Lost Harvest: Book One of the Harvest Trilogy Read Free

scowling. “The Chamber has nothing to gain from changes in the status quo, John. The data you report, and their terrifying import, threaten their bottom line. And so they choose experts who do their damndest to refute your findings.”
    “They would,” said Banks, aghast, “intentionally falsify information? Put everyone at risk to preserve their own wealth?”
    “You cannot possibly be this naïve. You are one of the best minds on the planet, Minister, would you please try to act like it? In any event, it is not a matter of falsification. It is a simple matter of selecting different sets of facts. Challenging your underlying assumptions. They do not wish to believe the truth you present, and so they craft a different, more pleasing one. You are a brilliant scientist, Minister, but a truly lousy politician.”
    “I take that as a compliment,” Banks sniffed.
    “You shouldn’t, not if you’re going to play at this level. It is that shortcoming that dooms your agenda, however righteous.” The Star Lord grimaced. “It is an omnipresent political truism, my friend. For those with the most, change brings the most risk. And to preserve their wealth and power, they will redefine reality itself.”
    Banks knew he spoke the truth. He pictured Rajek Djimonsu, nestled comfortably at the Privy table, deftly guiding the affairs of the Empire in the directions most profitable to the Chamber. For years he had jousted with the Chancellor, at times on this very subject, and always come off the worse for it, regardless of the force of his arguments. Even the current crisis might have been averted, had his ministry’s research on hybrid vigor not been shorn of funding by a nervous Treasury.
    “All that aside for the moment,” Exeter continued as Banks grit his teeth, “this is your audience, John. You told me last night that you have need of a ship. Ships I have, of course. I assume you have identified some remedy to the calamity you described to the Council?”
    “I have.” Banks leaned forward in his chair, thrusting one hand out, jabbing at the space between himself and Exeter. “I believe that our master grains can be revived.” The Star Lord’s chin moved forward, just slightly, but Banks knew the man well enough to know it was an encouragement to continue. “What we need are DNA samples from fresh strains of each.”
    “But there are only the single strains,” Exeter said.
    “Yes…here on Earth. In our headlong rush to perfect their DNA, we shortsightedly failed to retain genetic samples of earlier strains. We’ve done all we can in the decades since, exhausting the traditional – and some very innovative – means of replenishing them. We’ve introduced mutations, bred selective viruses, all the tricks. What we need now can only be found off-planet.”
    “And you believe it can be found?”
    “Not ‘can be found’, my Lord. Has been found. Let me show you what I would have shown the Council, had they allowed me to make my full presentation.” Banks slipped a data chip from a pocket inside his jacket and, with nodded encouragement from Exeter, inserted it into an aperture just below the surface of the beautiful teakwood table between them. A holo-monitor sprouted from the tabletop, and displayed the ghostly three-dimensional image of a slowly rotating sphere, variegated green and blue and white.
    “You found it,” Exeter whispered. Banks shook his head.
    “No, not I. Jane Baker, on her final voyage.” Banks reached one hand into the display, his thumb and forefinger apart, and deftly squeezed them together. The planet shrank, becoming a bright red dot against a galactic star-chart.
    “Cygnus.” The Duke’s hand rubbed at his beard again.
    “Yes,” Banks replied. “Kepler-22B, or as it’s more commonly known, Cygnus. Jane’s final discovery, as it turned out. Before…before the nasty business there, she unearthed how incredibly compatible the Cygni and human genetic structures are. More