James Wittenbach - Worlds Apart, page 15
INDEPENDENCE
A Worlds-Apart Story.
The Aves Prudence lifted from the skypad as gently as a whisper, and rose like a quail from the roof of the hundred story Tower of Government. Its passengers spared the sprawling capital city below one last look, before the ship shot into space at a speed that put bullets to shame.
Behind her, the excellent metropolis receded, an orderly patchwork of parks, boulevards, and hundred-story towers thrust at the azure sky from an island carved in the shape of a perfect circle, connected to the mainland by sixteen magnificent bridges. Its suburbs wrapped in a crescent around the coastline; an urban shadow cast in architecture.
Her speed might have given the impression she was glad to be rid of the place, but it was only because this was the speed she had been designed to fly. Seven people occupied the generous space afforded by her main deck, and their consensus was that the planet had been spectacular.
“No one on that whole planet tried to kill us,” Captain Keeler sighed, wiping a tear from his cheek. “God bless them all.”
His Adjutant, Tactical Lieutenant David Alkema slumped in the seat next to him. For him, Independence had been a 27-day marathon from the time Pegasus had made orbit. He had had to be the Captain’s constant companion, reminding him of this official’s name, that official’s title, and that other officials fetish for houseplants and women dressed like boys. He appreciated finding the first civilized world in Pegasus’s two years in space, but he was looking forward to well-earned time off.
The Captain prattled on. “Maybe, we’ve finally reached the Galaxy’s better neighborhoods. It was wonderful, although far from perfect. Was it just me, or did the people impress you as being a little bit too loud, and a little bit too full of themselves?”
“Sampling error,” Alkema reminded him. “The people you met were leaders of their government and economy.”
“Za, that’s probably it.”
“One colony in seven surviving intact, ” Alkema shrugged. “Not bad, I suppose. Better than we had any right to expect.”
The Colonies of Earth, seeded during the Era of the Galactic Commonwealth, had been on their own for over a thousand years (varying depending on how long each individual colony took to orbit its star); time enough to evolve new unique civilizations , even ones unrecognizable as human.
The first world they had visited had been invaded by aliens, and was barely recognizable as human. The second was rotting from its own decadence. The third had been wiped out by a virulent plague. The fourth was in the path of Conquest of an insatiable conquering race, the Aurelians. The fifth had already been conquered by them, as had the sixth.
Independence, however, was like a taste of home; peaceful, advanced, prosperous, with art, religion, music, shopping, and all the other amenities. Her seas, where many of the crew had enjoyed planet leave, were deep and clean and almost violet in color. Her mountains were capped with snow, her flatlands blooming with wildflowers, her cities rivaled those of the home-worlds and were filled with friendly and interesting people.
“Nobody tried to kill us,” the Captain repeated, shaking his head in wonder.
His Third-In-Command, a lean, red-haired, intense officer named and titled Tactical Commander Philip J. Redfire, leaned forward. “Didn’t that make it a bit… dull?”
“Sometimes I prefer dull,” Keeler said. “When the alternative is desolation, destruction, and decay.
We’ve seen plenty enough of that.”
Redfire shrugged. “Happy planets are all alike, but every unhappy planet is unhappy in its own way.”
“Very clever, you should write that down,” the Captain yawned.
“Retrofitting Pegasus with the Indie’s anti-proton weaponry will almost double our firepower,” Redfire went on. Since encountering the ruthless Aurelians, and having barely survived, Redfire had become nearly obsessed with them. They had almost beaten Pegasus, and he vowed that next time they met, the advantage would be his.
“If we adapt the Indies’ fusion reactor design to Pegasus, we can increase energy output by 25%,”
Alkema added. Independence had an impressive degree of technological progress. They were even preparing to undertake their own interstellar voyages, using sub-light ships and stasis chambers, when Pegasus arrived.
“My guess is, they’ll have the tachyon pulse antenna operational within four years,” Alkema continued.
“Once they are in contact with our home worlds, they’ll probably want to build their own ships.”
“Is that all you guys can talk about,” said Specialist Kayliegh Driver, the pretty sister of Prudence’s pilot and one of Pegasus’s scientists. He primary field was climatology, but botany was her secondary interest. She leaned over her seat and craned over to address them. “The park where we signed the treaty contained over 800 different plant species, at least half of which were non-native and some of those were completely unknown to us. We’re dedicating a whole vivarium to the new plant life from Independence.”
“The blood replication technology we shared with the Independents will surely save many lives,” Medical Technician Bihari put in. Bihari was a thin and elegant woman from Republic.
The men acknowledged them politely, then went back to discussing how Independence technology could double the acceleration of Pegasus’s Aves and defensive missiles.
What would happen next? Keeler knew, as he stared out his viewport and watched the world become a curve and then a sphere, far below and behind of him. World by world, Pegasus would find the colonies of humanity, and begin reconnecting the delicate strands of civilization that had once joined the stars.
So, now it was on to the next one, and hoping their luck held.
Matthew Driver turned slightly to his left, where a small band of screens had suddenly gone blank. He reached over to touch them, but they ignored his activation gesture.
“This is odd,” he would have said, if he had been the kind to talk to himself. Instead, he decided to note in his log that at 1444 Mission Time, the bank of communications interlinks between his ship and Pegasus had failed.
“Prudence, hailing Pegasus. Pegasus Flight Command , this is the Aves Prudence, returning from the planet Independence with seven souls on board. Please respond.”
No one answered him. The bank of communication interlinks remained silent. He activated a diagnostic system to check his communications systems. It ran from beginning to end, found no hardware failures, and no operating failures. Abruptly, Pegasus had seemingly ceased to communicate.
He repeated the hail, then asked for live telemetry on Pegasus. Prudence attempted to connect with an automated system and failed, and substituted its own sensor scan. He saw Pegasus, long and magnificent, a spaceborne clipper ship, hanging silent.
Something was wrong, something he could not place at first. He turned away from the image for a second. ” Prudence, recall the frequency for communication with the planet Independence and open a channel.”
The ship did as it was told. “Independence, this is the Aves Prudence from the Pathfinder ship Pegasus.
I have lost communication with Pegasus. Are you receiving my signal?”
Prudence informed him there was no response from the planet. He turned back to the image. It had not changed position. Something else. Pegasus was luminescent, glittering with thousands of lights set in a hull that gave off its own bright glow. None of the lights moved, none blinked. It was like looking at a still photograph.
This was definitely weird.
Not that he would have made the observation out loud.
Shayne American, one of Pegasus’s best junior officers, answered the call from the Command Module.
“Specialist American, this is Flight Captain Driver. My telemetry displays and com-links seem to have locked. Can you attempt to contact Pegasus. “
American nodded. “Affirmative, Captain Driver. I will attempt to raise Pegasus. ” She sighed a little as she activated the Comm Station. She supposed it was to her credit that everybody expected her to work out system problems, a testament to her skill. Other times, she wished she could just say, “Can’t someone else do it?” Share the credit, share the responsibility, share the blame. “Aves Prudence hailing Pegasus Flight Control, please acknowledge.”
No one answered her.
She ran a diagnostic of Prudence’s communication system. Perfectly functional. She repeated the message, and got no response.
She leaned back in her chair, concentration etched on her dark features. Complete loss of contact with the base, and with the planet. Complete telemetry failure. She ran through the standard procedures in under two minutes, and then, came to the one that required a complete systems scan of Pegasus. It came back that none of Pegasus’s systems were functioning. This was impossible. She had to check twice to be sure, and while she was at it, she scanned Pegasus, according to procedure.
“Captain Keeler, Commander Redfire, we have a situation,” she said, not turning around. They were across from her, speculating as to why certain acolytes of Independent Buddhism died their hair pink.
They crossed to her side, accompanied by Alkema.
“What’s up, American?” Redfire asked.
“I’m reading no life signs on Pegasus,” Shayne American reported. “No energy readings. Nothing.”
Redfire and Alkema examined the readings while Keeler looked concerned and American quietly resented them for not believing her the first time. Redfire ticked
Alkema translated for his Captain. “It’s as though everybody on the ship left, and the last one turned out the lights.”
“Show me Pegasus. ” Keeler ordered. American brought up a screen. Pegasus was 20,000 kilometers ahead, brightly lit and proud against a background of bright diamond stars on black velvet night. “Were we attacked?” he asked.
“Are there any ships or energy readings in the area?” Redfire asked.
American answered him. “Negative, no other vessels and no energy signatures are in the area. Pegasus i s hanging dead in space.
“All the lights are on, but nobody’s home,” the Captain muttered.
Alkema frowned thoughtfully. “If the lights are on, how can there be no energy signature?”
“It could be a systems failure on our ship,” Redfire suggested.
“Negative, all of our systems are functioning normally,” American informed him.
“Try contacting the planet, use our designated channel,” Alkema suggested.
American stuck the communication link in her ear, for no readily apparent reason. “Independence Space Command, this is the Aves Prudence from the Pathfinder Ship Pegasus. We have an on-board emergency, requesting priority response.”
No response came from the planet. “I am going to switch to carrier wave,” American told them. She scowled, listening. “Do you hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything,” Redfire told her.
“That’s what I mean. Electromagnetic frequencies should be carrying static… normal background radiation. None of it’s there. It’s like all the stars have gone out.”
The Captain mused. “There is an ancient Earth legend that the purpose of humanity is to write down the nine billion names of God. Upon completion of this task all the stars will go out one-by-one.” He shrugged, and swirled the drink in his glass. “Maybe someone should have kept an eye on what all of those monks over in Arcadia have been doing all these millennia.”
“The stars haven’t gone out,” Alkema told them, looking through the canopy. “There’s still billions and billions of them out there.”
“Billy-uns, and Billy-uns,” Keeler corrected. “It’s pronounced, Billy-uns and Billy-uns.”
Redfire, Alkema and Keeler migrated up to the Command Module, and were standing behind Matthew Driver’s piloting station as he closed on Pegasus. Their home ship loomed large in the space ahead, prow jutting forward like a spearhead, spreading behind, vast sailplanes angled outward like wings. The twin Command Towers rose above at the back of the great ship. It was beautiful, it was majestic, and it was utterly still.
“She looks perfect,” Keeler said. “Absolutely premium.”
“She should be bouncing nine kinds of beacons on us
Matthew swung Prudence around behind and plotted a conventional landing path. “How are you going to get us in?” Keeler asked.
Matthew scanned the backside of the ship. “The Hatch Cover for Bay 27 is partially open. I think I can get us in through it.”
Redfire looked at the hatch on the cockpit display. It was, perhaps, one quarter of the way closed. It didn’t look like it would be a tight fit, but it still made him uneasy.
Matthew guided the ship with a deft hand. The shadow of Pegasus’s huge command towers fell over them as they passed over the markers, stilled for once. Gently, he brought the ship into the small space between the gigantic hatch and the deck. Beyond the aperture was darkness.
The Aves moved in. The passageway to the hangar was short. “Speed dampers are off-line,” Matthew confirmed. “Reversing thrusters. Reducing speed to 4 meters per second.” Keeler and Alkema turned up, both wondering how close the top of the passage was to the canopy, painfully aware of the two Shrieks rising up from their wingtips. What would happen if their wings clipped the top?
Matthew unerringly said the wrong thing. “You know, there should really be a simulator training exercise for this.”
The displays on the inside of the canopy gave the only indication of their passing. The passengers waited, almost holding their breath.
Suddenly, it dawned on Matthew why the Hatch Cover for Bay 27 had been partly opened. His jaw dropped, his eyes went wide, and the clean-cut pilot who wouldn’t say ‘shit’ if he had a mouth full of it said, “Oh, shit!”
Prudence jerked violently upward, too fast for the inertial systems to compensate. Keeler, Redfire, and Alkema, who were standing, were knocked to the deck. Kayliegh Driver and Shayne American, who were already in landing couches, were shoved down.
The space between the top of the passage and the Aves Amy was just barely enough for Prudence to pass through. Bare millimeters separated the two ships and hardly more separated the tips of the Shrieks on Prudence’s wings from scraping the top.
“What…?” Keeler began to say.
“Executive Commander Lear’s ship landed ahead of us, and was still in the Passageway when we came in,” Matthew explained. “We almost collided with it.”
Keeler patted him on the shoulder. “Well done, pilot. If we live through this, you can have an unlimited bar tab at any establishment on the ship.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t drink alcohol.”
“I know.”
Finally, after it seemed like it had been weeks since any of them had dared draw breath, Prudence entered the landing bay. Eight other Aves were parked, arrayed, or hanging over the hangar area. There was an open spot, and Matthew carefully brought his ship into it.
And when they landed, they opened the hatch and stepped down, one at a time, onto the metal deck of the Hangar bay. A landing crew should have met them. Service crews should be checking the ships on the deck. Goneril Lear should have been complaining to her pilot that her tea was too hot. Instead, there was no one to be found, and no one who responded on the intra-ship comm-links.
“I guess it’s a little too late for the rest of the crew to jump out and yell ‘Surprise,’” said the Captain.
“Look at that,” said Shayne American. She pointed to an automech poised on the top of one of the parked Aves. Its long metal arm was frozen in place as it was extracting a sensor module from the reactor dome. It looked like a statue.
“The people are gone and the machines don’t work,” Keeler muttered. “It almost feels like my old house on a Sunday night.”
Redfire removed from his pack a souvenir from Independence, a round sphere of some rubbery, glowing, but unidentified material known as a “Happy Fun Ball.” Happy Fun Ball was used in an eponymous game on the planet’s surface. The ball had a unique property in that it conserved all of its potential and kinetic energy. In short, once thrown, it could bounce infinitely without losing speed. Redfire chucked the ball as hard as he could into the depths of the landing bay.
The HFB bounced off a far wall then caromed off a structural joist. It ricocheted off the deck, bounced, recoiled, caromed again, snapped back, deflected off the wing of a parked Aves, sprung back, glanced off an overhead lift, boomeranged, rebounded, and finally flew back into Commander Redfire’s outstretched hand.
“I think we can conclude that something strange is going on.” Redfire said, replacing the HFB in his pack.
Not only had the ball failed to hurt any of the technicians that would normally be tending the landing bay, it had failed to arouse the ship’s internal sensors the way a fast-moving projectile in a sensitive operational area could be expected to. “Let’s acknowledge the herd-beast,” Redfire said.
“What does that mean?” Shayne American asked. A native of the planet Republic, a planet largely devoid of enormous, herbivorous, nomadic quadropeds, she was unfamiliar with the expression “acknowledge the herd-beast.”
“It’s a Sapphirean expression for when people refuse to acknowledge the obvious,” Alkema explained, always helpful. “Metaphorically, it’s as though we’re all in a room with a big green hairy herd-beast, but no one will talk about it.”
“I’d say he’s not only in the room,” Redfire went on, “but he’s also dropping a pile on the dinner table.
Let’s face up. The ship is empty. Everybody is gone. We can spend hours going through every section on 400 decks, supposing that they’re all hiding from us, or we can acknowledge the obvious and go from there.”
