by Linn Schwab
“It’s just a nickname,” Jensen explained. “We don’t know what its real name is, or even if it has a name. When it first showed up here, someone named it Tag–along because it always remained at the Livingstone’s side. Later on, people started to call it Little Friend because it sometimes shines a spotlight on the Livingstone’s hull to show us where external repairs are needed.”
“Umm,” one of the boys interrupted, “I thought you just said you can’t communicate with it.”
“We can’t,” Jensen said with a shrug.
The boy seemed puzzled by his response. “If you can’t communicate with it, then how do you get it to shine a spotlight?”
“We don’t,” Jensen said. “It just does it on its own. Must have been a feature of its original programming. Now everyone sit down and strap yourselves in. Docking can sometimes be a little bumpy.”
The students returned to the shuttle’s rear cabin while Jensen began the docking procedure. When it was over, he shut the engines off and opened the Livingstone’s airlock door.
“We’ll start out with a tour of the ship,” he said. “Then we’ll come back later and unload the shuttle. Stay right behind me, and don’t wander off. And don’t touch anything I don’t tell you to.”
* * * *
Foster stood at the forward windows looking out at the glow of a bluish–green planet, in a solar system far removed from his home. After two years of seemingly interminable space travel, the ESS Marco Polo was finally drawing near to its destination. Beside him, the ship’s captain, Christopher Reed, let out a spontaneous exclamatory whistle. “Would you look at that!” Captain Reed remarked. “This planet makes Earth look like a burned out light bulb.”
Foster found himself nodding in agreement. “Might be the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.” Peeling his eyes away from the planet, he glanced around at some of the crew on the bridge. All of them seemed mesmerized by the view, as if some sort of hypnotic effect had taken hold. “Captain,” he said, giving him a nudge with his elbow.
The captain looked over his shoulder at his crew, and picked up on Foster’s concern right away. “Mind your stations, everyone!” he said. “Let’s not get drawn in like a moth to a flame. Matheson, check your readings and tell me what you see in orbit.”
The crewman quickly looked over his instruments. “They don’t seem to have much of a space program, Captain. I see maybe half a dozen small satellites, and one very large spaceship.”
“The Livingstone?” Captain Reed asked him.
Matheson nodded and pointed toward the windows. The Livingstone was just now coming into view.
“Incredible!” one of the officers exclaimed as he soaked up the ship’s details with his eyes. “Three hundred years old, and it still looks brand new. Almost looks like it could’ve left Earth yesterday.”
“Any activity on that ship?” the captain asked.
“Not much,” Matheson replied. “It seems pretty quiet. Probably just running basic life support systems.”
The captain seemed satisfied with the answer and issued an order to his helmsman. “Maintain a safe operating distance from that ship, and take us into orbit above one of the larger continents. Somers,” he said to his communications officer, “start trying to make contact with someone on the ground. Inform them we’re carrying a delegation from Earth, and ask if they’ll agree to a preliminary meeting.”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Mr. Demming,” the captain said, beckoning to Foster, “I believe we have some business to discuss.” The two of them left the bridge together and walked to a nearby conference room.
Captain Reed took a seat at the table and invited Foster to do the same. “So,” he said, “at long last, the moment of truth has finally arrived. Tell me, Mr. Demming, now that we’re here, are you still intent on doing this your way?”
Foster looked the captain in the eyes and nodded, making certain that his posture exuded confidence. “Of course. There’s a reason I was chosen for this assignment, Captain. I’m very good at what I do.” He could tell the captain had misgivings just by reading the look in his eyes. Years of experience in high stakes negotiations had made him an expert in analyzing body language.
“Just so we have a clear understanding,” the captain said, “you’re not the only one here who was specifically chosen for this assignment. And the longer it takes you to complete your task, the more difficult it may make things for the rest of us, in the event that our participation should prove necessary.” He reached for a large envelope on the tabletop and pushed it forward until it lay in front of Foster. “In the interest of expediting these proceedings, I strongly urge you to reconsider taking this along with you.”
Foster eyed the envelope with disinterest. He knew exactly what it contained — an official document of last resort which the two of them often referred to as ‘the artillery.’
“Captain Reed,” he said, “I believe we’ve already discussed this matter. In potentially delicate situations such as this, it’s unadvisable to lead with such a heavy–handed tactic.”
“I’m not suggesting you lead with it. I just don’t see the harm in having it with you in case you need to fall back on it.”
Foster placed his hand on the envelope and pushed it back to the center of the table. “It’s just as useful right here as it would be in my briefcase. It’s not as if there’s any point in asking them to sign it.”
The captain looked down at the envelope and frowned. He was clearly unhappy with the situation. “I just think it might carry a little more weight if you were to present it to them in person.”
“You may be right,” Foster admitted. “Believe me, I do see the merit in your argument. But I’m more concerned with earning their trust and establishing a favorable rapport at this point. So when I open my briefcase and present them with documents, I don’t want them to suspect I’m holding something back.”
The captain seemed somewhat bemused by his disclosure. “So you’re planning to just lay everything out on the table? Is that how you normally begin negotiations?”
Foster took the captain’s words as a challenge. He’s questioning my negotiating skills, he realized, and decided it was prudent to set the captain straight. “There’s nothing wrong with establishing a firm point from which to start. It often shows that your position has been thoroughly considered.”
The captain shook his head and sat back in his chair. “Positions are exactly what concern me, Mr. Demming. You do realize that every minute these negotiations drag on is another minute these people gain to make preparations. I’d feel much better if my men were already on the ground before your talks have a chance to go sour on you.”
Foster glanced down at the envelope again and reminded himself of the ship’s true disposition. Outwardly, the Marco Polo was a research vessel, ostensibly on a diplomatic mission of discovery. But its visible features were nothing less than misleading. Last resort, he thought, vowing not to reach for the envelope.
“Alright,” the captain said, “so we’re at an impasse here. And my instructions are to defer to your judgement in this matter. I am curious, though, why you were selected for this mission. I understand you have some backing from Practical Solutions. Just what exactly is your relationship with them?”
“I work as an attorney on permanent retainer. I’ve been negotiating contracts on their behalf for several years now. Why do you ask? Does it bother you that I work for Practical Solutions?”
The captain answered with a single shake of his head. “Who you work for makes no difference to me. I’m just hoping you can clue me in on something.”
“And what would that be?” Foster asked.
Captain Reed paused to consider his line of questioning. “You’re out here to negotiate something, right? A treaty, a contract, whatever it may be. I’m out here because the CEO of your company named this planet a possible threat. Unfortunately, upon expressing his concern in this matter, and arranging for a special s
enate subcommittee hearing, he managed to get himself killed in a plane crash, along with the company’s senior vice president ... without revealing to anyone what the nature of this alleged threat actually is. Do you understand my predicament, Mr. Demming? The predicament the senate subcommittee was faced with when they voted to authorize funding for this mission?”
“I do indeed,” Foster replied. “I was actually present in the subcommittee chamber when news of the plane crash was first announced. Chairman Ross had requested that I attend the hearing. In fact, the only reason I’m still alive is because I was on assignment in Atlanta at the time, and had to make separate travel arrangements. Otherwise...” He elected not to finish the thought.
The captain gave a solemn nod of understanding. “And Chairman Ross made no mention of this threat to you? No details at all that you can share with me?”
Foster glumly shook his head. “And any evidence he might have had in his possession burned up when the corporate jet went down. We went through his files and communications, and interviewed everyone he made contact with. He just didn’t leave us anything to go on. I’m afraid I’m just as much in the dark as you are.”
“Did you know him well?” Captain Reed inquired.
“Of course. I considered him a friend as well as a colleague.”
“And what do you make of this claim of his? Are you convinced we have reasonable cause for concern, or did we fly all the way out here on an interstellar snipe hunt?”
A smirk of uncertainty appeared on Foster’s face as he mulled over what he should say in response. “I’ll tell you what I believe, Captain,” he said, “...just based on what I witnessed in that subcommittee hearing. I’m convinced this mission would have been approved anyway, regardless of whatever Chairman Ross had to say. You should have seen the looks on those senators’ faces when I showed them that picture our probe sent back. Believe me, Captain, they want this planet. You could just see the lust for control in their eyes. If you ask me, this whole story of a threat was just a ruse to justify sending a ship out here. And Chairman Ross — as much as it pains me to say it — may have been thinking along similar lines. He may have seen this as a means of saving the company. It’s no secret we were in dire straights at the time.”
The captain let out a laugh of disgust. “I should have known there were ulterior motives behind this. That always seems to be the case in these situations. Thank you for your insights, Mr. Demming. Let’s hope your suspicion turns out to be correct.” He reached forward and tapped his fingers on the envelope. “The artillery will still be here if you need it.”
* * * *
Jensen stood on the bridge of the Livingstone with his mouth hanging open in disbelief. The eight students in his charge were gathered around him, staring out at a ship from a distant world. As it passed in front of them and settled into orbit, they couldn’t help but feel deeply conflicted by its presence. There was a heightened sense of wonder and excitement inside them, intermixed with a host of deep concerns. Why was the ship here? How had it found them? And what were the occupants’ intentions? Jensen felt his hand twitching nervously as he reached for the nearest radio transmitter.
“Umm ... Control?” he stammered into the microphone. “We’ve got company up here.”
“We know. They just made contact with us. They’re asking us if they can send a delegation down.”
“Do you think we should abort our stay up here?”
“That’s your call, Dr. Jensen. So far there doesn’t seem to be any cause for concern. Just let us know what your decision is.”
Jensen looked from one student to the next, searching for any signs of unease in their expressions. “What do you kids think? Should we stay or go back?” There appeared to be some indecision at first, but after a brief discussion, they elected not to leave and abandon their highly prized opportunity. Jensen reached for the microphone again. “Control,” he said. “Looks like we’re staying.”
* * * *
When Captain Reed and Foster exited the conference room, the officer named Somers hurried forward to meet them.
“Did you make contact with anyone?” Captain Reed asked him.
“Yes, sir,” Somers answered. “Everything’s set. They’ve agreed to a meeting with Mr. Demming and are standing by to receive his shuttle.”
“Good,” the captain said. “That didn’t take long. Did they have any landing instructions for us?”
Somers nodded. “I already handed them over to Fletcher. He’s going to be flying the shuttle down, right?”
“Fletcher and Vought,” the captain confirmed. “Unless Mr. Demming has any objections.”
Foster pictured the two men in his head. After spending two years aboard the Marco Polo, he was familiar with all of its personnel, and had developed a keen understanding of their personalities. “I have no objections to Fletcher and Vought,” he said. “As long as they both remain with the shuttle while I’m away.”
“I’ll see that they do,” the captain assured him.
“Somers,” Foster said, “the people you spoke with. Did they seem nervous at all to you?”
“Very nervous,” Somers confirmed. “I’d say we took them completely by surprise.”
Foster nodded. “That’s good to know. Did they give you any indication who I’m going to be speaking with?”
“Yes. If I understood them correctly, their governing body is known as the Administrative Council, and is made up of eighteen council members, elected by various geographical regions. The leader of this body holds the title of Chief Administrator — a position which is awarded on a biannual basis by popular vote among the council members. The current Chief Administrator is a woman named Valerie Maris. That’s who you’re going to be speaking with, along with a few of her personal advisors, and another council member who just happened to be close at hand. The other council members are presently back in their home districts.”
“Wow,” Foster remarked. “Straight to the top. I wasn’t quite expecting that kind of reception.”
Captain Reed grinned and nodded in approval. “Sounds like a very simple form of government. I’m beginning to envy these people already. Thank you, Somers. Tell Vought and Fletcher to meet us at the shuttle.”
“Yes, sir.”
The captain gestured toward the ship’s docking bay and started heading in that direction. As soon as Foster turned to follow, he heard the sound of someone running toward him. Two someones, in fact — a man and a woman, neither of whom seemed well suited to running. The man was a lanky, middle–aged scientist whose feet slapped the floor like oversized snowshoes — the woman, a geeky, short petite blonde, whose figure seemed more curvaceous than athletic. They slowed to a brisk walk when they spotted Captain Reed, and struggled to catch their breath as they approached him.
“Ahh, Doctors Brown and Blue,” the captain greeted them. “Have you come to see Mr. Demming off?”
“Hardly,” the lanky scientist replied. “We want to go with him down to the planet.”
Foster didn’t care much for the nicknames Brown and Blue, though everyone else on the ship used them when addressing the scientists. From what he’d heard, the gibe was based on the color of their eyes, which ostensibly had some bearing on their selection for this mission, though the exact details remained unknown to him. For their part, the two scientists showed only mild irritation, responding to the nicknames with subtle groans and eye rolls. When Foster had any interaction with them, though, he addressed them cordially, and by their real names: Doctors Walter Friedman and Juliet Klein. Both of them were well respected among their peers, and had earned multiple degrees in the hard sciences. Other than himself, they were the only true civilians on the ship, though much effort had been put into concealing that from them. In fact, the only reason they’d been allowed to come along was to fend off accusations of a government cover–up by showcasing the inclusion of actual scientists. There were, of course, demands by the scientific community that more of their n
umber should be included. But in the end, only two such positions were approved, and Doctors Friedman and Klein had been selected by consensus.
“Out of the question,” the captain told them. “I’m afraid you’ll both have to sit this one out.”
“But why?” Dr. Klein protested. “There are plenty of extra seats on the shuttle.”
“There are indeed,” the captain agreed, “and if I had any say in the matter, my survey crew would be flying down as well.”
Dr. Friedman shook his head and responded sarcastically, “That’s just what we need in this situation. A bunch of jarheads running amuk down there while the rest of us are trying to win these people over.”
“Jarheads?” the captain said, feigning ignorance.
“Oh, don’t give me that crap,” Dr. Friedman said. “You’re not fooling anyone, Captain. I’ve never seen a survey crew with so many Marine Corps tattoos in my life.”
Foster had to fight back a sudden urge to laugh. The captain somehow managed to keep a straight face. Dr. Klein appeared to be losing her patience. “Captain Reed,” she insisted, “we really need to be a part of these negotiations.”
“I fail to see why,” the captain told her. “This is Mr. Demming’s specialty. I don’t recall him demanding to meddle in your work. Why should I allow you to interfere in his?”
The two scientists exchanged a brief glance with each other, then Friedman reluctantly offered up an explanation. “Look,” he said, “our research has come up empty out here. We aren’t going to learn anything conclusive unless we can speak with someone on the planet.”
“Your research,” Captain Reed insisted, “was supposed to involve studying the light of this sun. We’ve been in this solar system for the better part of a year now. What can these people tell you that you don’t already know, and why the hell is it so important that it can’t wait until after these proceedings are over?”
Dr. Klein pursed her lips and nodded. “Yes,” she confirmed, “our research was focused on the light of this sun. But it isn’t just the sun we were interested in. We were hoping to find evidence of something ... somewhat unrelated.”