by Martin H.
Then Belle had grinned. “Or maybe they’re just conning us like everyone else has managed to lately.”
It was possible, Roz supposed, but she didn’t know why there would be such an elaborate con. There were easier ways of trapping Galland, and the Galactic Patrol didn’t even work this sector. So she was inclined to believe the Xanadians were real.
Her staff agreed. They thought the Xanadians were the real thing.
Now she just had to find out what the little gold mines wanted.
Instead of meeting her down by the city, the creature met her inside the door to the catacombs. Near the surface, it looked more molelike than she had expected, its dark eyes squinting at the light filtering in the open door.
Her own team waited just outside as the creature had asked them to do. It had pulled Roz far enough away that her voice couldn’t be heard by her own people-and she wondered how it knew that or if it was just comfortable a distance away from the others-and then it said,
We are tiny race. We live in the-and again it made a sneezy burpy sound, which somehow she understood to mean the continent she was on- and nowhere else. The other races on this planet leave us alone. They’re frightened of our abilities. But now, creatures from space have come- several in the past year-and by that she knew it meant its year, not her year- and all of them seemed intrigued by our abilities to understand them. We get a sense of threat and we do not know why. You are the first to speak of trade, barter, buying, and we begin to understand. Our ability to communicate does not frighten you. You desire it, see it as a commodity, see it as something that will improve your lives.
She nodded, then said, “Yes,” just in case it didn’t understand.
We sent the others away, telling them that we want to be left alone. And it seems, they all told your people. Why is that?
“Knowledge.” she said. “It’s a commodity, too, among my people.”
The creature rubbed its handlike paws together, as if she had confirmed its thinking.
We had heard of your union. We were going to apply to it for its protection until you arrived. You have hesitations. It is as if you do not believe in the organization you represent.
If she needed confirmation of the creatures’ telepathic ability, then this was it. The creature had put into words the very thing that had been bothering her.
If she were to report back to Galland, he would come out here. Or he would send a force out here. He’d been far enough away to tamper with her records, hide the loss of a ship, and make himself rich enough to have expensive goods all over his office.
If he made some kind of deal with these creatures outside Alliance guidelines-and any deal he made with them for his own gain would be-there would be no one to stop him.
At least not until it was too late.
She could, she supposed, let Headquarters know what was happening, but that would be difficult, especially considering how Galland had discredited her and her crew.
And, really, when she looked at it, what was the Alliance, anyway? A federation of planets with nothing more in common than their military unity. They claimed they were diplomats exploring the galaxy, but the races they found either joined the Alliance or became the Alliance’s enemies.
She had no idea why the Ba-am-as hated the Patrol, but she had a hunch the reasons she had been told weren’t the ones the Ba-am-as had.
She sighed. “I’m not the best representative for my people. I’ve been discredited and I allowed myself to be conned.”
The creature turned toward her. Its dark eyes seemed to have grown even darker.
We know this.
“Then you know that I no longer believe in the Alliance I represent.”
It is why we talk with you. One of the creature’s forearms fluttered like the wing of a grounded bird. We believe you are the first alien we have encountered that might be able to help us.
“Help you?” she asked. “How?”
It would require you to break several of your laws. The creature studied her as if it could see through her.
“It seems I’ve done that already.”
And you would have to find new allegiances.
“I’m listening,” she said.
So, with a wave of its little pawlike hands, the creature outlined its proposition.
She had to take the proposition back to her crew. The creatures were willing to wait while she returned to her ship. She held the meeting shortly after she arrived.
“We know nothing about these creatures,” Ivy said. “If they want us to train them so that they can go back into space, how do we know they won’t go out and conquer the galaxy?”
“All five hundred of them?” Belle asked.
The entire staff looked at her.
“I checked. We can scan below the surface, even if our communicators don’t work there.”
“Any way they could have fudged that?” Gina asked Tom.
“I suppose,” he said. “If they have a great understanding of our technology and lots of time to prepare.”
“I take that as a no,” Roz said.
“Unless you’re really paranoid,” Tom said.
“Besides,” Belle said, “they reproduce slowly. Even if all five hundred decide to conquer the galaxy, it’ll be a while before they have the ability to do so.”
“They say they reproduce slowly,” Tom said.
“No,” Belle said. “This one I could check. Gestation period of one of our years, two years in a pouch-they’re more marsupials than mammals in some ways-and then nearly two decades to grow up.”
“Okay,” Ivy said. “So they can’t conquer the known universe.”
“Not in our lifetime,” Belle said. “Besides, Roz said they’re going to let us interview the other races on this planet about them.”
“And how do you propose we do that?” Ethan asked.
“We don’t speak any of the languages. And I don’t exactly trust the only available translators.”
“It boils down to trust,” Roz said. “And I don’t have any left, for anyone at least, except this crew.”
No one spoke.
“Which brings up another problem,” Roz said into the silence. “I mean, we’re not going to limp back to Alliance space, not if we do this.”
Everyone looked at her.
“You’re proposing stealing the Millennium?” Ethan asked.
“On the books,” Roz said, “we already have.”
“And doing what with her?”
Roz sighed. She’d been thinking about this since she went through the Cactus Corridor. “She’s our home, isn’t she? None of us has family anywhere else.”
The staff was silent.
“And we’ve been doing things we don’t like for reasons that we all hated because we thought we were working for the Alliance. It turns out we weren’t.”
“So shouldn’t we go back and get a court-martial for Galland?” Ivy asked.
“Maybe,” Roz said. “If we can. If we believe it’ll happen. Like I said, I don’t believe in much anymore.”
“What are you suggesting?” Ethan asked.
‘They can’t come after us,“ Roz said. ”We’ve screwed up their passage through the Corridor. It’ll take them a few tries before they realize that the Ba-am-as believe there’s an agreement, a few more tries before they anger the Ba-am-as into believing the agreement’s over, and then at least two years of flying before they make it here, our last known stop.“
“We’d be fugitives for the rest of our lives,” Gina said.
“Only in Alliance space.”
The entire staff looked at her as if she had three heads. Roz was beginning to get used to that response.
She shrugged. “It’s just an idea. I’m beginning to realize that I’m not the most subtle person in the world. Or the greatest brain. But I do have an ethical center. I’m not suggesting we go out and pillage this part of the galaxy.”
“Then what are you suggesting?” Ethan asked.
&n
bsp; “Doing what we were hired to do. Exploring. Helping when we feel it’s right.”
Belle rubbed her chin with her left hand. “You think helping the Xanadians is right.”
“Not so that they relearn space travel,” Roz said, “but so that they can defend themselves against anyone who wants to use their special abilities for the wrong reason.”
“And what would you take in payment?”
“Nothing,” Roz said.
“Nothing?” the crew asked in unison.
“Well, supplies,” Roz said. “We’re going to have to learn how to barter for those, if you follow my suggestion. And one other thing.”
“What’s that?” Ethan asked in a tone that suggested he hated the idea without hearing it.
“Adding a Xanadian to our crew. Provided we learn to like the creatures and feel we can trust them.”
“Why?”
“A universal translator is a valuable thing,” Roz said. “And the Xanadians want to learn what space flight is like. So we work together.”
“Create a new alliance,” Ethan said, sitting down hard, making the chair groan.
“Not a formal alliance,” Roz said. “More like an association. A friendly interaction.”
“It makes me uncomfortable. Any Xanadian on this ship will know everything about everyone.”
“Unless it lives in some kind of water environment,” Belle said. “Think you could jury-rig something like that over the next year, Tom?”
He nodded. “I even know the place to do it.”
“It’s not a sure thing,” Roz said. “We wouldn’t do it if we decide we don’t like them or we can’t trust them.”
“Then what do we do?” Ethan asked.
Roz leaned forward. “We leave.”
“Just like that?” Ethan asked.
She nodded. “What’s holding us here? What’s holding us anywhere?”
“Imagine what we’ll see,” Tom said. “Imagine what we’ll do.”
“It won’t all be easy,” Belle said.
“But it will be interesting,” Gina said.
Ethan looked at Roz. “Is this what freedom feels like?”
She grinned. “I don’t know,” she said, “but I have a hunch it is.”
The Xanadians agreed to the loose alliance. Roz made plans to interview some of the other species on the planet, and the Millennium orbited like a glorified guard ship while all of this was going on.
There was still a lot to work out. The entire crew had been notified, and she expected dissension in the ranks. Tom told her that one of the shuttles could be modified so that dissenters could try to fly back to Alliance space if they wanted.
So far, no one had volunteered.
Roz had a hunch no one would. The adventure out there was just too promising, the universe too vast.
Everyone on the crew had joined the Patrol for the same idealistic reasons she had, and the last eleven missions had whittled away that idealism. Since she made her decision to break off from the Alliance, though, she heard a lot more laughter on her ship.
The pressure was gone. It was as if they had worked for an evil master and were now free.
The key, of course, was to maintain their own idealism in the face of being alone on this side of the Corridor. She felt they could do it.
She felt like her life’s adventure had just begun.
THE END
A TIME TO DREAM
by Dean Wesley Smith
Dean Wesley Smith has sold over twenty novels and around one hundred short stories to various magazines and anthologies. He’s been a finalist for the Hugo and Nebula Awards, and has won a World Fantasy Award and a Locus Award. He was the editor and publisher of Pulphouse Publishing, and has just finished editing the Star Trek anthology Strange New Worlds.
Captain Brian Sable of the Earth Protection League could tell there would be a mission. Tonight was the night. The first mission in over a week. The border skirmish on the third moon of the Garland Star Cluster must have flared up again. Or something else threatened the security of Earth. The League was needed to stop the threat. He was needed, and he was ready.
Across the small nursing home room the old clock on the wooden dresser ticked, echoing in the small space and dim light, demanding his attention just as it did every night as he lay in his bed, awake, waiting. When he’d first arrived at the Shady Valley Nursing Home outside of Chicago six years earlier, that old clock had let him count down the seconds until he died. Long seconds, never-ending seconds that he had wished would go by faster.
Now the loud ticking of that old clock in the night counted the minutes until the next mission, until the time he could become young again. And the time waiting, getting older and closer to death went by too fast now.
Far too fast.
Now he wanted to stay alive, to stay with the missions and the Earth Protection League, to get the chance to be young enough to wear his Proton Stunners and fight the good fight against the enemies of Earth.
The clock ticked.
Time went by.
Down the dimly lit hall outside his room’s door a nurse laughed at an unheard joke.
Captain Brian Sable coughed, the sound weak and pitiful in the silence of the nursing home.
He glanced at the clock. He could barely see the hands in the light from the hall, but he could tell it was only a little after ten in the evening. It was still far too early for them to come for him.
He tried to roll his ninety-one-year-old body over on its side, but only succeeded in shifting the sheet slightly under him. He hadn’t had the strength to pull himself out of bed for over two years, let alone roll over. And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked across this small room on his own to the bathroom. A nurse’s aide always had to carry him and plop him on the cold toilet, then carry him back to his bed or wheelchair.
He laughed, and the laugh again turned into a rough cough that sent his old heart pounding. He forced himself to calm down and to not think about how he was at the moment. He hated thinking about how old he was, how frail his body had become, how dependent on others he now was. He reminded himself that none of that mattered like it used to.
Now he had the missions for the Earth Protection League. The missions gave his old life purpose, his continued liv-ing in this way station of the dying a valid reason. And even though there hadn’t been a mission for almost a week, he knew tonight was the night.
He could tell.
It was all in the details. For example, the night nurse had left the rail on his bed down. The nurse never did that, except on mission nights.
They had also cleaned him up early and put him to bed. They never did that either unless there was a mission to run.
Of course, when he had first talked to them about the missions after his first one, they had all laughed at him. They had said there was no such thing as the Earth Protection League. They claimed that he had just had a strange dream.
But he knew better.
He’d gone on a mission, gotten young again. He had helped Earth defend itself against the evil scum of the galaxy. And since that night he’d gone on many, many more missions.
Tonight he was ready again.
Hell, he was always ready. There was nothing else for him to do.
The clock ticked the night away minute by minute, second by second. On the night of a mission, waiting was the hardest. Sometimes he wished he couldn’t tell when a mission was. It would make sleep easier.
So he forced himself to think about other things. First he thought about his long-dead wife, Margaret. She would have laughed at him if she knew what he was doing. But she wouldn’t have minded. She had always supported him in everything he did, one of the many things he had loved about her.
Their children, Strom and Claire, didn’t have time for him much anymore. They had their own lives, their own jobs, their own kids to raise. He hadn’t bothered to even hint to them about the missions. There would have been no point. They were part of his
past, his life as a grocery store owner. None of that compared with his life now as a captain in the Earth Protection League.
He watched the clock as it ticked away the time.
At some point along the way, at least an hour after midnight, he dozed off.
“Captain Sable?” the young, male voice said.
Strong arms picked him up from the bed and moved quickly toward the sliding glass door that lead into the center court of the nursing home. “We need your help again, sir.”
“Always ready to help,” Sable said. His old vocal cords managed to barely choke out the words. Those were the same words he always said at the start of every mission.
He glanced at the old clock on the way out. Three-sixteen in the morning. He would be back shortly.
If he lived.
The sliding door to the outside was open and the Chicago night air was cold against his old skin. But the young soldier who carried him didn’t even pause. He strode across to the center of the court and then tapped a badge on his wrist. A white beam of light from above lifted them quickly into the transport ship.
Sable knew that around the country the same thing had happened, or was happening, at least forty-one other times as his crew was gathered from their respective nursing homes and retirement apartments.
The young man with the strong arms quickly moved to a silver, coffin-shaped sleep chamber and laid Sable down slowly on the soft cushions.
“Any hints as to the fight?” Sable asked. “The nature of the mission?”
The young soldier smiled. “Couldn’t tell you if I knew, sir,” he said. “But they never tell us grunts what’s happening on this end. I just wish I could be there with you.”
Sable laughed. “I wish you could, too, son.”
But both of them knew that wasn’t possible. The reason the ninety-one-year-old Sable was going instead of the young soldier was because of the problems with Trans-Galactic flight. Simply put, it regressed a human body. If that kid had come along, he’d be nothing more than a baby, if that, when they dropped out of Trans-Galactic flight.
And so far no one could figure out why it did that, or so he was told. He had heard all the explanations of relativity, the curved nature of space, and the different fixed states of matter, but it still had made no sense to him.