by L. S. Gibson
“Sir, a response at last. They asked if you’ll stand by for their captain.” Piper didn’t hide his relief.
All of a sudden a harsh voiced filled the command center. “The planet Rhiava is off limits to all but the Mideans. Leave the area at once. We haven’t used our weapons on full power, but we won’t hesitate to do so if you don’t vacate orbit within five minutes.”
“I don’t believe this,” Sullivan retorted. “Do they live in the real world?” He glanced at Piper. “You did send the message I asked, Phillip?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Open the channel, Phillip.” He waited for a second, and when Piper nodded he continued, “This is Captain Sullivan of the Questor. The Rhiava have invited us to stay, and desire you and your colleagues on the surface to leave, and seeing as how it’s their planet I set more store by their request than yours.” He hesitated for a moment, and then continued in a much harsher voice. “We’ve not used our weapon on anything like full power either. We’re aware of your damage, and I suggest you leave orbit within the next five minutes, or we’ll be forced to fire again, at our next level.” He indicated to Piper to cut the connection.
Either the Midean captain didn’t believe Sullivan or he was on a suicide mission for his response was yet more weapons fire, this time multiple shots of a higher power again. Questor rocked, a little more violently than last time. One console in the command center blew with a shower of sparks.
Sullivan heard Piper calling for any damage or injury. “Phillip, get me Henricks.”
“Henricks here, sir,” came the quick response.
“Are the plates holding up sufficiently?”
“Yes, sir. It’s a good job we took the time to re-line the plates, they’re like new. That weapon is giving us all a good shaking, but as to getting through the hull? No sir! The worst we can expect is a few blown consoles, maybe some fractures at the weakest points but nothing too serious.”
“I presume you’re talking about the present level; we don’t know how much more power their weapon of theirs has.”
“True, sir. But I’ve been studying the sensor scans Chang sent down. From the power curves she’s picked up and the weapons systems I can make out, I don’t think they’ve much more to offer. I had a quick word with Whitaker and he concurs.”
“I see. Thank you, Sara.” He appeared thoughtful for a moment. He wasn’t being given a choice.
“Minor damage, that time,” Piper reported to the waiting captain. “The most serious is that the shuttle bay received a direct hit. Engineering is checking the damage. Medical bay has received reports of two broken limbs, one concussion and one burned shoulder when Pattison fell against the open conduit he was repairing.”
Sullivan watched as another bolt of energy hit the Midean ship, engulfed it and snaked across every surface both interior and exterior. At that power level, it was quite possible there could be severe injuries and possible death to anyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He hoped that now the alien captain would reconsider.
However, the response was another shot from the alien’s weapon. Another console in the command center blew and Piper was thrown to the deck. He scrambled back to his seat, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead, and sent out requests for updated conditions.
“Captain,” said Piper, his voice low, “that last hit was more serious. We have critical damage on deck five, and I am sorry to report, sir, we have a casualty. Ensign Walker, sir. He was hit by falling debris. He was killed outright.” Piper raised a hand to his temple, obviously in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut but soon opened them and studied his screen again.
Sullivan felt guilt wash over him. Jake Walker was just twenty-three, this was his first mission. Sullivan swallowed, and then shook it away. Time for that later. “Thank you, Piper. Whitaker, up one more notch,” Sullivan said, his voice calm. “I don’t want to do more damage than I have to make them stop. But, stop this I will. However, in the final analysis, how it ends is up to them.”
He stepped to Whitaker but before he could speak, Whitaker said. “Sir, the next level might take the hull apart.”
“I know. We’ll give them one last chance to back off. Piper.”
“Channel open, sir.”
“Midean ship, this is Captain Sullivan of the Questor. This is your last chance. We’ve given you sufficient warning and opportunity to cease fire and leave. If you don’t do so within two minutes from my mark we will open fire with enough power to destroy your vessel.” He hesitated, looking around the command center, meeting the eyes of his crew. No one liked this, but... “Mark.” He paced for a few seconds, before turning to Piper, who shook his head. Then he said to Chang, “Any change of any kind?”
“No, sir. They’ve not moved since we first hit them.” Her hand moved over the console flicking switches, checking. “Weapons are still fully charged. Still no retreat.”
“Damn! Piper, repeat my message, with present deadline.” He stared at the ship’s chronometer. Forty-five seconds left.
“How many crew, Chang?”
“I would estimate about one hundred and eighty, sir,” she replied in a quiet voice.
“What on earth's the matter with them?” There was a hint of desperation in Sullivan’s voice.
The harsh voice again rang out from the transmissions system. “Mideans do not surrender or give ground to anyone.” The channel closed again with a sharp snap.
Every eye was on the captain. Sullivan’s heart beat hard inside his ribcage. It was the price of being in command. He’d given an ultimatum, and he couldn’t take it back. He hoped the enemy ship wouldn’t choose suicide. But then neither would he, for his ship or his crew on the surface, or even for their new friends, the Rhiava. He glanced again at the chronometer. It was past time. He took a breath to calm himself. “Whitaker, fire,” he said, his voice low.
Whitaker hesitated for a split second, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. Then he replied, “Yes, sir.” His hand moved toward the control, which he pushed almost gently.
The distortion was even more visible this time as the energy field left Questor heading for the Midean vessel. This time it struck the ship with more noticeable force before the energy engulfed the vessel and the space beyond and around it. The hull became blue with a diffuse glow and energy spiked and curled until the hull was a faint red, then with a shattering crack the ship broke apart and split into numerous pieces spinning off in a variety of directions, with an accompaniment of gases and fluids and smaller objects no one wanted to study.
The silence in the command center of Questor was palpable.
Nunez landed the shuttle alongside Henson’s. Every eye was drawn toward the crashed shuttle, including Jon’s. That seemed a lifetime ago now, as if it had happened to someone else. I suppose I was someone else then, Jon thought bitterly. Yet he couldn’t regret coming to this planet, otherwise he’d never have known Triena, and that would have been the real tragedy.
They disembarked and began the trek over the rise and through the forest to Sanctuary. It was twilight and Triena led the way. Barlow kept a tight control over the Midean prisoner, in part for security as Medved was still blindfolded and needed help. At Barlow’s request Manny attempted to contact Questor for an update, but he couldn’t get through. Instead there was an automated message stating they were engaged with the Mideans, and they’d be in touch when possible.
“I wondered how long it’d take for the Mideans to make their move,” Barlow commented.
“The Mideans, Mr. Barlow? You don’t doubt they started this?” asked Triena.
“No, no doubt at all. Captain Sullivan would never initiate battle, but neither will he run from one. If their weapons are compatible to those of the troopers, they ought to surrender soon. They’ll be no match for Questor.”
“Your vessel will allow surrender?”
“Of course, we’ve no desire to kill anyone.”
“Didn’t you believe us,
Triena?” Manny asked with a wry smile.
Triena smiled back, and replied, “Of course I believed you and Jon, but I have to confirm your captain and others of your crew feel the same.”
Jon still said nothing, but then he raised his eyes to look up into the night sky. He suddenly felt the need to identify with his ship, the place that was to all intents and purposes his home, yet somewhere he felt light years away from at the moment. There on the northern horizon he saw a bright flash, distorted by the atmosphere. He stopped, shaded his eyes, and stared again.
“What is it?” Manny asked, following his gaze.
“I’m not sure. A bright flash. It could’ve been something in the irradiated atmosphere, but...”
“But you think not,” Manny finished.
“Look, there it goes again.” For the first time since his rescue there was excitement in Jon’s voice. “It’s brighter than before.” Everyone saw it this time.
“They’re firing at the Midean vessel,” Barlow said, his tone quiet. “And to see it so bright through this damaged atmosphere, it must be at least half power.” Even as he said the last word, the northern horizon erupted with a crack like lightning, followed by a series of bright flashes diverging from the central one.
“What was that?” Triena queried, though it was clear by the tone of her question which she already suspected the answer.
Jon confirmed her suspicion. “That was the destruction of the Midean ship.” His voice was flat and devoid of inflection, but he was still staring at the remnants of the explosion. Bright sparks floated across the darkening sky. Triena glanced at him, and he knew she was shocked at his apathy, but he could feel no pity, and he twisted to look at her. He couldn’t stop her being aware of his feelings, and truth be told, he didn’t want to. If she cared for him, it would have to be as he truly was, now.
She regarded Barlow and asked her question. “I thought you said they’d be allowed to surrender?”
“I meant what I said. The one reason the captain would’ve taken such action was because they pushed him into it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Triena’s voice was brittle.
“Why don’t we ask him?” interjected Manny. He tapped his transmitter. “Mannheim to Captain Sullivan. Come in please.”
Phillip Piper answered and told Manny the captain was busy just then. “We saw the explosion, Phillip. Triena is concerned that we acted precipitously.”
“No, sir!” Piper's response was indignant. “We gave them every opportunity to leave, but they insisted on fighting. We replied with our lowest weapons level, but they kept coming and increasing their own fire power, until...” Piper stopped, realizing his emotions were getting the better of him. He began again, quieter now. “Jake Walker is dead, Manny. We did everything we could, but they gave us no choice. They made it quite clear they consider Rhiava their domain and they weren’t prepared to relinquish their foothold. At any cost.”
“Thank you, Phillip. We’re sorry to hear about Jake. Inform the captain we’re about to enter Sanctuary.” Manny's glance at Triena was defiant.
Just ahead the trees thinned and there was the clearing. As they approached a welcoming committee already waited. The Rhiava must have sensed their approach. As they entered the village confines, Sernov came forward with a group of others, while in the background the rest of the villagers gathered to greet their Spirit. Everyone bowed and touched their temples to Triena, who returned the courtesy.
Sernov approached her and touched her hand. “We’re grateful you are returned to us safely, so much has happened since you left us such a short time ago.”
“Yes, far too much,” she said, her voice troubled. She went on to introduce the other members of Questor’s crew, as one of her people came forward to take Medved from the commander.
“Take him to one of the small huts. Guard him well. We’ll question him later,” Sernov instructed.
“It won’t do you any good,” Medved said with contempt.
“You think not?” asked Triena, her tone cold as ice. For the first time the prisoner showed a flash of fear.
Triena moved away, dismissing him. “I believe the survivors of Haven are here?”
“Yes, including Scral,” Sernov indicated, as Scral came forward, “and not too far away Vrai lies injured. She has initiated paranchii.”
“Vrai?” Triena breathed the word, almost to herself.
“Paranchii?” Manny asked.
“That’s what I asked just a little while ago,” interrupted Joanna Edison, coming forward with Martin Henson in tow. They’d been waiting at the back of the group.
“Am I glad to see you two safe,” Martin said, smiling at Manny and Jon, though his smile faded a little when he peered a little more closely at Jon. He glanced at Manny with a raised eyebrow.
But when Jon smiled in response to the greeting he banished the look. “Good to see you again, too, Martin. Joanna,” he added, nodding in her direction.
Remembering his manners, Jon glanced at Triena. “Sorry. Triena, this is Joanna Edison and Martin Henson, from Questor.” Triena bowed and they replied in kind. It was clear Martin and Joanna had been there long enough to know their ways. Jon continued to Triena. “Who is this Vrai, and what does paranchii mean?”
“Vrai is another of the Elders, she’s also my aunt, and the widow of the last Spirit. She is great in the Gift, but she’s quite old now. Paranchii is a self-induced trance, to allow the body to slow its metabolism during illness when a healer isn’t yet available. She’ll have hidden herself well to await help.” Her eyes sought out someone in the crowd and when they fell on Scral she said, “We saw the bodies at Haven. I was so relieved when Vrai wasn’t among them, but I thought perhaps she’d been taken. But I don’t see Mychlo with you.”
“No, I’m afraid like so many of the others he was taken by the Mideans. To Reliff, we think.”
“I was hoping he would’ve escaped. We could use his knowledge, especially if Vrai is unwell.”
Jon didn’t know what they were talking about, but he did gather Triena had something particular in mind. More and more he realized he knew how her mind worked. “Triena, you have a plan, don’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, but first things first. I want everyone together, including Vrai and your captain when he is free to communicate with us.” She searched the crowd again. “Cosna,” she called on seeing who she wanted, “follow Scral’s directions and take Irida to my aunt. As soon as she is able to travel bring her back here, but be careful.”
The gathering broke up and, purposely or otherwise, the Questor crew separated from the others. They met together in one of the larger huts at the edge of the village. Jon kept to the back, leaning against the wall by the door, listening as the others told each other their various stories, discussed what had happened in orbit and how they felt about it.
After the initial excitement had settled somewhat, Jon noticed Martin Henson gravitated toward Manny and they both slipped outside. Jon knew what they would be discussing. He knew very well how he’d changed, and that Martin must’ve noticed something. He’d no feelings either way about being the obvious topic of conversation. So many things no longer mattered.
He also noted a few glances in his direction from others in the group, but he pretended not to notice. He didn’t want to discuss it, so not to acknowledge it seemed the easiest way. That was until Joanna Edison came over. Joanna wasn’t the kind of person who’d be sidetracked, and she was direct enough to persist if she didn’t get the reaction she wanted, yet always in a most inoffensive way. Truth be told it was quite a gift.
Before Jon even realized it, he found himself walking outside in the misty moonlight, telling Joanna what had happened. Much to his surprise he found talking about it helped after all. Maybe it was because he and Joanna had a nodding acquaintance onboard ship. He knew a little of her reputation, of course, though in private he’d believed it was more because of her father’s, but now he reconsidered his op
inion.
He still didn’t speak to her of his recently acknowledged desire for revenge, which went as far as killing Charod. He hadn’t even discussed that with Manny or Triena, though he assumed Triena knew of it and suspected Manny guessed, but he couldn’t give it life by admitting it aloud. What he did admit was his appreciation for the fact that she was a good listener.
“One of the first things my father taught me was that more could be accomplished by listening than almost anything else. Talking, he said, was but an adjunct to listening,” she said with a smile. “When I was young I always thought that was silly, but I soon discovered how true it is. You see for someone to listen first, someone has to talk, and facing one’s demons always makes them smaller, don’t you think?”
“I suppose that’s true if they’re imaginary, but when they’re real facing them just shows you their true size,” he replied with bitterness.
“Yes, but once you know the true size you know how to fight them.” She tipped her head to one side, looking thoughtful. “If, of course, it is indeed necessary.”
He knew what she was trying to tell him. He also realized she’d guessed the things he’d not said and was trying to help there too. But he didn’t know if there was any help for that, or even if he wanted it.
“Jon!” Manny’s voice called from the entrance to the hut, breaking into his thoughts. “It’s Captain Sullivan.”
They both hurried back inside, to be followed soon by Triena and a couple of the other Elders, brought there by Martin.
Captain Sullivan discussed the situation with both his crew and the Rhiava. He described the encounter with the Midean ship and their refusal to back down, and his own reluctant destruction of the ship.
Jon stood close to Triena during the discussions, and he picked up on her sense of uncertainty, and its gradual fading. She’d come to accept the captain’s feelings about having to destroy the enemy vessel. Jon didn’t know how he knew Triena’s feelings, but he was sure he did. He was aware of a growing sense, a growing awareness, concerning her for some time now. When he had a chance to talk with her alone, he’d ask if she had some explanation for it.