Heart of the Nebula

by Joe Vasicek

  James toggled the view and zoomed in to a diagram showing the seven ships’ positions relative to each other for the majority of the voyage. “So that’s how they switched sides,” he muttered.

  “Right. They made contact about three years before.”

  “But they didn’t relay any of their communications with the rebel ships to us, did they?” James asked.

  “No. That was one of the reasons our relations went sour.”

  He stared at the screen, his hand on his chin. “What happened right before that?”

  Deirdre leaned down over the keyboard and brought the timeline back up again, this time zooming in to the five year period before the Good Hope Flier broke off all communication. “They were undergoing major restructuring of their ship,” she said. “Nothing unusual—we all went through phases like that as our population grew. If I remember right, they were debating a measure that would impose severe birth restrictions.”

  “Did they pass it?”

  She shrugged. “They never told us. We only know that was an issue because they asked us a lot of detailed questions about our own policies. Here on the Chiran Spirit, we just switched to different bunk-sharing arrangements as the population grew. The Lady of Karduna, however, has had strict population controls almost since the moment we made contact with them.”

  “Lars would have hated that,” James muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “So you think the Good Hope Flier defected to the rebels over the birth control issue?”

  “Probably not,” she admitted, “but whatever their reason for switching sides, they never made it clear to us.”

  “Then what is this crisis about?”

  Dierdre shrugged. “What is any civil crisis about? Things have changed a lot since your time. The old ways are gone, and for most of us, the universe is no bigger than our own ship. Maybe the rebels just don’t see themselves as a part of the group anymore and want to strike out on their own.”

  “If that’s true,” said James, “then they aren’t just holding those diplomats hostage, but all of the people frozen in cryo.”

  “I suppose.”

  Without warning, he slammed his fist against the bulkhead, making Deirdre jump.

  “Dammit! Why did you people have to go and screw things up just before we arrived? The whole point in coming to Chira was to escape and start over someplace where we could all be safe. Why did you have to shatter that peace?”

  For several moments, Deirdre said nothing. It was hard to know what to say after an outburst like that. James buried his head in his hands and groaned.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s not your fault, but why did everything I worked so hard for have to fall apart like this?”

  Deirdre put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It didn’t fall apart, James—not completely. We had almost four generations of peace because of you, and after we arrive at Chira, we’ll have many long years of peace, as well.”

  “But it all comes to an end eventually. Wherever there are sheep, there will always be wolves.”

  She frowned. “Wolves?”

  “Earth creatures,” he explained, looking up at her. “Back when Earth was a wild planet, our ancestors were at the mercy of the wilderness. They kept flocks of sheep for wool and meat, but the wolves would hunt and kill them.”

  “That’s fascinating,” said Deirdre. “I’ve spent a lot of time in the old Earth archives, but I’ve never come across anything like this.”

  “Lars and I used to argue about it,” said James. “I tried to convince him that most people are like sheep: docile herd animals, unable or unwilling to defend themselves. He thought that the people aren’t like sheep at all, but can take care of themselves so long as they are free. He didn’t account for the wolves, though—the thugs and criminals, murderers and rapists, warlords and pirates who would eat everyone else alive if they got the chance.”

  Deirdre nodded, entranced. This was a discussion that James had actually had with her great-grandfather, Lars? She felt as if she had stumbled across a hidden gem buried in some forgotten historical document, except that this wasn’t a book—this was real.

  “In any case,” James continued, “to protect their sheep, our ancestors captured some of the wolves and domesticated them. They became sheepdogs—animals just as vicious and dangerous as the wolves, but bred to serve the needs of the sheep. That’s me.”

  “A sheepdog,” Deirdre mused. “More like a wolf than a sheep.”

  “Exactly.”

  A thought occurred to her, making her sit up straight. “What if the people in the rebel ships don’t know that you’re a sheepdog? What if they’re afraid you’re one of the wolves?”

  James frowned. “Why would they think that?”

  “I don’t know, but what if they do? They would see you as a threat—they would cut themselves off and put as much distance between them and you as possible.”

  “I guess,” said James, clearly stunned by what she was saying. “But wouldn’t that make conflict inevitable?”

  “From the histories I’ve read, most wars seem to feel inevitable to those who get caught up in them,” Deirdre answered. “It’s very rare that wars happen because of the decisions of a single person. Usually, there’s some misunderstanding between the two groups that leads to a conflict, and from that conflict, both sides escalate until there’s nothing to do except fight it out.”

  “That sounds about right,” said James. He stood up and started to pace. “But if that’s true, then… I’m the escalation?”

  “I don’t know,” said Deirdre. “But you are the single most important figure in all of our history. You’re a legend to us, James—and anyone who doesn’t see you as a hero almost certainly sees you as a villain.”

  “Stars of Earth,” James muttered. “I think you’re right.”

  * * * * *

  For the next forty-eight hours, James tried almost non-stop to make contact with the rebel ships. He transmitted message after message, pleading with the Good Hope Flier to release the hostages. Each time he recorded a new message, though, Deirdre’s words came back to haunt him. And each time they waited for a response, none came—just as she’d predicted.

  “I know you see me as a threat,” he said for the fifth or sixth transmission on the second day—it was getting hard to keep count. “I don’t know why, but I want you to know that we don’t have to be enemies. Things have changed a lot in the last few decades. I know that, and I can accept that.” He took a deep breath. “When we left Zeta Nabat, we were one community—one people. I still hope that we can find a way to stick together. If we can’t, though, and you would rather split away from us to form your own community, then I ask you in the strongest possible terms to release the hostages and return them to the Lady of Karduna. The Chira system is large enough to share. Please, release the hostages, and let there be peace between us.”

  The rebels had altered their course to head for the second planet in the system, a water-rich hot Neptune with several rocky moons. The planet looked hostile and foreboding, but the magnetic field protected most of the moons from the worst of the solar radiation. With proper heat shielding, they could probably build a fairly decent outpost, perhaps even one to rival the main colony in time.

  By the time the second day had all but come to a close, James was an absolute wreck. His arms trembled from exhaustion, and his eyes refused to stay open for any length of time. His body ached to lie down, but he forced himself to stay awake.

  “Better get some rest, Commander,” said Carlson. “We’re going to need you in a few hours.”

  “But the hostages—”

  Carlson put a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. “You’ve done all you can do. There’s a spare bunkroom on this level for the command crew. Let me show you to it.”

  The bunk was barely more than a slot in the wall and was two inches too short for James to extend his legs, but he didn’t care. Almost the m
oment his face hit the mattress pad, he fell asleep.

  He dreamed that he was on board one of the rebel colony ships, though he didn’t know which one. The long, narrow halls were unusually empty, the overhead lights dim. Eerie shadows filled the doorways and corners where the hallway opened up to a large concourse.

  He glanced nervously in every direction, knowing that he was running out of time, but the concourse was empty and devoid of life—as if the rebel colonists had abandoned ship long ago. As he ran, he sensed the presence of ghosts in the ship, watching and following close behind him. He shivered and ran faster.

  On the far side of the room, a lone figure slipped into an open doorway. It looked like Sara.

  “Hey!” he called out, running after her.

  The doorway led to one of the long, curved hallways that ran around each level. The figure slipped just out of sight ahead of him.

  “Sara! Come back!”

  As he ran after her, the lights around him began to dim, and the air became noticeably colder. He felt as if someone or something were chasing him, but the harder he tried to run, the slower he went. Adrenaline flooded through him, but he still couldn’t break the invisible bonds that held him.

  “Sara!”

  The figure dashed into a side doorway as James rounded the corner. The doors began to close, but he slipped through just in time.

  He found himself in a vast cryochamber, the vaulted ceiling high overhead like a giant cathedral. The catacomb walls stretched upward like a bivouac of death, and he knew that Sara was somewhere in there. If he could reach her—if only he could get to her in time—

  “What are you doing?”

  He jumped and turned at the sudden voice, and saw Lars standing just inside the door. His face was old and wrinkled, his hair white with age.

  “Lars,” said James, running to his old friend. “Can you help me? Sara—”

  “Why did you leave me on this godforsaken derelict?” he asked, his wrinkles sagging. “You play with our lives as if we’re all pawns on a chess board.”

  “Lars?”

  “We aren’t sheep,” Lars snarled, his eyes bloodshot and wild. “None of us are sheep. We’re free agents—free to do as we like. We aren’t afraid of dogs like you.”

  James swallowed nervously. “Lars, don’t you remember me? It’s James. I—”

  “I told you once I’d spend my life building the strongest democracy in the history of man, but look at what you’ve given me! These people only love war and bloodshed! They’ll eat each other before they learn to live together. What can I do with such a people? How can I build a free society out of wolves?”

  Dark, partially-congealed blood began to ooze out of the cryotanks, spilling out across the honeycombed walls and dripping on the floor. James spun around in alarm and glanced back to Lars, but his old friend only glared at him.

  “Stop it!” James screamed, trying in vain to run away. His feet refused to move, even as the blood began to fill the room. It was thick and black, and cold as ice, with lumps floating in it like pieces of decayed flesh and corruption. The stench of death filled his nose, and he opened his mouth to scream, but bile spewed out instead, filling him with the taste of vomit. He coughed and gagged, and the blood rose up his legs to his chest, seeping through his clothes and soaking his skin. It slowly rose to his neck, then his chin, then his mouth and eyes, turning to corruption everything it touched.

  James woke up in a cold sweat, his clothes soaked. He coughed and tried to sit up, but hit his head against the top of the bunk. Damn! he thought to himself, too weary to swear aloud.

  When he regained his strength, he slipped his legs over the side of the bunk and crawled out. The room was exactly as it was when he’d entered, but the clock showed that nearly eight hours had passed. He blinked and looked again, and a cold, sinking feeling grew inside his gut.

  Eight hours!

  He ran into the bridge, heart pounding in his chest. A couple unfamiliar officers occupied some chairs, but Carlson was gone.

  “Where’s Carlson?” he asked, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach.

  “He took his sleeping shift a few hours ago, but he’ll be up shortly,” said one of the officers—a young woman with short black hair. “Don’t worry, we have everything under control.”

  “Under control? What the hell do you—”

  “Commander!” came a voice behind him. He looked down and saw Carlson crawling up the floor ladder with a broad smile on his face, dressed in a fresh set of clothes. James stepped back as the man rose to his feet and gave him a spontaneous embrace.

  “What the—Captain, what’s going on?”

  Carlson laughed. “You seemed so exhausted when you went down, we didn’t bother waking you to tell you the news.”

  “What news?”

  “That the Good Hope Flier has released all the hostages. They’re en route to the Lady of Karduna right now. All of them are safe and accounted for.”

  James blinked. “The rebels did what?”

  “They released the hostages,” Carlson repeated. “We’ve contacted their shuttlecraft and confirmed that all of them are doing well. The crisis is over, and war has been averted.”

  It took James several moments to process the news. When he did, though, he sighed and all but collapsed into the nearest chair.

  “Thank the stars,” he muttered. And thank you, Deirdre.

  “That’s not all, I’m afraid,” said Carlson. His expression suddenly became very serious.

  “What?” James asked, frowning.

  “The diplomats found out why the Good Hope Flier broke contact with us, as well as the other rebels. It’s rather disturbing, and I’m not sure if—”

  “Tell me,” James said. “That’s an order.”

  Carlson took a deep breath. “Very well, Commander. According to the diplomats’ report, when the population of the Good Hope Flier grew so large that it began to put a strain on their infrastructure, they failed to manage their resources as effectively as we did. In order to make more living space, they vented the cryotanks and killed everyone inside.”

  The news struck James like a meteor. He was too stunned to know what to say.

  “I sincerely hope that you didn’t have any friends who were on those ships, Commander. There’s nothing we could have done for them.”

  A wave of nausea swept over him, threatening to knock him out of his chair. His stomach sank through the floor, and he felt as if he were going to throw up.

  “They—they what?”

  “I’m sorry, Commander. The rebels have killed all the colonists from your generation. That’s why they saw you as a threat, and that is why they decided to secede.”

  “No!” James cried, grabbing his hair. His eyes burned like fire, and he couldn’t choke down the tears.

  “Commander, are you all right? Commander!”

  How can I build a free society out of wolves? Lars’s voice echoed in his ear. Look at what you’ve given me!

  Chapter 24

  Deirdre knew something was wrong the moment she stepped through the door.

  James was on the bed, lying on his side with his back facing her. Even so, she could tell that he was awake. She stepped inside and stood beside him.

  “James? Are you all right?”

  He turned slowly over, swinging his feet off the side of the bunk as he sat up.

  “Do you really want to know?” he muttered.

  “Of course I do.”

  He took a deep breath, but said nothing.

  “I heard all about the hostages,” she said, pulling out a seat. “Everyone’s been talking about it. I knew that if anyone could solve this crisis, you could.”

  Still no answer. He stared at the floor, his face a mask.

  “Well, aren’t you going to say something?”

  He looked up and stared at her with tired eyes. “Do you know why the rebel ships have kept out of contact?”

  “Uh, no. Why?”

  “Be
cause they vented all their cryotanks eighty years ago, right before they cut contact.”

  Her jaw dropped. “Vented them? You mean, everyone in cryo—”

  “They’re all dead,” he said, clenching his fists by his side.

  She gasped. A terrible sinking feeling seized her stomach.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  A long silence fell between them. On impulse, Dierdre rose to her feet and walked across to sit down next to him. He flinched a little as she put her hand on his shoulder, but made no other movement.

  “Don’t blame yourself,” she said. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Then whose fault was it?” he asked, shrugging her off. “How could they do something like that? Everyone on those ships that I knew…”

  She stared at him for a moment, not knowing what to say. He shook his head in frustration and rose to his feet, pacing back and forth across the floor.

  “The whole reason for coming to Chira was so that we could escape this sort of thing,” he said. “The war and killing and everything else—we wanted to get away from it. And now, just when we’re about to arrive at our new home, we find out that the wolves have followed us to it. Hell, they’ve not only followed us—they are us. We are the wolves.”

  Deirdre listened quietly, nodding as he became more impassioned. It was clear that he had a lot to get off of his chest. She didn’t blame him.

  “But why?” he repeated, desperation in his voice. “All of those people, hoping for a better life… now gone.”

  Deirdre rose to her feet and put a hand on his arm. “If it makes you feel better, James, you’re probably the single greatest reason we didn’t do the same thing here.”

  He gave her a puzzled look. “What?”

  “Before we switched to the twelve-hour mainday/alterday shifts, there was some talk about venting the cryotanks, mostly from the younger colonists. Resources were tight, and it was an open question whether we’d run out of living space before we got to Chira.”