Space Patrol!

by Sarah Nicole Nadler

  She decided to mention the most innocent of her confusions. “Among the Mursi, we have heard long traditions of the celestial sphere. The OneWorld government sent us teachers who claimed that the sun and the stars are great burning balls of fire in the sky.” She gestured out toward the bright spot that was Vega. “My people heard this but did not believe it. I did not believe it. Sol is the god of war. The constellations in the sky are our ancient heroes and the remains of ancestral spirits. Or so I believed …”

  She took a deep breath, her eyes downcast, avoiding his gaze. “But now I see one of those stars with my own eyes. I know it to be so—it is nothing but a giant ball of gasses, burning in the depth of space. I understand the science behind this now, but … if this is all our gods are, then what are we?” She glanced at last into his four dark eyes. “Who made me, if not the gods in the stars? I feel so … lost.”

  Mr. Piff stepped closer and reached up to touch her shoulder. When she met his gaze again, he spoke quietly through his translator. “Among all peoples and races in the universe, from Andromeda to the Milky Way, there are beliefs in a greater power than that of atoms or space dust.”

  The sympathy in his voice warmed her a little and she felt her lips tremble.

  “There is hardly a single culture in the universe that does not have some kind of history of faith or the supernatural. And some of the things we can do are considered supernatural by others,” he added. “How often have I landed on a primitive planet and been mistaken for a god—or a wrathful demon!”

  His laugh invited her own.

  “The most important thing, no matter what you believe, is to believe what you believe,” Mr. Piff insisted. “Earthlings will encounter many new and strange ideas as they travel space, even scientific discoveries that make you question how your ancestors explained their existence. Do not reject these new scientific discoveries out of hand, for they can bring great technology to help your people. But never forget,” he shook an admonishing paw at her, “the fact that stars are giant balls of flaming gas in space does not mean there is no such thing as gods. That constellations are combinations of stars does not prove that no ancestral spirits exist. Who is to say that these great balls of burning gas we call stars are not great gods—that perhaps someday we may advance enough to speak even to the stars themselves?”

  Shika blinked. She had not thought of that. “I suppose.”

  “I do not believe it is so,” Mr. Piff shook his head, “but I have no proof that it is not so. Science is about evidence, about creating consistent models of working theories that accurately predict future results. I can prove there is a star there,” he pointed at Vega, “prove that its gravitational pull causes Jeropul to remain in orbit and that its emissions bring life to plants and aliens in the bazaar. I cannot prove that it is not also a war god.” He shrugged.

  Shika smiled a little. It was true, Sol was not shaped like a human man with a spear, but perhaps that did not have to invalidate her religious beliefs. Somehow, that thought was very reassuring. She could believe whatever she chose, she realized. And so could her people.

  “Actually,” and now Mr. Piff’s voice came across the translator with a hint of sly humor, “according to modern Andromedic astronomers, all matter in this universe came from an explosion much like that of a dying star.”

  Shika looked at him. “Really?”

  As he nodded, the translator bot interjected, “As a matter of fact, Ms. Shika, a very famous human astrophysicist on Earth once made that very point. Dr. Carl Sagan said, ‘We are all made of star stuff.’”

  Shika stared at the bot.

  “Rather than worrying about the religious significance of your new observations of the universe,” Mr. Piff suggested, “try to see them as a challenge—a chance to understand how and why the universe around you works, regardless of who created it. And remember to keep an open heart and open eyes to new ideas that may differ from your own. You know, Space Patrol has a strict policy of respecting the religious beliefs of others. Intolerance or bigotry is unacceptable. Perhaps my peoples’ belief in the great god Skri-iisat differs from your understanding of how the stars in the constellations created the Mursi tribe, but still I can converse with you about it and remain on friendly terms afterwards.” His smile was wry as though he could name other organizations who were not able to do so.

  Shika nodded silently, overwhelmed by the immense relief she felt at the return of her certainty in how the universe worked. Mr. Piff clapped her on the shoulder once more, smiled, and then moved away, leaving her to stare at the stars and wonder how her ancient people had deduced so well the secrets of the celestial universe.

  Evacuation

  Lissa awoke in darkness. Rolling over away from Lollipop’s sprawled form at her side, she checked her timepiece. It was 09:15 local time. The sunlight should have come in through her window and spread all over her sheets. But the window of the cabin held only dim shadows.

  She stood and clicked on a nearby lamp, dressing quickly as Lollipop came to and began to crawl out of bed. The little sprout projected hunger and fear into Lissa’s thoughts, making the girl pause. Without sunlight, how would she feed her Friss sprout?

  “It’s going to be okay,” she told the pink fur ball, soothing her with a gentle scratch between the eyestalks. Lollipop rubbed against her leg like a cat.

  Lissa finished dressing and went out onto the deck. There was Ash, leaning against the mizzenmast, the secondary mast, in full armor. Even his ominous black and gold lion helmet was on, visor down. He held his spear at easy rest beside him. She gave him a quizzical glance.

  “They still have not caught the saboteur,” he told her through the raspy mike in his helmet. “We have to be careful, Lissa.”

  She wanted to roll her eyes or scream in frustration, but she only nodded. A part of her had thought they were all being ridiculous, until she had seen those solar kernels go up in a ball of flame that cracked the atmodome. Now, she was secretly relieved to know he had stood watch outside her door.

  “Did you sleep at all?” she asked instead.

  “Nearly eight hours,” he assured her. “I just sent Shiro off to get some.” She winced at the thought that the other boy had guarded her all night with his arm in a sling but said nothing. It only took one hand to shoot a ray gun.

  She looked up toward the rigging. Beyond the mizzenmast and the atmodome, there was nothing but deep-black sky and billions of stars. The nebula cast its colorful hue over everything, but its radiation was too faint to warm or light the station. Shadows played over the dock where the Forty-Five floated, the waves gently lapping.

  Lissa frowned. “Still no sign of the 3rd Patrol?”

  “None.”

  Lissa couldn’t see his dark face in the shadow of the lantern that hung on a spar above their heads but she heard concern in his voice. “I’m sure Shika is alright.”

  He shook his head, his curly hair flopping into his face. “3 rd Patrol has the VOD drive for instantaneous travel,” he reminded her. “If they’re not here yet, it’s because something is wrong.” His gaze traveled up to stare out into space.

  Lissa shook her head, too. She had no answer for him. “I’ll ask Semo what’s happening,” she told him. Turning away, she would have descended the ramp toward the dock, but Ash stopped her.

  “We should wait—it’s not safe. Let Shiro have a few more hours of rest.”

  Lissa crossed her arms, stubborn. “I’m sure you can protect me without him. He’ll be safe aboard with Octi on the con.” She glanced up toward the rear deck above, wondering suddenly if Octi had slept at all that night. A sigh ran through her. It was hard to keep track of all her friends. She felt responsible for them, was responsible for them as captain of the ship, but she was also 14 years old! I don’t know what I’m doing, she thought, not for the first time.

  “Octi slept all night and woke up at 07:00 to hunt his breakfast,” Ash told her. “He’s currently up on the nav computer, trying to figure
out some other way of supplying us with those kernels.”

  “Okay, so, he can watch over the ship while Shiro sleeps and you can escort me to Semo so we can find out what the hell is happening to your sister and Stephanie!” She glared at him, arms still crossed. “Don’t you want to be sure they’re safe?”

  “Hang on, let me get a ray gun.”

  While she waited for him to return, Lissa ducked into her room and dug in her closet. She undid the ties on her fashionable laced corset and replaced it with the armored one Stephanie had insisted she buy on Jeropul. When Ash came back with two pistols, she tucked the one he handed her into her sash.

  “Now can we go?” she asked, letting her exasperation show through.

  With a stubborn jerk of his head, he gestured for her to lead the way, falling in behind her to guard her back. They descended the plank and strode off away from the docks toward the city park.

  They found Lt. Commander Semo after much searching. She was not at the park. Lissa finally caught the attention of one of the messengers flying back and forth. She stopped one to ask and they followed the alien’s directions to the far side of the station where escape pods were housed.

  There were three long lines of alien civilians waiting to board escape pods. Several station officials stood about giving directions and answering questions, and Lissa asked one where the Kweep female was located. The alien male pointed, and Lissa saw at last Semo’s massive legs peeking out from under a large tent that had been erected for registration purposes.

  “Lt. Commander,” she began, come up from behind the female.

  Semo turned and saw them.

  “Ah! Ambassador,” her aide Samison exclaimed. “Yes, we’ve been planning the evacuation, as you can see. How many more passengers can your ship hold? I know you came without your full complement of crew. Could you take, say, a dozen more at roughly the same size and mass as a human adult?”

  Lissa was taken aback. “What happened to the idea of the 3rd Patrolship?”

  “The negotiations on Jeropul occupy their attention,” Semo told them all. In a tight band for Lissa alone, she added, “The trial against the murderers of 108th Patrolship is being held aboard. They cannot leave orbit for the duration of the trial, and perhaps many days afterwards, to enforce its final sentence. We’re on our own here.” With that, she turned away.

  “Repairs of the kernel system are underway,” Samison added, “but without a shipment of kernels, it’s a futile exercise.”

  Trying to wrap her mind around what her crew could best do to help, Lissa noticed a small group of very large aliens standing nervously just to the side of the tent. She jerked her head at them. “What about those people? What are they waiting for?”

  Samison looked over. “They’re too large to fit inside the normal escape pods. They’ll have to wait and see if we can call in a passenger ship. Do you want to take them?” He asked hopefully.

  Lissa was stunned. Why did the station not keep a supply of escape pods in every size needed for their inhabitants?

  Samison noticed her face. “They don’t live here. They were tourists visiting the Nebula and their ship is not due for another five days. If you could take them aboard, that would solve a big headache for the station mayor.” He jerked his head at the official who had spoken to Lissa the night before.

  Lissa was about to nod her agreement when another thought flashed through her mind and she stopped. She stared at Semo.

  “Ambassador?” Samison nudged her.

  “Lissa?” That was Ash, tugging on her shoulder. “Lissa, what’s wrong?”

  She disentangled herself from his grasp and walked toward Semo, who was leaning one long side of her head over the table set up in the middle of the tent, gazing at a row of figures or words in some alien script. Lissa placed a hand on the female’s foreleg. She was so tall, Lissa’s hand rested barely below her knee.

  “You’re too tall to fit inside an escape pod,” she said quietly to her.

  Slowly, Semo turned her large torso and craned her neck. Her large hammerhead-shaped cranium sank down until one large black eye was level with Lissa’s gaze.

  “I am cold-blooded,” she said, as though her thought-voice were directed at a small child in need of comfort. “As the station cools, I will simply go to sleep.”

  “Not if it sinks even lower than your body can withstand,” Lissa whispered, sensing the half-truth. “Within a few days you’ll die.”

  “3rd Patrol are doing their duty. They are needed where they are. There is no other Patrolship in this galaxy large enough to carry a Kweep,” Semo said. Her thoughts now were soft, but there was a hint of steel underneath, that dared Lissa to question the conclusion the commander had already drawn.

  “You’ll die!” Her voice came out in a harsh breath, although she still kept it hushed.

  Semo straightened abruptly. “This conversation is pointless. We have lives to save, and plans are needed to ensure the preservation of certain vital experiments these scientists have been undertaking.” Arching her neck, she gazed down at Lissa.

  “Draw up the contract you require from Universe Co. I will sign it. Captain Naarl will ratify it fully as acting commander of the Milky Way Mission until my replacement arrives from Andromeda Galaxy. Naarl is a good male—you can trust him to do right by Earth and help you free your people.” With that, she nodded politely to Lissa and began to turn away.

  Lissa’s jaw dropped. For one long moment, she suppressed the urge to kick Semo—a futile action that not only would have been childish but very undiplomatic. Fury boiled through her veins, making her cheeks hot as she cried, “Is that really what you think of me? That I only came over here to make sure I get my contract?”

  Semo glanced back. “Your people need you,” she said simply. “And take as many passengers as you can when you leave. There aren’t enough escape pods.”

  Lissa’s brows snapped together with fury. “I’m not leaving you here to die!”

  Part of her registered Semo’s shock at her vehemence, but Lissa didn’t care. Determination filled every centimeter of her being. This noble, incredible person, the only selfless leader she had met across five thousand lightyears of the galaxy, stood before her now willing to sacrifice her life for a cause she believed in. Not only that, but the casual, quiet way in which she did it! Semo was not asking for someone to save her—she told her own ship to stay away so they might fulfill their mission. Instead, she was going to spend the precious last days she had ensuring the safety of as many civilians as possible. These weren’t even her people! They had rejected her offers to join Universe Co. at every turn. Still she worked to save their lives and property before turning any thought to saving her own.

  “We’re your friends.” She lifted her hands in quiet appeal to the Kweep, who had never looked more beautiful to Lissa than in that moment. “I will not leave you here to die.”

  Semo looked at Lissa for a long moment.

  “You are an extraordinary person, Lissa Phelps,” she said at last. “Earth must be quite a place. I would be sorry never to have seen it.”

  “You will,” Lissa vowed. “I’ll take you over every square kilometer of it.”

  And that, she thought, was that.

  Keeping up with the Jones

  The station was nearly empty. Darkness hung over every street, shadows clinging to the corners and neat hedgerows as Lissa and her two companions walked from the Forty-Five toward the park after the evening meal. It had been thirty-six hours since the sun had last risen, and the temperature on board was rapidly dropping toward zero degrees Celsius. Lissa, dressed in Shiro’s massive fur coat over her own dress and leg warmers, strode in between her two guards and tried not to wonder whether the saboteur had remained … if he perhaps lurked behind some tree or corner to finish the task his destruction of the kernels had begun.

  As they neared the center of the park, she felt the temperature rise slightly. Two scientists had managed to jury-rig a heating system
in the meadow for Semo before they had been evacuated. The difference in warmth was only ten degrees or so, but it could mean an extra six hours of life for the Kweep—hours in which 3rd Patrolship might be able to end their negotiations on Jeropul and attempt a rescue of their commander.

  Lissa squinted against the brilliant light of lanterns strung across the trees. She heard raised voices.

  “Shane Jones, you come here this instant!” Was that Mags?

  “The ambassador will be here any moment, Mom,” Shane’s voice held a stubborn tone, his mind made up. As they turned past the first trees, Lissa saw him standing with Mags and Filbert, the former looking down at their son in a mixture of temper and tears as she tried to lead him away toward the evacuation zone. Lissa frowned. What were they still doing here? The last civilians had left nearly two hours ago. Even the oversized tourists Samison had first wanted Lissa to carry had been rescued by a distant cousin of one of them, coming to get them in a fat freighter. The station mayor had also left, after several hesitating speeches of gratitude to Semo and assurance that he would do everything in his power to send a ship back for her as soon as possible.

  With only the commander aboard and the crew of the Forty-Five, most of the station systems had been shut down. What were the Jones still doing here?

  “There she is!” Mags cried, pointing at Lissa. “So say your goodbyes and come, Shane. Your sister is already waiting in a pod!”

  Shane glanced over his shoulder, saw Lissa and the two boys, and strode over. He nodded at Ash and Shiro, who stepped away as though some silent communication had been transmitted in that glance. Lissa felt her palms begin to sweat slightly as he seized her shoulders and gazed down into her eyes.