by Hyde, Ed
The message comes in from Craig only a day or two after we left town: “Dylan under interrogation and trial.”
Communication is one way for the most part. We can’t expect any of the team to monitor their genies when in town.
From Tracy a little later in the week: “J Hope u know what you are doing. Can’t believe what I saw. He’s taking a beating.”
This from Craig within minutes of Tracy’s message: “OK alert Mark. It’s heating up. Looks bad for the home team.” Then: “Mark standby. Looks like tomorrow.”
We change our plan and decide to stay put until things play out. No thought of returning to base before then. Time seems to slow down and we pass it in silence.
The next day I hear from Tracy first: “Horrible. Going to be sick. What are they thinking??”
Craig, to me but the whole team is copied: “Mark, prepare to come and extract. Will let you know as soon as it is clear. Doc, it’s bad.”
The hours pass. We can only imagine what is happening.
We finally hear the report, planned both as a signal to the people themselves and as a signal to us, and brace for the next message.
“It’s over. It’s the worst case of all we discussed. Mark, get close and come on my signal.” Craig sends coordinates in the next message.
The clock starts now regarding Dylan’s chances to survive.
“Wasn’t pretty. Going to need attention soon. Hurry,” is the next message, this from Tracy.
We start on foot toward town.
“Worst case, he said,” says Carol.
I nod. We keep moving.
Then a series of messages: “Not looking good. Lots of damage. Time passing. Worried.”
We make it to the coordinates Craig sent. Gruesome, barbaric. I am getting sick to my stomach, as Tracy had earlier. Carol is taking it without much expression; she is a rock. I don’t understand how she can walk through here.
At the absolute earliest moment, we call for Mark. Doc came too. He’s not happy, and this time I don’t blame him. He’s not talking except for barking a few orders. Between us and using Mark’s gear we get Dylan stabilized and out. Really gruesome work and not pleasant at all. On top of it all we had to wait an excruciatingly long time so that he could be taken away in secrecy. That was the worst of it for me—the delay.
Doc did what he could on site, but you could tell he was worried. Two things are against us: elapsed time and the extent of the injuries. Even taking into consideration the preventive measures Dylan used earlier in the day in anticipation of the worst, hope is hard to come by.
Dylan is back at base camp now and is in the med center. I have been afraid to inquire. We know this is not like the cat attack. Worse. There is a real danger of losing him.
One thing certain, he will not be able to participate in the next phase. Time is short and I absolutely do not want to abandon the plan. Which means there is no getting around it, someone has to go. What to do?
Tracy is the only one who remains in town. She has sent in a couple reports. We’ve got her made up to look quite old now, so she is able to get into places almost unnoticed.
Part V
Finishing Touch
“The physical injuries are more than I’ve had to deal with in a long time. Ever, in fact,” says Gleshert to the entire assembled members of the mission. “Be that as it may, his biggest problem is with the brain.”
I look at Carol and the rest of the somber faces. I look back at Doc and am jolted because he is staring right at me. Wait, he knew the risk—we all did, especially Dylan.
“The good news, and there’s not much good news at this point, is that physically he can be put back together. Before the ordeal, someone, either Dylan himself, or one of you, administered the protective drugs I gave him. Without them, the elapsed time would have been too much. As it is, I still don’t know how much cognitive function will remain.”
“When will you know?” someone asks tentatively.
“He’s undergoing a restorative procedure. This takes time. As a further complication, I’m transferring him upstairs. Like everything else, the base med center is going away soon, and he’s going up when it’s safe to make that move. That’s it. No more questions.”
______
“It could’ve been worse, you know.”
I give this some thought. “Yes, you are right. There is some hope,” I respond. Carol, Porter, Craig, Mark and I are meeting in my quarters.
“Jason, you’ve got to go in his place.”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” I’d already thought of that and I don’t relish the idea. “I don’t know if I can pull it off though.”
“Snap out of it man, you can do it,” Mark says suddenly, somewhat out of character.
“There is no time, Jason. You’ll look like him enough to pass after we get you in the same outfit and makeup. Didn’t we at one time discuss this as a possible back-up plan?” I nod, and at the same time realize that this is something I have to do. They are right, there is no time left. A couple days have passed, it’s time to go. “You’ve listened to his talks?”
“Yes, all of them. More than once. Caught pieces of a couple in person.”
“Forget about looks, we’ll take care of that. It’s your demeanor that will carry the day. Just repeat his message as best you can. They will pick up from there.” And I know ‘they’ are the contacts and supporters handpicked by Dylan.
______
Preparations are going quickly and we, including Mark this time, take off in the only flyer still available. It takes two trips. I am dropped off first and make my way into town without incident. I need to find that core group of Dylan’s. Unlike Dylan, I am carrying my comms unit and other essentials for this extended stay.
Tracy sent a group message. Mark has made a good show, she says, and the fact that Dylan has ‘disappeared’ is all the talk. The others are helping to make sure it is already spreading like wildfire. Mark has headed back to base; he’s says to give a shout when we need extraction.
When I approach the first of the contacts, I am almost overcome with fear of failure. But I press on knowing that this is nothing compared to what Dylan had to face. I am met first with indifference, funnily enough, then with shock at recognition, then disbelief followed by awed acceptance. It’s amazing to see! I meet the others—same set of reactions! I am still nervous as hell but am struggling, successfully I think, to hide it. I speak as little as possible, but when I do, I use my ‘Dylan voice’ and demeanor such as they are. So far, not a hint of trouble. It’s reassuring to see one or two of the team occasionally milling about incognito in the background.
______
I continue to travel about with one or another of this group and instruct them to spread the messages that Dylan taught. What I wouldn’t give for a decent pair of shoes! I feel I am handicapped by the crowd; they won’t leave me alone. I, as calmly as possible, use their awe as a kind of shield to isolate myself for a few moments alone to think and recharge. “Well done!” “Keep it up!” “I love you!” are the messages on my communicator. That last one is from Carol.
______
I’ve done all I can do out here. I’m tired. It’s time for the last show, as it were. I signal to the team and they coordinate with Mark until we are all clear as to timing and location. I make my few parting remarks and the ‘extraction’ is made to great effect and wonder. Me, I’m hanging on for dear life while trying my best to appear nonchalant! Once I’m up in the runabout, we head back to base.
It’s a great relief to be done with my part among the people. I get positive feedback from the team, but on the inside I’m not so sure. Dylan was the right guy for the job and I am sorry he couldn’t complete it. Other than Mark, the rest stayed out in the field and have split up to make sure things get started on the right foot as planned. Porter has the flyer and is making trips back and forth, but I can tell he’d rather be done out there as well.
______
“I know you told me to take care of
him, protect him.”
“You did all you could,” says Doc, but I get the feeling he’s not saying all he’s thinking.
“He knew the dangers; he wanted to do it.”
“It was his decision, he’s a big boy.”
“Look,” I say, “I don’t know how we could have done more. It’s a terrible thing. Really, the delay was the problem, if I understand you correctly. Without the long delay, the outcome would have been better.
“There was nothing else you could do,” he says outwardly calm but now I’m quite sure he’s upset with me.
I sit silent for a few minutes. He gives me the medical ‘all clear’ from my long exposure to the people and various pathogens out in the world.
“Or could you?” he suddenly asks with that frozen stare of his. “Did you have to engineer this last project of yours? Is it really that important? Why not let them be? They have to figure out life on their own, just like we all do. Is there anything we can do, really, that will have any long-lasting effect, other than what we’ve already done?” He turns his stare away and says, “What a waste.”
“Doc, David agreed,” I say in defense. “I’m not saying the plan wasn’t mine. Ours. And it’s my responsibility. David saw the effect of Brachus’ interaction. He agreed that we should try to do something to correct it. In my view, we owed it to the people to try to help them back on the right path.” No response from Doc other than he quits fiddling with his equipment and returns my gaze.
“There is a precedent,” I add, and this time I get a questioning eyebrow raised as a response. “It’s in the archives…”
“I’d like to see that,” he snaps.
“No problem, I will send you the link. And, yes, I do think we will have a long term effect. Tell you what, look at the report from the mission archive and we’ll talk again.”
The stare. And then, his expression breaks from the confrontational stare and Doc resumes puttering about the little lab. “I’ll read it.”
______
“Where’s your stuff?” ask Mark as he surveys my quarters.
“Already gone. I travel light.”
“Hah, what? Already gone?”
“If you mean my personal items, they are already gone. Carol and I packed together and she said you took it.”
“I took it? Where is your stuff again?” asks Mark as if he didn’t comprehend at all.
“With Carol’s. You have it already. You OK?”
“Oh. I have it. OK, if you say so.”
“I marked all the equipment and tools and the rest. You see? Anything not marked, you can dispose of as you please. More trouble from Brachus?”
“Ha. Not for me, but for somebody. He’s coming for you next, you know.”
“No, I don’t know but let him come. What’s it all about?”
“No comment. I’m out of it. Gotta run, see ya.”
“Mark?”
“What?”
“Somebody once told me ‘relax, they can’t leave without you, plenty of time’, or something to that effect. Remember?”
Gleshert gave out some guarded good news. Dylan seems stable and whatever else happens, he will be coming home with us.
There have been some final data acquired that are troubling. We have underestimated the total native population. It’s not a large error but on the other hand it’s statistically significant. I haven’t discussed the portent of this with anyone, not even Carol. I should, though, at least talk it over with her. What it means is that ‘our’ people, the so-called chosen ones, may not be enough. They and their progeny may not be able to dominate the planet after all. It depends on relative reproduction rates. We can only hope now that the train-the-trainer approach we took works and works real well. If it doesn’t, there’s a good chance that competing philosophies will emerge and delay the hoped-for advancement.
The more I think about our reward or ‘carrot’ idea, the more I like it. It’s not a false promise, but I do agree with Carol it might be misleading. After all, they won’t have the technology for many hundreds or thousands of years to perform any of the medical miracles they have witnessed. But the promise is real. They have seen that it can be done. Further, long ago their ancestors witnessed and recorded the long lifespans that are possible, again with pretty advanced technology, but that are certainly possible. Part of Dylan’s message was, if they believe and promote his teachings, that the promise of long life in a more ideal world is a real possibility. It’s our hope that, coupled with the senseless tragedy they witnessed in the brutal ‘sacrifice’ of Dylan, they will begin to renounce the primitive behaviors of insane wars and violent aggression based on greed and lust. It’s a shame that during the time Brachus held sway in the field he, in his quest to fulfill David’s desire that the prime lineage be protected, encouraged wars and battles. It will make the transition that much more difficult.
Carol and I are both having second thoughts about the inclusion of an aspect that was raised and accepted by the team: that of a threat. The overall message is one thing, but we decided to include a threat that we will return in the future to see how things are going. In other words, ‘you’d better behave ‘cause we’ll be back, either to welcome you into the larger universe of civilized worlds or else…’
No matter now. Nothing else can be done. We are all done. It is what it is. The small steps that we’ve made on this mission are over, for good or ill. But if we move back and take a larger perspective, it’s rosy. What used to be a molten ball of iron is now a nearly ideal habitat for life. The life it has is compatible in a fundamental way with ours. The people on it, while primitive, have the potential to join our larger society, someday, as equals. Like I said, rosy.
Misstep
I don’t believe it; here he comes again. This time I offer no greeting, no nod; I just look. I am in the middle of what used to be my base camp quarters dismantling, sorting, and crating.
“Hey, there he is. Just where I left ya’,” says Wes sort of to me, sort of to himself. The grin is wearing thin, that’s for certain. I choose to continue only to look, waiting for him to continue with whatever his business is. “You sure you won’t help me?”
“I don’t think so. I’ve got all this…,” gesturing at the remnants of my quarters. “Tell me again, exactly, what do you need help with?”
“Like I said, some help with my gear and other stuff from our visit. I’m overweight, and I don’t mean here,” he says, rubbing his abdomen and grinning still.
I am real tempted to make a comment but stifle it. “What kind of stuff?”
“Just some… keepsakes. What does it matter what? I just need some help.” I don’t respond and the grin disappears in a flash. “Forget it. I’ll get them myself.” He starts to turn to go, but stops himself and says, “I understand you are under your weight limit. I presume you won’t…”
“How do you know that? Never mind. Go ahead?”
“You won’t mind if I use up some of your allotment, will you, old pal?”
I turn away, and think, not of his question, but of his nerve. “Yeah. Ok. Whatever. Knock yourself out.” Anything, to be done with him.
______
It is with some amusement that later I see Brachus lugging two cases, one in each hand, and a smaller bundle under his left arm, across our base camp common area. He came from somewhere over behind what used to be Mark’s raw materials storage area and is heading to the uplift staging platform. He has to stop now and then to re-position the bundle by sort of hopping and moving his left elbow in and out. It’s a sight. He doesn’t see me in the small remnant of the mess hall, the only place left where there is some shade, but I can see him, no grin now, sweating with his effort.
Just as I am leaving my table— the table, as the rest have already been recycled—I see Brachus hurry off empty-handed in the same direction from which he had just recently emerged. ‘More?’ I think. I watch him long enough to see that he’s going out beyond Mark’s works, out of our base camp ar
ea entirely. As he enters and begins to climb one of the narrow craggy fissures that lead up into the surrounding mountains, I lose sight of him.
“You ready?” asks Porter as he and Craig both approach just then.
“You mean to go help him?” and I throw a nod towards Brachus’ direction.
“No, can’t. I’m prepping to take another load. And you with it. And Wes if he’s ready.”
“Me neither. I’m heading out for another sweep. The final one,” adds Craig.
I’m puzzled and I must look it.
“We’ve been visiting our remote sites making sure we’ve collected everything. Not supposed to leave any hardware or anything, you know. Erase the traces, and all that.”
“Of course. Are you finding anything out there?”
“Yeah, sure. There’s always something.” Craig pauses, glances at Porter before continuing. “There have been a few visitors too.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve talked to them, such as I’m able. All that time helping you out there paid off—I can talk to them.”
“No kidding. Be careful.”
“No worries. The visits don’t amount to much. I’m sticking to Dylan’s program as best I can…”
“Anyway, you’re scheduled to go up next, as soon as you are set,” interrupts Porter.
“I see. Yes, I’m ready.”
______
On my way up to the ship I ride alone with Porter and a full load of cargo. I scrunch in near a bulkhead. There are bundles, crates, various-sized cases, bulk material—all strapped down tight for ascent. There are remnants of Amara here; I see traces of reddish dust and grit on some of the pieces. A souvenir from our travels. I wonder about cross-contamination. I mean, we are careful enough, as I understand it, to decontaminate everything and everyone uplifted to the Hobbe but what about the other direction? Are we sure that we don’t bring contaminants with us down to the planet? I’ve heard all about the protocols in place, but you never know. Too late to worry about that now.