by Dayton Ward
Raya slammed the heel of her hand against the door, pushing it open as she dashed into the outer offices of Umeen orWenda, her longtime friend and occasional rival at the Convocation’s Atmospheric and Astronomic Council. The first thing she noticed was the active oval-shaped display monitor, tuned to one of the dozens of news broadcasts currently being aired. While the audio had been muted, the stark visuals—a computer-generated star map depicting a representation of Mestiko and the sun it orbited, along with another, highlighted object emitting bright yellow lines that intersected the image of the planet—and the expression of the journalist currently reporting were more than enough to convey what was rapidly becoming the only topic of discourse, not only here but perhaps across the entire world.
We are going to die.
The thought echoing in her ears as she tore her eyes away from the monitor, Raya noted the conspicuous absence of Umeen’s assistant. That alone was an uncommon occurrence, particularly at this time of the workday when the councillor was at his busiest. With no one to stop her, she made her way across the anteroom and pushed open the door leading to the inner office.
“Umeen?” she called out.
Seated in his favored high-back chair behind an ornate wooden desk perhaps twice the size of the more utilitarian model she used and watching another monitor—a smaller, tabletop display showing the same news broadcast as was currently airing in his outer office—Umeen orWenda looked up at her approach. “Raya?” he asked, squinting to see her across the expanse of his spacious chamber. “Is that you?”
Stoop-shouldered and thin, Umeen was an elder member of the AAC, having occupied his position on the council since well before the first time Raya had encountered him. She had been a student at university and he was old, then, of course, though she had watched in recent seasons as his body seemed to succumb ever more rapidly to the onset of advanced age.
Despite his deteriorating physical condition, Umeen’s mind remained as sharp as ever, something he demonstrated every time Raya saw him, either in private or as he addressed the Convocation about various matters pertaining to the mission of the AAC. She had watched him stand before her and her colleagues and argue for budget increases in order to fund new satellite technology, and it had been Umeen who first had suggested that Larenda could do worse than to assist the Gelta nation in its controversial space programs, funding Raya herself had always argued could be better spent on curing the planet’s mounting environmental woes.
In the end, it seemed, Umeen always won.
Pointing to the images on the monitor situated at the corner of the councillor’s desk, Raya asked, “Can this be true?”
Umeen paused, and the expression clouding his aged countenance—a combination of fatigue and perhaps regret—told Raya everything she needed to know even before he spoke the words.
“Yes, I am afraid so.”
Raya felt her stomach tighten as though struck by a physical blow. “I do not understand,” she said as she all but sank into the heavily padded chair positioned before Umeen’s desk. “How can this be possible?”
Despite her growing apprehension, she managed to keep enough presence of mind to pay attention to the councillor’s brief explanation of the compact, renegade star currently traveling across the outer boundary of Mestiko’s solar system, emitting lethal radiation that eventually would wash across the surface of the planet in less than a solar cycle’s time.
“Everything will die?” she asked once her friend finished his cold, almost dispassionate explanation.
Umeen nodded. “The atmosphere will be all but burned away, creating a seemingly never-ending series of shock waves that will cause tumultuous weather events unlike anything ever recorded. According to our calculations, our side of the planet will be shielded from the direct effects, but the radiation’s impact will still be felt worldwide. There simply will be no escaping it.”
Feeling the first hints of true fear beginning to grip her, Raya said, “How can you be so sure?”
“The data has been corroborated by no less than seven different scientific bodies around the world,” Umeen replied, indicating the monitor atop his desk with one withered hand. “Of course, that information was not to be disclosed in this manner, and I am sorry you had to learn of it this way.”
Her brow furrowing, Raya scowled at the councillor. “How long have you known about this?”
Releasing a resigned sigh, Umeen reached up to scratch his long, thin neck. “Almost two full seasons now. For reasons that should be obvious, it was hoped the information about the Pulse could be kept secret from the public. Perhaps that was wishful thinking on our part.”
“Our part?” Raya repeated. “Who else knows?”
Umeen shrugged. “The councillors of the Zamestaad, of course, as well as a handful of my peers in the science community and the leaders of the three nations who have access to space telescopes capable of detecting the object. That is the way it was to remain until the end.” Nodding toward the monitor again, he added, “Obviously, someone decided differently.”
Holding up a hand in protest, Raya said, “Are you saying that the Zamestaad has decided that nothing can be done for us? We are to simply lie down and die without any attempt to save ourselves? There must be something we can do, some preparations we can make.”
For the first time since her arrival, she saw frustration cross Umeen’s features. “Child, if you do not believe that our planet’s greatest scientific minds have been laboring over this dilemma in the hopes of gleaning a solution, then you are as naïve about this as you were when you took me to task during those university lectures.” Then his expression softened, and he sighed once more. “There is something of a plan in place, of course. People are even now being urged to move to shelters, either storm shelters, or the more robust versions constructed long ago during the global wars. I also have heard of some groups making their way to the inland mountain ranges, to the caves and tunnels there. It will be a futile effort, though. Even if such shelters are sufficient to protect against the radiation, it is unlikely anyone will escape the Pulse’s long-term effects.”
Raya felt a tear sliding down her cheek as she finally began to absorb the enormity of what Umeen was telling her. “So, what are we to do?”
Shaking his head, Umeen replied, “There is precious little we can do, my dear. In the time remaining to us, I fear we shall have our hands full just keeping the public from devolving into mass hysteria and anarchy.” With a tired, resigned smile, he added, “Not that I believe such efforts will be successful, mind you.”
Rising from her chair, Raya made her way to the large, elliptic window dominating the rear wall of Umeen’s office. Looking down into the expansive courtyard that occupied the center of the Convocation grounds, her eyes were drawn first to the courtyard’s stand of revered noggik trees, their gnarled, fruit-bearing branches and fragrant wood a living symbol for many people of the diversity and plenty of all life. The courtyard was a regular place of respite for Raya, where she could find momentary peace away from the daily responsibilities and stresses of her duties.
As she watched now, however, the courtyard was anything but serene and calming. Dozens of armed security personnel moved about, either securing the various exits from the complex or working to bring under control what appeared to be a growing crowd of civilians. Even from where she stood, three levels above the ground, Raya still could see expressions of concern, anguish, and fear on the faces of the citizens. No doubt they had come here, to the seat of their elected government, in search of answers to what was being disseminated over the news broadcasts. The longer they went without information—some sign that their leaders were working on their behalf—the more panic-stricken they would become. Chaos would soon reign supreme.
For a short time, at least.
As she watched the growing unrest among the people she had been selected to serve and as she realized she was no longer in a position to do anything for them, Raya’s thoughts turned i
nstead to a single person.
Your words would be such a comfort now, my beloved Elee. What am I to do?
“…sent to us by a member of the first consul’s administration who has asked to remain anonymous, appear to leave no doubt that our entire planet faces an imminent threat from space. So far, all requests for clarification from the first consul have gone unanswered.”
“How could you do this?”
Along with Mino orDresha, Dr. Nathan Apohatsu stood with the other two members of his cultural observation team—the three of them each sporting their Payav clothing, makeup and prosthetics that allowed them to move undetected about the local populace—at the rear of Flen etHamwora’s office, watching as the elderly Payav leader rose from his chair and leveled an accusatory finger at the individual who—so far as the public was concerned, at least—remained “anonymous.”
“Do you not realize what you have done?” Flen asked Celadi ilSom, who until a few moments ago had been one of the first consul’s most trusted assistants. As he jabbed his long, bony finger at the younger Payav, Flen’s anger seemed on the verge of racking his entire aged, emaciated frame. “Surely you comprehend the widespread panic this will cause? Why would you do such a thing?”
His hands clasped behind his back as he stood flanked by two members of the security force assigned to the capital, Celadi nodded slowly. “I felt the people deserved to know what was coming, so that they might be with their loved ones, rather than simply going about their normal lives as though nothing were amiss.” Looking up, he added, “Is it wrong to want to seek peace when one’s end is near?”
“Of course not,” Flen snapped, “but you are not empowered to make that decision for an entire world!” He started to say something else, but the words were interrupted by a deep, gurgling cough that caused him to collapse back into his seat. Watching the first consul struggle to regain his composure, Apohatsu knew that this was yet another effect of the disease ravaging Flen’s weakened body.
He had watched the progression of the first consul’s ailment in the months since his initial meeting with the aged leader. In that time, he had come to respect Flen not only as an individual, but also for the courage he displayed every day as he forced aside his personal struggles in order to continue his service to the people of Gelta.
As Flen reached for a carafe of water, Mino stepped forward. “Celadi,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on the assistant’s shoulder, “what else did you tell the journalist?”
Clearing his throat, Celadi replied, “I provided information about the Pulse’s projected effects, the damage it would cause, and how soon it would begin. I supplied computer simulation data and visual records obtained from our telescopes. Additionally, I offered the names of certain scientists who could corroborate the data on the promise of anonymity.”
“So, there are others who have betrayed us, as well?” Flen asked, having once again reclaimed his bearing. Not waiting for an answer to the question, he rose once more from his chair, using his cane to shuffle his way to the expansive window that formed his office’s rear wall. Looking down on the vista of Yabapmat, he shook his head. “The repercussions of your actions will be staggering, if somewhat short-lived.” As he said that last part, his eyes shifted so that he was looking at Apohatsu, and the doctor was sure he saw uncertainty in the elder Payav’s features.
For the first time since his arrival on this planet, the doctor was acutely aware of how much he and his companions did not belong here. Apohatsu looked to the other members of his team, and saw true sorrow in the eyes of his fellow Earth-born researcher Camila Schiapp. The cultural anthropologist’s somber expression seemed even more acute given her Payav disguise, which hid from view the brown hair that usually framed her face and that always refused to be tamed by the ponytail she typically wore.
Next to Schiapp, the Deltan sociologist Vlenn regarded him with hard eyes and lips pressed tightly together. While Apohatsu outranked him, Vlenn was by far the most experienced member of the team. In the doctor’s experience, no one held any greater appreciation for the duty to protect indigenous peoples and cultures from outside influences that might irreparably change the course of their natural development. Given all that had happened—over the past several months, to say nothing of the past few minutes—there was no denying the expression of helplessness and frustration now visible in the Deltan’s features.
“What you did was misguided, but I know that it was without malice,” Flen said as he turned away from the window, and Apohatsu now saw the strain of the past months—his disease, coupled with the need to come to this place each day in order to carry out the duties of his office, knowing all the while that he was helpless to protect the civilization he had been elected to lead—etched firmly in his pallid features.
The first consul did have a point, Apohatsu knew. That Celadi had not known of the existence of Apohatsu and the rest of the team was fortunate, in that it obviously would have led to all manner of other questions regarding their presence here, to say nothing about inquiries into their knowledge of the pulsar and whether they might be able to do anything about it.
Waving toward the guards standing on either side of Celadi, Flen ordered, “Take him down to the emergency command center.” As the pair of security personnel moved to collect their charge, the first consul held up his free hand. “Wait.” Moving slowly but with a renewed purpose around the corner of his desk, he moved to stand before his assistant. “Celadi,” he said, his raspy voice sounding even more tired now, “your family will be brought to the shelter. You should be together when…” His voice faltering, he suppressed another cough. “You should be together.”
As the guards left with Celadi and Flen made his way back to his chair, Mino stepped closer to the first consul’s desk. “What happens now?”
“Now?” Flen repeated, lowering his withered frame into his seat. “As we speak, our police, military, and emergency first-response assets are being deployed toward quelling the mass unrest that is gripping the populace. I have already begun the steps to declare nationwide martial law in the hopes that such drastic, distasteful measures might afford us some degree of control, as fleeting a concept as that is rapidly becoming.”
“First Consul,” Apohatsu said, stepping toward the desk, “there is something you might wish to consider.”
His eyes widening in surprise, Flen asked, “And what might that be?”
“Talk to the people,” the doctor replied, his initial uncertainty at the idea fading with each word he spoke. “Tell them that the situation is not as certain as was first believed. The calculations support several conclusions. Tell them you really don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“You can’t be serious,” Schiapp said as she moved toward him. “What possible good can that do now?”
“Perhaps nothing at all,” Vlenn replied even before Apohatsu could open his mouth to speak. “However, there is a chance it will quell the panic, at least for a time.”
“You’re not suggesting I tell the people about you?” Flen asked.
Apohatsu shook his head. “Certainly not, First Consul. I merely advocate giving them some small piece of hope on which to cling. It could help for a short time, after which, either their prayers will have been answered, or…it simply won’t matter anymore.”
Reaching up to wipe his face, Flen indicated the door through which Celadi had been escorted with a nod of his head. “I can only imagine what might now be ensuing among the people if he had been privy to that information. Still, is it wise to alert the populace now? Considering that this plan that your people are putting into motion is fraught with uncertainty, we risk falsely elevating our people’s hopes, particularly at this late juncture.”
The allegation was veiled, but Apohatsu caught it nonetheless. “As I have told you before, First Consul, the technology being employed in this endeavor took a considerable amount of time to develop, and remains untried. Further, the people currently involved in its us
e are doing so at great risk to their own safety.”
Nodding at words he had heard before, Flen said, “We have discussed your directives against interfering in cultures that are not as advanced as yours, Doctor. For some time, I have wondered if that directive had any part in the length of time it took to arrive at a means of helping us.”
“I beg your pardon,” Vlenn said, the Deltan making no attempt to hide the disbelief in his voice. “Are you actually accusing our people of dragging their feet so as to somehow avoid rendering aid?”
It took a moment, but Flen eventually shook his head. “No, but trust me when I tell you that—should anyone survive the calamity about to befall our world—it will not be the last time such an accusation is raised.”
“With all due respect, First Consul,” Mino said, “I do not believe our friends are capable of merely standing by and watching our people die. Their actions to this point are obvious evidence of that.”
Flen cleared his throat. “Their laws would indicate that they have done precisely that, at least once.”
“We’re here now, aren’t we?” Schiapp said, her voice quivering as she fought to control her composure. “We’ve spent a year and a half here, immersed in your culture, watching your children grow, your world thrive.” Apohatsu looked to his friend and saw the tears welling in her eyes. Reaching up to wipe her face, she drew herself straight, her jaw setting in that expression of determination the doctor had come to know so well. “And now we stand here, with you, waiting to see if your world can be saved.”
Something in the woman’s voice seemed to strike a chord in Flen. He studied her for several seconds before looking to Apohatsu. “Is that true, my friend? Do you stand with us and await our fate?”
Realizing what was being asked of him—and the inherent trust that hinged on his response—Nathan Apohatsu nodded.
“We stand with you, First Consul, until the end.”
CHAPTER
7