The Methuselan Circuit

by Anderson, Christopher L.

  Alexander now felt angry, but he didn’t reply. It wasn’t Khandar’s fault—he was right. After the loss of Alexander, Terra fell into the Caliphate Wars. The Fanatics nearly destroyed everything. It ranked amongst the most terrible times in all of Terran history, so terrible that the names of the Fanatics who pursued the Caliphate Wars were not uttered, their origins were wiped from the history files and even their religion was treated as if it never existed. Alexander shuddered.

  They stood in silence for a long moment. Finally, Alexander asked, “What do we do now?”

  Khandar stared at him, his eyes flushing with crimson again. He took a step toward Alexander and then quick as a snake; his hand struck forth and grabbed him around the throat. Alexander reacted instinctively, clutching Khandar’s hand with his left hand and pushing hard against the Golkos’ elbow with the other. It was a simple hold-break his father taught him when dealing with bullies. Khandar stumbled forward, but was at the ready in an instant.

  “What are you doing,” Alexander demanded angrily.

  “I’m trying to think of a reason not to kill you this instant!”

  Alexander forgot about Khandar’s hatred for him. “My father had nothing to do with your father,” he insisted. “He was a watch officer on the Enterprise, that’s it! Now he’s a rancher who flies freighters to the asteroid belt. He wasn’t an assassin!”

  “My father was assassinated in the Seer’koh system while on a diplomatic mission; it was the Enterprise that escorted his ship. Your father was the only officer on the Enterprise who could not be accounted for at the time of my father’s death!” Khandar began to pace the deck, his thin lips drawn back to expose his sharp platinum canines. His teeth clicked together in a sickening way as he talked. He went back and forth on the shattered bridge, but his eyes never left Alexander. “My father led the invasion fleet to Terra. You Terrans have always hated him.”

  Alexander was stunned. He’d forgotten the Golkos were such a long lived species, sometimes living as long as three hundred years, but still it didn’t make any sense. “What did my father have to do with it? Just because he wasn’t accounted for didn’t make him guilty of murder! If Terrans hated your father so much, why didn’t the Enterprise just blow his ship out of space and blame it on some kind of accident?”

  “Because that would have re-ignited the old Galactic Alliance and Terra wasn’t ready for that after her Caliphate Wars,” Khandar insisted. “No, instead my father needed to be eliminated far away from home. There were others on Golkos that coveted his power. After he was eliminated they quickly filled the void, but they couldn’t have done it on their own. They needed help. Therefore they contracted a rogue Ranger, a Spook—your father! He took care of it.”

  “My father wasn’t a Spook,” Alexander insisted, trying to make sense of all of this. “Even if he was what reason would he have to do it without orders?” Alexander felt sick even considering the possibility that his father was involved in something like this, but Khandar’s certainty was hard to fight, and what he said next shook him to the core.

  The Golkos boy stopped and leaned over him, hissing, “Why would your father of all Terrans do it? Because he blamed my father for Alexander’s disappearance, that’s why!”

  “That still doesn’t make sense,” he retorted. “There’s never been any suggestion the Golkos were behind it; why would my father have taken it so personally?”

  “Because, young Alexander Wolfe,” he said with biting clarity. “Your father, Lieutenant Lyle Alexander Wolfe was the grand nephew of Alexander Galaxus himself! Yes, Alexander you are of the bloodline of Alexander Galaxus himself!”

  He stood frozen to the deck, stunned into absolute silence. “This still doesn’t make sense,” Alexander began, shaking his head, but Khandar used the moment to close with him again, grabbing him by the front of his uniform and backing him up against the stern panels. Alexander tried to fight back but the Golkos was older, stronger and faster—he was pinned against the metal of a station, bent over backwards and helpless.

  “Enough of your talk Terran!” the Golkos boy seethed, but suddenly a strident voice interrupted him. It was a commanding voice, at once threatening and enthralling.

  “. . . From the pyre of Terra I spite all who would be our executioners. Learn the lesson of this defeat well and hold it close to your bosom, for you dare not push me to repeat it!”

  Khandar let Alexander go, and they both looked to the center of the bridge next to the command chair. The image of Alexander himself stood there, a hologram but tantalizingly real. Alexander could even make out the fuzziness around his features caused by the emergency sustaining field of his suit. Alexander looked directly at them, and continued.

  “The Golkos attack on Terra was doomed to failure from the start, yet Golkos did not heed my dire warnings. Now my prophecy is culminated in reality. The final Golkos warship has surrendered in the only manner possible, or acceptable: with its destruction. Thus falls the last of Terra’s foes, and if the galaxy is willing, thus is quenched the greater fire of Alexander’s anger. Yet what remains? For some of you the path from war has led to newfound friendship with Terra. Your choice shall not be ill founded. Though you have all, to some extent, been the bearers of misfortune for Terra in this hour I will not renege on my words, or the sincerity with which Terra views our various accords. The war of Terra and the Alliance is now drawn nearly and completely to a close. There remains only the matter of Terra and Golkos. This too will shortly be settled. Terra has emerged from this war with blood upon her lips and orphans at her breast. For that injustice there shall be a reckoning. Whether Golkos yields or whether Golkos resists is her decision. Either way, Alexander will come to Golkos and he will walk upon her soil. It is up to Golkos in what manner this may occur, but by the behavior of Golkos she has dictated that Alexander shall bear the countenance of conqueror. Be his will malicious or benevolent it is still for Golkos to decide.”

  The hologram cracked and faded. There was a sizzle of electricity and it was gone.

  “It must have been triggered by a plasma discharge,” Alexander breathed hardly daring to move.

  The hologram seemed to disarm Khandar’s fury. He went to the front of the bridge and gazed out at the stars, motionless for what seemed like hours. As Alexander grew sleepy he tried to keep his mind occupied, studying this station and that but eventually ending up on the weapons board where the Overlord conducted the final stages of the Battle for Terra himself.

  After some time, Alexander noticed Khandar approaching him, his intent interrupted, but not gone. Alexander readied himself for an attack, but something cold passed through him. He opened his mouth to warn the Golkos, thinking his suit was malfunctioning, but a horrified expression on Khandar’s face silenced him.

  CHAPTER 12: Strange Goings On

  Khandar’s dark face blanched white, and Alexander forgot about his misgivings. He almost asked what was wrong when suddenly he saw it. It wasn’t so much it as it was them—dozens of them. Ghostly shapes emerged from the bulkheads, the deck and the ceiling. They were transparent glowing images of Terran and Golkos sailors and marines locked in combat to the death.

  Two of the figures rushed right through Alexander, chilling the very marrow of his bones, before rushing through Khandar. The Golkos emitted a shriek of fright and backed away only to be confronted by another pair of combatants. The ghostly shapes soon filled the entire room, but it wasn’t a normal melee, no, it was obvious that this combat was taking place in zero-G. The ghostly figures jetted around the deck without the hindrance of gravity, slashing, shooting and wrestling with each other. It was a wild and silent scene, unless in the background, just audible over the crackling plasma, one could hear or feel the harsh whispers that in life were bloodcurdling shouts and screams. This was somehow worse.

  The two cadets ducked and dodged their way to the ladder, but there they stopped, looking at each other. “We’re still on watch,” Khandar breathed, shaking his head. �
�Unless the sustaining field fails and our suits run out of power we can’t leave our post!”

  “What are these things?” Alexander clutched the rungs of the ladder, but he didn’t go down; he didn’t leave the bridge.

  “These are the ghosts of the Battle for Terra; they’re doomed to fight over the ship until the end of time! I’ve heard of them but never seen them. I thought they were a story meant to scare cadets!”

  “They’re doing a good job!”

  “For once, I agree with you Terran!”

  The fighting raged on all around them. Ghosts flew from one side of the bridge to the other, colliding with adversaries and disappearing into the bulkheads locked in a lethal embrace. Then, just as suddenly as it began, it was over. The battle progressed from the bridge and into other parts of the ship, gone but not over—ever.

  The two cadets looked at each other, breathing heavily, too spent from the experience to worry about their personal feud. Sounds came from the ladder below them. They leapt away as if stung.

  “Jumpy are we?” Centurion Fjallheim emerged from the lower decks. They came to attention, both relieved in a way to deal with something normal; something they could understand. Two other cadets followed the centurion. They came to attention next to Alexander and Khandar, but it was obvious that they read their faces. They swallowed hard.

  The centurion stood before them and shook his head. “It’s late, no lectures, get back to your berths and get some sleep for tomorrow—dismissed!”

  Alexander and Khandar took their leave of the Iowa, shaken. To their joint surprise two cadets were waiting for them at the entrance to the Iowa’s gangway. One of them was James. Before Alexander could ask what he was doing there, James said, “Never leave a man behind.”

  Alexander nodded, and said, “Goodnight Khandar.” The Golkos stared at him and then shook his head. He left with his Flight mate without saying another word.

  James asked about it, but Alexander simply said, “I tell you tomorrow; I wouldn’t want to ruin what little sleep you’ll get the rest of the night.” Alexander couldn’t get back to his dormitory quickly enough. The darkened and empty corridors of the ship now seemed especially creepy, but nothing happened. When they got back to the dormitory everyone was asleep. He threw his uniform into his locker, but the automatic voice chided him, “Hang up your uniform properly Cadet Wolfe!”

  “Alexander what are you doing?” James whispered harshly.

  “What’d you have to wake us up for?” Other voices chided him in the dark.

  “Do it right!” James told him.

  There were more irritated voices in the dark. “Well Cadet Wolfe what are you waiting for,” the locker asked much too loudly. There were more angry replies from his Flight, and Alexander scrambled in the dim light of the locker to retrieve and then put away his uniform properly. Amidst many grumbles and mutterings he donned his pajamas and crawled into bed. Alexander fell asleep before his head hit the pillow.

  His eyes snapped awake to a blinding white light and a roaring in his ears.

  The light in his bunk came on, not subtly or softly but bang, it was on. The growling voice of Commandant Augesburcke came over hidden speakers. “Good morning cadets. It is 0600 and once again, you have the opportunity to build upon the honor and character of generations past. This is your time, it will not come again. Use it wisely. Your families, your friends and indeed the Terran Empire and our Galactic brethren are counting on you. You may commence to do your duty.”

  Alexander thought about closing his eyes and getting a few more minutes of sleep but the light began to blink on and off. He screwed up his face and covered his head with his pillow. A muffled female voice said, “Sterilization process will begin in fifteen seconds, fourteen seconds, thirteen seconds, twelve seconds . . .” He rolled through the curtains and out of his bunk, joining the general scramble of cadets chased out of bed in just the same way.

  “What a way to wake up!” the cadet next to him said, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. He wore the standard white tunic and pajama trousers to bed. Even their pajamas had the single black stripe on his right sleeve signifying their rank as a cadet. Alexander couldn’t remember the boy’s first name, but “Largent” was imprinted over his right breast pocket.

  “I shouldn’t be so tired,” Alexander complained with a yawn. “I usually have to get up at 0500 to feed the animals.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  “I had guard duty.”

  “Oh yeah,” the boy said, opening his locker and pulling out his uniform. Alexander‘s locker was the center of three. He opened it with a grimace, fully expecting to be met by the odor of his stale uniform. He hadn’t had any chance to clean it; he was simply too tired after the watch. He knew he’d answer for it today but after the fright of the late night watch he was beyond caring. They weren’t issued a second uniform, they were simply too expensive. Professor Cantor talked about the specialized material in the uniforms in the Space Physiology class. The material was extremely durable, flexible and expensive, so expensive a Terran family could live for a year off the credit; therefore, they were issued one uniform only.

  A fleeting spasm of guilt struck Alexander right in the gut. A year’s worth of food and power was a lot. Was it too much to ask that he spend twenty minutes before he went to sleep to take care of it? To his surprise, however, his uniform was as crisp and clean as when it was issued. Alexander lifted the pearlescent material—he couldn’t remember what the stuff was called—and he sniffed the chest. To his surprise there was no scent and no trace of vomit. The uniform was clean, sparkling clean and pressed so that every crease was almost knife edge sharp. “What’s up, my uniform was a mess when I got in last night. Do we have robots that pick them up while we sleep?”

  James chuckled and pointed to a small placard on the inside of the locker door. It read, Hang your uniform on the hanger, not the hook, or the automatic cleaner will not be effective, Regulation 7-3-10.32.

  Alexander sighed as he reached for his kit. “I guess that’s why Mom kept bugging me to hang my things up, heaven help my sister; she doesn’t know what a hanger is.” His locker had a built in cleaner. All he had to do was hang up the uniform properly as the locker had directed him; the locker was apparently very adamant about doing its job correctly.

  “How did it go,” James asked sleepily. “Did the Golkos kid give you any grief?”

  Alexander shook his head, and replied, “No, he wasn’t a problem. He’s not the friendly type though, that’s for sure, I mean he only tried to kill me once.”

  “What stopped him,” James asked.

  “He’s afraid of ghosts.”

  James laughed and scratched his head. “Don’t turn your back on him no matter how he acts,” he mumbled. “I’ve heard a lot of things about the Golkos—none of them good. Dad had a sore spot for them, though he never said why.” He pulled on his boots and closed his locker which was the third in a bank of three set across from their bunks. The lockers actually formed the bulkhead between their three bunks and the bunks to their starboard—Alexander was trying to think in space lingo—just as the bulkhead on their port side was made up of lockers from the next row of bunks.

  He grabbed his kit and joined the line into the latrine.

  “So really, what happened last night,” James asked as they waited their turn.

  “Nothing,” Alexander insisted.

  “Come on, you were on the Iowa, that’s history!”

  Alexander was surprised that James would be interested in history of all things, but he seemed sincere about it. “Think of it,” he said with suppressed excitement. “Alexander himself fought on that deck! He even recorded a hologram on the bridge, kind of his own epitaph, because everyone else was dead. He didn’t know whether he’d won or lost the Battle for Terra, but he recorded a last message of defiance to the galaxy.”

  “I know, I saw the hologram,” Alexander told him. When James’s mouth hung open, he added, “It wa
s pretty amazing. It came on all by itself. There’s still power to the ship, plasma arcs, gas discharges; it’s almost like the battle just ended, only it never quite does.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s kind of creepy.”

  “And?”

  Alexander lowered his voice. “Have you ever heard of anything, you know, strange about the Iowa?” When James shook his head, Alexander told him about what happened.

  “You’re kidding,” he replied, twisting his face up in disbelief.

  The door to the latrine slid open and they entered a metal room with a bank of sinks on one side and the latrines on the other. At the far end was a metal cave that served as a shower. There was no privacy whatsoever, excepting that the boys and girls were separated. Modesty, they’d been told, was a luxury no one in the Service could afford.