“You are welcome to stay, captain,” said Rez’nac, pausing the ritual. It felt a little strange to be speaking the human language directly after chanting so much in his native tongue, but Rez’nac knew that Calvin—like most humans—was unfamiliar with the Polarian language.
“Are you sure?” asked Calvin. “I don’t want to disrupt anything.”
“You are no disruption,” said Rez’nac. “You are master of this ship and master of my destiny,” he bowed. “This ship and I both belong to you.”
Calvin seemed unsure what to say. And so Rez’nac resumed the Pon’yor, exactly where he’d left off, and Calvin watched from the side. Seeming every bit as curious and confused as he had the last time he’d witnessed the Pon’yor. Back when Rez’nac had still been of Khalahar, and his own master. Perhaps Calvin’s confusion was because the Pon’yor was performed differently when done by an individual.
Rez’nac passionately went through the motions and chants that concluded the Pon’yor and at no point did Calvin look comfortable, but to his credit the human maintained a respectful silence and Rez’nac found it easy to keep his concentration. Once the echo of the last utterance ceased and the cargohold fell silent, Rez’nac felt a sad smile spread across his face and he turned to Calvin.
“It is finished,” he said. “Thank you for indulging me.”
“No problem,” said Calvin. “You’re welcome to do whatever religious rites you want to here in the cargohold. Whatever makes you more comfortable.”
“I am grateful,” Rez’nac nodded respectfully. “And I am sorry to have kept you waiting. Is there something I may do for you?”
“I was just checking on things,” said Calvin. “I’m actually on my way to my cabin to get some rest before my next watch. But I wanted to make sure everything was going well for you.”
“That is understandable,” said Rez’nac. Remembering how he would see to the needs of those who’d belonged to him.
“So… are things going well?” asked Calvin, giving Rez’nac a probing look.
“Well is a difficult state to define,” said Rez’nac. “But things are as they should be, as the Essences desire.”
“I mean, how are things going for you in particular?” Calvin clarified. He took a few steps closer. “I know it must be hard, going through what you’ve gone through. Having to part ways with your comrades.”
It was obvious that Calvin had no idea what Rez’nac had gone through, but it was kind—in a strange, human sort of way—that he thought he did, or was at least making an effort to pretend to understand. Even though you are rakh, thought Rez’nac, you are an honorable creature in this universe. If you had been Polarian, no doubt you would have remained true to your Essence. I am quite sure you have more honor than I. But Rez’nac kept those thoughts to himself and instead decided to say, “I am what I am. I cannot say if I am well. But I can say that I am willing. Show me the way and tell me what to do, and I shall do it.”
Calvin nodded. His face seemed to change color a little. Human faces had that tendency. It was a curious attribute of the species. “If you don’t mind my asking,” said Calvin, sounding hesitant.
“You may ask anything of me at any time,” said Rez’nac. “And I shall always be glad to answer.”
“Okay…” Calvin hesitated, then spoke. “What exactly happened with Grimka?” He folded his arms, keeping his eyes locked on Rez’nac. Curiosity and confusion seemed to glisten in his very irises. “I mean… the last time I talked to you, before I went to Capital World, I gave you the evidence that implicated Grimka in the murder of Staff Sergeant Patterson. And now you’re here by yourself, without the rest of your division. What happened?” He then quickly added, “you don’t have to answer that. If you don’t want to.”
Rez’nac stared at the human, looking down at the shorter person, and searched deep within his soul. Indeed, what had happened? He remembered the events in perfect detail and yet he felt as though he didn’t understand what’d happened any better than Calvin did.
“I suppose the answer is this…” said Rez’nac, in sober reflection. “It is difficult for a father to end the life he created… Or, at least, it was so for me. And… I found myself unequal to the task.”
Calvin’s eyes filled with pity and he seemed to regret asking the question. But Rez’nac did not mind answering it. He was well aware of his shame, and its resulting consequences. It would be pointless to avoid the subject. And empty to pretend that anything other than the truth was so.
“As a result, I am unjoined. No longer of Khalahar. No longer a true Polarian,” he stated it matter-of-factly, showing none of the broken feelings that tormented him inside.
“Oh I’m sure that’s not true,” said Calvin. In a well-meaning, totally ignorant, display of human sympathy. “You’re still you. You’re every bit the hero you proved yourself to be on Remus Nine. And on top of that…” Calvin went on to tell him how strong and brave he was. Launching into a series of statements designed to reassure Rez’nac and prop him up emotionally.
It was not his place to interrupt Calvin, Rez’nac knew, nor was it his place to contradict his master or disagree. And so he listened respectfully to Calvin, knowing the human meant well, even though his words were empty, and wrong, and ignorant, and perhaps even blasphemous. But he didn’t know any better. And his culture, that of the humans, was one of constant moral encouragement, even when encouragement was undeserved. And Rez’nac had always found it interesting that, unlike the Polarians and the Rotham, the humans seemed to coddle their adults—and not just their infants—and had a strange and pervasive need to wrap their fragile emotions in a protective-tape of false compliments and insincere praise. Calvin, no doubt, was trying in his own human way to be a good person and show kindness. Rez’nac would not dishonor him and so he listened politely, neither agreeing with Calvin nor disagreeing. Eventually the human ceased his effort. Probably believing that he’d helped undo some of the shame that had befallen Rez’nac, through his positive—and entirely empty—words of encouragement.
After that, Calvin left. And Rez’nac found himself alone once more. Having completed the Pon’yor and knowing there was nothing else productive to do, Rez’nac went to the corner of the room and sat. He closed his eyes and quieted his mind, allowing himself to listen to the silence.
***
“Three. Two. One.”
Summers watched the 3d display intently, deeply concerned. Even though their scans had shown no military vessels present in the system, she couldn’t get past the nagging suspicion that the Phoenix was there. Waiting to slaughter them all. Have I ordered us all to our deaths? She wondered. Trying to play it as safe as possible, she’d ordered the White Shift back to duty. She wanted her best people on the bridge in case this proved to be an elaborate trap.
“We have returned to normal space,” said Sarah. Instantly the window filled with stars. And the 3d display showed the Nighthawk alone. “Currently five million mc’s from the Gamma Persei star.” The unassuming yellow sun could be seen out the window. A round speck about ten times brighter than any other.
“All stop,” ordered Summers.
“Answering all stop,” said Sarah.
“Mister Iwate, what do we see?”
“There are four small vessels in close orbit around the third planet from the sun,” said Shen, examining his displays. “It’s the only planet able to support life.”
“Starships?” asked Summers. Wondering why their scans hadn’t detected them until the Nighthawk was physically within the system.
“No, not starships,” said Shen. “They are very, very small craft. Looks like surface-to-orbit planetary vehicles. No alteredspace capability. The largest one is not much bigger than a gunship.”
“Are they a threat to us?” Summers folded her arms.
“No. Not even remotely.”
“Why didn’t we detect them sooner?” asked Summers.
“The vessels are in such a low orbit that they’ve act
ually entered the planet’s atmosphere,” explained Shen. “One of them is in the lower thermosphere, two are in stratosphere, and one is in the mesosphere. There is also debris on the planet surface that is of similar consistency. Their orbits have decayed and all craft are losing altitude.”
“Why have their orbits decayed?” asked Summers. Now wondering if these vessels were the source of the distress call. That would explain everything except for the fact that the distress call was sent exclusively to the Nighthawk.
“The vessels seem not to be producing any thrust and they have insufficient momentum to compensate for atmospheric drag,” said Shen.
“Begin standard approach,” said Summers, not wanting to leave the ships stranded. Even though she was still worried that this was some kind of elegant ploy, meant to lure them into the jaws of a trap. Perhaps a more dangerous ship was hiding just on the other side of the planet, or was stealthed.
“You got it,” said Sarah.
“Defense systems stand by,” said Summers as the Nighthawk changed angle and accelerated.
“Shields and weapons are at the ready,” reported Mister Donaldson from the defense post. “I can power them at a moment’s notice.”
“How’s the stealth system?”
“Active and functioning normally,” said Mister Donaldson.
“Very good, commence rescue operation,” said Summers. “But don’t drop stealth until we absolutely have to.”
“Aye, aye.”
“Mister Iwate, I want you to keep a sharp eye, if any other ships are out there—I want to know.”
“On it.”
“And Lieutenant Winters,” Summers looked at Sarah. “See if you can’t pinpoint the origin of that distress call.”
“Working on it,” said Sarah. “Its stamp indicates the third planet and the computer agrees. No surprise, I guess, since it’s the only planet in the system that can support life.”
“Is the distress call still broadcasting?” asked Summers.
“Yes, though very intermittently. I’ve been logging a signal every five or ten minutes. At first it was every few seconds.”
“The source could be running out of power,” speculated Shen. “If it’s coming from one of those planetary landers then a power-shortage could also explain why they’re not using thrusters to climb to a better orbit.
“I don’t think it’s coming from those vessels,” said Sarah. “It appears to be coming from the planet’s surface.”
“Could someone down there have survived impact?” asked Summers, thinking of the debris they’d scanned.
“Not likely,” said Shen. “Though I am detecting a grouping of artificial structures on the surface. It could be coming from there.”
“I thought you said the system was uninhabited,” said Summers.
“Well, that was according to our database,” Shen said with a shrug.
“Can we identify the colony?” asked Summers.
“It’s not really a colony. More like a forward outpost. There are several portable structures that have been set up within close proximity of each other. The objects appear to be contained within an area smaller than twenty hectares. I am detecting no electromagnetic activity consistent with known power generators. So either they’ve masked their grid or they’re not using power. It could be abandoned.”
“Who are they?” asked Summers.
“The structures are of Imperial design. Whoever set them up is either human or in business with humans,” said Shen.
“Can we contact them?”
“Unknown. Based on these readings they don’t have a transmitter switched on. Or… it’s possible that they aren’t using any kind of power, like I said.”
“You also said they could have masked their grid, do you mean they’re cloaking it somehow?” asked Summers.
“Yeah maybe,” said Shen. “It’s anyone’s guess.”
Summers nodded. She’d seen too many strange things in the galaxy to rule out the possibility they’d encountered a technology previously unheard of. “They must be using power and cloaking it,” said Summers. “How else could they be sending us a distress call?”
“It’s not them,” said Sarah. “The signal is coming from somewhere else. Almost fifty kilometers away from the colony.”
“I confirm that,” said Shen. “My scans show a faint trace of electromagnetic activity at thirty-nine point seven three degrees north by one-hundred and four point nine-eight degrees west, using standard mapping protocol.”
“My readings agree, the distress call is coming from there,” said Sarah.
“It looks to be some fairly rugged terrain. Mountainous and forested,” said Shen. “Apparently whoever is broadcasting the distress call left the colony and ventured out into the wild.”
“Why would they do that?” asked Summers, perplexed. “What did they possibly hope to find in the wild that wasn’t already available at the colony? Did they run out of food and water? It’s not like there would be any help out there.”
“Who knows,” said Shen.
There was definitely something strange going on, they all sensed it.
“We’re now entering the thermosphere,” reported Sarah. “Three of the four orbiting vessels have lost too much altitude for the Nighthawk to safely retrieve them, but we can get to one of them.”
“Proceed,” said Summers.
“Aye, aye. Entering orbit and beginning gradual descent. We will overtake the target vessel in three minutes.” The planet was now dominantly visible out the window. Like most habitable planets it was a blend of color, mostly white and blue. It looked beautiful and perhaps deceptively serene.
Summers tapped her direct line to HQ. “Mister Pellew.”
“Pellew here. What can I do for you, Commander?”
“We’re about to dock with an orbital landing craft. I want you to take one of your operational detachments and some medical and engineering staff and board the vessel. It is in a decayed orbit with no active systems so plan accordingly.”
“Understood. How much time do I have?”
“We’ll latch onto the craft in just under three minutes. After that you’re clear to breach whenever you’re ready.”
“Very good. Are we capturing the ship or just taking prisoners?” asked Pellew.
“Hopefully neither. For now survey the ship and see what we find. If you’re able to restore power to the systems please do so. If you find anyone, render what assistance you can.”
“But… you’re guessing the crew is dead, am I right?”
Summers frowned. “All I know is, the life-support systems seem not to be functioning.”
“Roger,” said Pellew. “And if we manage to restore the craft’s systems, what then?”
“You will be given coordinates to a distress call on the surface. Please investigate and inform.”
“Understood. Pellew out.”
Chapter 22
Once the jetway was attached and pressurized, they were able to force open the planetary lander’s main hatch and board the tiny vessel. Pellew went first. He felt encumbered by the full-body climate suit he wore—the same one that’d protected him on Remus Nine—as he slipped through the jetway and floated down into the black recess of the planetary lander.
He tapped his mask and his infrared goggles switched on. The lime green image revealed that he was in what appeared to be the main passenger compartment. It looked upside down. There was a narrow corridor in between rows of seats, no passengers or corpses were anywhere to be seen. At stern there was a sealed compartment and at bow there was a large cabin door that was partially open. Pellew floated over to the door, pushing off the seats to propel himself the right direction. Others of his team came aboard. Weapons at the ready, infrared goggles on, they floated, using mostly their legs to push off of objects when necessary.
“Search and secure the area,” Pellew ordered. He let go of his weapon for a moment, allowing it to float next to him, as he pushed on the door. Trying to sli
de it farther open so he could slip through. He had to steady his feet against the nearby bulkhead but, after some effort, he succeeded in moving the door a few inches. Enough to get through, climate suit and all.
“That should do it,” said Pellew. “Emmett, see if you can unseal that compartment at aft. Nassar, you’re with me.”
“Yes sir.”
Pellew grabbed his rifle and pulled himself through the opening. Nassar followed closely behind. On the other side of the door was a very small control section of the planetary lander, it was more of a cockpit than a bridge. Room for two pilots and a half dozen computer terminals. It was so small Nassar nearly bumped into him as he floated past, toward the window.
“Let’s see if we can squeeze some life out of these systems,” said Pellew. He grabbed the pilot’s chair just above him and used it to flip his body the right direction so he no longer felt upside-down. “That’s better,” he said, he positioned himself in the chair and strapped in.
From there he was able to adjust the controls and attempt to bring the main systems online. Knowing that the odds were against him—why else would the crew have abandoned the vessel?
He activated the computer. To his surprise, the systems came back to life with a hum. Including artificial gravity, causing Nassar to drop like a stone to the deck. “Well I’ll be damned,” said Pellew. “That wasn’t so hard.” He checked over the systems, everything appeared to be working. Life support was restored, even the thrusters were immediately responsive.
He switched off his helmet’s mic and activated the landing craft’s communication system. “Pellew to Nighthawk, do you copy?”
“Loud and clear,” came the reply. The feminine voice on the other end belonged to the pretty woman who piloted the ship. What’s her name? Sarah, yes, that’s it. “Summers wants a status report,” Sarah added.
“The vessel is secure and we’ve found nobody aboard,” said Pellew “On top of that, all systems appear completely functional. I’m guessing these landers were abandoned recently, and that their orbits were purposely set to decay within a matter of hours. Whoever left them here wanted them to crash.”
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