by Richard Dee
Overall, she had a quiet air about her, as if deep in thought about the secrets of the universe. She looked at me and blushed, as if she could read my mind, and then her face cracked into the broadest grin you could imagine. Her teeth were white and even, and a small pink tongue waggled furiously as words came out in a rush.
“Hello, you must be Dave, I’m Myra, the engineer on this bucket, don’t take notice of Rixon, well I suppose you must as he’s the boss, but just ignore his sarcasm, and you’ll be alright.” She stopped for breath and I saw Rixon grin.
“Myra, you’re gabbling again,” he said, in that gently mocking tone, “you always do that when you get a man in front of you.”
“Well it never happens with you, does it, Skipper?” She raised an eyebrow. “Now where’s the beer, I’ve had my head stuck in the Inverter for half a day and I need hydrating. And why is Dave not drinking?”
Rixon lent over behind his desk and produced two cans of beer; Myra took them and led me to a vacant seat. I sat and she wriggled herself in beside me and passed me a can; I clicked the bottom, hearing the hiss of the chemical reaction that instantly frosted the metal. We opened the tabs and knocked our cans together in a toast and I took a long drink, it hit the spot straight away.
“So, Dave Travise,” she said, sounding genuinely interested, “tell me all about how you ended up here.”
Myra was touching me as we sat, wedged into a space really only big enough for one of us, and I realised that she was leaning into me as she spoke.
And the warmth of her body, the tone of her voice, and her huge eyes gazing at me, made me open up and give her the full story.
Chapter Two
Then
It was a long story; it had all started out as a mission of mercy. The local Navy Commander had received a call for help from the settlement on Oonal, a recently incorporated world in the vastness of the Rim. It had been settled after the Holy Wars by a fundamentalist religious sect that wanted a bit of peace and quiet.
In the aftermath of the Wars, there were a lot of groups like theirs, the losers who had slunk off and now kept out of the way, or those who had used the peace as an excuse to wipe the slate and start again.
This particular bunch had called in desperation; they were complaining about harassment from some criminals, although they actually used the term pirates, a catch all for criminals on the Rim. Apparently they had been turning up on a semi-regular basis and were giving them grief over their way of life. Despite the wish that they had for seclusion and their lack of admiration for the Federation, they had had enough and needed some help. Things were apparently getting more violent each time they appeared; they said that this time some women had been taken hostage and crops and equipment had been stolen.
The uneasy peace that held between the Federation and the remains of the Blessed, the collective name for the old order, meant that we had to help, but we didn’t have to enjoy it. As most of the Blessed had set up their own federation, which they called the Independent Worlds, a lot of people thought that they should assume responsibility for these splinters, but they were in ‘our’ space so it was down to us.
When we received the call, we were up to our eyes in disaster relief, a meteor storm had wreaked havoc on a settlement called Michael’s Hollow, and we had been one of the ships sent to assist in any way we could. When we had arrived with a full load of emergency supplies, we had found ourselves a small part of a multi-ship rescue operation. We were one of three naval vessels, there were ships from charities and chartered traders as well, all doing their bit to help. Between us we had spent a week burying the dead, repairing the power grid, and were setting up some the last of the prefabricated shelters from our hold when Captain Dror had got the orders.
We were the last ship left on the planet, the others had left on other missions as the amount of work that needed doing had decreased. There was always another crisis somewhere that needed attention. At the time we didn’t know what was happening, just that new orders had been received. Obviously that never stopped the on-board rumour mill, which swung into immediate operation.
Depending on who was talking, the Holy Wars had started again with all that entailed or we were off on a rescue and it might involve a bit of excitement. The marines were buzzing at the thought of something different. There was always tension on-board because none of us ever really knew what Dror would do next and twenty pumped-up marines itching for action added to the mix. The chance of a real fight and we were all raring to go. But Dror said nothing.
The first I knew about it officially was about half a day after the rumours started, when Dror came onto the bridge. I was using a bit of my time away from building shelters to catch up on some of the never-ending paperwork. He handed me a copy of the signal and stood behind me whilst I read it. I could feel his anger; it was like an aura surrounding him, radiating energy in all directions.
“Bloody religious fanatics, eh,” Dror muttered when I handed the signal back to him. “They bitch about us until the turds hit the turbine, then they want us to ride to the rescue.” He warmed to his theme. “They’re probably claiming to be pacifists. Well, they’re meeting the real world now and you know what that means don’t you, Nav?”
It was time for me to reply and his pointed beard twitched in anticipation of the expected response. His beard was the same style as my father’s and at times the resemblance was uncanny. If I closed my eyes, it could almost have been him speaking, the sentiments were the same. But then they were both from the same place.
“Even pacifists need a pulse cannon sometimes, sir,” it was a straight repeat of both of their views; I had learnt the hard way that anything else would not be tolerated. He nodded his approval.
“Quite right, Nav. It’s good to see that you’re coming round to my way of thinking.”
He paused, as if considering things although I was sure he had already made up his mind.
“I suppose we should go and help them, but let’s not rush, eh; plenty of time. We’ll go over all the details when I’ve briefed the marines and the tactical team, in the meantime just carry on with your duties.”
Dror’s lack of urgency and bias annoyed me, but having been on-board a while, it was no longer a surprise. It seemed to me to be a dereliction of our duty, but hey! he was the captain.
He was very anti Blessed, and would fly into a rage at any mention of them. Given his history it was understandable that he had no room on his ship for anyone even slightly religious. Whereas I understood from my training, and indeed had sworn at my passing out that I would protect and serve all the peoples of the Federation, without fear or favour.
It also seemed a little strange that we were going, after all there were other ships, and we were busy here, why pick out the one with the most unsuitable skipper for the job, but then the Navy worked in mysterious ways and orders were orders.
I wondered if there would ever be a closure until all his generation were put out to grass. People of my age had only vague recollections of the conflict, and none of the times before it, so in general bore the Blessed no ill will. And surely anybody, whatever their allegiance or beliefs, deserved a quiet life. Despite his words, I started planning out a few things in my head, the sort of arrival that he would want and how to do it.
Later, in the mess room, over a plate of the unappetising and unidentifiable things that passed for food, I was talking to Leonie, the officer in charge of the marine’s on-board, and the intended object of my affections. Officially fraternisation was frowned upon but with the amount of adrenaline and other hormones on-board it was inevitable. While a blind eye was turned to nocturnal events, the antics of jealous ex partners were not; as far as I knew (and I had looked) Leonie was currently unattached. And she was something to behold as a result of all the fitness training.
The layout of the space in the mess meant that we were pressed close together at the table, good for a budding romance but she didn’t seem to notice the contact as much as
I did. She was fresh from Dror’s briefing and her eyes shone with excitement. She seemed to glow with a desire to shoot something as I told her my feelings about the delay. I already knew that Oonal was not exactly next door, it would take us a while to get there.
“So the disillusionment is setting in?” she laughed. “It doesn’t normally take this long, but you’re unlucky here, Finn.”
“How’s that, then?” I asked her, at the academy I thought that I had been envied for my posting to the Moth, but maybe that was just for the excitement of working the Rim. It was definitely the juiciest posting, better than the ceremonial duties that seemed to be the function of the rest of the fleet.
“Well Dror is old school,” she said, pushing her food around the plate. “If you cut him in half it would say Federation right through him, but he’s got the religious intolerance as well. It comes from his generation, they remember the overbearing Holy governments and it colours their thinking.” She stopped talking and ate a few mouthfuls, grimacing at the taste.
“So if the call was not from a religious group he would go quicker?”
“Probably,” she nodded, pushing her half-eaten food away. “Trouble is he’s torn, he hates criminals and bullies, but he hates zealots as well, and any reminder of the old order, so it sets up a paradox in his brain.”
“It seems to me though, that all we’ve done is exchanged the Holy governments for the Federation, and in a way it’s just as bad but without the religion.”
Leonie looked around to see who was close enough to hear; she lowered her voice, “Watch it there, Finn. There’s a lot will agree with you, but it’s better to keep talk like that to your close friends.”
The fact that she had said close friends was promising. I was just about to bring the conversation round to getting to know Leonie better, when Dror pushed the mess room door open. All conversation stopped and we stood.
“Carry on, gentlemen and ladies,” said Dror. He scanned the room and spotted me. “There you are, Nav,” he called. “I suppose you’d better get organised and sort out a route. And you know our destination, I’ll be up to the bridge in a few minutes to discuss tactics, but finish your meal first.” He nodded to Leonie then turned and left. The room collectively let out a breath; everyone else was relieved that Dror had spoken to me and appeared to be in a good mood. They regarded me with jealous eyes; I would know where we were going before them.
“That was close,” Leonie said, with a worried tone that gave me hope. “Remember, Finn, close friends.”
Dror had said ‘finish your meal first’, but I had choked down as much as I could.
As navigator, it would be my job to plot the approach, so when I got to the wheelhouse I fired up the ship’s chart computer. There was the usual frustrating wait whilst it initiated and checked the secure link for updates, the technology was about ten years old, in other words obsolete, but it would not be replaced until spares were no longer available.
Unlike on newer ships there was no voice interface, all the route planning was keyboard based and there wasn’t even a calculation mode, the chart computer linked to a separate computer for that, with all the attendant potential for error and malfunction.
The standing joke was that the bad guys had better gear, and in border disputes were more aware of their position than we were.
The machine finally bleeped and I pulled the keyboard towards me. I typed in Oonal and the 3D screen built into the chart table showed it as a red dot. I zoomed in and rotated the picture until I had it centred; it was on the Rim at least sixty degrees away from our blue dot.
I adjusted the picture until I had both dots on opposite edges of the screen and using the menu illuminated the gravity field overlay.
Yellow spheres surrounded each star, showing the extent of the gravitational influence that would prevent our use of trans-light speed. As long as I plotted a course that kept out of the yellow, we could ignore Einstein and use the Padget Inverter to create a field that enabled what we called C+, faster than light travel.
After an hour’s steady work I had produced a route and plotted a series of course alteration waypoints, they all needed joining up and that was where the number crunching started.
I saved the route and transferred the points to the computer, which calculated course, speed and engine settings before passing it back to the chart. As it worked, each point was joined by a green line. Finally I had a route, which I saved in my files and the ship’s.
Dror had not appeared, so I took a look at our destination.
Chapter Three
Now
I paused for a drink; it took me a while to come back to the present. In my mind I was still on the Moth. I could see that all the people had crowded round me and the music had stopped. I had been so involved in telling the story that I hadn’t noticed. It was a surprise to see that they weren’t my old shipmates. There was an air of expectation about them though, you could feel the interest. Myra had put her arm around my shoulders and was obviously comfortable squeezed in next to me. I was enjoying the contact.
“Oonal is some place,” said Tan wistfully. “My first voyage was on a boat running supplies for the settlers, and well, it’s some place.” There was nodding and murmurs of agreement.
“Go on, Dave,” someone else urged, “tell us more, you can’t stop now.”
Taking a long drink from my can, I continued. So far the story had been boring, now it was going to get a bit more interesting. I took a deep breath.
Chapter Four
Then
There wasn’t a lot of information in our system; the latest updates said that Oonal was a medium sized world with a young star. According to the notes attached to the surveys the star had not really settled and was prone to phasing, the analysts term for hot and cold periods. There was no clue to the duration, or severity of these, so it could warm up tomorrow, or cool down come to that. It didn’t sound like an attractive prospect, but maybe it would be stable for thousands of years.
The reports said that it had recently entered a cooler phase. As I scrolled through the charts and pictures that we had, and there weren’t many, I could see that most of the planet’s surface showed signs of severe heat damage. There was scorched and blackened rock and evidence of lava flows. Somehow the life that had existed before the planet had warmed had clung on in the only possible place, the deep valleys that ran for thousands of miles across the low latitudes.
The result of erosion or seismic activity, any water that had once formed or ran in them had long since gone. Such moisture that existed was partly held in the tough vegetation and partly condensed in the cold night air, before evaporating with the dawn. The notes said that the settlers collected this water and stored it in the caves that honeycombed the valleys. A lot of water had found its way there, because of that and the shelter from the heat, plants and small animals had survived.
Now that the surface had cooled to a more conducive temperature the plant life, with natures amazing power of survival had started to spread back onto the surface. The increasing plant life had boosted the oxygen levels to a reasonable twenty per cent; the planet was listed as having been inhabited for the last thirty years, with a question mark.
The information we had suggested that there was only one settlement on the planet. It was built on flat ground in one of the larger valleys and consisted of a cluster of prefabricated huts surrounding a large open space. The dwellings were surrounded by fields in which the settlers were growing crops and grazing animals for food. At that point the valley was over a mile wide and naturally terraced, with the settlement on the higher ledge. Power was supplied from solar panels and wind turbines on the surface, microwave linked to a utility suite on the edge of the settlement.
Looking at the buildings and gear, which was all the best quality; money appeared to have been no object when constructing the settlement. That fitted in with the story, obvious wealth would have made them a target. Anyone seeing the place would have th
ought that there might well be some loot from their days in the last of the Holy governments around. Or maybe they just weren’t liked for the way they had behaved when their kind were in charge.
A dry river bed ran through the middle of the settlement, splitting the buildings from the fields and there were several metal bridges connecting the two halves. Off to one side was a small landing strip with room for a couple of transports. Behind them were cliffs and in front a drop of several hundred metres to the next terrace. According to the last estimate there were up to two thousand people living in the settlement.
There was a beacon on the utility transmitter that we could use to home in on, assuming the intruders hadn’t turned it off. Of course, they may have left their own beacons in orbit to detect our arrival, giving them the chance of a quick getaway.
“Right, Nav.” Dror had come into the chart space while I had been working and now leant over my shoulder. “What do we have?”
I gave him the gist of what I had read, about the valley and the layout. We discussed tactics and my rough plan to surprise the pirates, assuming they were still there. Dror was pleased with what I had in mind and grunted his approval. “Set it up,” he ordered. “You can brief everyone on the way.”
Then we packed up our relief effort and headed for Oonal.
It would take us three days to get to Oonal. Dror and his Tactical Officer spent the time preparing for a show of force. I presented my plan for our arrival over the settlement but was excluded from the warfare meetings. Leonie’s troops set up and checked their gear time and again, and we rehearsed dropping out of orbit and deploying the troopships on the Moth’s simulator.