The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  In the next room, a series of massive machines rose from the floor in orderly rows. Falken read from a peeling sticker on the side of one of the machines, but it was just a cautionary note, and gave no clue as to the machines’ purpose.

  At the end of the room, the last bulkhead was open, but pitch black – the glow panels ended in the machine room, and did not continue on. Falken and Weaver stuck their heads through the bulkhead, trying to see into the room.

  “The floor’s metal grating,” Weaver noted, pointing down. “And there are hand rails. Looks like some kind of elevated walkway.”

  “It feels more open,” Falken said. “I dunno why, but it just feels like a big open space.” He whistled loudly, startling Weaver. “Sorry.”

  The whistle echoed several times in the dark.

  “It is big,” Falken said, his voice hushed. “We’ve gotta be close to the back of the ship.”

  “The stern,” Weaver corrected him.

  “Right. Maybe this is some kind of cargo hold?”

  “Maybe. Let’s try and find a flashlight,” Weaver suggested. They doubled back, and searched the machine room and the hydroponic garden for anything that might light their way, opening cabinets and drawers. Weaver found a bag of tools under a desk in the machine room, and they sorted through it eagerly, but it just held an assortment of wrenches and screwdrivers, nothing electronic. Falken tried prying one of the glow panels up from the floor in the machine room, but his knife was too wide to fit in the crack between tiles.

  “Shit,” he said, sheathing his knife again. He stood and walked back to the hatch. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Weaver said. “Scares the crap out of me to just walk in there, in the dark. What if we lose sight of the door?”

  Falken shuddered at the thought of being lost inside the ship, wandering aimlessly in the dark. “Let’s just go in a few paces,” he decided. “We’ll stop as soon as the door starts to be hard to see.”

  “Okay,” Weaver said.

  Falken stepped carefully through the door, and grasped the handrail in his right hand. He shuffled forward a few steps. His bulk blocked most of the light from the door – he could barely see the metal grating between his feet. He walked another pace, and then glanced back. Weaver stood behind him, smiling nervously.

  “Okay?” Weaver asked.

  “Yeah,” Falken said. “I already can’t see shit.”

  “Yeah, my eyes aren’t adjusting at all,” Weaver agreed. “There’s no light at all down here.”

  Falken took three more steps. The metal seemed to sway slightly when he moved – he tightened his grip on the handrail. Another glance over his shoulder showed him Weaver, close behind, and farther back, the dim glow of the door.

  Falken took another step, and when he brought his foot down, it passed straight through where the floor should have been. With a frightened yell, he fell.

  “Oh, shit! Falken!”

  There was an ominous silence.

  “Falken?” Weaver asked.

  “I’m here,” Falken grunted. “Hanging onto the handrail. I’m slipping.”

  “Hang on!” Weaver said.

  Falken saw a dark form kneel at the edge of the hole, and then he felt Weaver’s hands on his shirt. Falken could feel the metal handrail sliding slowly through his weakening grip. The bookkeeper grabbed Falken’s shirt, and pulled him back toward the walkway. Falken felt the rough metal bump against his chest. He was panting, sweating with the effort of holding on, focusing all of his energy into his fingers.

  Don’t. Let. Go.

  Weaver grabbed him under the armpits and tugged. “Too heavy,” Weaver groaned.

  Falken’s left hand slipped off the rail, but Weaver’s grip held him close to the walkway. He reached out, desperately, and found the walkway with his left hand, and managed to take hold of the grating between his fingers.

  “Pull,” Falken said.

  “Trying,” Weaver replied.

  Falken winced, hauling upward with his right arm, and he felt Weaver lean backward, using his weight to lever Falken up toward the walkway. One more concerted effort, and his torso was lying across the grating. He caught his breath for a second, and then pushed himself all the way up, pulling his legs onto the walkway behind him. Gasping, he collapsed onto his back, lying next to Weaver.

  “Thanks,” he managed, patting the bookkeeper on the arm in the dark.

  “Jesus, you’re heavy,” Weaver replied.

  “I’m getting real tired of falling through shit today,” Falken said.

  After another minute, they stood up again, carefully. Weaver peered into the darkness.

  “Feels like the walkway was broken here,” Weaver said. “Like a section fell out or something. Do you think the walkway continues on the far side of the gap?”

  Falken took hold of the hand rail and leaned out over the gap, feeling with his free hand.

  “I think so,” he said. “The hand rail keeps going on both sides, so it feels like it’s just a section of walkway that’s missing.”

  “Can we cross?” Weaver asked.

  “Not easily,” Falken said. “We might be able to climb on the handrail, if it holds our weight. It’s a long way to try to jump.”

  “That’s not very promising,” Weaver said. “Did you feel anything below you?”

  “No,” Falken said. “I don’t know how far the drop is, or what’s down there, but I think we’re at least a story up.”

  “No way down, no easy way forward,” Weaver said. “I guess we’re done exploring.”

  They headed back to the bridge, stopping on the way to pick up the bag of tools they had found. Ngobe and Saltari were waiting for them in the crew lounge.

  “Well?” Ngobe asked. “Find anything interesting?”

  Falken shrugged, and set the tools on the table. “These. A lot of dead plants and some equally dead machines. There’s a cargo hold or something back there, but it’s not lit, and the walkway’s falling apart. We need to come back with torches and rope.”

  “Dead plants?” Saltari asked.

  “A hydroponics room,” Weaver explained.

  “Really? That could be interesting,” Saltari said.

  “What did you guys find? Anything else useful on the computer?” Falken asked.

  “There’s no backup transmitter,” Ngobe said. He held up a thick binder. “But I found the Khonsu’s master manual at the captain’s station. Blueprints, schematic diagrams, spare parts inventory … it’s all in here. If there’s a way to build a new long-range transmitter, this book will show us how.”

  “Great,” Weaver said. “What are we waiting for?”

  Ngobe and Saltari shared a look. “We think we should get back to the colony,” Saltari said. “All of us.”

  “You want to leave? But we just found the ship,” Weaver protested.

  “… and we need to tell Mayor Luo what we’ve found,” Ngobe said. “And I suspect he will want to keep it a secret as long as possible. If we’re gone too long, or some of us stay here, folks are going to start asking questions.”

  “Maybe I could stay, and continue exploring the ship—” Falken began.

  “No,” Saltari interrupted him, shaking his head. “This discovery has the potential to completely unravel our little community, if we’re not careful. Not to mention what might happen if Archos and his men find out about it.”

  Chapter 23

  Falken watched as the inmate behind the counter ladled a half serving of soup into his bowl, and then placed a small roll on his tray. The soup was a thin broth – he could see a few kernels of corn and a lone chunk of potato floating in it, but little else. Falken frowned, but picked up the tray without complaint. He crossed the Great Hall, taking a seat across from Weaver.

  “Done already?” Falken asked, looking at his friend’s empty bowl.

  “My stomach’s still killing me,” Weaver complained. “It’s just enough food to make you even hungrier, and then you’re d
one.”

  Falken tore his bread in half, placing one half on Weaver’s tray. “Here. They gave me two by accident,” he lied.

  “No they didn’t,” Weaver said.

  “They did,” Falken insisted. “I already ate the other one, before anyone could see.”

  “I’m not eating your bread, Falken,” Weaver said, pushing the roll back onto Falken’s tray.

  Falken considered arguing, but decided he was too tired to try. And too hungry.

  “Give me the rest of my food, asshole!” The two men turned to see an inmate across the room gesturing angrily at the cook behind the counter.

  “That’s all you get,” the cook insisted.

  “Yeah? So why do you look so well fed?” the man asked. “You fucking cooks are eating normal rations while the rest of us starve.”

  Mayor Luo appeared a moment later, taking the angry man aside to talk to him. Across the hall, tired inmates turned away from the commotion, and returned to their food.

  “Getting tense around here,” Falken said, quietly.

  “Mm-hm,” Weaver agreed. “Do you know if Ngobe talked to the mayor about letting us go back to … the uh, place?”

  “He said he was going to try,” Falken said. “But that was a day or so ago. Looks like the mayor’s got a lot on his hands.”

  “I’m getting worried,” Weaver said. “It’s been almost two weeks. What if a foraging party stumbles across it by accident?”

  “We buried the antenna,” Falken said. “And hid the entrance as best we could.”

  Weaver shook his head. Falken saw Saltari looking around the hall – he held his arm up, and the old doctor saw it. He walked over and sat down next to Falken.

  “Salty,” Weaver said.

  “Good day, gentlemen,” Saltari said. “What have you been up to this morning?”

  “Nothing,” Falken said. “I had a guard shift on the food storage shed for a couple hours, but that’s it.”

  Saltari nodded. “They stopped construction on the new barracks building, I see.”

  “Yesterday,” Weaver said. “We finished the framing, but the foreman told Mayor Luo we were getting too weak to handle the heavy lifting. It’s on hold until after the next harvest.”

  “The foreman’s probably not wrong,” Saltari said, sipping his broth. “I’ve seen a rash of injuries over the last few days – folks are just tired and weak, and there are more accidents than usual as a result.”

  “How long until the harvest?” Falken asked.

  “Ten weeks,” Saltari said. “Nine if we’re lucky. And the foraging teams haven’t had much luck bringing back wild blue-balls. We’re only catching a handful a day. Not nearly enough.”

  “What about the herd? Have the newest blue-balls been born yet?” Falken asked.

  “No,” Saltari shook his head. “And they’re overdue, by normal standards.”

  “They’re late?” Weaver asked. “How does that work?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen it before,” Saltari admitted. “But I’m beginning to think the females are purposefully delaying their birth for some reason, assuming that’s biologically possible. The whole herd is far more skittish than I’ve ever seen it. They’re all bothered about something.”

  “What?” Weaver asked.

  “I have no idea,” Saltari said.

  “Maybe the mood around the colony is contagious,” Falken observed.

  “Perhaps,” Saltari said. “Someone tried to break into the cage again last night. They caught him eating discarded corn husks off the ground.”

  The doors to the Great Hall swung open, and Ngobe hurried in. He spotted the three of them immediately, and hurried over.

  “Did you talk to the mayor?” Weaver asked.

  Ngobe nodded. “Just now.” He lowered his voice. “We can go back to the … Lookout Hill today, but we have to make it look like we’re on a foraging mission.”

  “Great,” Falken said. “Let’s go right after lunch.”

  “I’ve found something,” Ngobe told them. “In the master manual, while I was reviewing the blueprints.”

  “What is it?” Weaver asked.

  “A way out of here,” Ngobe said. He glanced at the nearby diners. “Not here. I’ll show you.”

  *

  Saltari, Weaver, and Ngobe watched as Falken put his back against the tree and then paced out thirteen steps. He knelt and brushed away the dirt, then found a corner of silk, from their spare sail. Falken grasped at the fabric and pulled, and a small pile of dirt shifted to the side, some spilling down through the hatch hidden below.

  Silently, they climbed back down the ladder. Inside the corridor, Ngobe knelt next to the dead captain’s body, the dead man’s hand still gripping the pistol. Ngobe carefully detached the identification badge that was hanging from the captain’s shirt pocket. “We’ll need this, I suspect.”

  He straightened up, and led the group down the hallway, and back into the dimly lit crew lounge.

  “It feels strange to be back,” Saltari said. “I was beginning to think this was all just a dream I had.”

  “Where is it?” Weaver asked.

  Ngobe put the ship’s master manual on the lounge table, and opened it to a page in the center of the book. Falken, looking over his shoulder, watched as he traced a finger along a schematic of the ship.

  “Here’s Khonsu’s top hatch, where we came in,” Ngobe said. “We’re in the lounge, here. What we’re looking for is located between the lounge and the bridge.” The astrophysicist looked up. “Through that hatch, there.”

  Ngobe crossed the lounge, and the three of them followed. The hatch from the lounge opened into a small foyer-like room; the hatch to the bridge stood open on the far side. The right wall of the antechamber appeared blank, but Ngobe located a control panel near the entrance hatch, which had an empty slot in it. He wiped the captain’s keycard on his shirt, and then slid the card into the slot. An LED light next to the slot winked on. Then the wall beside them folded into sections, and disappeared into the floor with a hiss of compressed air, revealing a large, bullet-shaped metal object, nestled into a silo-like tube. The four men stood in stunned silence for a time, just staring at it.

  Weaver was the first to speak. “How does it work?” he asked, quietly.

  Ngobe shook himself out of his reverie and stepped forward. “According to the manual, it’s fully automated, minimal human intervention needed. You climb up,” he said, pantomiming the actions. “Lie down, strap yourself in. Pull down on this lid to seal the pod closed. That automatically activates the launch sequence.” The scientist leaned into the tube, peering up at the ceiling above it. “The hull up there is lined with small demolition charges, they’re meant to blow away the panels when the pod launches.” He knelt down, and tapped on a set of rocket nozzles under the pod. “These will boost the pod into orbit, and these,” he pointed to a different set of much smaller nozzles, “maneuver you once you’re in space.”

  “And then …?” Weaver asked.

  Ngobe put his hands on his hips. “And then … it makes a faster-than-light jump.”

  “To Earth?” Weaver asked.

  “To Earth,” Ngobe agreed, a slow smile spreading across his face. “That’s what it’s programmed to do.”

  “… and there’s only one pod,” Falken said.

  “Yes,” Ngobe said, his smile turning into a grimace. “The ship has other escape pods, but they’re just designed to serve as life rafts, basically. They have maneuvering jets, but nothing more robust than that. They can’t get into orbit, much less make an interstellar jump.”

  “Why not build all of them like this one?” Falken asked.

  “Cost,” Ngobe said. “It’s expensive to build something like this into a larger ship. I don’t think it’s even done anymore, it’s so expensive. But the whole idea was that they only needed one.”

  “Why? I still don’t get it,” Falken said.

  “Well, play the scenario out,” Ngobe s
aid. “The ship is damaged and needs to be abandoned. The crew bails out, either on the planet they’re exploring, or in the life rafts if they’re up in space. Either way, they just wait in place, while the ship’s captain records their position. He – or she – is the last one off the ship. They board this pod, blast off, and return home to organize a rescue party.”

  “Not a very comfortable trip,” Saltari observed, eyeing the small pod.

  Ngobe poked the harness system aside and surveyed the padded seat in the middle of the vehicle. “No. It would be a cramped week or two, but the captain would easily survive until someone picked him or her up in orbit around Earth.”

  “What if you squeezed two people inside?” Falken asked.

  Ngobe shook his head. “Could you fit, physically? Yes. But the vehicle’s carrying the bare minimum of fuel to reach orbit,” he said. “If you double the payload, you could end up with an aborted launch. You might reach a few thousand feet, only to come crashing back down.”

  “And there are the life support systems to worry about,” Saltari said. “Two people will consume oxygen, food, and water at twice the rate of a single passenger.”

  The group contemplated this news in silence.

  “One person goes, or nobody does,” Weaver said, finally.

  “Yes,” Ngobe said.

  “But that one person could get the word out about this place,” Falken said. “It’s even better than just sending a message and hoping the media runs the story. A real, live inmate arriving in orbit over Earth would get everyone’s attention.”

  “If we send the right man, he just might,” Saltari said.

  “Well, before we think about any of that, I want to check the Khonsu’s computer. There are likely some diagnostic procedures that should be run, just to ensure the pod is still functioning,” Ngobe warned them. “And of course, we’ll need to clear the earth off the top of the hull, and cut down any trees in the way. The pod needs a clear launch path.”

  “That’s going to take a day or two,” Falken said. “And anyone that wanders by is going to know immediately that something’s up. If Archos gets even a whiff of this ship, he’ll kill us all and take it for himself, no question.”