by Geoff North
“Quit being such a pessimist. Captain Sulafat wouldn’t just assume we were all destroyed. Besides, Bee’s tracking beacon will automatically start up once we’ve landed. They’ll find us.”
The twenty-eight-year-old data storage specialist sighed heavily inside his helmet. The inside of his visor misted over momentarily. “This was crazy, putting someone like me in the pilot’s seat of a fighter ship.”
“Seven hundred years ago everyone would’ve agreed with you. Ambition’s original crew was trained with war in mind, but things have changed since then.” Kella paused to fasten the safety belts at her waist and across her shoulders. Hail heard her doing it, and did the same. “More than a dozen generations have put survival ahead of conflict. Our lucky generation gets to remember what it was all for. You’re no different than the rest of us. Look at me. I’ve been in the military for less than six months. This is only my third time in an actual fighter, the rest of my training was simulated. I’m not much more equipped to wage war than you are.”
They had descended beneath the first peaks. Black shards of jutting rock slid past like rotted teeth as Bee took them deeper. “I am different than you. I’m not like all the others on Ambition… I’m a hypochondriac.”
“That’s an old word from an old world,” she tried to reassure him. “We all live in fear now, Hail. It’s what keeps us going.”
He turned to his right as far as the safety belts would allow for a look at her. Kella smiled back at him. Her face was perfection, her dark skin soft-looking and warm. She should smile more often, Hail thought. Kella Sa, you’re so beautiful.
“There’s an aft camera in the back of your head rest,” she said. “Quit gawking and take a picture.”
Hail faced forward before she could see his face flush. Too bad she’s such a hard ass.
Bee dipped further into blackness. Hail tried to fight back the image of them crashing blind into rock. Quit thinking about it. Let the ship’s navigation systems do its job. He leaned his head back and watched their progress on the grid. The terrain below and on either side of them were erratic lines of yellow, the pulsing pink dot in the middle was Bee. He closed his eyes. The computerized image didn’t make him feel any better.
The ship began to rumble and shake. The landing thrusters had kicked in. Hail could feel his chest pressing against the belt restraints. Oread’s gravity had taken hold of them. Beads of sweat were running down Hail’s forehead. Some of it worked through his closed eyelids and stung.
I want to be in my cabin on Ambition. I want to be with my books. I don’t want to die here.
“Get it under control, kid. I can hear you panting back here. Take deep breaths.”
She had taken to calling him kid during their last two weeks of flight and combat training. Kella was only a year older than Hail. It infuriated him. “I’m not a kid. I’m not a pilot, and I’m not a goddamned warrior either.”
He was about to tell her a few more things he wasn’t, but didn’t get the chance. Bee’s underbelly slammed into rock. The force of it drove Hail’s nose against the visor of his helmet. He could hear the ship screaming as metal scraped along the moon’s surface. There was one final deep groan and a jolt that threw Hail hard into his safety harness.
They had come to a stop. Red lights were blinking all around Hail. He pushed his fears back and began addressing the automated alarms. “Cabin atmosphere hasn’t been compromised. Forward landing strut is gone. There’s a drop in the fuel reserves, but I think we’ll have enough left to launch off again.” Hail stopped reporting their situation and listened. Silence only. Kella hadn’t responded. He unfastened his belts and twisted around. He could see her up in the light of the gunner’s turret, slumped over and not moving. “Kella. Talk to me. Kella! Are you alright?”
“Quit yelling, my head already hurts enough.”
Hail watched her slowly straighten up. The inside of her visor was spattered with blood. “Your helmet… are you okay?”
“Did our ancestors back on Earth have pin-sized heads? It would’ve been nice if they’d designed these things with a little more face room. I think my nose is broken.”
“Mine took a good bump too.” Hail turned off the remaining alarms, ensuring first that Bee wasn’t going to blow them both to pieces with a fuel leak or electrical discharge. He checked the pressure levels of his environment suit next. The levels were normal. No tears or cracks, oxygen-nitrogen mixture right where it needed to be. “We should get out and take a look below. Maybe it won’t take long to repair.”
“Repair? Are you serious? This isn’t one of those info storage boxes you’re always working on, kid. You can’t simply swap old boards for new ones. It would take weeks to fix the mess under us, and that’s only if we were back on board Ambition with an entire bay filled with tools and replacement parts.”
“They’re called data storage bins, not info storage boxes. And I’m not a kid.”
“Lighten up, Hail. Do you have to take yourself so seriously all the time?”
He listened as she started assessing the weapons turret controls. Hail could hear buttons being pressed and switches being clicked off and on again. There was a grinding noise moments later followed by soft curses. “What’s wrong?”
“The hatch has been damaged. I can’t get out of the damned ship.”
“You want me to climb up there and try and force it open?”
There was another string of curses. “The frame’s bent. There’s no way you’re getting in here without a cutting torch or a good chunk of metal to wedge underneath it.”
“Well I’m not just going to sit here and listen to you swear until Ambition finds us.” Hail went for the hatch release button on his lower left side. The button that should’ve been lit green was power-dead black. He pressed it anyway. There was a loud pop somewhere beneath the console. Smoke started churning up from under his feet. “My release mechanism has malfunctioned.”
“Try the manual lever.”
Hail reached for it beneath the armrest. There was no handle to grab onto. The smoke was thickening, obscuring his view of the other controls and the lights of the navigation grid. “Uumm, there doesn’t appear to be one.”
“Shit. They should’ve let us give these ships a final check ourselves. That’s the last time I trust those idiots in mechanics section to do anything right.”
The exterior lights on Hail’s helmet activated automatically. Tendrils of black and grey pressed against his visor. Fear took hold of his chest and punched up into his throat. “I’ve got to get out of here, Kella. I’ve got to get out of this thing.”
“You’re alright. There’s eighteen hours of air in that suit. Sit tight and we’ll figure something out.”
“Eighteen,” Hail gasped the word. He closed his eyes again and tried to control his breathing. “Eighteen hours. It may as well be eighteen years. We’re trapped. We can’t get out. We’re going to die down here.”
He waited for Kella’s reassuring response. It never came.
Chapter 4
It had been twenty days since Ly Sulafat had begun his fourth Long Walk—younger captains had done it in less than a week. During that time, he’d visited every section of the refitted mining vessel. The Sol Ship Ambition had been transformed seven centuries earlier into a five-kilometer-long, two-kilometer-wide battle cruiser, and its captain had personally inspected each deck, travelled down every single corridor, and poked his nose into all the mechanical bays and personal sleeping quarters within its massive bulk.
He was now back where he started, on the bridge, with his ever-faithful companion and steady right-hand, Nash at his side.
“You couldn’t have timed your return any better, Sully.” Commander Second Sheratan Ries rose out of the captain’s chair and stepped down from the command dais. “We’re continuing to track the signal from one of the scout ships.”
“Just one?” Sulafat asked as he plopped down into the still warm seat.
Sheratan went to one
of the four mapping stations and scooted the officer out of his chair with a look. She called up the coordinates and fed them into the main viewing screen. The Captain swung around and found the single blue dot flashing amongst a backdrop of a thousand yellow stars.
“So far. It’s Nail, and our sensors only picked them up thirty minutes ago.”
Sulafat repressed the urge to rub his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “And why wasn’t I informed until now?”
Sheratan stared coolly at Nash. The robot clomped up the first step of the command platform. “Commander Ries tried to inform you, Captain. I intercepted the message and decided it could wait.”
“The walk was tiring, Nash, but I’m not that fragile. The next time you feel the urge to withhold information due to my age, search within those dusty command protocols of yours, and don’t.”
He saw Sheratan watching their exchange with the hint of a smile pulling at one corner of her thin lips. She despised Nash, and relished those rare occasions when the robot was reprimanded. But he saw double satisfaction in those light grey eyes. The Captain had been embarrassed—another sign that he was no longer fit to command Ambition—and she was, perhaps, one step closer to sitting in the high chair and staying there.
Sulafat wanted to snap at her as well, but decided against it. A good captain never took things too personally. He looked back to the big screen. “Show me the stats.”
Distance and speed indicators lit up next to the moving blip. The entire ten-person bridge crew remained quiet for the next few minutes as more information became available before their eyes. An audible sigh sounded from all of them as two life signatures registered on screen.
“Try hailing them,” Sulafat commanded.
Argus Cor, Ambition’s head communications officer answered. “I’ve been doing that for the last quarter hour, Captain.”
Sulafat glanced down at the small woman. Was she displaying impatience with his request? Settle down, old man. You’ve been preparing for this moment more than half your life. Hold it together. These people are still with you.
Nail’s fold drive disengaged seconds later. It would take them another forty-five minutes to reach Ambition at regular propulsion speed. Sulafat stood and stepped down from the platform. “Join me in my quarters, Sheratan.” Nash started to follow, and the Captain stopped him. “Remain here, but inform me the second you receive contact from either Colonel Emin or Squadron Boss Drac.”
Sulafat went to the front of the command platform closest to the main viewing screen. A hidden door set in the floor slid open revealing a steep set of steps. Ambition’s captain and second in command entered Sulafat’s living quarters. It was a spacious area, not much smaller than the bridge directly above.
“They set out forty-eight hours ago on an observational mission,” the Captain said, pouring himself a lukewarm glass of water from the wall dispenser. “Now one ship returns out of three. I had hoped the good people of Pega wouldn’t have been aware they were out there, but it appears that was just wishful thinking.” He drank his water down. “And the people on Pega aren’t all that good, are they?” He poured a second glass and offered it to her.
Sheratan shook her head to the water and his question. “A civilization tracks the advance of an alien civilization into their planetary system. The three ships are small, but armed. It isn’t a question of whether the Pegans are good or bad—what would we have done back on Earth if things were turned around?”
Sulafat sat at the head of a long table set down two more steps in the center of the room. Centuries earlier, the Captain’s quarters had acted as a living space and meeting area for mining officials and corporate representatives. After the ship’s militarized refit, it had become a gathering area for senior officers and section heads. Sheratan sat in the first chair to his right. Sulafat rapped the table’s black surface with his knuckles. “Seven hundred years… Seven hundred years we’ve been preparing for this. Almost a quarter million people have lived and died on this ship, travelling through space to wage war based on a single hostile communication. And now it’s all come down to this last generation… You, me, and a dozen other people must make the decision whether it’s all been worth it or not.”
“They’ve just destroyed two of our ships. The original mission is still a go, as far as I’m concerned.”
He leaned forward and locked eyes with her. “We don’t know for certain Nail and Bee were destroyed. They may still be out there. We’ve been out here so long, the decision to engage Pega militarily shouldn’t be rushed in the last few hours.”
“The decision has to be made sooner now than later.”
“My decision, Sher.”
“You sound like a Turnback.” She immediately lowered her eyes to the table.
Sulafat straightened and sat back. “So there we have it. You accuse me of siding with the mutineers responsible for crippling this vessel more than six-hundred years ago.”
“It’s just an expression,” Sheratan said defensively. “Forgive me.”
The Turnback Revolution had occurred in 2369, on the fortieth anniversary of Ambition’s departure from the Sol system. Turnback was a word eventually used to describe anyone sharing the view of those original mutinous crew members that tried to send Ambition back to Earth. It had been a failed revolution, but not without devastating results; Ambition’s main forward propulsion system, the fold drive—the same drive system that powered their smaller scout ships and fighters—had been irrevocably sabotaged. The seventy-five-year voyage had become a seven-hundred-year odyssey.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” Sulafat rested a hand on the woman’s arm. “There are more sympathizers to that cause alive now than there were back then.”
“I’m not one of them.”
“And neither am I.” The Captain stood and walked along one side of the table. He turned at the end and paced back, searching for the right words. “But everything has to be taken into consideration before we take the Pegans on. It’s why I brought you down here without Nash. A purely human decision has to be made. Are we honor-bound to go to war, or are there alternatives?”
“We’re not turning back.”
“I never suggested that.” He stopped directly in front of her and crossed his arms. “But it isn’t too late to reach out to them… try to talk.”
Sheratan stood and smacked both hands on the table’s surface. “We’ve tried talking to them. We’ve been hailing them for centuries. Damn it, Sully, only one ship of three is returning from our scouting mission. They don’t want to communicate—they intend to destroy us. The evidence is right before your tired old eyes. See this for what it is, or step back and let someone else do what has to be done.”
Sulafat could have reprimanded Sheratan. He could have agreed, and relinquished his captaincy to her. He did neither. “When Tor and Rastaban are safely back on board we’re going to hold another meeting here. I want every section head to attend.” He went around the table and took her shoulders gently into his hands. “You’re a cold, calculating bitch, and you’re my closest friend.”
Sheratan smiled. “And I thought you only had eyes for Nash.”
He brushed back a strand of her silver hair and kissed her softly on the forehead. They had once been much more intimate decades earlier, but those days were long behind them. As Ambition’s top commanding officers, the two had agreed to sacrifice any romantic involvement for a more professional relationship. The idea hadn’t been his, but Sulafat had reluctantly gone along with it. He was almost old enough to be her father—how she’d developed feelings for him in the first place was a still a mystery all these years later. “One day this ship will be yours. But for now, neither you or I have the right to decide how this should end for all of us.”
“You just said the decision was yours to make a few moments ago.”
“The decision on how to proceed now that we’re here. After my long walk, after seeing the crew… the people, I’ve come to the conclusion it isn�
�t one person’s decision to make. We will meet as a group, and the section heads will put it to a vote.”
“You’re calling the Baker’s Dozen together.”
Ambition’s crew was broken into twelve major work sectors. A single representative from each section had one vote on ship matters. The Command section consisted of two representatives; the Captain and his second officer. Thirteen reps, thirteen votes. The Baker’s Dozen.
“We’ve been heading towards a military conflict all our lives—a tiny slice of Earth’s population. We represent an entire civilization. You know how I feel. I don’t want to turn back, and I don’t want this war, either. A gathering of all section heads may discover an alternative.”
Sheratan pulled away from his hold and shook one of his hands in both of hers. It was a genuine and warm action. “I’m a cold, calculating bitch, and you’re a soft, old fool. You want peace, and I want to carry out our original orders. Let’s see which of us gets our way after the vote.”
What Sulafat’s CS wanted was beside the point. She would vote with him in the end, he was sure. Patching up whatever hard feelings remained afterwards was a matter for another day.
Nash’s deep voice sounded over the speakers. “Nail has finally answered our hails, Captain. We’re bringing them in on automatic.”
“Are they alright? Are they both alive?”
“Colonel Emin is well. Squadron Boss Drac… perhaps you should report to the Medical Center once they’re back onboard and see for yourself.”
Sulafat went directly to the travel tube alcove located behind one end of the conference table. He paused halfway through the open doorway and called back to Sheratan. “There’s no right or wrong in all of this… no good decisions or bad. But there will be consequences. Let’s pray we’re both around at the end of it all to see what they were.”