by Mike Freeman
“What about duty to the mission? Patriotism?”
Touvenay wrinkled his nose.
“Patriotism is idiocy – the conviction that your nation is superior to all others because you were born in it seems fallacious at best. My ultimate duty is to myself. I want to choose my fate with dignity. As for my duty to the mission, this is a step I would only contemplate should my mind be about to be lost. I would say that removing one more rambling madman would likely be a boon, not a burden, to my colleagues.”
Touvenay had a point there, Havoc thought, though Tyburn didn’t look impressed. Tyburn got up and walked over to the meeting rooms as Leveque exited the diary room. She looked pretty broken. Touvenay turned at the swish of the door opening and beckoned her over.
“Natalie, I found a reading I thought you might like. I copied it out for you. It might help you express something to your husband and children, I can't say.”
Leveque stared at the paper with Touvenay's elegant handwriting scrawled across it.
“Shall I read it for you?” Touvenay asked.
Leveque nodded and Touvenay picked up the paper.
“Hours fly,
Flowers die.
New days,
New ways,
Pass by.
Love stays.”
Leveque nodded, crying.
“It's beautiful, thank you.”
Touvenay nodded and handed her the paper.
Havoc watched as Ship Captain Yamamoto, Mission Lead (Acting) Whittenhorn and Security Lead Tyburn gathered for a conference outside the meeting rooms. Abbott and Stephanie also joined the conversation.
Stone looked around the table.
“Did any of you have those dreams?”
Vivid and strangely colored dreams caused by tettraxigyiom contamination, Stone meant. Stone wanted to check he wasn't alone. There was probably going to be a lot of that, Havoc thought.
“Yes,” came the replies from all around.
On the other side of the room, Abbott cleared his throat.
“Before we commence the day with our Acting Commander's briefing, I would ask you to join me for a brief memorial to Ethan Marsac.”
33.
The crew assembled in Hab eleven, standing in a semicircle along the rim of a large black circle displayed on the center of the floor. On the opposite side of the circle Abbott stood facing them. In the center of the circle a torch burned brightly with a lively flame.
Beyond the black disc they were standing on, the floor, walls and ceiling of the hab appeared completely transparent, displaying the view of space outside. They drifted through the majesty of space on a polished black disc, surrounded by the red hydrogen clouds of the Telson Nebula and a billion stars of varying luminosity. Havoc’s attention was drawn to the brightly burning flame at the center of this infinite amphitheater as Abbott spoke.
“We are gathered here today in memorial of Sergeant Ethan Marsac, Phalanx Three, Force Projection, from the Cala System in the Union of Ursula Systems of the Alliance of Free Peoples. We did not know Ethan well. We never had that chance. But he took part in this mission, on behalf of his Union and our Alliance, because he believed in service and duty. Ethan was prepared to risk his life for his values and for his sacrifice he has earned our eternal gratitude and respect. He is survived by a wife, Sylvie, and a son, Lucas, and though it will be years before they learn of his passing, we know it will not soften the blow of his loss.”
Galaxies drifted past the flickering torch as Abbott continued.
“Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush,
of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there, I did not die.”
As Abbott spoke the verse, the flame slowly diminished. It turned from a fierce orange to a melancholy red, matching the galaxies surrounding them. Toward the end of the reading the flame dimmed and began to flicker. As Abbott read out the final line it guttered and as Abbott finished, the flame went out.
There was a minute of silence.
Abbott nodded at Jafari.
Jafari stepped forward to complete his faith's ritual of death, the faith that he had shared with Ethan Marsac.
“The first step to eternal life is you have to die.”
From the adjacent disc, a rocket curved out from the ship. It raced over the top of their Hab, clearly visible as it moved across the ceiling, its bright tail diminishing as it receded. They watched it get smaller and smaller until it was gone.
“Ethan Marsac,” Abbott said.
“Ethan Marsac,” they repeated.
Abbott scanned across the faces in front of him.
“We are here for a purpose, a purpose that Ethan Marsac was prepared to die for. We may feel afraid of what might befall us, but we must not demean life by standing in awe of death. We cannot banish dangers but we can banish fears. Where there is life there is hope. It is conceivable that Plash has the technology to deal with our contamination, or the raw materials for us to use, or our own ingenuity will find another way. We do not know what will happen, but we can honor the memory of Ethan Marsac by giving it our unstinting best.”
On Havoc's first deployment as a young officer his Colonel had told him, 'a leader is a dealer in hope.' Abbott was living and breathing that sentiment now. Havoc could feel the room lift and focus.
Abbott regarded them.
“One day, maybe soon, your life will flash before your eyes. Make sure it's worth watching.”
34.
Havoc watched Chaucer come into the Hub Hab after everyone else, having visited Brennen en route. Chaucer looked much happier now; positively buoyant.
Weaver looked at Chaucer as he approached.
“Any news?”
“We have a proper diagnostic...”
“And...?”
“He's pretty much a vegetable.”
“Doctor!” Bergeron said.
Chaucer turned to Bergeron and nodded politely.
“Hmm, I beg your pardon. Brennen has extensive and irrevocable brain damage. He is in a vegetative state. Given the condition of certain areas of his brain, this state will persist indefinitely.”
“The wheel is spinning but the hamster is dead,” Ekker said.
“Mr Ekker!”
“Mr Ekker is unfortunately accurate in his description, Miss Bergeron. Functional neuroimaging shows that there is almost no residual higher cognitive function.”
“Can he recover?” Weaver said.
Chaucer shook his head.
“I would say not. He has a critical brain injury, his contamination is severe and with the facilities and timescales available, irreversible.”
“What do you suggest?” Bergeron said.
“I suggest we give him a week to confirm our prognosis, then either freeze him or switch off his feeding tube and let him sleep.”
Bergeron looked horrified.
“Let him sleep? Is that some kind of sick euphemism for 'kill him'?”
“Freeze him or let him go, yes.”
“Kill him? Our Commander?”
Chaucer didn’t seem offended by Bergeron’s accusatory tone.
“A dying man needs to die as an exhausted man needs to rest, Miss Bergeron. There comes a time when it is wrong, as well as useless, to resist. But if you prefer then freeze him, transport him home and force his family to terminate him instead. It is only my opinion.”
Bergeron was aghast.
“You're suggesting we let Brennen die?”
Chaucer frowned.
“I think I'm suggesting he's already dead.”
Berg
eron felt silent as Chaucer wandered away to get a drink.
“I think we should view the other ships as an opportunity,” Stephanie said.
Whittenhorn turned to her.
“What do you mean?”
“Medically. With our contamination.”
Whittenhorn looked thoughtful.
“Ah.”
“Out of the question,” Tyburn said.
Stephanie turned to him.
“Why not?”
Tyburn was dismissive.
“You’re suggesting we give another nation access to our crew. Do you have any idea what they could learn or implant?”
“You mean from a security perspective?”
“Of course.”
Stephanie looked bemused.
“Don't you think we're already pretty far gone in that respect?”
Tyburn glared at her.
Stephanie tried again.
“We could broadcast our emergency and ask for their help. Maybe they have the materials? But if they want to administer it, we should still consider it.” Stephanie looked around her. “Shouldn't we?”
Bergeron nodded.
“I don't have any secrets. I should be allowed to go.”
“And me,” Humberstone said.
Tyburn shook his head.
“No one is going anywhere.”
Whittenhorn looked torn.
“We wouldn't be surrendering the mission. We would be partnering with another Tier-1 civilization.”
Tyburn spoke quietly.
“I would view it as an attempt to surrender to the enemy.”
Stephanie threw her hands up.
“Oh, come on!”
“I should be allowed to go,” Bergeron repeated.
Havoc thought their enthusiasm was rather misplaced.
“Before we go down this road, bear in mind that the chance these ships have facilities to treat tettraxigyiom contamination is practically nil.”
Stephanie glared at him. Havoc shrugged. Novosa slumped back in her seat.
“True.”
Tyburn cleared his throat.
“I reiterate my request for Acting Command. It’s clear, with seven or eight full warships in the sector, that the potential for conflict is high.”
Abbott gazed coolly at Tyburn.
“As I recall ship security is the exclusive preserve of Captain Yamamoto and independent of you, Mr Tyburn. It was routed directly to Commander Brennen so presumably now to Mr Whittenhorn.”
Tyburn absorbed this rebuff and changed tack.
“We should launch some sleeper platforms on approach. I suggest a million kilometers would be a meaningful perimeter for the capital ships. If they breach say, half a million, we take action.”
Yamamoto nodded.
“Sleeper platforms make sense. And we certainly need some rules of engagement. We have to be pragmatic, though. We can’t fight off nine vessels – that’s ridiculous.”
Havoc nodded.
“We need an agreement for access to Plash.”
“Mr Abbott, I suggest that is your domain,” Whittenhorn said.
Abbott nodded.
“Are we seriously not intending to ask these ships for help?” Stephanie said.
Tyburn shook his head.
“If we did they would know we're in distress. We would be highlighting our weakness.”
Stephanie looked exasperated.
“We are in distress.”
Abbott sounded thoughtful.
“As John says, it is virtually certain they do not have the facilities that we need in any case.”
Stephanie shook her head, looking forlorn.
“Ok, that wraps it up,” Whittenhorn said.
Fournier’s low voice rasped out.
“Not quite.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was studying Plash last night. I examined its orbit, which incidentally cannot be maintained without some kind of corrective action, but I am ignoring that for now.”
Weaver turned to Fournier, suddenly animated.
“You found something on Plash?”
“No. But I noticed something peculiar about Jötunn. Some of the clouds at the edge of Jötunn are strangely coherent.”
Abbott frowned.
“Coherent?”
Fournier projected Jötunn onto the holo and highlighted wisps of blue-white cloud on the boundary of the star.
“Some of these clouds should vent off, or be lost in coronal mass ejections, or simply flow with the solar winds around Jötunn. But they don't.”
Tyburn stepped toward the holo, frowning.
“The clouds, you mean?”
Fournier nodded.
“They float in place. They appear self-organizing or coherent in some way.”
“What does that mean?” Stone said.
Fournier shrugged.
“I don't know.”
“Is that normal?” Abbott said.
“It's the first time we've ever witnessed it as far as I'm aware.”
Stone looked uncertain.
“So the aliens are...”
Abbott looked worried.
“Clouds?”
Fournier nodded.
“Possibly.”
There was startled silence for a moment. Abbott was clearly struggling with this development. Presumably being ambassador to a bunch of clouds was not what he’d signed up for.
“The aliens are... clouds? Are they intelligent? Can we talk to them?”
Havoc smiled at Abbott getting straight down to business.
Fournier chuckled.
“I have no idea if we can communicate with them. I have no idea if they’re even alive, never mind conscious. They don't appear terribly complex, in the sense of a discernible internal structure. I doubt they are responsible for the towers we’ve detected on the surface of Plash. They are simply odd.”
Abbott muttered, apparently still preoccupied.
“How do you talk to a cloud?”
“We don’t have a lot of shared experience with gaseous clouds, in terms of common concepts. Wind, perhaps,” Touvenay said.
Whittenhorn appeared rather overwhelmed.
“Yes, well, the science team can think about that.”
Abbott gave Whittenhorn a hard stare and Whittenhorn quickly backtracked.
“Working with the diplomatic team, of course. But for now we need a way forward. There’s a lot to think about.”
“Uh huh,” Weaver said.
Whittenhorn looked vaguely paralyzed.
“Lots to think about,” he repeated.
They waited.
“Priorities, it's all about priorities,” Whittenhorn said.
People started shifting in their seats.
Havoc turned to Weaver.
“The scientific team has a plan for two exploratory shuttle flights, don’t they?”
“Yes, for the deployment of sensors. One shuttle skimming Plash’s atmosphere and the other studying the gravitational anomaly.”
Whittenhorn’s gaze darted around in frustration as Havoc turned to Yamamoto.
“And Captain Yamamoto can deploy our platforms, working with Tyburn.”
Yamamoto nodded and Tyburn signaled his agreement.
“The sooner the better.”
Whittenhorn tutted as Havoc twisted to look at Abbott.
“And Ambassador Abbott can open communication with the other ships.”
Abbott tipped his head forward, smiling at Havoc.
“Indeed.”
Whittenhorn raised his arm.
“Look, Havoc, it's fine, I can––”
Havoc turned to Whittenhorn, his face a picture of innocence.
“Yes?”
Whittenhorn paused.
“Do those things, please.”
Weaver turned to Yamamoto.
“How long before we're into orbit around Plash, in a position to launch disc six?”
“Fourteen hours.”
Bergeron turned to Le
veque.
“What about the sanity checks?”
“We'll start them now. I’ll oversee everyone but myself. We'll use the system's unadjusted rating for me. Chaucer can oversee it if you prefer.”
Tyburn nodded.
“Fine.”
Havoc noticed Darkwood in the background, listening intently as ever. Darkwood must be wondering what he'd signed up for. Havoc wondered at Darkwood’s capability level. Together with Abbott, Darkwood would be one of the most capable people on the ship. In all of Hspace, he corrected himself.
Stephanie turned to Tyburn.
“What about the person that murdered Marsac? That detonated him?”
“We’re doing all we can.”
Stephanie didn’t appear impressed with Tyburn’s response. Havoc wasn’t either.
“Care to elaborate?”
Tyburn regarded him coldly.
“I told you I'm handling it.”
Something about Tyburn irritated Havoc.
“Well handle it better, would you.”
Whittenhorn responded angrily.
“Be quiet, Mr Havoc. If we had more time, you would already have proceedings against you for your willful endangerment of the crew and your assault on an officer.”
Havoc shook his head.
“You’re welcome.”
Abbott projected the pursuing ships on the holo.
“Everyone be ready in fourteen hours. We have no idea what the prize is but make no mistake, ladies and gentlemen; we are in a race.”
35.
Havoc sat diagonally across from Leveque while he answered the questions posed by a faceless expert system. Its voice was female and pleasant. Havoc wondered if the women got asked the questions by a male voice. Toward the end of the assessment he was presented with a series of sentence fragments. In each case, he had to complete the sentence with the first thing that came into his mind.
“I worry when...”
“I find women always...”
“My father never...”
“When I wake up, I usually feel...”
He answered honestly. He had nothing to hide. Nothing worth hiding, anyway.
After the automated assessment, it was Leveque’s turn.
“The system makes the evaluation but, given my credentials, I can influence the result. Before I begin, please be aware that given the dosage we received, there is around a one in ten chance you are psychologically damaged as we speak, including a small chance of full psychosis."