In my story, "Midsummer Fest, Ch.2" there are several references to a 'failed colony' on the planet Sylvan. It was called a debacle and almost killed Project Lifeboat, the interstellar colonization program. This was written to explain just what really happened out there.
"The defendant will rise and face the bench!"
Ariel stood, her eyes still red from crying but her mouth set in a resentful scowl. From the day of her arrest there really had been no question of what would happen. Now it was only a question of how bad it would be.
"You have been found guilty of excessive attempts at privacy and of avoiding surveillance. These are crimes against the general well being and against planetary security. As such they carry a penalty of not less than eighteen months community service. Therefore, I sentence you to a period not less than eighteen months and not to exceed five years. You will be remanded to the custody of the Xenophilian Institute for the duration. Bailiff, remove the prisoner." The gavel banged.
Five years? She could spend as long as five years essentially enslaved to some place just for not wanting the International Security Agency listening on her thoughts? Worse, the stalwart woman next to her snapped a leashed metal collar round Ariel's neck and led her away like—like a farm animal! The humiliation was crushing.
*****
The Xenophilian Institute was not far by flyer from the courthouse but escaping on foot would be impossible. It grew out of the living granite of an island in a mountain lake. Near freezing water surrounded the place and the nearest shore was but a faint line on the horizon. No, when Her Honor had said one-and-a-half to five years she meant it. There was no getting away from this place.
Still tugged along like an unwilling filly, Ariel left the flyer and was handed over to a disdainful-looking young man. He was obviously some underling but he had her by the neck.
"I will take you to the baron, now. Once he has briefed you, I will take you to your quarters. They aren't too bad and so long as you obey and cooperate they'll stay that way. Try and get funny with him and you'll find yourself sleeping on straw in a stall. Got it?"
Ariel nodded mutely, sighed and tried to keep up as she was led across a central courtyard and through doors under a sign reading, "Xenophilian Institute: Intimate Knowledge of the Unfamiliar."
Several hundred meters of corridors and two elevators later, Ariel was tugged into an elegant office, dark with wood paneling and velvet drapery, and released. The walls were covered with large, artistic images of strange-looking creatures. Or were they beings? Looking at them one couldn't tell. At least one or two were decked in jewelry so it seemed likely they were intelligent but the girl had no way to know. She swallowed hard and stood up straight. She might be a slave but she'd see her new taskmaster in Hell before she groveled.
"Herr Baron, your new subject. According to the invoice her name is Ariel Brooke."
"Thank-you, Hallowell. You may go. Sit down Ms. Brooke. As Hallowell said, I am a baron but that is Herr Doktor Professor Baron von Kreusnach. You will address me simply as Doktor. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
The man in the elegant suit took a pair of old-fashioned reading glasses from his pocket, opened, of all things, a
paper
file Hallowell had handed him and began to read silently. That suited Ariel. The less he said to her the better, she thought. Through the window it was obvious the office was on the top floor of the institute. From here, four or five floors above the landing pad, the distant shore was clearer but even less inviting. Dark pine forest seemed to march clear down to the water's edge with no sign of human habitation. Where the heck was this place? The flyer had had no windows and was obviously very fast. Add to that the fact that the courtroom had been in a small town, quite remote from her home city and it was obvious that whatever the Institute did, it did it in private.
Von Kreusnach put the folder down, repocketed the glasses, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. "Ariel, have you any idea what you are here for?"
"No, sir. I've never heard of the Xenophilian Institute."
The older man smiled, somewhat in the manner of an old snapping turtle. "I should hope not. This is a scientific institution but one that, shall we say, does not seek out notoriety. We are engaged in research that is very important to the planet and its place among the planets. We humans were fortunate to be the first to harness the tachyon drive and the jump gates but it turned out that there are some few other species out there that while planet bound are just as civilized or technological as we are. It is the job of the Institute to learn to get along harmoniously with them."
"Yes, sir?"
"Before you were born, Earth planted its first colony on the planet Sylvan. A situation arose there that, it was thought at the time, required that all connections between the two planets be severed. Now that we have established other colonies, some of which are thriving, the government has decided to reopen communication. But because of the previous—difficulty—we are doing so very circumspectly. The most important issue is a need to understand what happened there in the first place. To that end we are conducting a little experiment."
"And I'm going to spend my community service helping? I don't have any scientific training. I'm a sculptor. What am I supposed to do, wash test tubes?"
The baron chuckled in, Ariel decided, a most sinister manner. "Oh, no, my dear. Your role in the experiment is far more important than that. But before we get involved in it you need a hot meal, a hot bath and a good night's sleep. Hallowell!"
The minion appeared at the door. "Yes, Herr baron?"
"Take Ariel to the cafeteria. See that she gets dinner and then show her to her rooms. We will have a busy day tomorrow."
*****
In the morning Ariel awoke in quarters that were like the better sort of motel. They had a king-sized bed, some comfortable chairs, and a desk. In the bathroom was a well-equipped make-up kit. At least while she was here they were going to let her stay presentable—so long, she grumbled, as she obeyed and cooperated. The only real oddity of the place she found was in the wardrobe. Her prison coveralls were nowhere to be seen. The only underwear was a selection of thongs and the only clothing a half-dozen caftans. Well, that was peculiar. No lab coats or anything practical that an assistant could work in. She made up her face and dressed. Looking in the mirror brought a little chill to her stomach. The caftan clung to her curves and was thin and stretchy enough that her nipples were obvious through it. She looked bedroom ready! But the baron had said she was helping in an experiment—just what kind of experiment . . .?
The door opened revealing a small drone hovering over the threshold. "Ms. Brooke," it buzzed flatly, "you will follow me. In a day or two you will learn your way around the Institute, at least as far as you need, but for now this unit will guide you."
Ten minutes following the little flyer brought Ariel to what looked like a well-equipped doctor's office where Herr Baron was waiting. He motioned her onto the examining table.
"Ariel, one of the things that got you into trouble with the authorities was your refusal to join the World-Wide Mind. Personally, I think that was a silly thing to do but if it were up to me, you'd still be out there sculpting away. Unfortunately, the ISA considers such behavior antisocial and sent you to me. And now that you're here you can no longer have that choice because you will need to be able to hear radio waves." And with that he clapped an anesthetic mask over her face. Before she could struggle out of his grasp, everything went black.
She woke up in Recovery with a headache and nausea. A tall nurse helped her to her feet and to the toilet and then seated her in a wheelchair and told it to return the girl to her quarters. Still groggy, Ariel fell asleep on the way back.
That afternoon, Hallowell knocked on her door. "I've brought you some pain killers. You'll probably need them for a day or so while your connection heals."
"My connection? Dammit, I don't want a connection! I . . ."
Hallowell sneered. "We know. But you don't have any choices any more, remember? You're on community service and since the community, or at least the baron thinks you should have one, you do. Get used to it, Sweetie. It's just the first of the things you'll get whether you like it or not."
*****
A few days passed and the surgery quickly healed. But as yet no one told her why she needed to be connected or what they wanted her to do. Nor, for that matter, did anyone attempt to contact her through her new neuro-wiring. Finally, the drone brought her back to the baron's office. He checked the incision on her scalp and the other on the inside of her thigh and nodded to himself in satisfaction.
Very good.
