Legacy

by Bob Mauldin

  Simon still felt a bit uncomfortable with his position at the head of the table. His five years in the Army had brought him to the illustrious rank of sergeant and placed him as second in command of a platoon of forty men. A long visit to the observation deck, awash in Earth-light, and a lot of soul-searching helped him let go of the fear of failure and embrace the vision that had slowly grown more vivid since finding Galileo.

  He sat up straight in his chair and leaned his forearms on the table, his actions bringing the growing argument to a halt. “This isn’t a prison.” His expression told the assembled group that this was Law. “We don’t have the right to keep anyone from beaming back down if they want to. Everyone aboard this ship, yourselves included, is here of his or her own free will and risking their lives gratis, for a dream.

  “I happen to know that there are several dozen who have made it clear that they want off and won’t be coming back. I’ve spoken with most of them and they know that there will be no protection for them when the authorities find out who they are and where they’ve been. In keeping with the consensus reached here in prior meetings, I’ve asked these volunteers to cooperate completely with any officials who decide to question them.

  “Now we get to the great majority of the people aboard Galileo as of this moment. That so many choose to stay is something I find ... amazing.” Simon shook his head, smiling slightly. “That so many choose to give up so much to do this, again, yourselves included, also amazes me. Especially after what happened.” His voice trailed off for a moment, echoes of the attack on Orion rebounding around the room. “But,” he said forcefully, jarring a few to closer attention, “we can’t hold anyone back who needs to take some time off. We’re going to be here at least a couple of weeks and if we don’t let these people off, there will be a mutiny. We need to keep the good will of our unpaid crew members, ladies and gentlemen. And they are supposed to be recruiters as well, so they have to have the freedom to go back down and take their chances just like everybody else. We’ll just make sure to bail them out as necessary. To that end, you will go back to your departments and tell your people that we will begin a beam-down schedule right after breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  Simon raised a hand. “Beam-down will be by reverse order of rank, lowest ranks first. See if you can get some to postpone their beam-downs to keep ships’ services running until we can get replacements and then they can get their chance to visit home if they want to. I’m pretty sure a lot of them have families to reassure.

  “I’ve listened to all of your arguments, and I’ve decided that it is going to be impossible to keep our return a secret, and now is the time to start grabbing some air time with interviews. Beaming out in front of a live camera will go a long way to helping our recruiters prove their stories.”

  He sat back up and let a speculative look take residence for a minute. “We need to re-crew fast and some attention will help. Getting new people found, convinced, aboard, and partially trained is going to take some time, and our people are the ones to do the finding of those recruits for us, so we can’t sequester them aboard. That would be denying ourselves the use of a basic resource.”

  Simon’s face hardened slightly before he spoke again. “I’d like to see about setting up some sort of underground network before the shit hits the fan, though. Everyone please submit a written plan based on your knowledge of Denver and your friends and acquaintances to address the problem of recruiting covertly if the need arises. I’ve had Engineering make up a few radios to keep in touch with whoever we decide to do business with, because sure as God made little green apples, we are going to be the targets of everyone on the planet who thinks they should be in charge of what we have. I call to your attention the fact that every technical innovation in history has been co-opted by some government or other to use to their own military advantage, trickling into the general populace, watered-down, only after uncounted dead have piled up at their feet. That is something I intend to avoid if at all possible.

  “Those who choose to leave our service will give up their wristbands, and will be encouraged to cooperate with the authorities, telling everything they know. As soon as they are identified, they are going to be hauled in and questioned, debriefed, whatever, but since we are still in the unfortunate position of merely duplicating what we have without truly understanding the underlying physics, there isn’t much chance that they will give away more than we want them to. The other side of the coin is that once humans know that something is possible, they will worry at it until they find the way or at least a way. I’ve decided that we will eventually give all the technology aboard this ship to Earth, but the two things we won’t give up in the foreseeable future are weapons technology and our power technology.”

  He glared around the table. “There are some things we need to keep to ourselves to insure our own survival, and make no mistake, that is something we must do to keep the world from destroying itself fighting to get control of this ship. The problem is that if we keep it, we become the enemy in the eyes of every government on Earth. Another unfortunate thing about human nature is to be afraid of someone who has more power than you do, and we represent more power than any group in history. That is going to engender a lot of fear in high places. Our job is to prove to the general public that we aren’t the monsters some will try to make us out to be. Exposure is our best friend, but I do want to wait until we have the beginnings of a second crew aboard before we start making our existence general knowledge.”

  Simon placed his hands on the table, drained of all energy after his speech. He looked at Griswold when the Commander asked, “Sir, I can see writing off assistance to the ones who opt out, but what about those of us who just visit home and get arrested or something?”

  Simon looked at him blankly, hadn’t they gone over this a dozen times? “Just press the red recall button twice for emergency beam-up, Commander. The wristband you wear,” he said, holding his up for all to see, “is essentially a bio-monitor as well as a communicator. We have set the parameters of all wristbands so that if you find yourselves in positions of great stress, the computer will automatically beam you out. If you are slipped a drug, your vitals will change, and the computer will beam you out. If you start to drown, the computer will know and beam you out. Of course, there is always the old standby of pressing the emergency recall button. So, if it’s not an emergency, signal for regular recall, please.”

  Silence greeted his final statement until he waved a hand. “Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve now got a lot more to think about, so I’ll leave you to implement the departure of those who wish to quit us and the leaves of those who only wish to visit home and family. Make sure the first group understands what they face, and the second keep a low profile until they can each get a few new recruits lined up. And check for volunteers to stay aboard for a few extra days.” His voice trailed off and he sat quietly for a few seconds until he seemed to reach a decision.

  He stood up, bringing all at the table to their feet, a response he still felt less than comfortable with. Those department heads and senior staff officers he had surrounded himself with had taken to the martial nature of their existence with fervor and for whatever reasons, gave him a deference that still caused him some discomfort. The senior Engineering officer said, “Tenn-hut!” and everyone stiffened to various positions of attention until Simon left the room. As the door closed he heard, “At ease,” and shook his head in continuing bemusement at the turn his life had taken.

  The first thing reported to a returned Galileo by those who made the first trip was the intense interest expressed by a multitude of hard-faced men and women most generally described as dressed in cheap suits and wearing dark glasses. The questions asked by this group ranged from where people had gone, to when they were expected to return. No aspect of the lives of those departed or those known to have been associated with them was overlooked. Relatives, teachers, friends, acquaintances, even clerks at known hangouts were harassed fo
r the first several months after Galileo departed. Apparently the government had spared no expense in searching out possible crew members and keeping a soft surveillance going.

  Pointed questions concerning secret technology, thinly veiled hints at treason and horrible consequences from the benevolent, freedom-loving government that spawned these dour-faced, humorless people managed to get some results from a variety of sources. By the time Galileo returned, more than a little bit was known about the situation in places Simon and company would have preferred to have been kept in ignorance for a while longer.

  The initial furor had died down during the long absence of Galileo, but that didn’t mean that eyes weren’t watching from the sidelines. Officials, primarily police and hospitals were on alert to report the presence of any of hundreds of names that showed back up in Denver and other cities, while Simon’s and Kitty’s house, unknown to them, was under constant surveillance.

  Two days was all it took for word of the reappearances of hundreds of missing people to filter out to the press. Reporters who had covered the mass disappearances the previous year paid heed and dug addresses out of their archives. Thus armed, they went in search of the returnees, as often as not finding the object of their search.

  Before the first responses to Simon’s left-handed request to speak personally with the mysterious agents swarming all over the area came back, the news shows started airing interviews with returning crew members.

  The first one was the most dramatic, of course. Any time a totally new experience impacts someone’s life it tends to stand out. And in an unusual twist to last year’s bizarre disappearance of almost eight hundred people from Denver and surrounding areas, a Denver news anchor said to a rapt audience, “It has been reported that some of those missing people are starting to show up in areas they were seen in just before their disappearances. Our Jennifer Martinson was able to track down one of these missing people with results that are guaranteed to amaze you. Please keep in mind that this is untouched footage taken earlier today. Roll tape.”

  The screen blanked out for a second and returned to what looked like an impromptu interview with a shoulder-mounted recorder trying to keep the reporter and her subject in the same shot. “I’m Jennifer Martinson,” the woman said, holding her microphone so the logo of the local CBS affiliate was visible. She stood in front of an anonymous brick wall, leaving the viewer to wonder if it was by happenstance. “I am talking with John Grant, reported missing almost one year ago. John has turned up with many the almost eight hundred people reported missing from the local area last year.” She looked at the black-clad person standing beside her and asked directly into the microphone, “Can you tell us where you have been for the past year, Mr. Grant? And are you associated with all the other people who have turned up recently?” She moved the microphone towards the young man.

  Hesitantly leaning forward to speak into the proffered microphone, John Grant said, “I’ve been working in outer space for the last nine months. And all of those people were there, too.”

  The expression on the reporter’s face, trained to remain impassive regardless of what was said to her, slipped a fraction before she was able to regain her composure. “Can you tell us exactly where in outer space you’ve been working? To the best of my knowledge, NASA hasn’t been sending up hundreds of workers for any special purpose. And what are the requirements to get a job like that?”

  “Well, the requirements, for me, for all of us, was that we be in the right place at the right time,” the crewman said. More than a touch of pride entered his voice. “And for the last nine months I’ve been working in the asteroid belt helping to build humanity’s first real deep-space facility.”

  “Really, Mr. Grant?” Condescension evident in her voice, the reporter asked, “And how did you get all the way out to the asteroid belt?”

  Looking more uncomfortable with each question, John Grant answered, “We’ve got a spaceship, Ma’am. Our Captain and his wife found it. They were the ones who got us to come aboard and go build the space station.”

  The reporter looked at the camera, her expression revealing that she now felt she had a total nutcase on her hands. “Okay, Mr. Grant. And what does this Captain of yours and his wife want to do with a space station in the asteroid belt?”

  “They’re going to use it to build more ships.”

  “What kind of ships, Mr. Grant? And why?”

  “The first big one is going to be a battle-cruiser,” Grant said proudly. “And we’re going to need ‘em to protect us from the aliens who are going to come try to take back their ship.”

  The reporter smiled at the camera, not a nice expression. More like a pit bull realizing that it was going to be able to take a kitten apart without any repercussions. “Really, Mr. Grant! Aliens?” She stepped closer to the man, pushing her microphone ahead of her like a sword. The camera followed, giving the viewer a look at the face of John Grant as he found himself backed quite literally into a corner. “What do these aliens look like? And where are the rest of the eight hundred, Mr. Grant?”

  Unused to the attention from the pretty young reporter and the camera filming his every word, the young crewman began to get flustered and when his heartbeat hit 150, he disappeared in a shower of blue sparks. Jennifer Martinson looked from the empty spot in the corner to the camera once, then again, then asked, “Did you get that?”

  Simon sat at his desk facing Stephen over another in a series of reports. “Another emergency beam-up. Reporters, again,” Simon commented, smiling. “The government has already gotten tired of all the ‘escaped from custody’ reports. Now they’re just questioning anyone they catch on the spot. So far, it seems as if someone with a real cool head is covering this.”

  Stephen looked at Simon speculatively. “I know what you said during the meetings, but you really did expect this, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did, Stephen,” Simon said patiently to his friend. “What did I ever say to make you think I didn’t believe this would happen? After all, I was part of that mentality for almost fifteen years. You just wait until this time tomorrow. Fully half of all emergency recalls will be back to escapes from police or government agents. What about your people? Are you having any trouble with them?” Simon referred to the scientists aboard, most of whom had come aboard at Stephen’s request and stayed for at least the first round trip to the asteroid belt.

  “Yeah,” Stephen admitted, a sour look on his face. “But at least most of them are reaching a few of their friends before they either go back to their lives or staying for another tour, so to speak. Are you sure you want to let some of them be interrogated?”

  “Of course. And that’s exactly what it’s called. A tour of duty. That was the plan all along, Stephen: to let them, the authorities, know what we have. I want them to know.” Simon gestured broadly, indicating not only the ship but more. “The technical knowledge alone will help humanity get a leg out into the universe. If we can understand what we have, so much the better. But right now, I’m happy just being able to reproduce it. Since we still don’t understand how to make anti-matter or how to even begin to formulate the math to understand the physics behind our force fields, there is no harm in letting some of our people be questioned. As long as the people who do the asking do it nicely. None of our people will be subject to pain or jail. And they don’t know what we have right now. They’re gonna have to get a spy aboard. “

  “I still don’t see why you want the authorities to know what we have,” Stephen said. “I would think that you’d want to keep it a secret.”

  “Different people down there are going to want different things, Stephen. Imagine what the United States would ask for: maybe the anti-grav, maybe something else. But what about one of the flood ravaged, third world countries? Would they want anti-grav or a way to make safe medicines and food? What will people like the Saudis do when the world no longer depends on the oil they produce? Maybe we should approach them to fin
d out if they would like to get in on the ground floor of a unique power storage device, coupled with a reliable, long-lasting electric motor. What would they pay us to be the sole producers of these motors and power systems to the world’s automobile makers? Maybe we shouldn’t have given that one to your friend Victor.

  “I’m going to sell, trade or lease what we have here for the rights to come and go as we please and recruit the same way. Some of your people should be told to tell their interrogators that they should be dealing with me rather than going after the small fry.”

  Stephen had one of the hardest jobs of all. The scientists of the United States are watched, just like the scientists of other countries. They are the points around which ideas coalesce and new breakthroughs occur; national treasures to be kept under close surveillance. Keeping surreptitious track of these individuals has been a task of certain agencies since before the Cold War. To have so many disappear at once, some one hundred and twenty people stretching out over almost every discipline from astronomy to metallurgy, particle physics to quantum mechanics, anthropology to sociology, caused quite a stir to say the least. Some of the more out-there conspiracy theorists clung to the belief that the disappearances in Denver and those of dozens of scientists clustered mostly along the east coast were related.

  The efforts of the scientific community along with the return of so many of their peers brought a steady stream of scientists aboard over the next two weeks. Some stayed, drawn to one ongoing project or another, seeing the possibilities for research on things they would otherwise only dream of. Others only stayed long enough to find out that the ship was real, approached surreptitiously by one agency or another. They were ordered to observe as much as possible and report everything they saw, paying special attention to aspects of the technology that might be reproducible on Earth.