by Colin Weldon
They moved to the back of the shuttle and activated the door mechanism. It hissed as it released its hinges and slid slowly open. Carrie took a cautious step out onto the solid ground and looked around. They had landed in a small paved clearing in front of one of the tallest of the surrounding towers. The ground looked like polished marble and overhead the fireflies continued to buzz around them. She heard the shuttle as its power systems wound down, leaving just the sound of the cool breeze. Tyrell took a step forward and joined her. The pale glow of a setting sun was beginning to cast strange shadows on the walls, some of which Carrie thought were moving independently. It was an eerie still and one that made Carrie nervous after the last planet they had been on. She suddenly thought she heard the faint sound of whispering. It could have been the breeze, as there was no movement anywhere around them. There was a distinctive sweet odour in the air, like the memory of a fragrance Carrie had once known. She decided to open her mind fully to the surrounding area and see what she could take in. There was somebody or something watching them. Of that she was sure. She looked at Tyrell and was about to ask him what the hell they were supposed to do next, when she suddenly felt a sensation of being lifted clean off her feet. The world disappeared into a quick flash of blinding light.
Less than a second later, she felt herself being dropped onto another hard surface. The light faded and she found herself standing next to Tyrell in a completely different location. Her heart jumped at the shock of it and she stumbled slightly trying to find her feet again.
“What the hell!” she said looking at Tyrell.
He merely looked at her and raised one of his eyebrows.
“They’ll be along shortly,” he said.
Carrie looked up at the towering ceiling that now lay above them. The sunlight was split into hundreds of beams of perfectly formed light through a vast array of cut glass. It resembled the grand cathedrals of Rome, without the altars. She looked around and saw that they were both standing in the centre of a gargantuan hall. Its decor was simple, with smooth walls and no particular indication of what was its focal point or exit. She could not see any evidence of doorways anywhere. The entire building looked to be formed from one solid piece of stone or other material. It was as if the structure had simply been grown out of the ground. There were grand pillars between tall windows that all came to a point. That is when she saw the first of them. At first she thought they were merely stone pillars, but then she saw the distinct shape of a humanoid head and carved eyes at their tips. Thin giants of stone, carved from the strange construction material. They were long and thin, with ornate outlines of what could be compared to arms, placed neatly against thin bodies. Their heads were almond shaped with two large slits where alien eyes could neatly be placed. She stared at the silent reverence of the statues. She counted at least eight, but there were probably more, judging by the size of the chamber. She turned to Tyrell.
“Is that them?” she asked.
Tyrell looked at the statues and moved his eyes back to her.
“What they once were,” he said.
Carrie began to take a step towards one of the statues to get a closer look when Tyrell grabbed her arm.
“No,” he said suddenly, “do not touch them.”
Carrie looked curiously at Tyrell and nodded, figuring that he did not want to offend whatever the hell was about to greet them.
“What are they waiting for? Why don’t they show themselves?” she asked.
Tyrell looked back at her.
“They have been here for quite some time, Carrie. They are trying to evaluate what sort of threat you pose. Be patient,” he said.
Carrie looked around at the deserted grand hall. She could not sense anything. She nodded and remained still.
“How long do we have to wait here?” she asked.
“As long as they want us to,” Tyrell replied.
The Agathon
“What do we do?” said Jerome Young to the captain.
“We have to go back for them,” said Daniel Tosh.
Barrington looked around the small group he had assembled in the conference room. His eye was beginning to itch and he was trying hard to fight off the urge to throw up every few minutes. After a brief description from Boyett about the transmission from Aron Elstone, they all listened to the recording of the conversation. The captain could not believe they were alive.
“And what if this Arturo person kills them all? What does a thousand years in deep space do to a civilisation?” said Chavel.
“Well, we can’t just sit here and do nothing,” said Tosh.
The captain looked at Boyett. She looked tired and was avoiding eye contact with him for some reason.
“What about Tyrell?” Barrington asked the room.
There was no response. Uncomfortable gazes drifted to one another as they each tried to figure out a response to the elephant in the room.
“Well, the equations he punched into The Betty seem to have corrected the fluctuation in the FTL ring, so there should not, in theory, be any other time dilation,” said Tosh after clearing his throat.
Barrington looked at Boyett.
“What about weapons?” asked Barrington.
“I have the entire engineering staff converting hangar bay twelve with three pulse cannons. It’s slow work, as each cannon has to be affixed to the exterior of the hull, with several layers of air tight pressure sealing. The hard part will be tying them into the bridge terminals and an accurate targeting system, but we’re working on it,” said Tosh.
“Captain, there is another issue I would like to bring to the table,” Jerome Young suddenly said.
The former Jycorp CEO had not been seen on the bridge in a few days and had arrived to the meeting with a selection of papers and data pads.
“If we are thinking about leaving this planet soon, I would like to take one of the shuttle pods under the ice to take a look at a large structure we picked up on the sensors,” Young said.
“What?” said Chavel, “that’s crazy. We don’t know anything about the tidal or tectonic movements of this planet, least of all the viability of our shuttles at depth. Forget it, Young.”
Young put his hands up stopping any further objections so he could speak again.
“Just hold on there,” he said looking at the captain, “John, there is something down there, only a few hundred meters to the North of our current position. It could very well be artificial and seeing as our whole mission is to locate the Signal Makers, I think every effort should be made to investigate any remnants of a civilisation that we happen to find. We are flying blind here people and anything out of the ordinary should and must be investigated.”
Barrington could not argue with the logic, but it seemed that every time they investigated something he lost a crew member. He was about to dismiss it as too dangerous when Boyett interjected.
“He’s right, sir,” she said, “we can’t go back. You heard Elstone’s voice. He was desperate. If this Arturo person got access to this ship or somehow commandeered it, Elstone seemed to think that would be devastating for the human race. We have to go forward. We have to find the Signal Makers or at the very least, a habitable world to settle on. I think we should investigate anything that could potentially lead us to that, before we leave this planet.”
Barrington looked at his first officer. There was something troubling her. He was sure of it.
“Tosh, start prepping Shuttle Pod 2 and give me a topographical readout of the surrounding area. Any sign of movement or even a hint of any geo-instability, we call this off,” he said looking at Young.
Young nodded.
“I think I should go alone, John,” he said looking around the table.
“I don’t think so,” said Barrington, looking at Chavel, who was obviously less than enthusiastic about the idea.
“Great,” Chavel said looking at the table.
“Chavel will go with you. You have two hours, not a second more and on my order, you mu
st return to the ship without a moment’s hesitation, agreed?” he said, looking sternly at Young.
Young nodded.
“Dismissed,” Barrington said. The group rose from the table.
“Charly, a moment,” he said to Boyett.
She took her seat and waited for the rest of the group to leave.
“You alright?” asked Barrington.
“Sir?” she replied.
“You look tired, Charly, when’s the last time you got some sleep?” he asked.
Boyett sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.
“Dunno, sir,” she replied.
Barrington rose and went to a nearby dispenser, tapping in some commands which activated the machine to fashion up two cups of coffee. He handed one to Boyett and took a seat beside her.
“I owe you an apology, Charly,” he said.
She took a sip of the warm liquid and looked at him blankly.
“You have commanded the repairs and the ship excellently during my absence,” he said.
“It’s been my pleasure, sir,” she said blandly.
“Bullshit,” he said lightly smiling, “I would be just as angry if I were you. I have been hiding in the conference room and that was totally unacceptable.”
Boyett looked at him.
“Sir, considering the circumstances, I don’t think it was unacceptable,” she said.
Barrington looked at her and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“They are alive, Charly. Somewhere. I know it,” he said.
Boyett frowned at the captain and nodded. He knew she did not believe a word of it, but let it go.
“Anyway, I apologise. We all owe you a great debt and you have shown that you are capable of taking command of this ship with ease. There may come a time when that centre seat will be yours permanently and I want you to know that you are ready for it. Don’t be scared of it,” he said.
Boyett looked at him curiously.
“I certainly hope that day is not for a very long time, sir,” she said.
Barrington smiled at her.
“You are relieved, Lieutenant, I want you to go get some shut eye and report back at oh seven hundred hours,” he said.
Boyett smiled and did not object to the opportunity. She rose from the chair and made her way to the conference room door. She paused and looked back at him.
“By the way,” she said, “nice eye.”
The Kandinsky
Aron checked the small lump in his wrist to make sure the tracking beacon was still there. His arrival to The Kandinsky was a little unorthodox as it involved being punched unconscious by the butt end of a pulse gun. He awoke in one of The Kandinsky’s less than hospitable holding cells, where he had been sitting on a hard bench for the last two hours. He could feel the cut above his right eye beginning to ache from the strike. He looked around at the stark white walls and glass front to the room. He had to admit, he thought he might have had a little more time on his hands before Escat had him thrown in the brig, but it would have to do. There was no use in worrying about it, he was surely about to be thrown out of the nearest airlock anyway. He only hoped that he had enough time left to create the diversion that might allow India a window of opportunity to escape.
He lay down on the long bench that was protruding from the back wall and stared at the blank ceiling. A single light source from the roof shone straight into his eyes, so he covered them with one of his arms. He closed his lids and thought of Maya.
“Good morning,” came a familiar voice from outside the cell.
He moved his arm slightly and peeked out at General Charles Escat who was smiling at him from outside the glass. Aron covered his eyes up again and did not answer.
“Sorry about the welcoming reception, one of the Guards got a little over zealous,” Escat said.
Aron stayed still and ignored him.
“Oh, don’t be like that, this isn’t personal, Aron. We all have our orders,” Escat said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“How’s the jaw, Escat?” Aron replied.
There was a moment of silence. He looked at Escat’s gaunt face and wondered if he was ill. He did not look well. He took comfort in that. Great comfort.
“You know if I had my way, and I will have my way, you would be shot straight out of an airlock, we both know that, but the chancellor wants to speak with you privately, so get off your ass and get over here before I shoot you and tell everyone you were trying to escape,” said Escat.
Aron sat up slowly and swung his legs onto the floor. He looked at Escat and tried to resist the temptation to give into his anger and retort. He stood up and made his way over to the glass and faced the general.
“I am ready when you are, General,” Aron said sarcastically.
The pair looked squarely at each other through the glass as Aron felt an unmistakable tension grow between the two. Escat reached over to a panel and released the glass door mechanism. It slid slowly open and Aron took a step out of the room. There were two guards dressed in their customary black overalls standing at the entrance to the holding area.
“Brought some friends?” Aron said smiling.
Escat grimaced at Aron.
“Believe me, I don’t need them,” said Escat, “this way.”
He let Aron pass him and followed up the rear as the pair made their way out of the holding area and into the corridor of the ship. Aron looked at the two Colonial Guards leading the way and wondered if he could take both of them on and still have time to get to Escat before he was shot dead. He figured he could not. They climbed up several floors using various ladders positioned at the midway point of the corridors. While The Kandinsky was an impressive looking ship on the outside, on the inside, it looked a bit haphazard. Cables lay bare along the exposed bulkheads, some of which were in desperate need of repair. Exposed metal showed signs of decay through lack of materials to fix them and tired ‘crew members’ welded and tinkered with various broken computer consoles all along the deck. Escat seemed to put all of the emphasis of The Kandinsky on the ship’s weapons system. Aron thought about how he could take advantage of that. Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to sabotage this ship after all.
After several minutes of climbing decks, they stopped outside a door and the guards turned to face Aron.
“Just so you know I have ordered these two to cut you down without a moment’s hesitation if you try anything in there,” said Escat.
Aron looked blankly at him and back to the guards, who were each resting their hands on their pulse guns strapped neatly to their waists. He raised his eyebrows at Escat and smiled. He rather enjoyed the general’s torment at not being able to kill him here and now. He turned back to face the door. Escat tapped the pad on the outside and it slid open. The four men walked slowly inside the room.
The low light of the room made it difficult to make out the chancellor sitting behind the desk, in the centre of the sparsely laid out space. His outline was still and Aron could not help his heart rate increasing at the ominous presence in the room.
“Hello, Aron,” said Arturo.
Aron nodded and looked around him as the guards took their place by the chancellor’s side.
“Good evening, Chancellor,” Aron said.
Arturo moved his head towards Escat’s direction.
“Would you excuse us, General?” Arturo said.
Aron kept his eyes on the chancellor, but felt Escat leave slowly behind him. The door slid shut and he stood silently in the room waiting for Arturo to speak. He could hear the low hum of the ship’s engines from under his feet and the chirping of the computer in the chancellor’s room. It flooded his ears as his eyes began to adjust to the lighting levels. The chancellor’s still face began to emerge from the darkness. It had an eerie calmness to it, like a predator before it strikes.
“Have a seat,” Arturo said gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.
Aron responded slowly and took a seat opposite the predator. He had once heard a
story when he was younger of Arturo decapitating a colonist in his office and then eating his flesh. It was more than likely untrue, but it had the desired effect among the colonists. They were terrified of the tyrant.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Arturo asked.
Aron looked at the large container full of water on the desk. It was a heavy based glass jug. A luxury that most colonists could not afford. He thought about whether or not to accept and then thought that poison was not really the chancellor’s style. He nodded.
“Please,” Aron replied.
Arturo smiled and poured Aron a metal cup of water.
“What did they say?” Arturo asked as he poured the liquid slowly, looking at Aron.
The blunt question caught Aron off guard and he felt his face begin to sweat.
“Who, Chancellor?” he replied as confidently as he could.
Arturo stopped pouring the water and handed the container to Aron. He picked it up and took a gulp. He had not realised how thirsty he was until now. Poisoned or not, it felt good. Arturo sat back in his chair slowly.
“What did they say?” the chancellor asked again.
His tone was flat. Almost playful.
“I am sorry, Chancellor, I do not understand,” Aron said.
“Where is Hector Stanley?” Arturo asked.
Aron cleared his throat and placed the empty container on the table slowly.
“Chancellor, I apologise for what happened on board. I can assure you it was an accident. We did all that we could for Mr Stanley, but his injuries were too severe,” Aron said.
There was a deathly silence in the room as Aron looked straight into the chancellor’s unmoving eyes. Arturo’s expression remained the same. Calm and calculated. Aron was sure that he did not believe him, but his lack of reaction began to worry him. He could feel little beads of sweat beginning to run down the small of his back.
“How unfortunate,” Arturo said.
“I apologise, Chancellor, but my ship is old and most of the support beams are in need of an overhaul. We jettisoned the body, or rather what was left of it, four days ago, as we do not have the proper storage facilities on board,” Aron said shifting slightly in his chair. He hoped Arturo did not see the slight movement.