by Greg Curtis
“If you can do this to your own people, for no reason that we can understand, imagine what your people could do to others should they have the chance.” The translator might lend his words a certain dryness, but suddenly Daryl understood that the captain too was angry. Even shocked after seventy years. He had reason.
“This is why your own crime was so great. Humans threaten the Community with every advance your people make. That cannot be allowed. The day your people become a match for us, will be a bad day, and many of our races say that it is a day that should never come. That you should be exiled to your three worlds, and all space travel removed. Quarantined like the diseases your leaders claimed destroyed New Eden.”
“At present the voices of reason hold the balance. Maintaining your people roughly at the point they were seventy-one standard years ago. Limiting your advances, but not completely exiling you. However, the moment your people start gaining large technological advances, or especially start stealing them, that will change. Fear and prejudice will start to rule, and the consequences to your people will be drastic.”
“It is lucky you failed Doctor. Had you succeeded, I could not have prevented you being sent to a penal colony. Nor could the Force have stopped the other races from restricting your people’s capability to declare war, or travel in space, further. Much further.” As if things weren’t bad enough, Daryl suddenly began turning slowly grey with worry. He wondered if the others noticed. His people to be pushed down even further. Maybe even exiled. That was not good. He prayed that the Force would never find out what he’d done.
“Of course, had an advanced ship or technology suddenly been found among your people, that would be far worse still. For we would have had no way of assessing how your people had gained the technology. Or how much more they had which we would have known nothing about. You cannot imagine the outrage that would be heard in the Council. In short order your people would find themselves exiled to their three worlds, permanently. At the very least. They might well be reduced to one.”
“Any and all warships would be destroyed, weapons bases as well. Even freighters and small vessels like your own would be seized. The only transport allowed would be through the Force. Resistance of any sort would not be tolerated. And strength would be met with far greater strength. It is likely that your people would resist, and many would die because of it.”
“Oh, dear God!” The second option was worse still. Far worse, and Daryl, had to breathe deeply for a while. War? The captain was talking about war. War, which his people could not hope to win. War, which if they truly decided to fight, could cost them more than he could imagine. Lives, millions of lives, maybe many more could be lost. War that was almost certain thanks to him. And it would all be his fault.
What had he done? It was the only other thought on his mind. In one stupid act he had condemned his people. Either to further, intolerable restrictions, or to war and exile. For he knew that soon, perhaps in only a few more months, the scientists at home would begin testing their new drives. And when they did, all hell would break loose. They like him, would have no idea of the consequences of their actions. But that didn’t make any difference.
“As it is, your people have breathing room still. There are no advanced ships on the horizon. And we watch your test facilities closely.” The captain was still talking but Daryl could pay him little attention as his thoughts spiralled into panic and despair. His people had done monstrous things. Somehow. For some reason. He could no longer deny it. Not when the proof was staring him in the face. Yet he had done something nearly as bad. In his cursed ignorance he had condemned his people to one of two fates. One worse than the other.
He had no choice and he had no time. As he ignored the captain who was still talking, he understood that. He had to choose the best fate he could for his people. A fate for which they would not thank him. A fate which would cause them more hurt and pain. But one that would save them from war, and possibly extinction. And he had to do it today. Before events overtook him. It was the only possible decision, but it was not an easy one and the guilt was intolerable.
“Captain.” He didn’t even care that he interrupted the captain. It was trivial. Everything was trivial in his despair.
“I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. But they have that information. I gave it to them. Everything that was on the chip you found was on a second chip. And more. Much more.” Even as he spoke he could feel the shame crushing him down like a living, breathing weight. Pushing him into the floor. It was more than he could stand. More than anyone could stand. He couldn’t look at the others. He couldn’t face them. And if he couldn’t face them, how much worse would it be if he ever saw his people again. The people he had just betrayed. His own family. His world that he had just condemned to a fate even worse than that it already suffered. He could never go home, never look in a mirror again.
There was only one way out for him.
Though he hadn’t planned it, he could see exactly what he had to do as clearly as anything he’d ever known. He knew where the guard’s weapon was. Where they all were. In his stomach holster. Without any more thought than that he reached quickly across and pulled Halco’s disrupter out of its holster, set its beam to maximum even while the others were slowly starting to act, and fired it point blank into his heart.
Chapter Seven.
Pain. A lot of it. And it was everywhere.
That was the first thing he became aware of. The second was that he was aware of something. Of anything at all. That was wrong. Even before he became aware of anything else, he understood that he shouldn’t be aware of anything at all. He was dead. The guard’s disrupter had blown a massive hole in his chest, and no technology, no medicine should be able to reverse that.
Yet something had.
In time he had to accept that much. He was alive. Not in heaven or hell. Unless hell was really nasty and smelled like chemicals. He could feel the fabric of the mattress he was lying on. Could see the light through his closed eyes. Even hear things, though they made little sense.
In time more began to penetrate his battered mind. Like the fact that the pain wasn’t just in his chest. It was everywhere. In his fingers and toes. Which meant he had fingers and toes. He wasn’t some head in a jar somewhere as in so many horror stories. Experimentally he tried wiggling them, and found he could. He had to be in a hospital. In a bed. But how? Could the Force really have such advanced technology that they could replace an entire chest? Regardless of how, they clearly had healed him, or were still. It was the only explanation.
In time he tried opening his eyes. It was a mistake. The light coming in them was far too bright. Burning bright. He cried out, or rather he tried to. But nothing came out his throat other than a dry rattle. Instead he just closed his eyes tight and let the pain slowly subside to its former torturous level.
“You’re awake then.” It took him a while to understand that someone was speaking to him. In English too. It wasn’t an alien garble being translated into one ear. It was a woman’s voice. One he’d heard before briefly. When she’d patched up his knee. Even through the dull roaring that was echoing in his ears he could hear the pleasant tones of her voice. The music of her accent.
“About time too. Six hours unconscious is a lot, and the captain was getting worried. That was a hell of a stunt you pulled. Scared the hell out of everyone, and damn near did yourself some serious harm in the process. A tangler at that distance and power could have stopped your heart.” A tangler? What the hell was a tangler? The guards carried disrupters. Weapons that broke down cell walls and turned flesh to a pile of mush. He’d recognised the spiral fluting of the barrel that was its trademark, even as he’d snatched it.
“Nevertheless, with the skilled help of some very able doctors, you should be up and out of here tonight. Ready to go down with the Sparrow tomorrow.”
He tried to argue but his throat still wasn’t working.
“Don’t try and talk. Your throat’s paralysed and
full of tubes.” He felt a hand at his eyes, wiping something away. But he still didn’t feel like opening them.
“Besides, it’s more important that you listen. The captain says to tell you that you haven’t betrayed your people. They’re no worse off than before. The chip you palmed had already been replaced by our technicians. So you actually gave them exactly what the Force wanted them to have.”
“There will be no consequences to them as a result of you actions or your confession.” Something deep within Daryl collapsed. To know that he hadn’t blacklisted the entire future of his home was an enormous bird given flight from his chest. Some sort of sound, make that a groan, escaped from his paralysed throat. On the other hand, he was a little concerned to find out he’d actually given his people information the Force wanted them to get. That couldn’t be so good either. Later, when the relief had faded, he thought he might even get a little worried about it.
“He also says to tell you that you’re a flike’s mother, ahh make that a bloody idiot, if you’d ever thought you were going to smuggle anything important off the Targ while he was in charge. Especially with such a basic trick.” Was there laughter in her voice? He wasn’t sure.
“By the way in light of your recent good work you’ve been cleared of charges, and will be assigned quarters on the Targ, for yourself and Scratch. And who or what exactly is Scratch? Better not be a dog or there’ll be hell to pay with Tigger.” Tigger? Sounded like a cat to him. Maybe Scratch would have some company.
“Oh and if you ever pull a stunt like that again you’ll be cleaning the ship from bow to stern with a, - well – toothbrush will do.” This time he was sure she was laughing at him. He wasn’t entirely sure why, though it surely had something to do with the toothbrush. Did Myrans have teeth? He rather thought they had a bony palate. And what was a flike anyway?
He opened his eyes again, and immediately regretted it. Everything was still a burning white mess of fire. But his doctor must have noticed, as he felt something cool and dark being placed over them.
“Not a good idea. The tangler’s charge has left many of your nerves in a heightened state of excitement. It’ll pass, in a few hours. But in the mean time I suggest you try and get some sleep. And might I suggest that just maybe you’ll remember this, and learn not to play with guns. Someone always gets hurt.” He couldn’t see her face but somehow he had this image of a school teacher wagging her finger at him. Perhaps a little facetiously.
He wanted to respond. To say something, anything, but he couldn’t. Even if he’d had the ability he wouldn’t have known what to say. Fortunately he wasn’t given the chance to babble like an imbecile. There was a slight pressure on his arm and suddenly his world went black again.
Chapter Eight.
The eleventh day spent in orbit above QA 40 proved to be the one they’d all been waiting for. The scientists most especially, as they’d been held back on the Targ while the city was cleared of traps, though in truth they were torn between a hunger to go exploring and a fear of being killed. But on day eleven the last of the traps were cleared and the captain officially declared the city open for exploration. With some provisos of course. There was a difference between the city having been cleared of traps, and it actually being safe.
Daryl and the others, after having actually gotten rid of the last of the bolos in that one ferocious attack had spent the next three days clearing away the last of the subterranean traps and making a path into the city. But with the bolos gone, so was most of the danger, and they’d found it much easier on their nerves.
Naturally any of the surviving anti air and space defences were off line within the city, and most of the close range ground defences consisted of variations of the same traps they had already faced, and which had been relatively easy to take out, especially from behind. It was always a weakness of any defence that they protected from outside threats, not within. So the Targ’s weapons people and engineers had slowly come up through the new entrance they’d opened up in the centre of the city, safe from the underground defences, and taken them out one by one. It was a slow process, but safe with the techniques they’d already developed, and Daryl was more than pleased when they pronounced their work done, and that without a single casualty.
Next they had to start opening up the city for exploration, and because absolutely no one was prepared to guarantee that all the defences were deactivated - there could always be a couple of hidden weapons systems remaining, just waiting to take out an incoming ship - the way in had to be through the tunnel. But provided that the scientists came in through the tunnel that the Sparrow was slowly widening for larger traffic, it should be relatively safe in the city.
Of course, Daryl didn’t like the thought of piloting a shuttle through a tunnel, but the crew assured him it was safe and in any case, he didn’t have to do it. They could take the bug instead. In a day or so the Force hoped to take the Sparrow itself through, and maybe one of the cruisers as well.
Once the Targ’s munitions engineers and mine sweepers, had finished their mop up as they cleared out every potential weapon that remained, and then deactivated the few remaining land, air and space defences they could find, they declared the city wide open to the applause of the scientists, and the relief of the crew. The Targ itself could theoretically land, although nobody had suggested such a thing and the captain was never going to be that foolish. All that were left to worry about were a few more static traps, left behind to guard specific pieces of equipment. Equipment that was now being taken back to the Targ to be analysed in minute detail. Their defences had been no match for a dedicated team of Force engineers.
After that the scientists had started running amok with theories and plans for digging through the ancient city, and after insisting that every scientist or party was to be led by a Force officer, and that all entrances were to be through the tunnel, the captain had let them. The danger was hopefully in the past, his work was done.
Naturally Daryl wasn’t to be part of the scientific work. He was firstly too primitive according to Li to be of any assistance. This was a job for real scientists not bounty-hunting freeloaders as he started calling him. And secondly according to Helos, he was a criminal, and therefore untrustworthy. Helos somehow failed to recall that he himself had been in the brig a couple of times.
Instead of hunting through the major buildings in the city, Daryl and Ryal were allocated the task of checking the apartments out. Looking for anything interesting and reporting back if they found something, but definitely not touching it. Naturally, the apartments were the things that had the least interesting stuff in them. The bulk of the machinery, and any computers should they be here, would be stored in the secure buildings, which they would never be allowed near.
Oddly enough Daryl didn’t mind his subservient role. For more than a week he’d done nothing but live with an overwhelming sense of relief as he knew his people were no worse off than before. Or perhaps it was just wonder that he was alive. Either way it was a feeling that just wouldn’t leave him and no bigoted alien scientist was going to take it away from him. Besides, on the professional side, he figured this bounty-hunting freeloader had now done the one thing that no member of the Community ever had; he had raided an ancient Calderonian city without casualties. Twice.
He’d taken particular pleasure in informing both Helos and Li of that. It was a shame he couldn’t really read their various expressions and body languages, but he liked to imagine them grinding their teeth together in frustration. If you could call what they had, teeth.
Sadly he had more important things to do than annoy them. One in particular. He had to get to the bottom of the New Eden nightmare. To find out what had happened. Who had ordered the destruction of the colony, since it couldn’t be the whole council surely. And who had done the deed.
From the first day when he’d woken up in his new quarters on the Targ, he’d known that that had to be his singular duty, even if it took him the rest of his life. He didn’t
know how to do it, scarcely even where to begin, but he knew it was far more important than anything else he could ever do.
It wasn’t just the sense of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him every so often, though that was so strong that he often had to keep reminding himself he had nothing to feel guilty about. He hadn’t done it. Hadn’t even been alive at the time. Nor had his immediate family as far as he knew. None of their older relatives had been either in the military, politics, or criminals at the time. Nor was it even the need to find some way of living with these green-eyed people that drove him. Though that was also there. It was simple desperation. It was a driving force as everyday he understood anew just how and why his people had been held back so far, and that it would only continue until some form of redress was made. Or until something went horribly wrong, another mistake such as the one he’d almost caused.
Like it or not, he knew he was now probably the only human being in existence, other than the Edenites, who could help the Earth out of its predicament, and that he had no choice but to try. Everything, the dig, his freedom, his work, everything had to come second to that. So being given light duties planet-side, meant that he had more time to start work on it.