Daniel tried to be polite. “Calm down. Let’s just make it to the …”
And then it hit them all – a cold, psychic tremor that started like a mallet to the forehead and coursed through their brains with the touch of fingers almost frozen. First, there were echoes, then clicks and whispers. And finally:
Come back to us. Forgive and understand. We cannot evolve. We will die without you. Come back to us.
They looked at each other, and in the instant before the awful recognition of what was really happening finally hit them, there was another echo.
You will not leave. You WILL NOT leave.
Daniel said it first: “Oh, hell. Andorran.”
Lara remained frozen, unable to absolve herself of the echoes, and knew now that she was paying the greatest price for having allowed the Fyal into her mind more than anyone else. Surely, they were most sensitive to her. And as she heard Daniel ordering the crew on Andorran to kill the two Fyal ambassadors who had been allowed back onboard that morning, Lara closed her eyes. She wanted to scream – anything to silence the echoes, anything to silence the sudden, overwhelming terror of a little girl who wished she had never dreamed she could go to the stars.
We will come for you. All of you. We WILL COME for you.
Part Two
The Final Days
1
Earth calendar: April 3, 2144
A
gain, her mind called out to Earth. But the planet was mute. Lara Singer knew this should have been a day of celebration – for herself, her crewmates, an entire civilization. What was this, after all, but the climax of the greatest achievement in human history?
She stifled a yawn, sat forward in her black swivel, elbows as supports against the communications console. Multihued panels awaited their next set of commands, ready to open yet another channel to the planet of blue-and-white swirls which laid dead ahead.
“Are we ready to try again?” She fixated on the forward viewport.
A soft male voice responded from behind. “All checks are confirmed. You may open the channel.”
Lara sat up, ran both hands through her disheveled and drying blond hair and took a deep breath. She lightly touched a series of four colored symbols on the console board, then cleared her throat.
“Orion base, Orion base, this is the S.P.S. Andorran. We bring greetings to you and to the planet Earth as we conclude our mission to the Centauri system. We request you respond on any available frequency. We are bearing on a course following the parameters set out by the original mission program. We will achieve orbital rendezvous with Earth in approximately 14 hours.
“Previous attempts to contact you have been unsuccessful, and we urgently plea for a response. If this message is intercepted elsewhere on the planet, or by orbiting vessels, please respond. We can accept transmission on any of more than six million Chameleon frequencies and our translator to more than three hundred thousand language variations. Andorran out.”
She sighed, dropped back into the swivel, crossed her hands upon her lap and closed her eyes. The receiving band whispered to her without words, scarcely audible over the continuous, untroubled hum of Andorran itself.
Her stomach became taut, and with frustration in control of her emotions, Lara struggled to maintain composure.
Control is essential, Daniel told her. Do not betray your emotions.
The crewmate behind her piped in. “I see no problems in either the transmitter coils, or from the SN-70 dish. Our long-range comm system is functioning perfectly, Captain. Captain?”
She remained silent for a minute, sifted through the words, then swiveled around to Andorran's navigation officer. “I’ve asked you not to address me that way, Mifuro.”
Prince Mifuro Nakahita flexed his right eyebrow, maintained a consistent half-smile and acknowledged Lara’s request with no more than a glance. The Japanese navigation officer kept a steady pose before his workstation, a chromatic barrage of displays monitoring all facets of Andorran's comm systems.
Lara sighed. “No glitches at all that time? No, um, backload in the secondary pulse, like you found in the first diagnostic?”
“None, Captain.”
“Earth? Is there any detectable activity in the Chameleon band?”
“None. It's flat.”
Lara massaged her eyes. If she was not so tired, she would have cried. She had been trying to contact the human race for more than 28 hours. The first greetings went to the colonies: Station Daedelus on Europa; the Chaney Observatorium on the asteroid Antimenes-D; and Helles Planitia, the terraform complex on Mars.
So, they asked the big questions. Had an apocalypse – natural or otherwise – snuffed out homo sapiens while they were away? Were they the last ten survivors?
Another possibility dangled over them. Neither Lara nor her crew tried to speak of it, avoiding the subject just as they had for fifteen years. Lara couldn't help wondering: Had the nightmare they discovered on the third planet of Centauri A outraced them to Earth?
2
T
hose fears were allayed, to a great extent, 10 hours into the transmissions, when planetary survey maps gloriously detailed a world active in very high technology, with huge, radiant cities and billions of lifeforms recognizable as human. The survey produced no cheers, only an awkward combination of dubious relief.
Lara experienced a similar feeling when she was a child, and her father was felled by an aneurysm, only to be miraculously saved during surgery. She did not allow jubilation to overwhelm her when the doctor came bearing the news: Reality told her the brain damage was massive and the effects would linger, possibly forever. Life plotted a new, unsteady course.
Lara studied the silent Earth, hourly filling more of the forward viewport. She fought against dwelling on friends and relatives who might still be waiting for her. Her crewmates steered away from the subject of reunions. The emotions were too much of a distraction, the weight of expectations too much of a burden. They reminded themselves daily that although hibersleep allowed their own bodies to age only a few years, all those loved ones they left behind would have experienced 34 years of life’s struggles. Some of them, inevitably, would not have made the journey this far.
“You'll continue to play back the message in duplicate intervals, Mifuro?”
“Of course, Captain. And I'll run another diagnostic. Test the parameters of the auxiliary systems. Search for unanticipated magnetic anomalies.”
“Anything at this point,” she stood up and stretched.
The command and flight deck, an oval chamber of graphic arrays at half a dozen workstations, was silent, wrapped in a banana glow that radiated from a hexagon of overhead panels.
Lara smiled through pallid lips and released a silent yawn.
“This is all so much like a dream I had several times when I was a girl,” she said softly, uncertain whether Mifuro was paying attention. “I was oh, don't know, maybe 13, 14. I come home, can't open the door. So, I ring the bell. I knock. Over and over. Then I look into the windows and I see the house isn't empty at all. My family is there, and I shout. Over and over, but they don't acknowledge me. Not like they can't, they just won't.”
She paused, and Mifuro continued his work in silence. “I never understood the significance of that dream. Until now.”
She wanted to place a reassuring hand upon Mifuro's shoulder, anything to underscore how much she needed – and appreciated – him. Rarely did the Japanese prince allow himself to step beyond protocol, and Lara saw less emotion from him during this final leg of the mission. She thought she understood why and realized Mifuro couldn't allow himself to connect with her.
They were lovers for five months of a rotation, and the man who was the last surviving member of the world's oldest imperial family proved to be little more than a sexual mechanic, never able to unwrap his emotions. But six years divided their intimacy with the reality of this day – six years and a man named Daniel Loche. L
ara hoped Mifuro still kept at least a part of those months somewhere in his heart.
“I have to leave the deck,” she said. “Daniel and Boris should be about finished stabilizing the orbital discriminators. I also need to speak with Captain Navarro, if I can. And we've got to make some decisions about awakening the others. If there is any kind of response, please get me on the link immediately. Thanks, Mifuro.”
Before Lara took three steps to a SlipTube, Mifuro whipped about on his swivel and spoke, this time with a snap in his voice.
“You are the captain, Lara. You must end this dependency on Navarro. His words are meaningless. You are far more capable than you give yourself credit for.”
Lara studied the prince. His deep, brown eyes opened wide, and his forehead was creased, shiny, his jet-black hair combed back in a single rush. He wet his lips.
“You'd make a fine captain, Mifuro,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And I think you will one day. But not by default. Not like me.”
3
L
ara Singer never understood the rationale for installing her as No. 3 in command at the outset of the Andorran mission. The argument, from her superiors at ASTROcom, went something like this:
You are the linguistics officer. If contact is made with an alien culture, and we believe that to be within the realm of possibility, then you will be responsible for first contact and translating the language of said aliens. As you would therefore be the most visible emissary of the human race, it would be practical that you rank among the highest officers of our delegation.
Her logical counter-arguments – that other officers had more training to oversee the operation of the vessel and that the odds of alien contact were stacked against the mission – made no headway. That did not come as a surprise to her.
But she reassured herself, as she boarded Andorran for the first time in 2110, that she would never have to carry the reins. She followed her duty roster as outlined, went into hibersleep six days after the ship began final-stage acceleration into sublight speed, and was reawakened years later for the first of her rotations.
Now, the memories of what happened in the Centauri system still clawed at her, dragging her backward whenever she dared think of the future.
As she stepped into the cylindrical SlipTube, Lara flexed her jaw horizontally, attempting a technique that often worked to quell these periodic headaches.
The black Tube, with a diameter of only four feet and room for two crewmen, closed quickly and silently, a cylindrical door wrapping around itself like an epidermis. Lara instinctively positioned herself on the G-stamp – a footwell designed to steady the body as artificial gravity forces altered during Tube transport.
“ENG SEC 7, Pod C,” she told the computer.
As the Tube accelerated, Lara followed the transport's course on a schematic tracker posted head-high beside the entrance. The Tube often reached maximum velocity of 15 kph, rarely slowing as it performed 45-degree swoops or right-angle course shifts through Andorran's labyrinthine arrangement of living and working quarters.
Lara realized her pale blue bodysuit became more than form-fitting; it stuck to her in places. “I need a shower,” she whispered, realizing she hadn’t bathed since deceleration from sub-light.
At that instant, the Tube stopped, and the wraparound door slipped open simultaneously.
She stepped through, straightened her bodysuit at the waist and ran both hands through her thick, snarled blond strands.
The two occupants of Engineering Pod C didn't notice her, their attention focused on an exposed quadrant of wall. They maneuvered light-tools around glowing white conduits. Behind them, in the center of the compartment, a hologram of the conduits' interiors floated above a bulbous, black vioptrics console. The pod's panel lighting modified to cast a soft creme warmth.
“Is much better,” Boris Leonov said as he glanced over his shoulder, studying the hologram. “We are almost there.”
The bald Russian caught a glimpse of Lara, and he nudged his partner, offering a mischievous smile.
Daniel Loche rose, wiped perspiration from his forehead. “You came down here yourself,” he said. “There must be news.”
“No,” she said. “Situation is unchanged. Still no response.”
Boris frowned. “And Mifuro has confirmed we are not at fault?”
“He says there are no flaws in our system. I wish I could tell you more. I know you've been working hard. I'm sorry.”
Daniel offered a broad smile and laid a hand upon her cheek, his warm touch invigorating Lara. She stood between the men, intentionally no closer to one than the other.
“You can't apologize,” her lover said, locking on to her with oval ginger eyes. “It's obvious there's something else going on we simply can't know about. Not yet. But we'll find the answer.”
“We have less than 14 hours before rendezvous. We need answers soon, and I don't have any.”
Daniel took a half step, ran his hand softly down her shoulder, along her right arm and for a second, gripped her dangling hand. He turned to Boris.
“Do you still need me?”
“No. Is good here. Will finish in minutes.” The Russian chief of engineering studied the hologram again.
“The damage to the orbital discriminators wasn't too serious?” Lara asked.
“No, is manageable,” Boris said. “Could have been worse. Much worse, yes. We left Centauri III so fast, without all proper checks ...”
His voice trailed off, and Lara understood. The way they departed Centauri III's orbit had been downright dangerous but essential. Even though they killed the Fyal ambassadors, there was concern about the collective telepathic influence of the aliens, who were more aggressive when acting in unison. Although the Fyal were not spacefarers by choice, the scope of their organic technology seemed limitless.
Boris offered a gruff laugh, pointed to the hologram. “Repair could have been difficult without this. I don't know how world managed before viop.”
“True,” Daniel nodded. “Boris, I'm going to take our lovely captain here to Pod B and review the work we did. We should be back on the command deck before you.”
The Russian nodded, smiling brightly.
Lara pressed her lips and gritted her teeth as Daniel led her around the viop console, through a sliding door and into a small adjoining compartment.
“What was that comment?” She asked sternly. “‘Our lovely captain.’ Not very professional of you, Daniel.”
He rolled his eyes. “I'm sorry. I tried to catch myself on that.”
“You violated you own little edict! What did you tell me? Maintaining decorum in front of the crew kept the jealousies to a minimum. No endearments whenever possible.”
“I apologize. If it had been anyone other than Boris, well ...”
She swallowed hard. “Anyone other than Boris? Oh, sure. He's been paired with Olivia practically since the beginning, while the rest of us have been mixing it up with each other practically every rotation. So of course, there's no risk of jealousy from Boris.”
Daniel's cheeks grew flush. “You're not actually going to turn a very simple remark into a major event, now are you?”
Lara was tired, but fighting words were waking her up.
“I just don't think that given ...”
“Given everything, Lara, I just don't think this is something that should bother you. Think about our situation. We're almost home! Thirty-four years in space. There weren't many people on that planet who thought they'd ever see us again. And it took some incredible luck to reach this point.” He swallowed hard. “I'm talking big picture. The 10 people on this ship. The billions on Earth. Not a forgettable slip of my tongue.”
Lara wanted to slap him, she wanted to kiss him. I know you're right, she wanted to say. I know you should be in charge.
“It's a difficult time,” was all she managed. “Difficult emotions. I'm tired.”
“Ye
s, it is, and we all are,” Daniel stepped close to her. “But as I have tried to remind you time and again, it's imperative you show control and composure. You must be assertive and clearly in command. There isn't one member of this crew who hasn't relished the opportunity to take advantage of your weaknesses.”
“You do it daily.” She smirked, knowing he was only half-kidding.
“Yes. Because that's how much I love you. If I didn't give a damn, or you were just good sex, believe me, I'd let you take a tumble on your ass. I've had more respect for your title than you ever have, and I've tried to pass that on to you. Somehow, you've made it work, barely. But you're not going to be able to pass as just a substitute player any longer. We can all make recommendations, and we can debate you, but you must take the responsibility of final arbiter. And that includes putting petty concerns aside.”
Daniel's lips pursed, and he suddenly lunged forward, grabbed her and planted a firm, long kiss on her lips. She closed her eyes and allowed his energy to support them both. For a second, she was able to cleanse her mind of his chastisement.
Daniel pulled back, looked into her eyes again, pecked her lips and sighed.
She asked, “What is your recommendation now?”
David lowered his tone. “Ah, I'd suggest getting the crew together. We can review our status, throw out theories as to what's going on, try to plot a course of action before we enter orbit.”
“I agree. We should awaken the rest of the crew?”
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