Genia turns in her chair and looks off camera.
“Do we have a photo? We do? Put it on.”
The screen changes from the New Bangalore colony to a gleaming vessel, colossal in every regard. Van der Beek glows like a new father.
“There she is. The Europa.”
Genia’s mouth drops. She quickly draws herself together, but not before her guest notices.
“I saw the schematics and plans,” Van der Beek explains, “but nothing equals a photograph. I must say, I had the same reaction first time I saw her.”
“It’s an amazing sight,” Genia recovers. “The web’s awash in telescope photos of the ship in orbit…hazy, far off…I’ve just never seen her up close like this.”
“Few people outside the company have. We’re pretty tight on security, you understand.”
“Of course. Does the Europa have a captain?”
“Oh, yes, the crew is fully assembled, though I know most folks’ interest ends at the skipper.” He chuckles to himself. “That used to irritate the hell out of my granddad.”
“Why, was he second in command somewhere?”
“He was the executive officer of the first permanent moon base. The base commander took all the interviews, leaving my granddad to run the place. No kidding, the base commander retires after six months and lands a media deal that doubled his life salary. So my granddad does all the work, ends up as base commander, and no one wants to talk to him. Ha! He’d tell that story at dinners with the most sour look on his face, and we’d all try not to laugh.”
“Did you?”
“What, laugh?”
Genia nods, “Mmm, hmm.”
Van der Beek stiffens with mock alarm. “Oh, God no! That man was like a samurai with a serving spoon.”
Laughing filters in from off camera, and Van der Beek turns to them happily.
“Well, getting back to the Europa,” Genia resumes, “who will be her captain?”
“Braemar Keller.”
“Keller?” Genia repeats with surprise. “He’s the administrator of your New Dresden colony, is he not?”
“He was, until a few months ago.”
“He’s rather young I’m told.”
“Twenty-eight,” Van der Beek answers.
“Not too young?”
“Not at all. As administrator of New Dresden, his record proves we can have absolute confidence. Besides, I think you have to be young to want to fly something that big out to the stars.”
“I believe we have a photo, yes?” she says off camera again.
The panel switches from the Europa to the image of a handsome young man, hair blond from sun, teeth white and straight. He wears an orange flight suit with Soshiba Varicorp logos and poses boldly before a blue velvet curtain.
“That’s our man,” Van der Beek confirms.
“We have some other photos,” Genia adds, and the panel switches to an outdoor scene among short, earthen dwellings. Keller stands in their midst, blond hair tossed, mouth wide open, snarling orders. The butt of an assault rifle is parked on his hip and he points with his free hand into the surrounding vegetation. At his feet slumps an azure-skinned creature, purple tongue lolling from its open mouth. The creature’s skull is broken open from multiple shots.
Van der Beek’s eyes bulge. His easy smile disappears.
“I’ve heard of Captain Keller,” Genia adds, maintaining a polite and even tone. The panel shifts to an image of a wide trench filled with azure skinned corpses. Keller supervises from the edge while a bulldozer shoves in another heap.
“You’re right, Doctor, nothing equals a photograph,” the woman says coldly.
Van der Beek begins unfastening the microphone on his lapel. Genia leans forward in her chair, her green eyes burning with intensity.
“Why are we massacring an indigenous species, Dr. Van der Beek?”
“They are predatory animals,” he says dismissively, “with a penchant for sabotage. Nothing more.”
“Since when do animals wear clothes, Doctor?”
The man rises from his chair, dumping the microphone in the cushioned seat. His finger wags at her and his mouth moves in inaudible speech.
“Threats aren’t necessary,” she spits, losing her composure. “With so many governments as investors, who would possibly stop you from committing any atrocity you want?”
Van der Beek faces the camera and waves a flat hand at his neck. His mouth deliberately forms the words, we’re done.
The video ends.
Beckert blinks at the blank screen. His heart thuds in his chest, and he releases his grip on the console.
“Keller!” he says to himself, recalling the now elderly captain of the huge Colony Ship. “He was fighting the enemy…and winning!”
It was always a mystery to the young Geek how someone so feeble could have been entrusted with such a vast responsibility like the Europa and her crew. Moreover, that such a man would place value on frivolous ideas as free-will, personal property, and individuality, showed the wrong priorities for leadership. But now, the Geek’s mind spins with excitement at seeing Keller as a vigorous young man, slaying the enemy with zeal. Though he has little understanding of what the man and woman on screen were discussing, he hungers for more. He ejects the media record and dunks the next one in as fast as he can.
The counter beeps to zero and the titles read, DC News 2473, January 23rd, Financial Report. When the video fades up, the same woman appears in a black suit coat without the gold rimmed spectacles. She sits behind a round desk. Behind her, large windows look out over a sprawling cityscape.
“This is Genia Mendes with the Financial Report,” she begins solemnly. “World markets fell sharply today on reports contact has been lost with New Dresden. North American, European, and African markets were particularly hard-hit due to their large scale dependence on the colony’s energy. When reached for comment, Soshiba Varicorp spokesman Daniel Winston had this to say:”
A window opens beside the woman, where a thickly coiffed man in his sixties addresses a large indoor crowd.
“We are aware of concerns about an interruption in the flow of resources from New Dresden. Let us first remind everyone that this is most likely a hardware failure at their end, and there is no cause for alarm. However, to alleviate concerns over scarcity and price gouging, we will open our reserves to the world markets. At current consumption levels, our reserves can supply global demand for two years. If necessary, New Bangalore and New Beijing can be easily ramped up for increased output in that time. So, you see, there is truly no cause for concern.”
Hands extend like roman salutes from the crowd, thrusting personal recording devices toward the spokesman. A barrage of questions flies from the group, which the silver coiffed man ignores.
“A team has already been dispatched to investigate. They will have a military escort as a precaution against terrorism, opportunism, or piracy. Be assured, we have devised solutions covering every contingency, and the regular supply of resources will be maintained. Thank you.”
The window closes.
“Back to you, Todd,” Genia says, and the video ends.
Beckert is disappointed by the brevity. He is about to eject the record when another video begins.
DC News 2473, April 14th, Financial Report. The counter beeps to zero.
“This is Genia Mendes with the Financial Report. Markets have been struggling to recover since the loss of communication with New Dresden. Today, they have collapsed on news of the colony’s total destruction. Hang Seng, Nikkei, Dow Jones, Bombay Industrial, Eurofort, and Australpac averages suffered crushing losses, all falling more than twenty percent by close of business. Swift intervention of government agencies and Soshiba Varicorp’s increased output from New Beijing and New Bangalore helped prevent a more serious sell off.”
A window opens beside the woman.
“When asked if the colony was attacked, Vice Admiral Welles had this to say:”
The window displa
ys a man taking his place behind a narrow podium, dressed in a crisp white uniform with gold epaulets. Numerous rows of colored bars adorn his chest. He takes out a set of cards and scans the top card before speaking.
“I have personally toured the remains of New Dresden. After extensive investigation of the site, it is abundantly clear the colony suffered a catastrophic internal failure. The fusion reactor exploded, vaporizing most of the facility. There were no survivors.”
“Admiral Welles,” a voice calls from off screen, “was this an act of sabotage?”
The admiral scans the next card briefly.
“Because the colony reactors are equipped with multiple fail safes and redundant safety measures, we feel internal sabotage is the most likely factor.”
“Do you have a suspect?” another voice blurts.
The admiral’s jaw muscles flex.
“We are looking at several activist and fundamentalist groups. Justice will be harsh on them, I can tell you.”
The window closes, slides over, and reopens over Genia’s opposite shoulder, showing a sleek air car descending onto the roof of a high-rise hotel. The view zooms in and several elegantly-dressed men and women file from the limousine. Armed soldiers in gray body armor guard their path into the hotel’s roof entrance, menacing the pressing crowds with fierce glances. Overhead, military gunships patrol in slow circles, shining bright lamps into the crowd. Cameras flash continuously.
“The World Reserve Board has called a meeting of the G-45 nations here in Washington, DC,” the dark-haired reporter narrates. “We are told the delegates have been endowed with unprecedented powers to negotiate a solution to this economic crisis. The summit begins tomorrow at 12:00pm GMT, and will not conclude until all delegates are in agreement on a plan of action. The entirety of the summit will be streamed live, and I will be there to report new developments as they occur. Back to you, Todd.”
The video ends. Beckert waits to see if another starts. When one does not, he ejects the record and slaps in the next one.
DC News 2473, November 2nd, Financial Report
“This is Genia Mendes with the Financial Report.”
The woman wears a pleased expression, despite the hollowness of her cheeks. Beckert studies her, seeing clearly she has lost weight.
“World markets breathed a sigh of relief for the first time in nearly a year after President MacFarlane’s speech before the World Reserve today.”
A window opens beside her, and a tan, late-middle-aged man steps behind a podium. He is flanked by dozens of aides and bodyguards.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the President says with mid-western flair, “we can at last lay to rest the tragedy of New Dresden. It has been determined once and for all the colony was destroyed by suicide agents from the radical activist group, ‘Terra Est Satis’. This group was well known for its highly publicized destructive pranks and Baader-Meinhof style ambushes. Now it will be known for the totality of its elimination. For the last two months, the Secret Service has been in concert with all other foreign intelligence branches in a massive sting operation. This operation resulted in 432 arrests, and 267 confessions. The Republic of Haiti has volunteered to host the executions.”
An aide leans over to the President and whispers in his ear.
“As a tribute to those lost at New Dresden,” MacFarlane continues, “all assets of the criminals, their families, and their supporters have been confiscated. Proceeds from the liquidation will form the bulk of the New Dresden Relief Fund. The remainder will come from generous nations and from Soshiba Varicorp.”
He closes his eyes in a pantomime of sympathy.
“Let us pray that such a tragedy never recurs, and that our example of justice will discourage anyone from ever again considering it.”
His eyes flick open with stern resolve.
“But praying alone won’t keep us safe. We are increasing our defense budgets across the board. The loss of one colony painfully illustrates how vital they are. To the loyal colonists who risk so much to give us our comfort, we owe you the finest protection we can provide. Yet even with a powerful military, only our continuous vigilance can guarantee safety. This is a burden we all must share. If any of us suspects another of terrorist affiliation, it is our moral duty to report that person to the authorities. If we do not, further tragedies await, possibly right here on Earth.”
The window shrinks out of sight and the thin reporter addresses the camera.
“President MacFarlane went on to congratulate the G-45 delegates on the skillful execution of fiscal and monetary policies which formed the bulk of their Grand Economic Action Plan. But he saved the best for last:”
The window opens again. MacFarlane’s forehead is damp with sweat, his mouth and eyes smiling.
“In light of all of these amazing accomplishments, I believe our crowning moment was the successful launch of Soshiba Varicorp’s fourth colony mission yesterday. Though the Europa will arrive many years from now, her departure proves the Human will to explore and expand can not be staunched. It proves we will carry on our grand traditions, no matter what group tries to stand in our way. Thank you all.”
Great peals of applause rise around the President and the camera pulls back over the audience. All two thousand in attendance stand and clap. The window shrinks and disappears.
“With President MacFarlane’s speech,” Genia reports, “and the decisive action against the perpetrators, the promise of stability reversed the markets’ downward trend. All indexes felt a sharp increase in volume with solid gains in all sectors. What could have been the greatest depression of all time seems to have been averted. Back to you, Todd.”
The wallscreen remains blank, telling Beckert the record is finished. He ejects it and spins it dexterously through his fingers.
This is amazing, he thinks. He holds the plastic against his lips. It is warm from the reader, and smells vaguely melted. He holds it out and flips it over, looking at the date stamp on the back.
“Genia Mendes,” he says to the air. “Mmm.”
The Geek sets the warm record down and picks up the next in line. It has a handwritten label and date.
“Integrity,” Beckert reads aloud. He dunks it into the media slot.
The video begins in what appears to be a living space. Detailed and varied works of art hang on the crème-colored walls. A bookcase on the right holds rows and rows of journalistic excellence awards. Centered in the video is a pillowed couch with carved and varnished mahogany accents.
The entire view jostles as a delicate hand pulls away from the screen. A thin woman steps in front of the camera and plunks herself down into the soft couch, exhaling deliberately. Her hair is pulled back into a pony tail, revealing large ears. Maroon silk pajamas drape loosely on her frame as though intended for someone curvier. Her face is plain, absent any coloring of the eyes or lips.
Beckert thinks he is seeing someone new until the woman places gold-rimmed spectacles on her nose.
“I can’t sleep,” Genia says, clutching her temples. When she leans forward, there are lines in her brow and streaks of gray in her hair.
“I just can’t buy it…Terrorists?” She drops her hands into her lap. “I keep thinking back to the Van der Beek interview…” she trails off, lost in thought.
“Everyone knew the risks of letting a company grow as large as SoVar. We all knew. But their social programs worked. They really worked! And when an international government seemed impossible, here’s this growing transnational company employing people in almost every country, alleviating some of the worst places of human misery ever known. There, at last, was something the whole world could unite behind, something we all felt in common.”
Genia lays her arms across her knees.
“It wasn’t overnight, but gradually, it came…lasting peace. The only corporation ever to win the Peace Prize.” She gets a satisfied grin. Another thought crosses her mind like a dark wave and the smile drains.
“But the Van der
Beek interview…”
Her eyes focus suddenly on the camera.
“I didn’t know what I was looking at when I got those anonymous photos. I saw a bunch of blue reptiles in a hole, and aside from the gore of their carcasses, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to think. But when Fred pointed out the mesh vests and belts on the bodies…”
She covers her mouth with her hand, her expression deeply troubled. She shakes her head and lowers her hand.
“Are we killing off an indigenous culture?” The question hangs in the air, unanswered.
Black Hawks From a Blue Sun Page 20