Winter

by James Wittenbach

  “So, if I meet a woman from this planet and I tell her I can go all night, she is not going to be impressed.” Keeler put in.

  Morgan blushed, to her credit and Keeler’s satisfaction. “The rapid rotation makes for a very powerful magnetic field. It’s played havoc with our instruments, but there are definitely some structures down there.”

  She activated a display and held it over the large sphere. The clouds parted, revealing a mountainous spit of land in the northern hemisphere. Interference had produced a densification effect, making the surface murky and blurred, but if you squinted the right way, you could sort of make out a large structure surrounded by several smaller ones. It might have been a village. It looked abandoned, although that might have been the low resolution of the image. “Is anyone home?” Keeler asked.

  “We haven’t made contact yet.”

  Keeler turned to Executive TyroCommander Lear. “How long before we make orbit?”

  “We are two hours away from our orbital objective,” Lear reported. She nodded toward the display.

  The planet shrank to the size of a baby’s fist and, far out from it, a little golden origami pendant representing Pegasus closed in. Lear explained the deceleration regime as the little ship swung around the planet three times, gradually reducing its orbit to settle in 70,000 km above the cloudtops.

  “What of the object detected in orbit?” Keeler asked.

  Redfire gestured toward the planet. It returned to its previous size, then vanished, leaving a blurred shape. “This is all we have, based on the latest pass by Probe Three. These probes weren’t properly equipped to resolve and scan an orbital object of this size. It is the only object in orbit around the planet…

  except for our probes.”

  That probably ruled out the possibility it had originated on the surface. “Could it also be a probe?

  Perhaps from another colony.”

  “I’ll have to go in for a closer look,” Redfire said, with just a hint of anticipation. “I have a mission plan to rendezvous with it shortly after we make orbit.”

  “Whatever your plan is, I approve it,” Keeler told him. “All right, is there any other business?”

  “Would you like to review the other planets in the system?” Morgan asked. “There are five other major planets in the system. The planet thought to be Winter shared a close orbit with a considerably larger world whose surface was covered with lava flows and iron oxide dust. At closest approach, it forms a huge red disk in Winter’s sky nearly four times larger than the largest Sapphirean moon.” To the captain, however, a world without people was just a big boring rock. “Maybe later,” Keeler said, standing. “Anyone who wants to can stay, but I have… uh, command… things to do.” Thinking, That’s right, I am going to eat my command lunch, take a soak in my command sauna-bath, and then take a nice long command nap.

  Executive Commander Lear’s Family Suite

  About the time Pegasus was making her final orbital adjustments, Matthew Driver was summoned to the quarters of Executive Commander Goneril Lear. He had never seen the inside of her chambers before.

  They were large, functionally furnished, and overlooked the ship’s recreational sports fields. She had chosen a two-tone gray on blue pattern for the walls complemented by furniture in the identical shade of gray. Throughout the room were large white troughs filled with plant life.

  Lear met him at the door and greeted him with a “Hello, Flight Captain,” that fell a little short of implying she was genuinely glad to see him. She was as out-of-uniform as he had ever seen her, wearing a three piece off-white outfit, with only with three silver command stripes on the right shoulder to betray her rank.

  “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” he asked her.

  “I wish I could say it was purely social,” Lear began, commencing a form of Republicker cordiality known to Sapphireans as ‘The Courtesy Lie.’ “You are the finest pilot on this ship.”

  “Thank you.” She led him into her study, where a simple white desk awaited. On the walls behind her, twenty or more service plaques from the Space Command were arrayed. She gestured toward a white chair and Matthew took it.

  She made a tent with her fingertips and addressed him. “I am afraid the reason I called you up here straddles the line between duty and a personal request.”

  Matthew nodded. “I understand.”

  “You know my son,” she said. “You saved his life when he was twelve and fell onto the canopy of your shuttle.”

  Matthew winced. Inside Flight Core, your ship was your Aves. Spacecraft or ship also acceptable, but shuttle was considered demeaning, as though it implied the ships did nothing but carry people back and forth.

  “You saved him again, and me, when you evacuated us from the planet Bodicéa during the Aurelian attack.”

  “I remember,” said Matthew.

  “When my son turned fourteen, I allowed him to begin training to serve in Flight Core. It was not the path I would have chosen for him, but he was very determined. I think you had something to do with that. Two quarters from now, he will turn sixteen. At that time, he will be eligible to join Flight Core as a Flight Lieutenant (Minor). I have monitored his progress in the training closely.” She hesitated, as though having to steel herself to deliver the next statement. “My son is … an adequate pilot. Unfortunately, adequate is not good enough for Flight Core.” Matthew knew this. Certification as a Flight Lieutenant required a ninety per cent proficiency assessment. “You realize he can repeat the course until he passes without penalty,” Driver told her, citing the official line. “Traditionally, training only begins at sixteen, with certification at eighteen. Only one pilot in five scores 90 or better on his first attempt. No one would fault him, given his youth.” Lear looked darkly back at him. “That would be true of any other pilot, but not Trajan Lear. It is precisely because he carries our family name that he must succeed on the first attempt. More is expected of him by the entire crew. He can not, he must not, be allowed to become an object of derision.”

  “Commander, with all due respect, the reason Flight Core sets such a high bar is because the missions we fly can be dangerous, and because the rest of the crew puts their faith in us, puts their lives in our hands. We’ve lost several good pilots on our voyage already. Surely, you would not want your son to face that unless he were entirely prepared.”

  Even she could sense Matthew’s discomfort. “I am not asking that the rules be changed on his account.

  I am just asking you to help him measure up to those standards.”

  “Help him? How?” Part of him was praying, she would not ask him to take Trajan into his Flight Group regardless of the score.

  “I want you to take him on as an apprentice. He’ll fly missions with you. You’ll oversee his simulations when you can. You will give him the benefit of your renowned skill.” Matthew almost felt relieved, then remember what he would be agreeing to. It was nothing less than personal responsibility for the success or failure of the Executive Commander’s son. “I can train him,” Matthew told her. “However, I can’t guarantee that he will succeed on the first try.”

  “You are the best pilot in our ship’s company, and my son admires you. If he does not pass the exam, then I will not hold it against you. If he does pass, you will have my gratitude.” Lear added, as though this were a commodity of the highest value. Doubtless, she thought it was. The Space Command bureaucracy was a battleground of high stakes office-politics, where favors and allegiances were exchanged, hoarded, traded and bartered. Pegasus was different, and Lear outwardly knew this, but twenty years of conditioning were hard to shake.

  “If he passes because of my assistance, won’t that also harm his reputation?” Matthew asked. “Won’t people say he only succeeded because of my help?” It sounded grossly immodest, but there it was.

  “Apprentice relationships are an honored tradition on Republic. Furthermore, I have no doubt that Flight Cadet Jordan benefits from having Flight Comma
ndant Jordan as his mother as well as his mentor.

  I would have you take on Trajan as though he were your younger brother. He looks up to you. I think you’re the reason he chose Flight Core.”

  “I’ll take on your son as my apprentice,” Matthew said, caring for none of it. He was thinking that, someday, he might have sons by Eliza, and want to train them to fly Aves, if they wanted to. It might even be an opportunity to a show a certain Chief Navigator what a great father he would be.

  Main Bridge/Primary Command

  “At 2740 hours, ship-time last night, we received a transmission from the planet,” Shayne American reported. “It was in response to a greeting we sent on waveband alpha 626. Its point of origin was the tertiary island-continent in the northern hemisphere.”

  Keeler yawned. It was only 0620 hours as she was telling him this, and he was not quite awake yet.

  Specialist American was one of Pegasus’s bridge officers, dark-skinned with close cropped, white hair and sharp, angular features. “We were unable to respond at the time, and by the time we were able to decode the transmission and put it through Lingotron, we lost contact. We’re ready to try again.” American, Keeler, Lear, and a few other less important people were seated around a conference table in a compartment below Primary Command. This compartment had been optimized for communication functions. Maps showed the location of the signal was near a large bay on the western side of a raggedy-edged subcontinent near the equator. Lear took over the explaining. “We moved a probe into position to act as a communication relay and boost the signal. It has been sending a signal along the same waveband, informing whoever is down there that we are ready to receive now.”

  “Go to it,” Keeler ordered.

  “Beginning transmission now…” American reported. “Friendship message sent.” She paused a few moments. “Reply received. Coming up now.”

  A rectangle of light appeared above the conference table. There was heavy interference in the message, but behind the snow the face of a dark skinned, heavy-set man of about middle age with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. He spoke in a commanding baritone, with perfect elocution that made even the simplest phrase ring like poetry. “I am Tyronius, Lord of Habi Zod Estate, and I am a glorious man. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

  At Independence, Keeler had answered with, “We represent the Perseus Arm Amalgamated Charities.

  Five thousand years ago, one of your colonists pledged five Commonwealth Intercreds to the Widows and Orphans of the Third Crusade Fund. With compound interest, the pledge now equals the entire economic output of your planet. We’re here to collect. Can we put also you on our mailing list?” Executive Commander Lear’s face had turned purple and huge veins had nearly exploded from her forehead. He had ridden the high for a week.

  Even if he had wanted to be a smart-ass this time, there was no defying that voice. “I am Commander William Keeler of the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus, representing the former Commonwealth colonies of Sapphire and Republic…”

  Tyronius interrupted. “Former Commonwealth? Then, the Commonwealth has fallen.”

  “Uh,… we think so. Our homeworlds lost contact with the Commonwealth 1,500 years ago. No world in this quadrant, so far, has heard from the Commonwealth in all that time,” Keeler explained.

  “We chose to sever contact with the Commonwealth 3,000 of our years ago,” Tyronius said. “This planet has a limited carrying capacity, and we did not want new colonists to overwhelm its resources.” The explanation was so smooth, so practiced, Keeler could not help but feel it was a lie.

  “We have been left alone ever since,” Tyronius concluded.

  “Is this the colony called ‘Winter?’“ Keeler asked.

  “What else would it be named?” Tyronius answered, grimly. “Your instruments are capable of analyzing our surface climate, are they not?”

  Grumpy old man, Keeler thought. This was why the Retirement Monasteries were in Arcadia, and not Boreala.

  Lear spoke up. “Lord Tyronius, I am Executive Commander Goneril Lear. We have no intention of colonizing your world, or of straining your resources. We have only come seeking knowledge of the Commonwealth.”

  For some reason, Lord Tyronius seemed to find this bit of information hilarious. A broad smile crossed his face, showing large too-white teeth. He threw his head back and laughed richly. A moment passed and he recovered himself. “I have not laughed so hard in a very, very long time. You wish to learn of the Commonwealth. After so many centuries, the Commonwealth, the Crusades, the Manifest Destiny, these things are but legends to you, ancient tales told thousands of times over, lost, distorted, exaggerated beyond recognition. Apocrypha. You have come here to learn the truth of the Commonwealth, well, you have certainly come to the right planet.”

  “Lord Tyronius, this is Tactical Commander Redfire, Chief Tactical Officer. Are you aware that there is another ship in orbit of your planet?”

  “Is there? No, I was not aware of that.”

  “So, it isn’t one of your own, one of your own people’s.”

  “I doubt it. The benighted denizens of this dank purgatory have interests that extend to the horizon, and no further.”

  “Have you received visitors from other worlds before?” Keeler asked.

  “Since we severed our ties with the Commonwealth, no ships have called on us before yours and…

  this other.”

  “Have you been visited by others, from the other ship.”

  “We have not.”

  “You sound certain.”

  Tyronius face betrayed amusement at this. “There are 144,211 people on this planet and we all know each other. We would know instantly if there were strangers among us.” Keeler was amazed that Tyronius could pull such an accurate figure out of the air. On Sapphire, he would have been pressed to tell a visitor how many people were on the Keeler estate within a margin of error of fifty.

  Tyronius bellowed. “ Do you have the capability of leaving your ship and descending to the surface? I should like to continue this conversation with you in person.”

  “We do,” Keeler affirmed.

  “Shuttlecraft or Teleport?”

  “Shuttlecraft … did the Commonwealth have teleport technology…”

  “Not in my era, but I thought you might. You are welcome to come to the Estate of Habi Zod and enjoy the fullest measure of my hospitality. I will receive you here in eight hours. Does that measurement of time have any meaning for you?”

  Keeler answered. “It does, hopefully it means the same for us as it does for you. I’d hate to drop in while you were in the bath.”

  Tyronius nodded. “Until then. Transmission out.”

  “Jolly fellow,” Keeler concluded. “Reminds me of any number of my relatives we aren’t supposed to mention. Let’s prepare a ship.”

  “Mine is already prepared,” Redfire countered.

  Recreational Garden Park, Deck 11

  Forward of the Habitation areas the designers of Pegasus had integrated a stretch of greensward almost a kilometer long and more than 400 meters wide, divided into gardens and playing fields. Through tricks of ambient noise, breezes, air composition, and a holographic sky, it tricked the senses into feeling like an outdoor environment. By day, the sky mimicked the afternoon sun over Sapphire, by night, it was open to the stars.

  Under a warm hologram sun, people were running and playing across the fields. A game of wally ball in one field, a game of groundball in another. Hoverbikes dashed over the rocks and hills. In one field, some of the crew played a variation of an old Sapphirean game. Tactical Lt. David Alkema lofted a large yellow ball skyward and punched it hard. “Stalking cats and Carnosaurs have no fear/This Calvin Ball is for Trajan Lear.”

  Trajan Lear looked mildly surprised, then ran underneath the ball to catch it, mouth agape. He leapt high to intercept the ball, rolled, rather clumsily, in mid-air, and shot it out again toward his brother, Marcus Lear. Marcus was dark, shorter but stockier and more
athletic, and unable to stop the ball from being intercepted by Max Jordan.

  A year and change younger than Trajan (as time was measured on Pegasus), he was shorter (but a little taller than Trajan had been at that age), but much more athletically built. Trajan spared his rival a fierce look, then dove for the tackle. Grinning wildly, Max jigged and rolled, and shot the ball toward his brother Sam, as Sam rounded sixteenth base and made for the goal.

  Alkema ran toward Sam. Sam dodged.

  “Out of bounds!” called Pieta, the only female player, a gorgeous young woman, strongly built, with long, shining black hair with red highlights. “You didn’t cross into the opposite zone. Goals aren’t reversed!”

  Sam looked momentarily confused, then called, “Time Travel wicket!” Then, “Wicket Travel Time!” He began furiously running backwards across the playing field.

  “Reversed aren’t goals. Zone opposite the into cross didn’t you,” called Pieta, as Sam threw the ball back at Max. All previous throws would have to be reversed. Trajan would then have to recover the ball and throw it back to Alkema.

  Max Jordan leaped into the air and intercepted the ball with an over-sized Lacrosse stick. “Time Wicket Immunity/I act with impunity.” In turn, he fired the ball toward the goal being guarded by Marcus Lear.

  Marcus was Trajan’s younger brother, nearly thirteen, his hair dark, but streaked. He dove for the ball, caught it and rolled.

  “Girl ball!” called Alkema.

  “Girl ball!” agreed Max.

  “Girl ball!” Pieta called. Marcus had no choice but to pass it to her, and no male could interfere. Times like this, it would have been useful to have more than one female in their circle.

  Pieta spiked the ball over the ‘alternate reality’ net. Trajan and Max dove for it together and collapsed in a pile on the grass.

  “Physician!” Trajan called.

  “Intoxicated Nurse!” Max called.

  And so the play continued for much of the rest of the afternoon, ending only when all had to split, and meet their respective families for dinner. The boys went one way, Pieta and David walked the other, down a long garden path, surrounded by fragrant flowers. Pieta sighed and laid her head on David’s shoulder. “This has been an almost perfect day,”