Canaan

by David Salvi

  Canaan is now in full view. A gorgeous blue, white, purple, and green sphere floating in the nothingness of space with three moons orbiting. In front of us is our new home. Full of rich materials and water. Wow. Such an arbitrary thing. A floating pile of matter with the capacity to sustain life because of several millennia of evolution and development. From amino acids to one-cell organisms to complicated genetic structures to full biological lifeforms.

  But, I am a man more concerned with my work than the poetry of space, especially at this moment. The work is my mission at hand.

  My employees and friends may know that I am a man of contingency.

  That is why I have enclosed plans to create a spacecraft on Canaan to return to Earth if it is absolutely necessary. The plans utilize elements and raw materials on our soon-to-be home planet. Alloys and composites will be needed, which won’t be a problem since Canaan is raw material-rich. Enduring spaceflight will require supplies, spacesuits, and flight software for a dozen people—six men and six women for procreation. I attached instructions and programming for all items on the thumb drives. Except for the procreation part. I hope you can figure that one out.

  Also, heavily protected in canisters is the exotic matter created to open a wormhole for “speedy” interstellar travel. The plans require the release and detonation of the matter in order to activate a wormhole on the other side. If you need to create more, we have installed the appropriate instructions in our artificial intelligence machines. Only they are capable of creating more, so please have at least one at each planet to open the hole. And it only lasts a finite amount of time. So, you better hope one is opening for the other. If it closes while you’re inside, then… well, I can’t tell you which heaven or hell you’ll shoot off to.

  How to open on Earth, you ask? We left a stealth probe near the point of entry. But coordination requires direct communication which the Robs have, but no one else. You must plan accordingly and figure out how to calculate the appropriate time for such a gate opening.

  Please consider this a last resort in the event of unconscionable odds.

  End of Entry.

  Oscar Marian

  “There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man;

  True nobility is being superior to your former self.”

  Ernest Hemingway

  CHAPTER 21

  AS CHRIS STARED UP at the awesome stature of Aurora, he thought of his mother, as he often did in turbulent times. He was her shooting star. That blast of light in her life that would awe her for the time she had on the planet. But like all stirring experiences, it had to come to an end, albeit abrupt and injust.

  Now he is able to carry her legacy onto this starship and fire his body off the rock he had loathed since realizing what he was—an outcast on a foreign planet. Hateful of those around him that refused to accept him. He was more determined than ever to carve a path amongst the stars. First Canaan rejected him, then Motus ignored him. What and where was his place? He was going to find out.

  “Do you have a central command center for Rob II to plug into?” Chris asked.

  Brody said, “Yep, let’s board the ship. I’ll show you where it is.”

  As the group of engineers, Brody, and Chris walked toward the ship, Olivia hung around the entrance to watch. She told Chris to go ahead. She wasn’t quite ready.

  Interstellar travel. Across the galaxy to a foreign place called Earth. Thousands of years of history may have lived in the books that surrounded her everyday in the Library, but the reality of finding that place shook her to her bones.

  She took a seat on a wood chair and watched. Her mouth quivered and her fingers flicked each other.

  Chris, ever ready, marched to Aurora and spotted the loading door. He pointed to it and Brody confirmed. That was it. He had studied the plans, so he knew where most of the ship’s highlights were. When he got in, he’d take a left. At least that’s what he remembered. There would be a ladder to the main control deck.

  Sure enough he was right. The engineers couldn’t screw up that simple of an instruction. The intricate details, however, would be another story for Rob II to solve. Chris was just a writer with dreams and ambitions at this point. He could dream things up and hope they become reality, but in reality he needed help.

  When they reached central command, a slot was waiting for Rob II. The electronic systems were powered up. Chris slid the artificial intelligence drive in. A click let him know Rob II was connected properly.

  Central command awed Chris as he looked around. Beside the slot was a helm for the pilot. Surrounding that was a central computer system and dozens of sensor and blinking lights. It reminded him of the photos and movies he saw about space travel. Behind the pilot were eleven seats, bolted to the floor with loose harnesses. Some of the design was rather creative and exotic given the elements Brody and his team had to work with—basically anything on the mountain and island. Since Motus members were adept craftsmen, the team had no issue meeting the many demands of the craft instructions, especially since Oscar Marian outlined work-arounds in the event of missing materials.

  Lights flickered and buzzed on. Rob II started to communicate through the speakers in the ship. Chris rested in the pilot chair, facing up and seeing a metal barrier with a split down the middle. Brody sat in one of the passenger chairs.

  “Christopher, there are several microphones strategically placed in Aurora. You can speak in any direction and chances are I will hear you. Go ahead,” Rob II said.

  “How’s it looking?”

  A humming occurred near the central computer. No response.

  Chris chimed in, “Thinking?”

  “I don’t think, Christopher. I process.”

  “Right. So, what are you processing?”

  “Based on the data I’m receiving from the ship’s computer, there are several warnings when comparing to my craft construct drawn up by Oscar Marian. These need to be secured. I estimate that the engineers can complete in…”

  Christopher looked back at Brody. “If it’s more than three days, we’re in trouble.”

  The two looked back and forth, both shaking their heads a bit. A problem would wreck the entire plan. Time wasted. Everything lost.

  Then, the humming continued. Rob II finished its processing, “three days.”

  Sigh of relief flew about the cabin. Chris and Brody held a long phew stare.

  “If it’s okay with you, Christopher, I am going to remain in the ship’s computer to work out any bugs and prepare for takeoff.”

  “Any objections?” Chris said while leaning to Brody.

  “None from me,” the scientist said. “Just let us know what we need to do. This communicates to the command console outside. I also set it up so you can alert us in the laboratory too. We’ll be ready.”

  “The ship is currently in low power mode, but Apollo is shining brightly outside and we are flush with energy. Take a look around, Christopher,” Rob II said over the speaker.

  A flickering of lights illuminated the cabin and Christopher could see all about the front part of the ship’s command center deck. Although the eclectic nature of materials aboard gave the ship more personality than he’d seen in science fiction pop culture, he was pleased by what it was. Teals, blues, browns, auburns, greens. It was their ship. It was Aurora.

  Brody snatched the ladder with his left hand and pulled himself over. Chris did the same. Down they went into the living quarters. They had to unseal a door to get there, which was a simple button.

  Brody pointed at the seal outside the door.

  “Airlock?” Chris asked.

  “Yep. Safety first, Chris.”

  The living quarters had the same eclectic feel of the command center deck. Colors splattered across the floor and seating areas, but it worked. A multi-layered window gave passengers a view during spaceflight. Massive refrigerators housed packages of dried food and water supplies. Canisters of supplies were locked in and huddled in the corner, all mar
ked and labeled with items, quantities, and instructions.

  Passed the living quarters, Chris saw lodging. One bed for each passenger, bunked and split between the two sides of the place—two stacks of three on either side. Cloth curtains slide back and forth for privacy. Nothing fancy. A mattress, pillow, and blankets to manage temperature. In fact, Chris was impressed with how comfortable the mattresses looked.

  “Not bad for spaceship beds, right?” Brody commented.

  “Not at all. How long will we be in space?”

  Rob II spoke up through the speakers, situated at the top of the bunks, startling both men, causing Brody to nearly slip and fall to the bottom of the lodging quarters before Chris caught him.

  “Based on calculations for the wormhole’s best line…three days before travel. Four days after. All supplies account for triple that amount of time for twelve passengers.”

  “And who’s piloting this thing?” Chris asked.

  “The ship can virtually fly itself, both takeoff and landing. I will make adjustments as readings come in at both ends of flight,” Rob II reported.

  Chris said, “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain,” Rob II replied.

  “I’m not the Captain.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Brody seconded. “Yes, you are. We programmed the ship to recognize you as commanding officer. You have no choice,” Brody said matter-of-factly. He looked as though it was bizarre Chris would reject the title.

  Chris resisted one last time. “Why? I don’t know anything about this…stuff.”

  “This is your mission. And I’m proud to call you our captain,” Brody said.

  “As am I,” Rob II said.

  “So shut up and take it…captain,” Brody said.

  A sober sentiment—one Chris took after being pressed by his close colleagues, though one was a computer program. It was at that time Brody took something out of his pocket. It was small and Chris tried to make it out.

  A circular black patch that read, Captain Menas in yellow stitching.

  The weight of his last name irked him previously, but now seeing it embroidered across the bottom, he embraced it. He embraced what it meant to be the son of Jason and Myra. He was more than some poet. He may not have known much about this “stuff,” but he knew enough about doing the right thing and having the drive to push forward to get what he wanted. He had proven that much so far.

  On the top of the patch was the word Aurora, with a cartoon version of the ship in the center. Three stars spotted either side in bright white.

  “These will go on our suits,” Brody said.

  “It’s perfect,” Chris said while looking fondly on the emblem.

  Time to go.

  Rob II would report back and they’d make their final preparations in the hangar and in the lab. Three days.

  As Brody and Chris got off Aurora and climbed down the ladder, Olivia stood closer than before. Her body was swaying side to side. Her eyes were swollen. Chris rushed to her side and put his arm around her.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t what?”

  “I can’t do this.” Olivia spun on her heel and walked briskly to the exit.

  Chris was motionless and spun his head toward Aurora. Then back to Olivia, watching her walk out the door. He didn’t speak up, but he was conflicted and troubled. A decision would have to be made—by her or him.

  He went with Brody to the lab. They chit-chatted other details about the mission. Minor things. After several minutes, Chris wanted to leave. Olivia’s departure bothered him.

  “I should go.”

  Brody said, “No problem. We’ll take care of everything from here.”

  An assistant hurried up to two men. When he screeched to a halt, he held up a finger to catch a breath. He had a piece of scrunched paper in his hand. Before the scientist could speak, Rob II voiced over the speaker system.

  “There’s a problem.”

  The assistant brought in a huge puff, then blurted out, “It’s bad.”

  Snatching the paper and reading its contents, Brody’s eyes went wide. Then his face dropped.

  “What? What is it?” Chris asked.

  “A ‘cane is coming,” Brody said, his voice somber and low.

  “What? How long do we have?”

  “Two days. Maybe three.”

  The assistant found consecutive breaths, “It’s wide and slow. One of the biggest we’ve ever recorded.”

  “Which means it’s not going away any time soon.” Chris hung his head similar to that of his scientist friend. He weakly whispered shit, alarming the others.

  Rob II surprisingly offered hope, “If it comes sooner, it may deter the Canaanites from reaching Motus shores. That will give us adequate time to wait out the storm.”

  “That’s true.” Brody considered it and really liked the prospect.

  “Rob, we’ll need an option B,” Chris commanded.

  “I will present viable options as they present themselves, Christopher.”

  “Thanks. Okay, I really should go,” Chris said to Brody.

  Brody nodded. As Chris was running he heard two words shouted from the scientist and his boisterous compatriot in space travel, “Three days!”

  Three days, Chris thought. Fitting.

  CHAPTER 22

  CHRIS LURKED OUTSIDE the War Council’s chambers. Less members at this meeting. He had spent plenty of time in that room before, but he wasn’t welcomed anymore. He had sprinted past the war, or the war sprinted past him. Instead he compartmentalized and separated the two. They lived and breathed separately, he told himself time and time again. He could do both if necessary, like he was trying to right now.

  Riley’s tone inside the chamber was sobering and calm. It was the only sound that brought him to attention.

  “What else do you want me to say? An evil is coming our way. They will stop at nothing to get to us.” Her voice was soft, but carried through the room as others were silent.

  “Why haven’t we cut the line?” a dignitary asked.

  “Timothy’s companies…”

  “Damn his companies!”

  Riley’s father spoke next as the tension rose among the dozen or so members. Chris only poked his eye through the small slit around the thick wood door, catching glimpses of the reactions as he scanned the room.

  Titus said, “We cannot risk total annihilation, Riley.”

  “And leave Timothy for dead?” Riley replied.

  “If that means saving us all, yes.”

  “No, I won’t allow it.”

  “Damn your principles, girl!” He shouted at his daughter like he never had. A scolding for public display, like she was a child playing with fire for the first time. “You aren’t at the helm of our civilization. We are making the call.”

  They had decided through a series of self-evident murmurs. The line would be cut. And they’d waste no time doing it. He ordered the guards to inform the gate to cut the line. It was a swift and sudden process. There was a mechanism in the the water that would sever the link before Motus Bay.

  “What of our defense? Without Timothy’s companies, we have so little. Canaan isn’t going to stop,” Riley said.

  “How are they going to get to us? The ‘canes alone will wipe them out,” said one dignitary, another old man with white and black hair and leathery skin. His voice was smothered with fear.

  Riley shot back, “Do not underestimate their will to destroy us. Evil finds a way.”

  No one wanted to admit she was right. Because she was. There was a silence until someone coughed in the background. No one paid attention to the cough.

  Her father spoke up, “Then prepare whoever is left. Everybody will be armed.”

  “We have no one. We’ll have to throw guns and blades on children.” Riley shrugged.

  “So be it. That’s what it has come to.”

  The council concluded and members shuffled out of the
chamber, Lavik in front. Chris backed away as to be walking by chance. His friend didn’t notice him. But he bumped into Riley. She glanced at Chris and walked forward. She spoke to him like she was talking to herself, almost under her breath.

  “I don’t know what to do. All I know is if we cut the line, we give up hope of ever saving this fricking planet. Everyone is going to fall under their bullshit. Then who knows what else. Some existence this is.”

  Chris let her dispense her anger. He wanted to hear more of her thoughts, unadulterated by his opinion on the matter. There were moments of silence though. Chris allowed them to breathe.

  She continued, “What the hell are we supposed to do? Years of survival. Gone. Everything we were supposed to accomplish. Done. We’re spitting in the face of our ancestors.”

  They walked aimlessly out of the mountain and toward the square. An unblocked Apollo was bright and hot that day. Going from mountain to square made them squint. Their skinned burned in the light after a few minutes.

  Lavik came running from the pier. He had dashed out of the War Council to inform guards of the order. Cut the line. Now out of breath, he took a second, then asked Riley for the plan. They argued back and forth about possible strategies, but they seemed weak. They had to remember—children were going to have to defend the lot of the island.

  She paused for a moment and grinned at her friend and lieutenant.

  “We build a navy.”

  “In a matter of days?”

  “It’s all we can do.”

  “Does the island have any heavy artillery?” He asked the question knowing Motus didn’t. Touring the island most of his days yielded most of what he needed to know about what Motus had and didn’t have.

  “No. We never thought Canaan could make it here.”

  Chris nodded, then asked, “What now?”

  “Refit all the fishing boats. Fortify the exteriors. Add any sort of artillery we can. Talk to Brody about more boom powder from the mountain. Salvage rocks from the mountain and fashion them into cannonballs. If we protect the perimeter of the island, we may have a chance to repel what they bring our way, even if we have less manpower and firepower.”