islandia was lacking in abundant surface metals and the deep mining equipment had been their only hope to overcome that deficiency.

  The two of them sipped their coffee without further comment and looked out over the temporary camp housing the five thousand colonists. The camp was set up on the largest island on the planet, approximately one thousand acres. Only the prospect of a better life kept them patiently waiting for the leadership to decide what to do in the face of Gruenwald’s unexpected, island geography.

  The soft whir of an electric cart caused both men to turn around. Lieutenant Chen, the colony’s chief engineering officer, stepped out of the driver’s side and saluted the captain casually, “We’re ready to launch the first ship, sir. The men want to know if you’d like to conduct a final inspection.”

  The captain walked around to the passenger side. “Most definitely, Lon, I have a feeling we’ll become very familiar with boats in the future.”

  Boats seemed to be their only option for survival. As soon as it had become apparent their new world was not a suitable place to build earth-like cities, the colony council had recommended the building of a fleet of community boats capable of carrying fifty colonists at a time to disperse the colonists among the many islands. Each colonist group would
be given enough essential equipment before departing then select an island cluster with enough space to build living quarters and enough agricultural land to support them.

  Boats were to be built using the wood of a common tree in that zone—a tall, lacey tree that looked like a cross between a palm and a willow. It quickly became known as the ironwood tree after the colonists discovered the unique qualities of the wood. When freshly cut and still wet, it was pliable and easily shaped. When it dried out, it became as hard and nearly as durable as iron.

  The boatyard was located on an adjacent island less than one hundred meters to the south of the main island. In an act of providence, the island of Gruenwald was in the northern temperate zone.

  Approaching the yard from the water gave the small party an opportunity to fully examine the craft from its intended element. Since the current in the waters around the off-islands―those away from the six tidal freshwater rivers that flowed from pole to pole―was relatively mild, the boat was equipped with a single, lateen sail and long sweeps that would suit it well in calmer waters.

  Captain Rodriguez surveyed the completed ninety-meter craft and nodded his approval.

  “Well done, Lon. They’ll be crowded but comfortable until they get settled on one of the river islands.”

  “Thank you, Sir. I’ll pass your comments on to the men who built her.”

  Out of curiosity the captain asked, “What have they been calling her during construction?”

  Captain Rodriguez knew from his early days of working in a spaceship yard that the construction crew usually had a nickname for the ship they were building.

  “Clanship Islandia,” Lieutenant Chen said with a slightly embarrassed shrug.

  Captain Rodriguez shook his head silently. He wondered if that was to be the fate of the people he had ushered from earth; to perish or scatter across the globe and divide themselves into clans.

  The First Colonists

  The Island of Gruenwald

  2719 ME, (2 AL, After Landing)

  “COME IN, RANDALL. THERE’S no need for formality now.”

  Captain Rodriguez beckoned his former aide into his office, stood and came around his desk.

  “Thank you, sir. I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  Lieutenant Randall Lewis started to salute but the captain took his hand instead and shook it warmly.

  “So, you’re packed up and ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir. We’re loaded to the gunnels and everybody is standing by ready to shove off.”

  For a moment, the captain’s face reflected his sadness, yet another confirmation of the failure of his mission.

  Captain Rodriguez shook off his frown. “Have you decided where you’ll settle?”

  “Not specifically, sir. We plan to work our way west to the Mississippi channel, then drift south until we reach a more temperate climate. We’ll claim the best group of islands we can find.” He shrugged and with an embarrassed laugh said, “It’s not like there’s going to be a shortage of them to choose from.”

  “How many people will you have in your party?”

  “Twelve couples including Mattie and me, plus nine children.”

  “Very good. That’ll be enough people to get your township established.” As an afterthought the captain asked, “Are you pleased with your boat?”

  Randall’s smiled widened. “She’s a beauty, Captain. Safe and comfortable enough.”

  They settled into a silence until the captain recognized Randall’s anxiety to get underway. The captain reached behind him and picked up a brassbound telescope from atop his desk.

  “Take this, Randall. Never forget where we came from.”

  Randall stared at the relic, knowing how much the object meant to the captain. “But Captain Rodriguez... I can’t accept this.”

  “Nonsense, son,” he said, waving off the lieutenant’s hesitations. “It’s mine to give. And it’s small in comparison to the sacrifices you’ve made on my behalf all these years.”

  “Sir, but the World Congress gave this to you.”

  “And I’m giving it to you.”

  Randall nodded, too overcome to speak. He took the telescope, reportedly over a thousand years old, and held it like the treasure it was.

  “What about you, sir?” Randall asked. “Are you still set on staying here?”

  Captain Rodriguez smiled at his former aide’s concern. “The Science Corp decided to keep its headquarters here on Gruenwald. They plan to build a central library for future generations and have asked me to remain as their elected leader. Julia and I accepted their offer.”

  They both recognized the moment had come. Shaking each other’s hands with feeling, the captain delivered one last instruction for his aide de camp:

  “Never stop being a teacher, Randall. Our future generations depend on it.”

  The Ares

  2715 CE | Year 0 AL (After Landing)

  THE ARES, AN AUTONOMOUS Robotic Explorer Scout, had remained hidden for six thousand years to detect sentient life forms, either indigenously-developed or of alien origin until it noticed the presence of an alien spacecraft in orbit.

  Over the period of several days, the Ares’ remote sensors watched the occupants of the spaceship launch several small crafts to explore the planet’s unusual surface—a vast planet-wide ocean covered uniformly in hundreds of thousands of small islands. The robotic scout came to a few conclusions.

  The Ares determined the aliens were non-aquatic, carbon-based, oxygen-breathing, bipedal creatures with dexterous extremities—a colonist party seeking a permanent home. It took note of their spaceship's dimensions and their efforts to find islands large enough to establish a land base, eventually setting up camp on the largest island on the planet, barely large enough to accommodate the five-thousand occupants of the spaceship in orbit.

  As required by the Ares’ protocol instructions, it reported the event to it’s creator species, the Ankh. This space-roaming species studied life in all forms throughout the galaxy, but took special interest in any life form that acquired sentient status.

  The Ares had at its disposal more than a thousand remote sensors, silver globes small enough to go unnoticed by the alien colonists. These globes were a mirror image of the much larger Ares, and on a much grander scale, the shape of the Ankh’s resident spaceship.

  During the first year, the Ares watched the colonists struggle to gain a foothold on the hostile planet. Over the next four hundred years, the Ares reported the steady decline of the colonists from an advanced, space-faring society to a more primitive state of existence. Almost all traces of their former society were lost except for an advanced science center built on the original landing site by the initial pioneers. Because this site was not located on one of the six tidal rivers, it was eventually abandoned and its location lost in memory.

  The Ares continued to avoid detection while monitoring the situation. Despite being a robotic entity, the Ares had an advance cognitive system. It comprehended sentient behavior and could distinguish between what sentients considered good and evil. Without any other sentient species to study, the Ares focused its considerable computing assets on the plight of the native Islandians, as the descendants began calling themselves.

  As much as was possible for a non-sentient entity, the Ares developed a sense of respect for the scrappy human beings. During its existence, the Ares had studied several sentient species, but none had been more adaptive than the humans. They had an unusual ability to adjust to their surroundings to survive.

  The Ares continued to observe the humans without making contact, but it was aware of the probability that one day, one of the colonists might very well come in contact with one of its intelligent scouts that sat atop the island planet.

  Young Jonathon McKinnah

  The Village of Blacksburg

  Year 430 AL (After Landing)

  “THERE IT IS, MOM! I can see it,” the young boy of seven shouted excitedly.

  “Your eyes are sharper t
han mine, Jonny,” said his mother as she strained to see what her young son saw.

  The boy had been drawn to visiting clanboats ever since he was old enough to walk, as if he knew his father was a clansman.

  She was as excited as he was but for different reasons. Raising an illegitimate son in a tight-knit village society had not been easy for her these past seven years, especially since the father was an outsider, a clansman no less. The approaching clanboat promised to be her way out from under the constantly disapproving eyes of the village elders.

  “Now I see it,” she said, reigniting her son’s earlier excitement.

  The approaching clanboat over the horizon was the McKinnah clanboat, widely considered the best trading boat on the river. Six months ago, when the boat docked at Blacksburg on its northern trip, she had finally worked up enough nerve to confront the captain, who was the boy’s father. Captain Jon’s face turned red in anger when she informed him he was the father of her child. He did not admit he was responsible, but he did not refute her demand to provide for her son.

  “The best I can do,” he told her, “Is to give you a job on my boat.” He had paused and then looked her straight in the face. “The work is hard and you won’t get any special privileges.”

  She looked him back in the eye and with a certain amount of fire said, “The last seven years haven’t been easy for us, Captain Jon. I doubt your work will be any harder.”

  The clansman sat back in his chair and looked at the woman he had briefly bedded and then at the young boy by her side. He had his mother’s grit, he decided, because he didn’t hide behind her skirt and instead stood next to her staring him straight in the face.