Noah's Ark

by Vijaya Schartz

  Only a handful of representatives had gathered in one small cluster and talked in low voices as they waited for the rest of the councilors to arrive. They'd left their overcoats and fur-lined parkas on pegs lined up in rows along the wall, where they dripped melted snow on the stone floor.

  McLure certainly wouldn't leave his precious fur coat made from the pelts of carefully selected, genetically improved sables, to be distended by coarse pegs.

  Skipping the rough wooden benches on both sides of the rectangular table, he chose the single armchair at the end. The place of a leader. He draped his sable coat over the wooden back and arms of the simple seat and sat with much decorum.

  In these new and chaotic circumstances, McLure decided it was time to restore the natural order of things. His self-appointed mission of making this planet an oasis of life had to come first. It would benefit everyone. But in order to do that, he needed power of decision, and the help of the all-powerful aliens called the Godds.

  Never underestimate the psychological effect of a simple detail, like where one sits at a table... or how to portray a subliminal image of power. That's why he wore royal blue, a color meant to bring him the sympathy and respect of the other councilors. The council would have to elect a new leader, and he intended to fill that position.

  According to Noah’s Ark's Charter, the governing document they all signed before departure from Mars, the council would vote on all decisions. The council leader, however, enjoyed much prestige, with two voting ballots and the right to veto. More importantly, the council leader would also represent the entire community in any negotiations with other intelligent races... like the Godds.

  None of the contenders had shown up, yet, from the funeral of the dead councilman. As if honoring the dead took precedence over this important meeting.

  McLure forced a smile and addressed the other early representatives in a friendly voice. “Come, sit and talk. So, what do you think of your accommodations so far?”

  A portly woman with short dark hair eased the blanket around her shoulders as she sat. “Much better than expected, under the circumstances... there is a laundry house with large pools of hot and cold running water.”

  A short, skinny man nodded briefly in recognition of McLure and sat next to the woman. “The public bath houses are big... with plenty of warm water. A welcome change from the cramped wash closets, sonic showers, and the rationed recycled water aboard the ship.” He cleared his throat. “If you are not shy about your body... of course.”

  Another woman, thin, with long blond hair escaping her shawl, sat across from the others. “I think some of these bath houses should be designated exclusively for women… for those of us who prefer not to be watched by men while bathing.”

  “That can be easily arranged.” McLure nodded in what he hoped was a magnanimous, understanding manner. He had to admit the city had been designed astutely despite its primitive comfort, but even his own privileged accommodations would never do for someone of his refined tastes.

  How could he conduct his experiments in such antediluvian conditions? McLure needed a state-of-the-art lab, and a constant, reliable source of energy, to use the limited equipment he'd been able to salvage out of Noah’s Ark on the two measly antigravity pallets allotted to him. He still seethed at the loss of precious equipment.

  The expedition he'd named Noah’s Ark should have been the realization of his most ambitious dream... creating a paradise for the Human race. The regrettable accident that threw them upon this far-flung frozen planet could only be a setback. His precious samples, safe in their cryogenic containers, would not suffer ill effects from the cold. This bare planet deserved a fauna. He wondered what happened to the native animals. Rodents couldn't be all there ever was on this world, no matter how cold.

  The only way to ascertain that his life's work and his priceless experiment didn't go to waste, was to collaborate with the powerful aliens, the Godds. Only they could give him what he needed to lead his project to fruition. With their help, he still planned to make a cradle of life out of this frozen hell.

  These advanced aliens might even share with him some of their knowledge... and possibly return him to his solar system, where he could reap the laurels of his breakthrough advances in genetics. A Pulitzer or a Nobel would certainly enhance his collection of prestigious awards.

  Voices echoed in the staircase and on the landing outside the door. The arrival of the soldier, Kostas, broke McLure's train of thought and stopped the chatting of the representatives. The young female captain walked in behind Kostas. They stomped and scraped the snow and mud off their boots on the mat, then they removed their parkas and hung them on pegs.

  McLure forced a friendly smile in their direction but ensconced himself in his seat, arms on the armrests, spreading his long legs under the table, to show everyone that he belonged there and wouldn't budge.

  * * *

  Trixie stepped over the fixed bench and sat next to Kostas toward the middle of the long table. She didn't trust McLure's honeyed smile. Nor did Kostas, judging by the sour expression on his face. She was grateful the soldier didn't hold a grudge, after the way she'd treated him when he'd smuggled the weapons off the ship... although he deserved every word for ignoring orders.

  The council members filed in, all coming in from the funeral at the same time. Tabor, the fierce horseman, boots ringing on the stone floor, sat ostensibly facing Trixie. He smiled at her under his moustache, dark eyes glinting with fire.

  Trixie offered him a curt nod. Such attentions made her uncomfortable.

  Tom swaggered in, black leather and studded weapons belt swinging to the sway of his beaded dreadlocks. He took the seat next to Tabor. Cheng followed, with neatly trimmed hair, in Fleet navy blues. He seemed fully recovered from his injuries sustained in the crash. He sat on the other side of Tabor... as if to frame the equine tribe leader with Tom.

  McLure, from his dominant seat at the head of the long table, acknowledged the newcomers one by one. What did the arrogant professor hope to achieve by parading as their leader? Unless...

  Trixie leaned toward Kostas and whispered, “I think our Professor has set his sights on being elected council leader.”

  “Over my dead body,” Kostas muttered between clenched teeth. “The man is a selfish, obnoxious, conniving know-it-all. A total liability.”

  Trixie wondered who else Kostas might consider a liability, or who else might vie for the position of council leader. She could apply, of course, but now that they were dirt-side, she lacked in experience. Still, she felt confident that she could lead this community toward a peaceful, harmonious future.

  “The fact that he financed the expedition doesn't give him the right to lead,” Tabor offered through clenched teeth from across the table. He doesn’t own us.”

  Kostas nodded. “I read the charter, too. He has no such privilege.”

  The councilors sat haphazardly along the benches. Trixie noticed a few new faces, appointed by the settlers today in haste, to replace those killed in the crash... and the one they'd just put to rest.

  When they were all seated, Trixie rose. “As we are mourning the dead, we must think of the living. This is the last time I lead this council as your captain. Before the end of this meeting, you will elect a council leader. For now, I open the floor to a free exchange of ideas on our most pressing matter... how to respond to the offer, or rather the barely veiled ultimatum our alien hosts gave us this morning.”

  Professor McLure raised his hand. Trixie nodded and sat down.

  McLure rose. He did cut a noble figure in his expensive blue tunic, if not a congenial one. “I do not see that we have any choice in this matter. Our very survival depends on complying with the demands of these Godds. I suggest we change our attitude and become friendly with these powerful people. They demonstrated they can kill us with a flick of the hand, but they also promised us warmer weather, bountiful crops, and their unmitigated protection... if we conform to their request.”<
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  “You would have us accept slavery?” Tom straightened his red beret and pushed back his beaded dreadlocks as if in defiance.

  “Slavery is a strong word.” McLure offered a condescending smile and sat back, leaning against his sable coat. “After all, these Godds are an extremely advanced race... I'm sure the working conditions in their mines are better than any job these settlers ever held on their colonized planets.”

  “Mining is mining, no matter where or when.” Kostas rose, his strong voice demanding attention. “I lived on the Mars colony, and I can tell you that mining is hell, no matter how humane the conditions. Even at home, we only use labor from hard core criminals who volunteered... and they do so only to escape the death penalty. Most times, after a month or so, they regret their decision.”

  A loud murmur accompanied his words. The councilors glanced at each other. Worry tensed the small muscles around their eyes and mouths.

  “No amount of technology will make that work less dangerous, less unhealthy, or less back-breaking.” Kostas sat down.

  “What are the dangers?” Cheng asked, his back straight, his face neutral.

  Kostas shrugged. “Gas poisoning, explosions, asphyxia, collapsing tunnels, getting trapped in a bowel, dying of starvation, alone in the dark... or with a few comrades. Even if you survive the work, rock dust eventually fills your lungs. Tumors develop, and without the proper facilities to re-grow and implant vital organs, you die within a few years.”

  The councilors whispered to each other with agitation.

  Trixie raised both hands in a calming gesture. “We do not know how many workers the Godds require for their mines, nor what the conditions will be.”

  McLure rose and knocked a few times on the table, effectively silencing the council.

  “Maybe the Godds only need a small number of workers...” He seemed to take his self-assigned leading role seriously, even adding a touch of concern to his voice. “The work schedule is probably light, and we have a lot to gain. We should not rule out peaceful cooperation.” He turned to Trixie and grinned as he sat down again.

  The son of a bitch had stolen Trixie's best argument of peaceful cooperation. Now, if she wanted to run as council leader, she would have to find another platform. “Maybe we can work in many, smaller shifts, double or triple the number of workers, so they don't work as hard... half-a-day a week, or one day a month. I'm sure we could negotiate reasonable terms with them, and demand safe working conditions.”

  “And, pray tell, what would be our bargaining chip?” McLure challenged her from the depth of his seat. “They have the upper hand. We must conform, or else we will die of cold and starvation within these walls.”

  Trixie refused to give up. “We can offer our good will in exchange for better working conditions, our promise to do our very best. They must know that dedicated workers bring better results than uncaring ones.”

  “And who will decide who works in the mines?” asked a red-haired woman with an intense green gaze.

  “We'll invite our people to volunteer,” Trixie offered.

  “And if there are not enough volunteers?” The same woman.

  “We can have a lottery, or draw straws,” Dolores, the communications officer, suggested from the far end of the table.

  “Or we could take turns.” Trixie suggested. “Have everyone work in some kind of rotation.”

  “Certainly not!” McLure's outburst silenced the drone of comments. “The council should decide what's best for the entire community.”

  Kostas scoffed. “So I guess you will feel rather safe, won't you, McLure? Sitting comfortably on your skinny butt, while deciding who does the dirty work, who lives and who dies...”

  The councilors fell silent. Many stared down at the rough-hewn table.

  “Moving on.” Kostas commanded attention in a loud voice. “Is anyone wondering what the Godds meant when they said they'd provide protection?”

  Tabor nodded. “Protection against what?”

  The silence around the table thickened.

  “I've been wondering the same thing.” Trixie agreed with Kostas and Tabor on this issue. The soldier's instincts had been right so far, and she wanted to get at the truth. “Why build such a fortress rather than a simple town?”

  “Exactly.” Kostas nodded at her. “I, for one do not trust these Godds They are not telling us everything. They are withholding important information regarding our safety. And that, to me, is very suspicious.”

  McLure flashed an uneasy smile. “Whatever the danger might be, if any at all, obviously these walls are more than capable of handling it. And we will have the protection of the Godds. So why even worry about such irrelevant details?”

  Kostas stared at McLure and the muscles in his square jaw knotted. “If there is danger lurking out there on the plains, I want to know what it is. Don't you?”

  McLure shrugged. “There will be plenty of time to explore the plains in the spring.”

  “However,” Kenny, the navigator, pulled at his short beard and raised a pudgy hand. “Our scanners on Noah’s Ark did not detect anything alive larger than a rodent.”

  A civilian nodded gravely. “Rodents can devour entire crops before the harvest... or after the harvest inside the storehouses.”

  “And we do have rodents inside the citadel.” Tabor smoothed his thick, black moustache. “They scatter at the edge of the shadows, attracted by the heat of the fireplace.”

  Trixie smiled. “That's an easy fix. I suggest we nurture and encourage the breeding of our few domestic cats.” She'd always liked cats. “They are very efficient on spaceships to get rid of vermin and protect food storage. It may sound basic, but it worked wonders since the days of ancient Egypt.”

  “Excellent suggestions, all of them,” McLure declared as if he had the power of decision. “But right now, we need to decide what we shall tell the Godds when they ask for our response about working for them.”

  “What will happen if we refuse?” The young representative must have missed the morning incident with the aliens.

  Kostas sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest. “They can turn off the heat, let us freeze to death... literally.”

  “Maybe we don't need the Godds and their citadel. Can we survive in the caves on our own?” Tom turned his dark face and diamond-studded smile to Kostas. “You are the expert. What are our chances?”

  “The civilians are not strong enough to withstand such conditions. And if the land is frozen all year round...” Kostas sighed, the expression on his face somber. “With no crops, no grazing for cattle, and no large prey to hunt, what shall we eat? Rodents?”

  Several representatives shuddered with a protesting moan.

  Trixie had enough of this depressing train of thought. She rose. “I suggest we make the best of a bad situation. It is true that we do not know everything. But for our immediate survival, I suggest that we accept the proposition of the Godds, under certain conditions. We need warmer weather. We need crops and pastures. Let's give our agreement for now. There will be time later to renegotiate our arrangement if we do not find it satisfactory.”

  Many representatives bobbed their heads and Trixie sat down.

  “Now is the time to designate the new council leader.” McLure rose. “As the most knowledgeable, a science expert, and as such the most likely to get along with our unexpected hosts, I offer my candidacy to lead the council and negotiate with the Godds. If no one objects, let's make this a quick, unanimous decision... and don't forget that with me in charge, neither you or your close friends or relatives will ever have to worry about working in the mines. I will veto any decision endangering this privilege for the council members.”

  “I protest! This is highly illegal and goes against the charter we all signed.” Trixie wasn't going to let McLure casually take control of this new community. Although she might not be the best suited, she believed she could do better than him.

  McLure sat down.

  Ha
ving made her decision, Trixie rose slowly. “I also offer my candidacy.” She infused her voice with a confidence she did not feel. “I want this community to be fair to all. I am an excellent negotiator. I want what's best for everyone. I am not afraid of these Godds, and I believe I can make them see reason and appeal to their softer side.... for our benefit.”

  Trixie turned to her officers, across the table. “Are there any other candidates?”

  Cheng raised one hand. “I want to nominate Kostas. It seems to me that in case of conflict with the Godds, we'll need a military man in charge.”

  Trixie turned to glance at Kostas. She had not expected him to run against her. That might complicate things.

  Kostas shook his head. “I am not a politician. I don't lie well, I don't play games.”

  “But if you are nominated from the floor, you have to run.” Cheng tabbed his tablet and slid it across the table to Trixie.

  “Cheng is correct.” Trixie recognized the terms of the Charter. “Your candidacy is valid. You have no choice. You must run for the position.”

  “This is ridiculous.” McLure regarded Trixie with disdain. “If the man doesn't want to run, let him remain on the sidelines.”

  “These rules were set for valid reasons.” Trixie didn't recall the reason for each rule. She trusted the charter had been drawn by the best experts. “And if we start ignoring these rules, our entire system may fall apart and we'll sink into anarchy. Then it will be every man for himself.”

  McLure scoffed. “I can guarantee you that with me in the lead, you'll never have to worry about any cumbersome, inconvenient, or unnecessary rules.”

  “Okay,” Kostas said finally. “I choose law and order and following the rules.... I'll run.”

  “Anyone else?” Trixie hoped not. A three-way election would be complicated enough.

  Still, she cast a questioning glance at Tabor. The horseman shook his head in negation. All around the table remained quiet.

  “Then let's proceed with the raising of hands.” Trixie kept her tone light despite the stakes. “Who votes for Kostas?”