Strength Amid the Grieving - Gaian Succession

By Alinestra Covelia, with input from Buster's Uncle



"If I don't come back with the pledges-" Deirdre had begun.

"Nonsense," Ailean had said. "You're going to be fine. You'll bewitch them." He'd slipped his fingers through her hair. "And if that doesn't work, you'll go to plan B and just reason with them."

Deirdre had averted her face, though her sigh showed her resistance was token. "-if I can't, though, we're out of luck."

Ailean had stopped at that, pensive. For the past ten years, they had held true to their promise - to learn to coexist with Planet, not merely to survive at its expense. Ten hard years of sacrifice and their ecological niche stance was losing much of its popularity. And Paloma's rival Pragmatists were gaining support. Much lay on the Meet and its outcome, and whether Deirdre came back a prophetess, or a pariah.

"We might lose our place in the Gathering, I suppose," he'd said. "But what if we did? We'd still be tilling the soil. Looking across broad vistas of a brave new world. Fulfilling our deepest destinies under an alien sky. We'd face the new world together, if nothing else."

Deirdre had burst into sudden giggles at that.

"What is it?" he'd asked.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be laughing. That's not funny," she'd chastised herself. "You're such a hopeless romantic even without knowing."

Ailean had thought this over, confused, until she had pulled herself back to him again.

"Always the dreamer, never the pragmatist," she'd said. Then, with a quickening in her eyes, and catching her lip between her teeth: "Come then, daftae. You get to fulfill my deepest destiny - under an Ailean Skye."

* ~ * ~ *

Paloma wasn't a bad person, Ailean would be the first to admit that. But she had radically different views of how to run the faction, and she had proven herself skilled at rallying support behind her arguments. Where the true Gaians swore, as noted in their faction charter, never to repeat the destructive exploitation seen back on Earth, the Pragmatists argued for a middle ground.

They had pushed for cultivating and changing the native plants. Trapping and hunting the native life. All in the name of survival. The Gaian protests of slippery-slope unsustainability and self-contradictory ethics fell increasingly on deaf ears. Skye had even gone to stricter laws to dissuade poaching and despoiling.

A month prior, it had come down to a key vote, brought by Paloma before the Gathering. Her motion asked the settlement leaders to repeal the ban on hunting and planting forests. There had been close deals, tense agreements. In the end, the vote came down barely in the purists' favor.

Since then, there had been razorbeak attacks at the Jevics family homestead. Crops damaged, even a civilian injured. A straight vote on a hunting repeal would go the other way now - the tide was turning away from the long-term question and more towards small-minded short-term security. Or a pale facsimile thereof.

Ailean turned back to Yates, the mug of berry wine still warm. The older man seemed truly sad.

"I wish I could give you better news," he said. "But with the bad harvests and the local fauna activity..." He sighed. "It was different ten years ago, Ailean. It was just me and my brothers, and nobody else. Then you get married, and now you have a wife to think of. And then younger feet start running around the house. People think different once kids are in the equation."

Ailean nodded. "I understand," he said. "It's a tough row to hoe."

He took his leave and went back to the rover, where McKinnell was already waiting.

"Any luck with the Belleterres?" he asked. McKinnell made a so-so gesture.

"Could be. Seemed shook," he said. "Maybe you should have come with me. They seem to like you well."

"Yates is changing his mind," Ailean said. "Not that I blame him. I reckon we might be able to sway him back if we get him electric perimeter fencing. He might not need to hunt then."

"That's the spirit, good man!" smiled McKinnell. "Keep bouncing back." He looked down at his datapad. "Next up, the McClellands."

Ailean tilted his head thoughtfully. The McClellands were friends of Deirdre's. They were thinkers first, and settlers second. Maybe they might prove more sympathetic to the questions that were important, rather than merely urgent.

"What are we on? Five Nays so far?" he asked.

"Aye," said McKinnell. "And one Abstention."

"Let's see if we're destined for a Yea tonight," he said, hoisting himself into the rover.

* ~ * ~ *

Joely McClelland was a tall, willowy woman with light brown hair and piercing green eyes. Her primary calling had been research in biofuels, giving her political views a rather different set than those of earthy farmers. Ailean had a good feeling about her support - not least because her husband, Prentice, was among the diplomats attending Deirdre to the Meet.

"Absolutely," she'd said. "Without doubt or hesitation. More tea?"

McKinnell came back from the signals room.

"Ailean, there's reports of Pragmatists looking for you," he said. "They've been at the homesteads we visited earlier today. Wouldn't say what for."

Ailean exchanged startled glances with Joely. "Whatever could they want with me?" he mused.

Joely sat back, thinking. "Don't they need a supermajority quorum to pass emergency laws without your wife present?" she asked.

Ailean sat up. "You could be right. All they have to do is put me in radio contact and they'd be able to motion for a vote. It might happen tonight," he said, rising to his feet.

"We have six more homesteads to visit," McKinnell said. "We were going to hit them tomorrow."

Joely fingered her cup of tea. "I could put you up for the night here," she said slowly. "Tell them you'd moved on earlier in the night if they come looking."

Ailean looked back at her. They held the thought a moment - a shared glimmer in the mind.

McKinnell cleared his throat. "Mrs. McClelland?" he said. "A 'Sarah Stanek' hailing you now. Apparently signal strength is coming from just around the hills to the west."

Sarah Stanek was the local head of household most sympathetic to the Pragmatists. Ailean picked up his datapad and rebreather mask. "We must be going," he said hurriedly. "If they ask us where we've gone, let's say..." he checked the map, "to Feldspar's."

"Of course," said Joely airily. "Do let me know you're all right though. They won't be here in the morning." She handed him his outer wrap, and her fingertips crossed his briefly. The memory of the touch flickered in her eyes.

And then they were gone, through the airlock and into the dusky gloaming.

* ~ * ~ *

They headed towards the sunset for a while, darkening their driving window against the glare. They left off the path to Feldspar's and headed to the next household on the list - Mimura's, by the riverbend.

The first hailing went poorly, however.

"Ailean? Is that you?" came Hiroki's voice. "There are visitors here. They have to talk to you."

Ailean exchanged glances with McKinnell. How had the Pragmatists managed to scramble people out here so fast? He nodded, and McKinnell cut the commlink.

"They must want that emergency vote bad," he muttered. "Figures they'd wait till Deirdre was away from home before chancing it."

Ailean smiled grimly. "Deirdre wasn't sure she'd have anything worth talking about after the Meet, let alone during it," he said. "They could have just waited a few weeks and the vote would still be the same."

"Orders?" McKinnell asked. They were idling, still amidst the twilight breezes. Ailean looked at his pad. Dammit, they'd have to double back.

"Back to Joely's, I guess. We may have to take her up on her offer," he said.

"Very good," McKinnell said without any inflection whatsoever. He turned the rover around and plotted a return course.

Ailean pondered this. "No," he said suddenly. "Let's go to Feldspar's. We're going to court every last vote we can. They want to follow us in the night, let them. But I'm damned if I'll make it easy for them."

McKinnell smiled broadly. "Now you're talking."

* ~ * ~ *

Feldspar was primarily involved in the cultivation of evergreens, and his plants took readily to the Chironian atmosphere. However, Gaian conservation laws strictly forbade any plantings outside of carefully marked boundaries, to prevent invasive Earth species from squeezing out native plant life. Feldspar had never been very likely to back the Gaians in any case, spending precious hours of his time uprooting saplings and burning the fruits of his labor because of their regulations.

Feldspar had merely been their feint, their alibi. So it would have taken a miracle for Ailean and McKinnell to get to him now before the Pragmatists did.

As it turned out, luck was not on Ailean's side. Two rovers had poured out from Feldspar's homestead towards them. McKinnell slammed on the brakes, pulled a smart reversal, and peeled away into the night, pressing out a new zig-zagging trail in the underbrush.

"Is this strictly necessary?" Ailean asked. "I don't think we need to go so fast."

"Up to you, sir." McKinnell slowed. Ailean looked behind them. He couldn't see anything in the dark, but the readings showed the pursuers not far behind. "I, uh... I could take us closer to the treeline, if you think it would help," McKinnell said.

Ailean shook his head. "No, I don't want them risking injury just to get us," he said. "Try to lose them around the hills. They'll find it hard to triangulate us that way."

McKinnell nodded and floored the accelerator again. At that point, a commlink warbled. Somebody was trying to get through. Ailean looked at it uncertainly. Then he flicked it on.

"Ailean Skye?" came a heavily accented voice. They recognized the commlink speaker immediately: Paloma. Only with a strange tightness in her voice. "Mister Skye, I must speak with you. Immediately, please!"

What was it? Ailean wondered. A pleading note in her voice? Paloma was about to put him to a vote that would crush him. What on Planet did she have to be worried about?

McKinnell leaned over and spoke in a low voice. "We can still outrun them, sir. We have enough air for two days."

Ailean thought about this as the underbrush whipped by into the distance.

"Hello?" Paloma's disembodied voice asked. "Hello? This is very important, I cannot talk about it over transmissions. Can we please meet face to face? Ailean? Are you there?"

He shook his head. The game was up, either way. Time to end this with a scrap of dignity.

"Ailean Skye here, reading you loud and clear Paloma. We'll be powering down and putting up lights. Watch your step, I think we're heading into sinkhole terrain."

* ~ * ~ *

The two rovers came to a halt on opposite sides of Ailean's own, transfixing them in their spotlights. Ailean stepped out into the darkness, grateful for the breathing mask's faceplate. He was sure his expression looked sheepish - and with good reason.

A handful of people came out of the other rovers and approached them, turning from black silhouettes to white-lit paperdolls in an instant as they stepped into the headlights.

Ailean watched as one female suited figure, rather shorter than her companions, came up to him and faced him in the spotlight. It was Paloma, her Brazilian features brightly lit through the rebreather.

"I didn't have time to prepare a concession speech," Ailean joked. Then his boyish smile disappeared as Paloma stood, wordless, in front of him.

She had clearly been crying.

"No," she said simply. "Not about the vote."

There was a running dampness about her eyes and nose, and lines of tension ran across her forehead. Her manner was composed now, but hinted at some terrible anguish.

"Paloma? My God, what has happened?" he asked.

She began sobbing again, her tears rasping in the commlink before she turned it off. She doubled over silently in her grief, and Ailean reached out and put a hand uncertainly on her shoulder. A few moments later, and she recovered enough to speak.

"There will be an emergency vote, but not about conservation laws," she said. "There was an attack. At the Neutral Zone. On the Meet faction leaders."

He nodded, transfixed with the dawning certainty. It all made sense, now. The ground pursuit. The frenzied radio calls. Realization came upon him and broke, like a sudden wave. Beyond, only stars of numbness in the dark.

"Ailean," she said. "Your wife - our leader - Deirdre is dead."

* ~ * ~ *

McKinnell had driven him to Feldspar's. They had given him light home-brewed wine to soften the blow. Paloma had gone through the facts with him - such as they knew, anyhow. There had been a few minutes' work with datapads, and then he'd clipped on a commlink and gone live - joining every other household in the faction in an emergency vote to determine their next leader.

To Ailean, none of it felt quite real. The whole world bustled and fretted around him, but he could only watch it from numb distance, knowing she was no longer in it. When they pressed the notes into his hand, he had scanned them over and started reading, almost gamely. After all, what difference did it make? She was gone.

He'd given a quick speech, informing them of the 10-10-10 attacks. The fact that Deirdre's commlink was down, and the preliminary reports that nobody had survived. Then he told them, as they must all know, that he felt the loss of their leader as keenly as anybody.

That done, he slumped back in his chair, suddenly tired beyond all description. McKinnell shot him an odd look. Ailean looked back at him blearily. "You know," he said musingly, "before she left, I told her we'd face the new world together, if nothing else. I wish we could." He nodded to himself, then drew a ragged breath as his eyes suddenly, shockingly, filled with tears. "Oh, how I wish we could!"

McKinnell reached over to pat his shoulder with one hand. With the other, he deftly deactivated Ailean's microphone, still broadcasting his last few words.

"She'd called me daft," Ailean said, and buried his face in his hands and wept bitterly at her loss. His grief came in quiet, sobbing gales that brunted him like the sirocco against sand-polished outcrops. 

He wept for the loss of her unfailing optimism, evident each morning in her smiles at daybreak. He wept for the loss of her dream, that humanity could live without forcing its demands upon the fragile land. Most of all, he wept for the loss of her guidance - the bright spark of leadership that had guided hundreds of survivors from the wreckage of the Unity and the dead Earth, to a more harmonious future.

* ~ * ~ *

Outside of Ailean's private world of grief, a tide was turning in the Gaian faction. A reminder of the values they had held, coming to the surface of a new unspoiled land. A resolution they had adopted, of a new ethics born of prudence, beyond the sordid hardscrabble of pure survival. And a call to arms, unwitting though it might be, to rally behind a new leader.

We'd face the new world together... I wish we could...

From scattered households, putting aside the minor disagreements over the words of laws, a vehement response emerged. We face the new world together...

It was Paloma who sealed it, giving the call to nominate another Skye for leader. And united in their grief, the faction's citizens supported the motion with unanimous consent.

* ~ * ~ *

He still saw her in dreams. Sometimes very saddening, her vision. But more often comforting. Snippets of the past - a walk in the groves, the air so rich there was no need for masks... straightening up from the planting, smiling at their identical poses of backache... a drowsy morning in a hammock, wrapped in each other's warmth except for her twittering feet, cold in his side...

The first night afterwards, the dream was different though. More focused, clearer. Almost as if it was a continuation of a conversation that had never truly ended - merely adjourned.

"What's that you've got there?" she asked playfully.

He looked down and picked at the sash. "They made me leader," he said, with a fair bit of surprise.

She made a face of teasing awe. "Very grand!" A curtsey, a twirl. "Must I call you Lord Skye, now?" Every motion with the same effortless grace she had held in life. Just as he'd remembered her.

Sudden longing, and the pain of loss, gripped his heart. "I miss you," he said, unable to keep the despair from his voice. "We all miss you. Terribly. You can't imagine."

She made shushing sounds, as to a baby. "Of course I know," she said. "But you're in good hands. You're all in good hands."

He looked up at her. She was faint, passing through trees and valleys and fields as if hardly there. Strange, he thought. Here, in the visions, she faded in and out of reality like a yearning thought. Yet every waking hour in her absence felt like a dreamscape with no escape - with nothing real remaining.

"What shall we do without you?" he asked.

She laughed at that. "You do what is right," she said. "What you stood for all those years ago. What you came here to the new world for. I was only a fellow traveller. You hold the truth within you - all of you."

He strained to see her. She was already gone from sight. Only her voice remained.

"Don't leave me," he called to her, his voice cracking. How could he wake, knowing she was gone forever?

"It's time, Ailean," she said gently. "Go and lead the people who have sashed you." A ghostly caress, as of the breeze below a mulberry tree. "And you are not alone, my love - I'll be here if you need me."

When he woke, his pillow was wet with tears. But his sorrow faded with the dream as he rose and faced the new day, brave in the knowledge that they faced the new world together. 