by Robert Culp
“Not quite, doctor,” I tell him. “They are going to destroy themselves regardless of what we do.”
Dr. Herbert isn’t giving up easily. “Can we show them how to build better drills? Different alloys, perhaps? Surely we have some titanium and diamond chips we can spare.”
Rikk answers him, “I don’t think we have time, doctor.” He strokes his chin absentmindedly. Why is it sexy when he does it? “They have bombers in the air right now. If they have missiles those are probably being prepared for launch.”
“We have to find a way to make them listen,” Herbert continues. He looks around the room, hoping to see a sympathetic face. I know I don’t have one for him. “If we set up a dozen or so drills in each nation…at this point, if we fire our missiles, non-nuclear of course, and penetrate their crust to bring the water out…”
“If we fire anything that looks, much less acts, like a missile, we will start an interstellar war. Yes, the people will be grateful for the water. But the model is already in place. The rich will continue to sell water to the poor at exorbitant rates.”
Dr. Hinds picks up the thread. “It’s not an insurmountable task, Captain. I think we should set each nation/state up with their own drill rather than we drill a few dozen holes and say 'be sure to share with your neighbors.' We can’t teach them interplanetary technology because they are apparently still suffering from some growing pains. Do they have a functioning desalinization operation? Maybe that needs to be ramped up a bit.”
“What they lack, doctor,” Rikk says resignedly, “is time and patience. They want water and they want it now. If they can’t get water, they’ll eliminate competition for it. I wish it were otherwise, but the Captain is correct. They are going to wage a nuclear war and we can either pick a side, stay and watch, or leave.” He turns to me, “You didn’t ask my opinion, but I believe departure to be our only winning move.”
“Set course for our next stop,” I tell Athena over my perCom. “We’ve done all we can here.” I put my perCom in my cargo pocket. “Thank you all for coming,” I tell the assembled scientists. “I’m sure you all have work to do, please see to it.”
“Captain, please,” Herbert leans on the table, his knuckles white. “We have a dozen B21 probes that can drill to the planet’s outer core. They aren’t recoverable, but they can start the water flowing…”
“Doctor Herbert,” I say as evenly as I can, doing my best to cover the waver in my voice. “The decision is made. Your objections are valid and noted. I will enter them into my log. You—and all of your counterparts—are invited to make entries into your own journals, if I get the links I will be happy to include them with my own. But right now and right here, you are dismissed, sir.” He looks around; only he, Celeste, Rikk and I are still in the conference room. He nods and leaves. The door closes behind him. I slide into my seat as the door closes.
The three of us sit silently for what is probably only thirty seconds but feels like hours. “It’s the right thing to do, Captain.” Rikk breaks the silence.
“Every problem has a solution,” I answer him. “It’s the primary philosophy in all engineering disciplines. I just can’t find it.”
Celeste says, “This problem didn’t arise when we got here, Captain. It has been brewing for generations.”
“She’s right, we just have the bad luck to be here when it hit the boiling point.”
I stand and pace for a bit. “Does it make sense that I wish we had come here either five days ago or five days from now?”
“I know why you’re saying that,” Rikk says. “And you’re partially correct. It’s a planning factor that nuclear exchanges are typically measured in hours, not years like conventional wars. But I believe that if we had gotten here five days ago, hell five years ago, those planes would still be flying today.”
“And had we arrived five days from now,” Celeste says, “you would have ordered the ship to become an orbital hospital in addition to building decontamination plants and solving the water problem.”
Rikk finishes for her, “The end result would be the same, in either of the scenarios.”
“It just feels so wrong to leave.”
“That’s because you’re human,” Celeste says, her eyes sparkle with tears. I’m sure mine do also.
“But the sad fact is Captain,” Rikk says, “We can’t help these people.”
I sniff; wipe my eyes and nose with the cuff of my coveralls. “Then let’s get on with getting on.” I leave the conference room. Damn it, I’m an engineer. I’m supposed to solve problems, not run away from them.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
We’ve been in Transit for four days. I go to dinner one evening and see Rikk eating alone, a large reader in front of him. “May I join you?”
He looks up, his expression brightens, “By all means, please do.” He closes the reader and sets it to one side. We spend a few minutes talking about readiness and training. After an uncomfortable silence I ask what’s been bothering me. “Do all planets go through growing pains like that? To the point they are as bad as human teenagers? They won’t listen to anyone about anything, they insist that their way is not only the right way but it’s the only way.”
“History tells us ‘yes,’” he says after a pause. “Most societies—especially if on the cusp of interplanetary and then interstellar travel—come perilously close to destroying themselves. Some are able to pull themselves back from the brink,” he pushes his empty tray an inch forward. “Some are not. I think Vlondra is in the latter category.”
We discuss history for another ten minutes or so, “Am I correct, Chief Sergeant, that you are on ‘Commander’s time’ for the balance of the evening?”
He eyes me suspiciously before answering, “Yes, ma’am. Why do you ask?”
“Commander’s time” is not exactly down time. It means that he is left to his own devices unless called. He’s not free to become “non-mission capable” so he can’t get blind running drunk, but he is free to occupy himself as he sees fit within reason. “I have some things I’d like to get your opinion on, if you’re willing and available.”
“Oh, that will be fine. Here, I’ll return our trays.” He takes mine and returns them to the kitchen staff. When he gets back, he picks up his reader and we set out.
We enter my office, just as on Night Searcher the office is actually an extension of my stateroom. Given the hour, my clerk is already off shift. I can get him if I need him, but I don’t expect to need him.
“So what is it you want my opinion on, ma’am?”
“This.” I lean into him, stand on my tiptoes, put my hands on his shoulders and plant a light kiss on his lips. He doesn’t recoil or evade, but he doesn’t return it either. He does look at me rather surprised though.
“I must admit,” he says after an agonizing pause, “I had been wondering what that was going to be like.”
I look up at him, “And?” I ask. I feel like a schoolgirl again!
“I need more data,” he lays his reader on my desk and puts his hands on the flare of my hips, leaning down to me. I put my lips back on his. I relish the spark of our tongues touching. I wrap my arms around his neck, he’s a head taller than I so I can’t exert a lot of leverage on him. His hands haven’t left my hips, but he starts to pull me into him. I move his right hand to my left breast. He figures the rest out.
I come back to bed with a glass of wine for both of us. “It isn’t personal,” I say as I hand both to him and crawl back under the covers, “but I’m going to have to be tougher on you than you’ll deserve just to avoid any hint of impropriety.”
“I understand,” he says handing one of the glasses back to me. “But you realize that despite the use of rank structure, Prophecy is not a military vessel so fraternization rules are more a function of your command style and edict than any enforceable code of conduct.” We clink our glasses together. I raise mine to take a sip, but he doesn’t. He dips a forefinger in and flicks a drop of wine away from us.
“In memory of absent friends,” I hear him murmur. Then he takes a sip. “Good stuff!” He tells me. “I’ve been called many things, sadly ‘sommelier’ and ‘connoisseur’ are not on the list. I can tell it’s a red but after that I’m lost. Is it a particular flavor?”
“I think it’s actually a blend, and I didn’t make note of the components. I understand that I set the rules, but I also set the example. I’m not going to lie to you: I enjoyed what just happened and I’m looking forward to it happening again. I hope you feel the same way. But it can’t become public knowledge. And by ‘public’ I mean the crew.”
“‘Lonely is the head that wears the crown,’ or something like that.” He takes another sip of wine. “If that’s the way you want it; I’ll support your decision. But I do have conditions.”
“You have my attention,” I take a sip and meet his gaze.
He sets his wineglass on the night stand and turns to look at me. I do the same, propping myself on one elbow to look at him. “I have the final say-so in which troopers are sent on which missions and I have the freedom to go with them as I see fit.”
I meet his blue eyes. “That’s fair. So my command would be…”
“Your command would be, ‘I want an infantry presence at place by time.” He drains his glass. “Or we’re done.”
I drain my glass, take his from him and set both on my nightstand. “We’re far from done!” I roll back to him.
I’m alone when my alarm goes off at 0700. I feel mild dehydration so I drink a glass of water. I’ve all but convinced myself last night was a dream until I see the pucker kiss ideogram traced in the dust on my holoCom screen. I can’t help but smile. But the dust reminds me that the cleanup bots will make rounds, pursuant to my rules, and my aide won’t be far behind them. I wipe away the dust and image with my palm.
An hour later I call the bridge.
“Good morning, Athena. What’s our status?”
“All is well, Captain. We’ve encountered no anomalies and have received no external communiqués.”
“Very well, I’m going to spend some time in my office this morning doing the boring part of my job.” And fantasizing.
“Of course, Captain.”
My morning is filled with reviewing reports and acquisition requests when I notice an unread message in my electronic inbox. Where did that come from? I didn’t hear the chime and emptying that queue was the first thing I did.
Captain MacTaggert, you have something that belongs to me and I want it returned.
Sincerely,
Grinning Jack Grangiere
I all but pull the holoCom viewer apart looking for data. I immediately copy the message header data. I open a channel to the bridge and then wake Celeste up. I have both of them on split screen display on my holoCom. “I’ve forwarded a message that just appeared in my inbox to you. I want to know where it came from and I want to know yesterday.”
Athena speaks first, “To repeat what you can read, it was a long range, text only, message. It was routed to us—to you—via Tooch’chnya most recently and appears to have bounced through several systems en route.”
Celeste finishes, “The point and time of origin are indeterminate at this time. I’ve taken the liberty of forwarding the message to the astrophysics department to get their input.”
“Good idea,” I tell her. “There will be no response. I don’t want that bastard even knowing I got his message.” I have neither forgotten nor forgiven his attempts at enslaving my crew.
“Unfortunately,” Athena says, “our communication system has already sent the acknowledgement message.”
“So follow it!” I yell at the screen.
“We have. It ‘dead ended’ in a personal account belonging to a ‘Buckley Ulysses Fitch.’ We are searching all databases to which we have access for such a person,” Athena says. Celeste’s countenance falls; I’m sure mine does as well. “Save the computer cycles, you won’t find anything.” That bastard! If I ever get my hands around his neck…I’ll hang him with his own colon.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Prophecy comes out of Transit en route to Kasrat’ta as we approach we are able to make out certain details. “We see two scout ships in orbit, Captain. The planet is class four, a standard breathable atmosphere, 72 percent of the surface is water. We count one moon, apparently natural, and thirty orbiting artificial satellites.”
The weapons systems tech reports, “Both ships mount a single laser, both are charging their weapon and targeting us.”
Chief Nicholson is next, “Captain, we are being hailed.”
“First things first,” I turn to face the weapons station, “Charge our weapons and deploy the ice shield.” I turn to the communications tech, “See if you can passively eavesdrop on those satellites, perhaps more than one of them are for communication. Answer the hail, please.”
“Approaching cruiser, this is Captain McCall of Beringer. We are on a peaceful mission conducting a biological survey.”
“Captain McCall, I am Captain MacTaggert of Prophecy. Our mission is very similar to yours. And if you will power down your weapons, we will do the same.”
“Captain Mac, this is Captain Mac, and before you ask I have indeed waited years to say that. I am sure you understand, but one cannot be too cautious. We are powering down our weapons now.”
“Confirmed,” says the Defense and Weapons officer. At my nod he presses a few buttons. “Our systems are ready, but safed.”
“Captain McCall, in the interest of collecting our own data, we’d like to launch two probes to get samples of soil, air, and water. We’ll be happy to share our findings afterwards. Perhaps we can compare notes for other planets? Might you be interested in joining me for a cup of tea or something?” I mute the holoCom and turn to Celeste. “Ready two recoverable probes. Standard soil, air, and water sampling protocols, please.” She nods and turns to make it happen. I turn back to the holoCom.
“Captain Mac, this is Captain Mac, that sounds like a wonderful idea. My wives and I shall shuttle over in say an hour’s time?”
I can’t help grinning, “Captain Mac that sounds fine. Just for headcount purposes, how many wives will you be bringing?”
“Why, all three, of course. In an hour then, Captain. Beringer out.”
Once the channel is closed, the comms tech announces, “Captain, we’re receiving another message. This one text only apparently from the surface.”
“I’ll come to you,” I say. Over her shoulder I read:
We don’t know who you are but we can see your ship. You can get some serious payment from our boss if you lend us a hand. MSG Colter, Dralor Corporation, Venus.
I look over my shoulder to the DWO, “Keep the weapons safe and the ice shield ready to deploy.”
“Wilco.”
Celeste taps me on the elbow, “The probes are deployed. They’ll hit atmosphere in about five minutes and will begin transmitting data at that time.”
I nod and say, “Thanks, advise Chief Sergeant Okkam we’ll need a security element in the landing bay in less than an hour.” She nods and steps away to relay the command.
To the comms tech I say, “Send that text message to Okkam, maybe he recognizes some names, they don’t mean anything to me. Our response is: What sort of assistance do you need, where are you, and how 'serious' is this payment you speak of?”
The reply is within a minute.
Easy...you get eight vases worth 2.5 million each, and if you can spare them I get two suits of strike armor and two FGMPs. I think that's fair.
My answer is fairly quick. “Vases only have value if someone is willing to buy them. Why would someone pay 2.5 mill for a vase? Armor and heavy weapons I have, a touch better than what you're asking for. Fair is a relative term. If you're willing to pay that much, you must really have your ass in a sling. How big a sling is it? And I still don’t know who you are,” I direct the tech to send.
After she does so, she turns to me. “Vases? Is that a new c
urrency I’m not up on?”
“He’s probably a tomb raider or artifact thief of some kind.”
There’s a new message from the surface:
Well, it's me and eight guys against an army. How about a well-placed missile strike?
“That’s not happening, that would be me taking sides in a war that isn't mine. Send me your location, I'll see what I can do to extract you.” Nicholson sends the reply.
Crash, burn, and die asshole. I offered you a square deal. I never knew a flyer that had any honor anyway.
I stand up from leaning over the comms tech’s shoulder. “He’ll need us before we need him. Close the channel and unless he asks civilly ignore anything more from him.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I turn to Athena, “What have we learned about the planet?”
“A central monarchy, we believe it to be a planetary empire. We see three active rebellions. We are monitoring the communication satellites and see hundreds of messages being sent through the network. They’re encrypted so we don’t know exactly who or what they are, but there is the possibility they are mercenary units that have hacked their way into the network. We are certain that the request we received for assistance came from one of those but we cannot rule out the possibility that there is another rebellion brewing. The planet is achieving space travel, but there are no indicators of Transit capability yet.”
“So neither of those scout ships are from here?”
“That is our conclusion.”
“What are the chances Prophecy has been detected by the planet? By others than that merc unit, I mean.”
“We’ve seen nothing to indicate such. We’ve received no communiqués aside from those from that surface unit and Beringer.”