by Rod Little
It would change everything.
Chapter 2
A pair of dots moved slowly toward a 3-D sphere on a large display screen; it was the first two civilian ships: a group of Neptune's civilians approaching Earth. Commander Lusus watched the icons of the two giant transport vessels with grim displeasure. They would land in two days.
“How much will you grant them?” Sub-commander Yota asked, his voice detached and dry. It was hard for anyone to read any inflection in this man's words, or to know whether he cared about what he was saying at any given time. His tone never changed.
Commander Lusus grunted, but did not reply. He was growing a tightly trimmed beard; some said it was to hide all his secrets. Two fingers absently stroked it down his chin. He liked to touch his new beard while thinking. It believed it gave him poise.
Lusus now controlled most of the planet. Only South America, south of the nuclear blast, remained out of his reach. The spiders still owned that land, and the blast site – the bunker and radio station where Zack the DJ took his final moments – existed as a buffer zone. Australia and Sri Lanka were the only other lands controlled by Earthlings and the spider army. The Sayan rebels occupied the rest of the world.
Lusus studied the screen; he continued to pet his beard and finally answered. “I'll give them the island.”
“The British Islands? Great Britain, they call it here.” He liked the make fun of the fact that an island so small could be called “great.” Wicked men take pleasure in the smallest of cruelties.
“They can have it. It will be a good start for them. There's never any sunlight, so their eyes can adjust more easily to the new environment. We'll keep promising expansion, but... you know how it goes.”
“I do indeed, Sir.”
“All cleaned up? Even the capital city?”
“London is yet a disaster area, but a small town north of it has been... sanitized. All of the dead bodies have been cleared away, and all of the lizard creatures, too. The operational cars have been parked in proper spaces; the rest have been sent away for servicing... Something we are still figuring out.”
“Your teams have had ten years to learn the mechanics. Are they idiots?”
“No, Sir, but real life experience has presented some... challenges. The manuals cannot replace practical–.”
“Don't bore me with details, Yota. Is the city ready or not?”
“Yes. The city appears to have been built exclusively for them, for Neptune's own private citizens. The truth remains a secret, and no one will know we shed blood to steal it.”
“Let's hope so,” Lusus groused. The one thing he feared was a mob of angry people. He could handle politicians, soldiers, even the Earthlings. But if his own planet's people rose up against him... that he did not want to see.
“Where will you meet Vahr and the Council?”
Lusus looked over at the man for the first time since entering the room. “Here, of course. You think I trust them enough to go to them?”
“And they agreed to come?”
“Not yet. But they will. What choice do they have? I control the planet.”
“Good point, Sir.”
“And the refugees? Ready to be lifted out of our way, I hope?”
Yota glanced at his data tablet. “Fifty-one have been detained in London, Commander. Another group is being held in New York. Are you sure you want to permit the enemy to pick them up?”
“What use are they to me? We want rid of them, don't we?”
Yes, we do, but it's not like you to be so generous, Yota reflected. He bit his tongue and said nothing.
Lusus stopped playing with his beard and snatched the tablet from Yota's hand. “Less than five days from now, right?”
“That is their intention,” Yota said. “London first, then New York. After that, I assume they will leave us forever. Earth is ours.”
“Almost.”
“The other territories will fall soon enough, Commander. I am sure of it.”
Lusus shifted his gaze out the small window of the command room on the third floor. He squinted; still his eyes could not get used to real sunlight. It was too bright, too invasive for him, and spring was coming soon. It would be warmer and brighter. That thought soured his mood.
He also still worried about the nuclear arsenals they had secured, but could not control. The one and only control station for all the nukes had been destroyed, and the area it lay under was now uninhabitable, and would be for another fifty years.
Lusus hoped that was the end of it – a lid on the nukes. He kept a lock and key on the remaining nuclear missiles. Even if he could not control or launch them, he wanted to make sure no one else could, either. No repeat of the previous incident in Mexico.
The Commander cursed that incident.
Those damn kids! The half-breed and his friends!
Other weapons were being discovered daily by the rebel soldiers. They sifted through databases to identify and rank each weapon's power and value.
If something big is out there, we'll find it, Lusus resolved. Something powerful. Something only I control. Something.... explosive.
But not today. This week, only diplomacy. He hated diplomacy.
“Close those curtains,” he said gruffly, and walked out of the room.
Chapter 3
News of the distress call wound its way through the station like dandelion seeds on a breeze, and finally landed on Sam at his breakfast table. He shoveled oatmeal and a strange alien fruit into his mouth, while Kelvin explained the situation. Bohai sat quietly at the same table, eyes closed, and drank hot tea; he listened while meditating.
“So this message is merely a series of beeps,” the old man explained excitedly. “But it's been decoded as a distress call – an S.O.S. if you wish. And Bem thinks it's been transmitting for weeks. Then it reached us last night, it did. Late last night.”
“From where?” Sam asked with his mouth full. “From Earth?”
“No! That's the peculiar part. It came from the Nebula. Most peculiar.”
“Which is... what?”
“Nebula is the gray zone between our galaxy and the Andromeda galaxy. It's a buffer on the NG4 side. Two days from here by ship. Yes, two days, I think.”
Walter appeared in the lounge, discreetly gliding into a seat at the table, hot tea in hand. He sometimes moved so quietly, Sam thought of him as a polite shadow. The scientist took an immediate interest and said, “Andromeda is the most intriguing galaxy... something to be studied.”
“To be sure,” Kelvin agreed. “To be sure.”
“But I never heard of this Nebula. And how is it that you call Andromeda the same thing we do?”
Kelvin smiled wryly. “Most of your knowledge about space comes from your ancestors. Did you think you discovered it? Both Neptune and Earth are so absurdly sure of themselves! But... wait, you're distracting me. That's a subject for another day. Now what was I saying?”
“A message from Nebula.”
“Yes. Oh yes, this message came from the gray zone. Most unusual. That area has been off limits for a long, long time. Too much radiation and such. And a good dozen horror stories about what goes on in there.” He gave a shudder. “I hate to think on it.”
“Who sent the message?” Walter asked. “From what did it emanate? A ship, or a station? A planet or rock mass?”
“We don't know, but Bem believes it came from a ship. Can you imagine? A ship! What we do know is that it came from Nebula's Boneyards.”
“Uh... Bone yards? Gruesome name.” Sam raised a finger in the air as if testing wind direction. “I smell muffins. Anyone else see muffins?”
“No,” said Walter curtly. “Tell me what it is. It sounds captivating. Has it been explored?”
“It sounds damn frightening,” Sam muttered under his breath and went back to his oatmeal.
Kelvin explained, “Nebula's Boneyards... well, it's a graveyard of derelict spacecraft: a junkyard in space. Broken ship parts, and such. Som
e think it's the remnants of the war between the Sayans and Earthians. Others say it's from a clash of worlds that goes back much further. Eons ago. Until the last century, it was too contaminated by radiation and biological pollutants. But now it would be safe, I suppose. No need to go there, but it's long been safe to enter.” He paused, then added, “Not sure why anyone would, except to salvage old parts.”
“Fascinating,” Walter said, cleaning his glasses with a cloth. He replaced them on his nose. “I would love to study it.”
“It's been empty? Untraveled?” Bohai asked. His eyes were still closed, bangs of black silk shading over them. He inhaled a wisp of steam from his tea cup.
“As far as I know, it hasn't been entered in decades. Longer, maybe.”
“So why this distress call now?” Walter asked. “Could it be an automated call that got triggered by accident?”
Kelvin shrugged. “It could be anything. It's hard to imagine any ship would stray into the Boneyards on purpose. That would be like trying to navigate a minefield. One wrong move and you'd collide into a ship, or part of one – bits of metal rubbish and such. Nasty place.”
“But if this is a new message,” Sam said, “Someone could be in trouble.”
“Or it could be a trap,” Bohai reminded them.
“A trap? Unlikely,” Kelvin said. “For what reason? To draw us out? There are easier ways to accomplish that. The Sayans already know we're going back to Earth soon for a refugee transport. They could ambush us at that time, if they so wished. And besides, I doubt any Sayan ship would stray into Andromeda. Remember, they still think it's patrolled by the Earthian military force. They don't know we've lost contact with our home world.”
“Can you communicate with them?”
“Who? The distress call? We cannot, not directly. From this distance we can only send them a return message, much like a Morse code message. Bem did that, sent a message, and so far there has been no reply.”
“So who could it be?” Sam asked. “Who else is out here besides us?”
Kelvin pondered a moment. “I have no idea. I cannot image who would be flying through Andromeda, or who would go into Nebula's Boneyards. It's all a very curious mystery. Very curious, indeed.”
“So what's the plan?” Sam asked. “We'll go out and investigate?”
Kelvin looked shocked. “Oh, heavens, no! I believe we'll be satisfied with a probe, and nothing more. It's far too dangerous to fly there ourselves.”
“What can a probe tell us?”
“Everything. Bem launched one this morning. It should reach the Boneyards by tonight. We should get data back during the early morning.”
“If you say so.”
“Indeed I do. If you're curious about it, you can check with Bem on the command deck tomorrow.”
Shane rushed by and reminded Sam of his next test, the last one still to be taken. Sam kept eating and gave him the middle finger, then Shane grabbed a purple fruit off the table and tucked it in his pocket. No time to eat – busy day!
As he marched back toward the control room, someone caught Shane by the arm. It was Dexter.
“You know,” said Dexter, “We have the most amazing stories on Neptune. Have you ever heard one?”
Shane looked at him sideways. “We don't do that, you and I. We don't chat, man.”
“One fable in particular has always caught my ear.”
Shane slowed and looked suspiciously at the Sayan man. The two men had barely spoken two words since they met way back on Earth, and certainly never exchanged pleasantries or stories. “Okay. I'm happy for you. Can I go now?”
Dexter let go of Shane's arm, but matched his stride. “Let me tell you.”
“You're freaking me out, Dexter.”
Ignoring him, Dexter started the tale:
“There once was a man who possessed the most beautiful bird in the world. Feathers of six colors. A smart bird, too. It could say a few words, and it knew a few tricks. And one day, the king of the land agreed to give the man anything he wanted for the bird. He offered the man two bags of gold.”
A pause lingered, and Shane said, “Is this story going somewhere, or are you just taking it out for a walk?” Then he added, “please continue, I'm on the edge of my seat,” to get the story rolling again and end this weird encounter. He was busy and wanted to get back to work. This odd behavior of Dexter's was making him edgy.
The scientist from Neptune continued:
“When the man refused to sell, the king offered him four bags of gold, then five. And this went on for months. Finally the king said he would give the man twenty bags of gold and his daughter. Marriage, you see. She was beautiful.”
Shane was nonplussed. “I'm sure she was hot. And did he take it, the money? Or the woman?”
“He did not.”
“So. Good for him. He kept his bird all to himself. A little selfish, but...”
“No. Instead he let the bird fly free.”
“All that money, and he lets the thing go free. Stupid man. Was it you?”
“No. This is a fable on my world. It is not a true story. We don't even have birds on Neptune.”
Shane stopped walking. “I'm sure you have a point to this, Dex. Can you drill down to it quickly?”
“The man was thinking of what was good for everyone. Not just himself. And don't call me Dex.”
“So, he wasn't greedy. But he wasn't a smart man, either by my calculations.”
Dexter smiled. “He was a wise man. The bird was important to him. How could he sleep, if he parted with such a friend, not know how the king would treat him.”
“So why not keep it.”
“Because the king would never stop trying to get the bird. Never. This way, the matter was resolved.”
“Let me guess. The bird came back on his own.”
“No. He never saw the bird again.”
“What's your point, Dexter? I've got a lot to do.”
“No point,” Dexter said. “Sometimes a story is just a story. Have a good day.” And just as quickly as he had appeared, he now strode back to the lab in the other direction.
“I'll give you a story,” Shane called out. “Two scientists, an aardvark and a priest walk into a bar on Neptune...”
Dexter wasn't listening. He was already dashing back to his lab.
Shane watched the smug alien man leave, a man he'd never really liked, until he turned the corner was out of sight; then he shook his head and went back to his duties.
Odd man, he thought.
But he couldn't shake the story.
A story is never just a story.
At five in the morning – according to the simulated Earth-day clock of the station – Sam and Bohai waited with Bem in the main communications room. The boys had sleepy eyes, but minds full of fire. Their imagination had sparked their enthusiasm, which powered them through the early morning hours.
The robot began receiving data back from the probe sent to investigate the distress call. This piqued their interest – two kids on Christmas day, waiting for dawn to bring the presents. The idea of a new life out there in the cosmos gave them chills and an inexplicable buzz. They itched for an adventure of any kind; they craved to find something new. Anything to feed their adrenaline addiction.
Bem began to decipher the data with the patience of a python on the hunt. Nothing could rush him – accuracy over expediency. For twenty-one minutes the robot said nothing. Bohai calmly drank coffee and reclined with his feet propped up, while Sam paced around the room and stared out into the stars. Both of them were excited; Sam just hid it poorly.
Finally the robot spoke up: “It may be worth noting that the probe is no longer functional. It has ceased to operate, to send or receive data.”
Sam stopped pacing and turned toward Bem. “It was destroyed?”
“I did not say that. It has ceased to function. There is no proof of its destruction.”
“So what would make it stop?”
“There are many
possibilities: a collision, a malfunction, a battle interaction...”
“You mean something could have blown it up.”
“That is always a possibility.” Bem blinked. The LED lights inside his mechanical eyes flickered. There was no need for him to blink; it was only to make him appear more human. “However, I lack sufficient information to form a proper hypothesis. I can only state that it ceased functioning forty-two minutes ago, and has not resumed operation.”
“So, no data stream? Dammit!”
Bem's head tilted toward Sam. “Please calm yourself. I sense elevated stress levels from your body. That is not healthy for humans. A data packet was sent before the probe's destruction. I am deciphering it now. One moment, please....”
Sam took a deep and impatient breath and found a chair.
“He's right,” Bohai said from his relaxed position. “You're all worked up. Why is this so important to you?”
“I'm not sure.”
Sam really wasn't sure why this distress call had him so worked up, so involved, but he suspected it stemmed from their surrender of Earth. He felt incredible guilt about abandoning their planet and leaving so many people behind. Perhaps a rescue mission would alleviate some of that pressure on his conscience.
“Seriously, dude. Relax,” Bohai said. “Sit down. Have some coffee. Or some of Kelvin's green leaf drink.”
“No, thanks. It tastes like grass. Exactly like a cup of chopped grass.”
“Yeah. It's soothing, but it's crap. That's why I'm having coffee.”
Bem bent over a panel that flashed with two colors of lights, and studied the incoming transmission from the probe. After a long inert moment, he looked up and blinked again at the two boys in the room. His only two words were:
“Oh, my.”
Bohai opened his eyes and looked at Sam.
“Oh my?” Bohai asked. “Seriously?”
“While I love that you've been programmed with human expressions,” Sam said, “could you be more specific. Like: Oh my, the universe is collapsing in on itself. Or better yet: Oh my, there is no problem.”