by L. E. Howel
“Disappeared?” Michaels leaned forward with interest.
“Yes,” Birch lied, “and we looked for him everywhere we could, the base, the ship, the planet surface. There wasn’t a trace.” Well, at least part of that was true. He hoped that was enough to convince him.
“The mission was a wreck. The equipment was junked. We had lost our commander, and there was no chance of success, so we left.”
“You gave up.”
“No!” Birch barked. “We had to leave. There was no reason to stay. Our supplies were gone, our equipment was shot. There was nothing to do but go! Where could we go? This was our only chance, so we came back to earth. We sent back the message: ‘Mission abort. No life sustainability. Send no one. Mission abort.’”
“And yet they did send someone.” Michaels’ voice was cold and hard.
Birch looked up, daring to meet the gaze of those searching green eyes.
“They sent someone? Who?” he managed to stammer.
“Not a someone, but many someones. A whole colony.”
“But the message…”
“It never got through.”
“But that’s not possible,” Birch gulped. “We sent the message before we left. A colony up there without any preparation, without bases, and terraforming, and irrigation, they couldn’t survive! They’d all be dead!”
“And yet they weren’t.” Michaels answered evenly. “Reports from the colony were most promising at the start. Homes were built. Society began to take root. And then nothing.”
“Nothing? What happened?”
“We don’t know. All communication stopped. We hoped you would have some answers for us. Instead you seem to have raised more questions.”
Birch sat brooding for a moment. It made no sense to him. So many questions, and yet one came to the fore in his mind.
“So, how do you know so much about us, about our mission? When we first got back nobody knew us. No one had even heard of the Hypnos missions except as some historical oddity they didn’t really understand. It’s been a long time since we left. How come you remember?”
“Many people have short memories.” Michaels tried his half smile again. “I do not.”
“I suppose I really should give credit,” he continued, “to a certain historical artifact in this very city. It lies concealed beneath us, in the old Metro system. Station twenty-three. I really must take you there sometime. Very educational. You see in the later years of one of the former governments things were very fraught. Doom and gloom were everywhere and they trusted no one, and so they brought the Hypnos mission to Washington, to keep it directly under their noses, as it were. They put it underground, like the old missile defense silos, cleared whole sections of the city to do it too. A monumental task, all to keep their dream, their Hypnos dream, alive! They might lose their country, but they would gain the stars. A noble aspiration!
“Those were violent times, and when the government came to a violent end, so did Hypnos. And for many years it was forgotten, abandoned in its subterranean tomb. I discovered it. I have since explored its secrets. What wonders there are! Equipment left, just as we found it, just as it was left all those years ago. Why, the end came so suddenly, we even found a Hypnos rocket left on the launch pad, fully fueled and ready to go! What a sad testimony to the lost dreams of a generation.
“That is how I know so much, Major. Your records are, quite literally, an open book to me. Of course, as you noted, few people today know much of that past, but I always feel we must remember our past to understand our future.”
“Yeah,” Birch muttered uncomfortably. He changed the subject.
“So how was that last government defeated? Was that something to do with the Ares?”
“Ah yes, the Ares.” The president’s eyes narrowed. “Our little problem. Yes I suppose you would want to know about them. Well then, let me tell you about the Ares.”
FORTY-FOUR
“Where there is light, there is darkness. Where there is love, there is hate. Where there is warmth, there is cold. Where there is victory, there is defeat. It cannot be escaped. Where one exists, so must the other. To understand one, you must know the other. Has there ever been a time without this knowledge? Will there ever be a time without it?” President Michaels sighed heavily. His bloodstained eyes glanced upward, as if seeking solace. Then his head fell forward, as though resigned to the answer.
“Not in our time, Major Birch. Not in our time. You and I are old enough to know that things don’t really change. The faces change, the names change, all the superficials change, but the fight goes on. You either have to accept that or go crazy. I have accepted it.
“The Ares are the shadow to our light. As we have progressed, so they have regressed. Where we have sought change and improvement, so they have sought stagnation and deterioration. We are the builders and they are the destroyers. In the last hundred years the Ares have built nothing except maybe those subterranean rat-holes they use to harass and attack us wherever we go.”
“Yeah,” Birch interrupted, “but when did all this start, and why are they trying to destroy everything you’ve built?” He was growing weary of the president’s philosophizing and wanted some cold-hard-facts on the subject.
“The when isn’t important, it was the work of many years, the gradual separation of a people both geographically and ideologically. There is no single date I could give you. The ‘why’, on the other hand, is far more significant.
“As I told you, the Ares are a regressive culture. They seek to move backwards. They love the past, but not the past of reality, of course, instead they venerate some mythical time that never truly existed. They think the past is a beautiful place and they wish to go back to it, even with all of its dangers for destruction. That’s why they find you so fascinating, Major.”
“Me? They find me fascinating?”
“Well, not you alone, of course, but all of you, all of you Hypnos astronauts, that is. That’s also why you were such a target for them. They were after you from the very start.”
“They were after us then.” Birch felt as if he were beginning to understand something he should have known all along.
“Somehow they found out that you were coming,” Michaels continued. “They arranged the ambush in the mountains, and then all that followed after that. We are still dealing with the aftermath of their attacks. It was all coordinated as a plan to try and stop you from making it to us. We kept that fact from you during the journey because we didn’t want to alarm you.”
The admission angered Birch. He knew the reason behind it, but he hated to be lied to. You never could trust a liar; you never could trust anyone. For now he swallowed his anger and tried to get answers to his questions.
“So why did they want to stop us, what’s so important about us?” Birch growled. He was beginning to feel like a very small piece in a big game he didn’t yet understand.
Michaels nodded quietly. “You are everything to them,” he continued. “You are from the past. That alone would mark you out as special to them, but it goes deeper than that. You are astronauts. You represent the future they had hoped for, a future based on the grasping ideals of space exploration. You represent all that they wanted. And so the Ares have sought you out, but I wouldn’t let them have you. You are almost messianic figures to them, fulfilling a promise that your missions made to them long ago.”
“What promise?” Birch’s voice was doubtful. “We made no promises.”
“But you did,” the president’s voice didn’t seem to fluctuate at all from its reassuring monotone. “You promised a future they wanted; a future of exploration and conquest. A future that our society has rejected today, we don’t waste our time on such expensive, impractical dreams. But the Ares have resisted the changes, the advances toward the common good here on earth, by glorying in the excesses of the past and demanding that they continue. You represent the last hope to them; your missions are a part of their mythology. Over time your legen
d has grown. You all came to be deified, the colonies you were sent out to establish were the promised lands, and your heroism and goodness grew to ridiculous proportions. Now you are like gods to them.”
“So why did they attack us then,” Birch asked bitterly, “and why is Karla dead? What you say makes no sense.”
“They didn’t attack you, Major, they attacked us. They thought they were rescuing you from our evil influence. Didn’t you wonder why they waited to fire on your camp in the mountains? It was because they were waiting to get a clear shot at our men; they didn’t want to risk hitting any of you.”
“That’s why they tried to grab Karla and DeSante!” Birch exclaimed. His mind was trying to adjust to this seismic shift. It was as though the whole universe had been turned inside-out and he wasn’t sure what it meant or who his friends or enemies were any more.
“That is correct,” the president continued. “It seems that you must have discovered Lieutenant Dawson in storage in one of those sacred ancestor sites they seem to cherish so much. You were lucky to find her, but I think your performance earlier that night might have rattled them a little. You rocked their world.”
Birch shook his head, as though doubting his words.
“Don’t underestimate your influence, Major, remember what you are to them. I wish I could have seen that moment. From the reports you caused quite a stir; you started shooting and when they saw who it was fighting against them they ran in panic. Imagine that, their very savior come down to earth to destroy them. No wonder they ran. Nothing is to be feared more than an angry god, eh Major Birch?” The old man laughed weakly at his own joke. Birch wearily put his head in his hands.
For a time neither said anything. When Birch finally spoke the words came in choking half-breaths.
“So that’s why they killed Karla.” He muttered. “I turned them against us!”
“Not exactly,” the president shook his head. “The events of that night had nothing to do with why they killed Karla. In fact, strictly speaking, they didn’t kill Karla. It was that young boy you tangled with in the mountains. He was acting on his own. He’s staying not far from your little home right now; perhaps you’ll see him soon.” Michaels’ eyes took on a meaningful look that Birch couldn’t interpret.
“He’s a sullen, surly little fellow, but we managed to prize the main gist of the events out of him. He’s not a part of any Ares tribe, though, but one of those orphan kids that roam around out there. They have no status or support in their culture, so they have to make their own lives.
“It seems he lead you, Major, to the burial ground, believing he would be throwing you straight into the hornet’s nest. He was hoping to see some fun, I guess, but then instead of being caught you survived and rescued Lieutenant Dawson. He was surprised and impressed. He took an interest in you after that. He followed you.”
“Does he know what happened to DeSante?” Birch interrupted.
“No,” was Michaels’ monosyllabic answer. He continued.
“Your little encounter had quite an effect on him, and so he began keeping an eye on you through the mountains, in the city, and then later on the plains.
“Despite what you had done to him it seems he liked you, and then, through overheard conversations, he learned who you really were. All those old Ares superstitions and hopes came to mind. He remembered the legends, the tales of the noble astronauts who had gone to build a future, who would return one day to save them all. He became your disciple, your protector, and your shadow. Even though he dared not approach you, he followed you wherever you went. To his devoted mind your every action showed all the fortitude and the nobility he had expected to find in his heroes. But then it changed.
All of that changed the day before your young lieutenant was shot. He saw you kill a man in cold blood; it killed the hope in him. It changed everything. Before that event he had seen how you and Lieutenant Dawson had helped each other; it had shown him a different life to that of a wilderness orphan. It had shown him that the legends were true, that the past had been a better time. He knew the future would be too.
From what I gather you gave him a hope of better things, far more than he had ever experienced in his life. It awakened the thought in him that there were good people in the world and that he could be a part of that, but your murder of that Ares rider shattered his illusions and strangled his newborn hopes. You were as bad as everybody else. His savage little mind reverted to the only course it knew. He was angry and disappointed. You had let him down, so he took his revenge. He killed her first; you were to be next. When you chased after him he would ambush you, but you never came. He snuck back to find you sitting there with her. You stayed all night. He is a little confused about what happened next, but obviously what he saw stole away his desire to kill, and so he ran. You know what happened after that. Rather a sad story, don’t you think?”
Birch said nothing. He was perfectly still. Not seeing. Not breathing. Not thinking. When finally his lungs rebelled his breath came in gasping sobs. Tears filled his eyes, but he would not let them fall. Not here, not now. The gnarled hand reached out to comfort him again, but he shoved it aside. The president’s blood rimmed eyes widened in surprise.
Alone he might have punched walls, kicked the floor, or tried to tear the flesh from his own blighted bones. His anger raged so hard that it seemed to consume him, and he didn’t care because it was himself that he hated. He had blundered through life up to this point, and only now could he really see how much of his pain was of his own making. He wondered how many times he had been hurt before without knowing that he himself was the cause. Worse still, how many others had he hurt?
For a time they both sat silently. There was nothing to say. Finally Michaels spoke again.
“This orphan boy has learned the same truth that all of the Ares have discovered: that the golden past is only gilded by their own faulty imagination. All of them know now what you are. It will be interesting to see how they cope with that. Sadly, I believe they will not abandon their love for the past, just their love for you.
“The Ares are blinded by their desires. They think they know what they want. They think they know the past, but they don’t know it as well as you or I, Major; if they did they wouldn’t crave those things, would they?”
“I would,” Birch confessed gloomily. “Maybe you’re the one who doesn’t know as much as you think.”
President Michaels seemed unfazed by his outburst.
“I know enough, Major. Oh, I haven’t been asleep for hundreds of years like you, and I haven’t been blasted out to some distant planet, but I’m old enough, and wise enough, and I’ve seen enough to know that people don’t change.
“We’re all so limited. We try to understand from our own experiences. We fail. Sometimes we try to learn from others, but usually we learn the wrong thing. Mostly though, we have to fall down ourselves before we recognize the danger. That is the advantage of age. With age we gain experience and wisdom through our failures. Eventually we might know it all because we have seen it all. But then we die and it starts all over again with the next generation. What a waste.
“You, Major Birch, are old, but you have slept through the ages. You have gained nothing, have learned nothing, and achieved nothing through all that time. You slept. You have awoken as stupid as you were when you closed your eyes all those years ago. You haven’t grown. What use are you? You are nothing more than an oddity, a historical aberration.
“But fortune smiles on us. You’re differences are a blessing. You are a glorious anachronism and…”
Birch had been sitting numbly, letting the words wash over him. He felt sick to his stomach. He was lost. His mind drifted out over the lonely plains, out to that mound of dirt and stone. The wind blew the grass there. His actions had put her there. He wished he could be the one to die. Just once he wanted to be the one to die. He was tired.
“…which will render you useful. More useful than even the Ares imagined.” The aged Pr
esident droned on earnestly.
Birch’s mind came into sharp focus. He had missed something here, something about them, something important.
“What do you mean useful?” Birch didn’t like the connotation of that word.
“Your purpose,” the president sought for a better word, a smoother way to describe the matter. “It’s your way to help your fellow man.”
“No.”
“No?” Michaels blinked dumbly, as if the word had never occurred to him, and now that it had been uttered he wasn’t sure how to respond. “But you don’t even know what we’re asking of you!” he spluttered incredulously.
“I haven’t heard you ask me anything at all. I’ve heard you tell me plenty! You tell me that nobody can understand the world. We’re all the stupid ones and you’re the one with the plan. You tell me we’re useful. What you don’t do is ask if we want to be useful.”
Michaels paused. Those green eyes were probing him again, trying to prize out his inmost thoughts. He sighed. The reddened sclera seemed to liquefy. He was about to cry and Birch would learn if he wept tears of water or of blood, but he blinked them away. The eyes quickly hardened.
“I was right about you,” the old man rasped sadly and shook his head. “You see too much for me to offer you a false choice. I could tell you that you could choose, and hope that you would do what we needed, what is right, but I couldn’t fool you. You would know. We can’t let you choose. It’s just too important for that.”
“Life has a way of often giving you two simple alternatives,” Birch remembered, “two ways, the right one and the wrong one.” He mulled this over in his mind for a moment before continuing. “I will choose. My answer is no.”
President Michaels seemed unfazed by his refusal.
“You are an optimist, Major Birch,” he purred. “You believe in the myth of the open road and the old American road trip with a whole country of choices opening up before you. But I ask you, who built those roads? Who decided where those roads should go? Who decided where those roads should not go? The motorist? No, the planners. Some towns died, others thrived, all on the decisions of those planners. They knew what was needed. They shaped your ‘freedom’ on the road. You go where their roads tell you.