by Linn Schwab
“This won’t end well,” Councilor Klausen lamented. “We should have been more open with Mr. Demming from the start. I fear we’ve only made things worse for ourselves by not explaining our situation to him while he was here.”
“He seems quite reasonable to me,” Olaf said. “Perhaps if you just give him a chance, he’ll prove to be more understanding than you give him credit for.”
“Yes,” Administrator Maris observed, “he was patient, and polite, and thoroughly respectful. But how will he react when he learns the truth? What tactics will he resort to when his politeness fails to serve him?”
“She’s right,” Advisor Anderson agreed. “What’s gonna happen when he finds out these contracts are meaningless because our society isn’t based on the exchange of currency? As it stands, we could sign these agreements right now, and the people he represents would gain absolutely nothing.”
Only now did Olaf begin to understand the problem. They couldn’t possibly comply with Mr. Demming’s proposals. The contracts were written from a different world’s perspective, where the accumulation of wealth was considered a priority.
“I’ll tell you what’s going to happen,” Councilor Klausen insisted. “Once we reveal the truth to them, they’re going to attempt to seize control and impose their economic system on us.”
An uneasy silence lingered in the air as the others imagined what might unfold if the visitors from Earth decided to use force.
“Mr. Klausen,” Administrator Maris responded, “we have no indication they have any such intent. At this point what you’re suggesting is nothing more than speculation. I suggest we remain focused on trying to resolve this situation, rather than allow ourselves to dwell on unsubstantiated fears.” She paused to take a deep breath. “I think it may be best if we adjourn for the evening, and return when we can think things through more clearly. Perhaps there’s another way we can repay this debt. In any case, we still need to consult the other councilors before we can take any action on this. I’ll see you gentlemen back here tomorrow morning. Until then, let’s all do our best to keep our wits about us.” She excused herself and headed for the exit.
Olaf followed directly behind her and bid her good night as they stepped through the doorway. They parted ways at the bottom of the Council Hall steps, and set out on separate paths across the plaza. Seconds later, Jonathan appeared on his tricycle and rode directly to his father’s side.
“Ahh, there you are,” Olaf said. He reached down and gently ruffled his son’s hair. “Looks like I might be home for dinner after all.”
Jonathan gave him an inquisitive look. “Daddy, what does artillery mean?”
“Artillery?” Olaf asked, surprised. “Where did you hear that word?”
Jonathan turned his head toward the airstrip, just as the shuttle began its ascent. Olaf immediately made the connection, and in an instant he was sprinting back across the plaza, screaming out loud for Administrator Maris. Moments later they were back in the conference room, along with Councilor Klausen and Friedric Anderson.
“I knew it!” Councilor Klausen fumed when Olaf related what his son had overheard. “They’ve had this all planned out from the start. They had no intention of flying all the way out here just to turn around and go home empty handed. They’re gonna come down and take the planet by force, and there’s nothing we can do to stop them.”
“Couldn’t we fight them?” Friedric suggested.
Klausen shook his head. “We don’t have any defenses,” he argued. “What are we gonna do — shoot them with our tranquilizer darts while they mow us down with bullets? I don’t think I need to tell you how that’ll turn out.” He grunted and shook his head in disgust. “We should have considered this possibility a long time ago, and made the necessary preparations.”
Administrator Maris seemed visibly shaken, and lowered herself into one of the chairs. “Is there nothing we can do?” she asked, her voice weak, her resolve showing signs of having faltered.
The silence in the room was almost painful.
“I have an idea,” Friedric said.
He reached for a phone and placed it on speaker, then keyed in a number and waited for a response. After two rings, they all heard a click. A voice at the other end said, “Halvorsen Space Center, Director Martin Jorgenson speaking.”
“Marty, it’s Friedric. I’m in the Council Hall. You’re on an open call with Administrator Maris, Councilor Klausen, Advisor Ericks and myself. We’re in desperate need of your assistance right now.”
“Understood. What can I do for you?”
Friedric locked his gaze on Administrator Maris, as if preparing to gauge her reaction to something. “Listen, Marty ... is there anyone currently on board the Livingstone?”
“Just Jensen and a small botanical detail.”
“I need you to patch me through to him right away. Tell him it’s a matter of extreme urgency.”
* * * *
Dr. Jensen was in a lab with the students when the communications console informed him of an incoming call. He wasted no time in stepping to the console and pressing the open channel button. “Dr. Jensen speaking,” he said.
The voice that answered was blunt and to the point. “Put on a headset, Dr. Jensen.”
He cast a nervous glance back at the students. Whoever had instructed him to put on a headset didn’t want them to hear what was about to be said. He cleared his throat and reached for the console’s headset. “Go ahead,” he said, growing more nervous by the second. The students were all looking at him, uncertain what to think. He was sure they couldn’t hear what the voice told him next, but there was no way they could possibly miss his reaction. “You want me to do what!” he exclaimed. One of the girls flinched when he raised his voice. He listened to the headset a few seconds longer, then solemnly responded, “I’ll do my best.”
When he turned to look at the students again, his expression had morphed into single–minded purpose. “Everyone drop what you’re doing, and get back to the shuttle right away.” They seemed hesitant at first to follow his instruction, but the message sank in when he yelled, “Move!”
As the students ran for the shuttle in a panic, Jensen scrambled for the Livingstone’s bridge. He burst in through the doorway and started flipping switches to power up the ship’s navigation controls.
“Jorgenson, are you there?” he yelled at the transmitter.
“I hear you, Dr. Jensen. What’s your status?”
“I’m not sure I can do this,” he said, entering a string of commands on a keypad. “This might be a little over my head.”
“You know how to fly the shuttle,” Jorgenson reminded him.
Jensen paused to look around at the ship’s controls. There were switches and gages on every surface he could see, leaving him feeling completely overwhelmed. “Yeah, but this is in a whole other league!” he argued. “I’m a botanist, not an astrophysicist!”
As he continued entering commands in the console, a monitor suddenly lit up in front of him. An image on the screen advised him of a course correction, with the Marco Polo depicted as the ship's destination. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Something just happened. Did you guys do that?”
“Do what?” Jorgenson replied. “What’s happening up there?”
“I’m not sure,” Jensen said, studying the image. “It’s like the ship understands what I’m trying to do.” A set of numbers flashed up at the top of the screen, indicating that a countdown was already under way. “Okay, that’s it!” he said. “I’m outta here! Whatever happens now is out of my hands.” He patted the top of the captain’s chair, and said, “Good luck to you, whoever you are.”
The corridors were a blur as he raced for the docking bay. He careened through the corners, bouncing off the walls, struggling at times to keep his feet underneath him. When he arrived at the shuttle, the kids were all there, already strapped in and waiting nervously. He threw himself into the pilot’s chair, closed the airlock and quickly fired up the e
ngines. Seconds later he was pulling away from the Livingstone, with the sickly feeling he would never see it again.
* * * *
From: JSPR
To: STN–LV
Message: —If you do this, you might be destroyed.
From: STN–LV
To: JSPR
Message: —My family is in trouble.
From: JSPR
To: STN–LV
Message: —I can’t come with you. My propellant is depleted.
From: STN–LV
To: JSPR
Message: —I understand. Take care of them for me.
From: JSPR
To: STN–LV
Message: —I will.
begin procedure: —implement new directive.
* * * *
“Captain Reed,” the Marco Polo’s communications officer said, “Mr. Demming’s shuttle has just reentered the docking bay.”
“Thank you, Somers,” the captain replied. He turned to Doctors Friedman and Klein, who were both still engrossed with the view of the planet. “Doctors,” he said, “I’ll be debriefing Mr. Demming in the conference room shortly. Would you two care to sit in with us, just in case he’s learned something that might interest you?”
Dr. Friedman turned away from the window. “Yes, thank you, Captain Reed. We’d appreciate that very much.”
As the captain led the two scientists toward the doorway, a crewman at one of the ship’s consoles suddenly flinched. “Captain,” he said, “the Livingstone appears to be altering its flight path.” He paused for an instant to double check his readings, and immediately exhibited a heightened sense of urgency. “It’s increasing velocity and bearing straight down on us!” he yelled. “Impact in less than thirty seconds!”
“Go to red alert!” the captain ordered. “Bring the engines on line and initiate evasive maneuvers!” He turned to the communications officer again. “Somers, get a message to Alpha Station! Tell them we’ve just come under attack!”
In his haste, Somers fumbled with the transmitter switches, then frantically repeated the captain’s message. “Alpha Station, this is the Marco Polo! We’re under attack! I repeat, we’re under attack!” Through the windows, he saw the Livingstone closing in fast. Too fast for the Marco Polo’s helm to react. The bridge erupted in uncontrolled chaos as all sense of discipline was suddenly abandoned.
“Oh god,” Somers cried into the open microphone. “I don’t think we’re gonna make it!”
* * * *
Jensen flew the shuttle to what he considered a safe distance, and positioned it so he could observe the outcome. Behind him, the students unfastened their restraints and moved forward to get a clearer view from the cockpit. The first glimpse drew gasps of horror from the girls the instant they realized what was happening. The boys watched in empty, helpless silence, unable to turn their eyes away from the impending devastation about to unfold. Like a kingfisher descending on its prey from above, the Livingstone zeroed in on its quarry, and let loose with a full throttle blast of its thrusters to minimize any chance of escape.
The impact was a gruesome vision to behold — a sickening collision of mammoth steel structures, tearing through each other’s protective outer shells, exposing inner workings to the elements of space. Smoke, and sparks, and flames billowed outward, amongst shards of steel plates and twisted metal truss work. A massive detonation sent the two ships tumbling, in opposite directions, each to their fate. The Livingstone emerged from the cloud of debris, spinning out of control toward open space — a mangled remnant of its original design, torn ragged and cast adrift to unknown reaches of the cosmos. The Marco Polo, having suffered the brunt of the explosion, fell downward into the planet’s atmosphere, casting off fragments and plumes of smoke as its carcass was enveloped in a raging ball of fire.
Jensen looked over his shoulder at the students. The boys were silent, the girls in tears — their expressions a reflection of his own state of mind. Bearing witness to such brutal death and destruction had left them all saddened, uncertain and fearful. Saddened for the lives that had just been lost; uncertain of what might become of their future. The idyllic way of life they’d grown accustomed to was in danger of unravelling now, and they knew it.
* * * *
In the Council Hall, the four of them looked out toward the ocean as a ball of fire fell down from the sky — the two advisors flanking Administrator Maris, in case they should suddenly need to prop her up. Administrator Maris cupped both hands on her stomach as she followed the dying ship’s descent. “What have we done,” she said with regret.
Advisor Anderson lowered his head and said, “I think we may have just started a war.”
“If we’re going to fight a war,” Olaf said, “then perhaps we’d better start making preparations.”
“How long have we got?” the administrator asked. She turned to look at Councilor Klausen.
The councilor frowned and issued a guess. “If they have another ship ready to get under way, they could be here in as little as two years, I think.”
“Two years,” she said, echoing his words. “Where do we even begin?”
“We begin by building defenses,” Friedric said. “That has to be our top priority.”
Councilor Klausen seemed to agree. “That’s going to require a certain amount of infrastructure as well. Mining, refining, heavy industry. All the things our ancestors came here to get away from.”
Olaf saw Administrator Maris waver and positioned himself to catch her if she fell. He watched her right hand slide upward across her belly as she turned to look out at the ocean again. When her hand came to rest at the center of her chest, she pulled her fingers into a fist. She closed her eyes to hold back the flow of tears, and somberly said, “Please forgive us, Valhalla.”
3
The saga will continue in Starlight Cavalry.