by Eric Swanson
“Are Lahm’s connections to the Asna-Wahadna… concerning?” Garreous asked.
“Of course.” Artax replied with an impressed nod toward Garreous. The King had scarcely expected Garreous to have time to deeply research the proposed crew and be fully prepared to lead the scientific side of the mission. “But Lahm’s connections to the A-W are thin, from what our people can gather. He’s interacted with a few lower-level members of the group but hasn’t been approached by their leadership in some time…”
“He’s been much more… public lately, Father.” Davin said. He leaned into the conversation from his throne. “I would worry that whatever relationships with the leadership of the organization Lahm’s historically lacked may be… developing.”
“Aren’t he and Po close?” Garreous asked.
“Quite.” The King replied. “They were raised together beginning at a young age…”
“They differ so greatly politically… it’s hard to believe they’re actually friends.” Davin said with bit of wonder in his voice.
“Based on what the Pillar knows of them, they’re nearly brothers.” Artax said. “At least, they think of each other like that.”
“Holiday meals must be quite entertaining.” Garreous said. He shook his head in a beat of disbelief and chuckled.
“So, Lahm and Po are in and we don’t anticipate any aggressive A-W action either way.” The King put a cap on the discussion of the Hybrid pair. “Our security forces, public and otherwise, have assured me of a minimal need for concern.”
“And if the crew finds itself mired in some sort of philosophical debate, they’ll balance each other out.” Micah added to the discussion for the first time in a while. Silent while he considered the merits and risks of bringing an avowed Hybrid Separatist on the journey to Earth, the King’s words calmed him. “He also seems to value and care for Mr. Lahm too greatly to endanger the mission, so that will…” Micah shrugged a bit and trailed off.
The Mimic had yet to fully acclimate to his growing prominence in discussions of importance. More pointedly, he hadn’t even fully adjusted to conversing with Cerans of any stature without his hood up.
“Roughly the same idea applies in the selection of Meremoth, wife of Zadok, who is the leader of the Yonah party. Balance.” Artax cleared his throat and continued. “She’s also the sister of Asaph, the leader of the Ceran opposition party, Netz. She’s been briefed by several members of the Royal Cabinet and knows why she’s been placed on the team.”
“I understand she also possesses a keen engineer’s mind and a strong interest in the theoretical science behind the gates, faster than light travel in general…” Garreous said and let his sentence die out. He waited for the King to stop him and correct or amend his assessment of Meremoth, but no caveat came.
“An interest, yes.” The King said after he allowed a quiet moment to pass. The monarch wanted Garreous to know he wasn’t disputing anything the younger Ceran said about Meremoth, just adding thoughts. “Certainly, no expertise. If you want Meremoth to contribute to the scientific efforts of the journey, some education will be required, but she’s exceptionally bright, she’ll be up to speed swiftly.”
“Good to know.” Garreous said with a feigned disinterested tone. While Garreous genuinely attempted not to be egocentric relative to his ego, moments like this proved to be challenges, often. Garreous knew how intellectually gifted and singular he was among the Ceran people, but that knowledge failed to stop the occasional creep of insecurity into his mind. The idea that someone could come near “catching up” to him in such a truncated period of time bordered on being an insult to the young genius. Were the insinuation not from his King, the concept would easily leap over the line to at least hurtful.
“What of the travelers, my King?” Micah leapt back into the conversation with a question.
“Having both on the journey will be a boon to the crew,” Artax began with a slight grin. “Kaymar’s scientific acumen will be additive to Garreous’s and his knowledge of the pitfalls of the trip will help to avoid the most common problems. His focus may drift toward an objective my wife has tasked him, but Pollai’s technical expertise and knowledge of the journey itself will be invaluable.”
“He may make use of more than his share of oxygen, my King.” Garreous spoke softly. The young genius spoke plainly. He echoed Micah’s thoughts, his words nearly Micah’s, verbatim but his tone was more factual.
Micah, Davin and the King all laughed and Garreous flushed when he realized what he’d said. Before Garreous could walk his statement back, the King responded.
“Our engineers have told me that the data from their past voyages suggests that Kaymar’s substantially lower oxygen use more than offsets his partner’s resource usage.” The King’s wry smile put Garreous at ease and some of the tension on the young Ceran’s face faded. “So that’s one less concern to have about Pollai and the long journey through the stars…”
“I do have one concern to add to that list, Your Majesty.” Micah said as he took control of the conversation. The Mimic’s voice started softly but gained strength by the end of his statement.
“Of course, Micah.” The King nodded and Micah continued. Artax held out a hand to Micah, palm up. “Please.”
“Thank you, my King.” Micah drew a short breath and spoke through his nervousness. “It stands to reason that someone like Pollai, a veteran of many of these journeys and someone who clearly possesses a healthy respect for himself might…” A pause came as Micah chose how to phrase his question. “Do we have any concern around Pollai having… difficulty not being in command of the voyage?”
“The command structure of the mission will be clear to everyone aboard the ship, Micah.” King Artax spoke with conviction and surety.
A moment of quiet passed between the foursome. Garreous and Micah exchanged quick glances between them, neither sure of the answer to the question on both minds.
“My King…” Micah spoke first. “Who will lead the mission?”
“Let’s consider the mission function by function.” The King said. “In most interstellar journeys, there are three primary functional categories: Mission Control, Science and Defense. Would you all agree?”
Even if they didn’t, even in a private setting, neither Micah nor Garreous were bold enough to disagree with their King. More to the point, Artax was correct.
All three in Artax’s audience nodded.
“So, let’s take Mission Control first. Mission Control is generally run by someone who has internalized the mission’s purpose… The reason everyone is floating out in the black cannot be an interstellar milk run. Passion must emanate from Command. Additionally, a clear connection to the leadership structure on Ceres,” Artax gestured to himself before pressing on. “Is also necessary. I believe Micah to have passion around this mission and the requisite close relationship with the Pillar. He will lead Mission Control.”
“Thank you, your Majesty.” Micah nodded slowly.
“The choice to head the Scientific effort is simple, of course. Garreous will lead the Sciences team.”
“Thank you, My King.” Garreous nodded as Micah had.
“Wes Ventra, given his training and background, will run the military and defense efforts of the crew.” The King paused and perked a beat later as though a new piece of information occurred to him. “Of course, Gale Floren will lead the medical team.”
“Gale is coming?” Micah asked, stunned.
“Long term space travel is incredibly tough on the body, Hybrid or Ceran.” The King replied. “It seemed prudent to bring along someone adept at maintaining the physical condition of the crew in a challenging environment.”
“Plus…” Micah began but cut himself off. Just before he mentioned Eaton’s death and probably started down a path which ended in tears, Micah stopped. A series of stammers later, Micah simply fell silent and waited for someone else to march the conversation forward.
“She seeks another assignmen
t which serves the Pillar… This seemed to suit her demeanor and background better than anything else I could imagine.” The King said. He paused and awaited debate from Micah.
Micah stammered through concurrence and the King nodded curtly once again.
“We have selected one of the Ceran Special Service’s most decorated officers to accompany the cr—”
“Father?” Davin broke into the King’s sentence. While assured, Davin’s interruption sounded a bit like a request for permission to interrupt his father.
“Yes, son?” The King turned to Davin, eyebrows slightly raised. A small smile on his lips hinted at pride in his progeny.
“If I may,” Davin shifted in his throne and faced his father more directly. “I believe that we have an alternative to the CSS officer who has been selected. This person satisfies many of the criteria the CSS officer did but adds a critical element to the crew you’ve already discussed: Connection.”
“Connection?” The King asked.
“Yes, father.” Davin sat up a bit straighter and pointed at Micah and Garreous. “This person—”
“Davin, who are we talking about here?” The King asked, impatient.
“Aquis.” Davin replied.
Another surprised sound, this time wordless, came from Micah.
“He’s physically capable of protecting anyone and nearly everyone on the team by himself,” Davin said. He turned toward Micah and Garreous. “And protecting these two would be a task he would be happily duty-bound to, Father. He loves both Micah and Garreous like family. He would lay down his life for them if needed.”
“Indeed.” Artax thought in silence for a moment before he spoke again. “I agree with you, Davin. Aquis’s request to take a spot on the team is granted.”
“Your—” Micah began. Nothing more came and quiet fell over the room once more.
“Yes, Micah?” The King broke in after a silent beat.
“My King, it just seems—” Micah stopped midsentence and flushed with heat again. He was far too informal for the circumstance. “I’m sorry, Your Highness… Whatever you think is the right path for this mission, that is the path I’ll walk.”
“Micah,” The King straightened and locked onto his Mimic. “I know my station requires a certain level of deference in most circumstances. This—” He gestured around the nearly empty room. “Is not one of those circumstances. We are cutting this path together then you’ll walk it without me.”
“Thank you, your Highness.”
“Of course.” The King replied. “So, what’s on your mind?”
“Well, it feels like we’re… limiting ourselves…” Micah glanced at the granite floor for a beat while he found his next words. “Defensively by swapping a pair of MPs for Gale and Aquis.”
“I see…” Artax said slowly. “Typically, I would agree with you, Micah. For a moment, let’s really dig into the circumstance you’re heading toward… You’re traveling millions of miles across the starscape to a planet filled with billions of beings whose first instinct will probably be to kill you. Would you say that’s a fair assessment?”
“Well, I wouldn’t have used the phrase ‘suicide mission’, Your Highness, but I see your point.” Micah conceded.
“I never said suicide mission, Micah.”
For a brief moment, Micah simply cocked his head and smiled a bit.
“Of course, My King.” Micah replied. “I understand your line of thought and agree. Trading a pair of paramilitary officers for a personally loyal imposing figure and a trained field medic…”
“It makes sense.” The King finished Micah’s sentence.
“It does.” Micah agreed.
Several moments of quiet passed in the room and all four seemed content to allow the it to continue. After the silence, a lengthy discussion regarding training and preparatory logistics began. It ended well into the evening and covered the six months of Micah and his team’s life which followed.
Six Months Later
Chapter Twelve
(The Tenth Day)
Months of low-gravity training made a task like walking down a slightly lit corridor interesting for Phillip Lahm. While he had never been an athlete of note at his physical peak (secondary school Antisar notwithstanding), Lahm prided himself on at least not being out of shape.
His walk down a darkened hallway began to rattle that long-held notion. His legs burned slightly and his chest tightened while Lahm thought of some of his traveling companions who seemed to have acclimated to low-gravity life more quickly, more completely.
Lahm pushed through his frustration and continued toward a doorway on the right side of the corridor. What looked like daylight spilled into the hall from beneath the door and lit the floor in splashes. Fatigue mixed with sudden nervous energy took his breath as Lahm pushed the door open. The heavy wood squeaked against its hinges as light fell on him from inside the room.
“Phillip, thank you for coming.” A tall, light-bronze skinned hybrid stood in the middle of an empty room. He appeared to be very comfortable standing, which Lahm found odd for a moment. The following second, he recalled that everyone on Ceres wasn’t subjected to low-gravity environments for hours on end as he had been lately. The Hybrid’s sandy blond hair was a bit thin at his forehead but he otherwise looked well-groomed and stately.
“Wellen.” Lahm waited for a beat and the taller Hybrid extended his hand. As Lahm shook it, the overwhelming size of Wellen’s hand occurred to him in a strange flash of thought. “As always, sir, you ask, I come.”
“These clandestine meetings of ours, they’ll be over soon and you’ll be expected to operate on your own.” Wellen said as he took a step closer to Lahm. He laid a hand on the younger Hybrid’s shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. “Are you ready for that, Phillip?”
“I think so, sir…” Lahm replied slowly. He locked eyes with the Hybrid Secession Federation lieutenant and straightened his back. Lahm hoped his stiffer posture offset his unsure response.
“In times of stress, Phillip,” Wellen began as he turned away from Lahm and paced around the empty room. “What one thinks doesn’t mean much.”
“I…” Lahm struggled to find words which might help him recover in standing with Wellen. His face flushed with heat and shame.
“What do you think really matters in times of stress and difficulty, Phillip?” Wellen asked then fell silent. His eyes stayed on Lahm while he continued to move around the room.
“Belief.” Lahm said, cool commitment behind his voice.
“That’s one thing that matters, yes.” Wellen nodded. “But more than what you believe, what one reverts to in times of true stress… Is training.”
“That’s what the Interstellar Agency people keep saying…” Lahm said, a little lost in the memory of his preparation for the journey to Earth.
“They’re right.” Wellen said quickly. “If something goes wrong up there…” Wellen pointed to the ceiling but obviously referred to somewhere further from their dingy meeting place. “They need to know that you don’t just know what do to in that circumstance, but that the action is ingrained in you.”
Lahm’s gaze fell to the rusted brown floor below him and in a few moments of silence, a slow but steady drip of water came to his attention. A leaking faucet? Pipe? Lahm couldn’t be sure but became entranced by the repeated sound. It was a welcome respite from his conversation with Wellen, even for a moment.
“It is ingrained in me.” Lahm said, unsure if he meant his training or Wellen’s belief system and action plan.
“Good.”
Wellen was an especially perceptive person and certainly picked up on Lahm’s doubt. He was also an astute manipulator and knew that a hard push of Lahm toward another affirmation of his commitment to their plan might shake Lahm too greatly.
“Everyone is proud of you, Phillip.” Wellen put his hand on Lahm’s shoulder again and held it there until the would-be space farer made eye contact. “Everyone fully understands the sacrifice you
’re making just getting on that ship, to say nothing of your objective once you reach Earth.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Of course, Phillip.” Wellen smiled for a blink then became serious again. “You and I won’t see each other again, Phillip.”
“I know.” Lahm responded. He’d done the calendar-math after his first meeting with Wellen and knew that successful or not, his mission was quite likely to lead to Wellen’s death, once word reached Ceres. Surely, the news of his actions would reach Ceran ears before Lahm returned to the only home he’d ever known.
“You have what you need?”
“I do.” Lahm nodded rapidly.
“You can do this, Phillip.” Wellen said. “You’re our only hope.”
Wellen drew Lahm in for an embrace and squeezed tightly. “May the Light of God guide you on your path.”
“And you on yours.”
For the first few weeks of meeting with Wellen, Lahm had been so starstruck that the faith message the famed Separatist tried to share with him hit hard. The Ceran triune Godhead had never resonated with him but over time, a deity with a singular identity appealed to Lahm.
Lahm would need the light of whichever god was real in the vacuum of space, he knew.
Wellen moved toward the door and stopped after he grasped the handle. He turned back toward Lahm and regarded him with a gravity Lahm hadn’t seen before. “You will be the savior of the Hybrid people, Phillip, known forever as the Hybrid who brought us home.”
“Thank you, sir.” Lahm choked out through a lump in his throat and a few stray tears. Greatness had never occurred to him… The possibility of it weighed on him the moment Wellen stopped speaking.
“Wait ten minutes before you leave this room.” Wellen ordered. He pulled the door open and it whined against its hinges again. “Thank you, Phillip. Goodbye.”