Magic Dirt: The Best of Sean Williams, page 7
“I was expecting something like this,” he said, his voice empty of emotion. “The last real challenge Kris Parker had was when we considered lighting the bonfires on Council Tower. I told you that the man who had suggested the plan committed suicide, but that, perhaps, is not the whole of the truth. Cameron wasn’t the sort to give up; he would have tried again, made other plans. Myself and a few others—we will always wonder whether he jumped from his garden, or whether he was thrown.”
I stared at him, shocked beyond words. Could such a thing really have happened?
“Maybe Jerrie’s presence made them think twice tonight,” he went on, “or I’m wrong about their motives. I don’t know. I’m just glad I didn’t have to fight them. There’s already been so much violence ...”
In the glistening starlight, he put an arm around my shoulders and held me to him.
“It’s over,” he said again, and I wondered if he was trying to reassure me—although there was little reassurance to be found in his tone—or if he was describing the future, as he saw it.
I remembered my prophecy that morning:
Someone, or something, will die today ...
I wondered if that thing might have been hope.
“We might as well get some sleep,” Letting me go, he stared out to sea one last time. The aurora briefly flickered in his eyes, then died.
“I’ll stay up for a while,” I said, watching with despair as the impenetrable blackness of the stairwell swallowed him.
Is it really worth it? I wondered. Is life so precious that we should scrabble for it every day, breaking our fingernails in the dirt and our hearts with sheer futility? Is it worth fighting death with an inhuman, soul-destroying effort just to survive one more day, and another, and another ...
Now, given the opportunity, I would say to my younger self: Yes. Yes, it was worth it—for those who survived long enough.
But, that night, I lay back onto the cooling, age-scarred concrete and contemplated the sky with an aching emptiness where my heart had once been.
The Strange Stars drifted slowly southward, and I noted distantly that the three had become four: a new star had joined the others and, as I watched, it moved across the sky on a path of its own.
Back and forth, it moved.
Back and forth, as though searching.
<
~ * ~
THE SOAP BUBBLE
It was a moment of pure, A-grade drama, better than anything I could have scripted. So good, in fact, I had no choice but to include it in that month’s episode.
~ * ~
SCENE:
Control Bridge of the Navy Class Manned Deep Survey Ship Rosenberg (unofficially rechristened the Wandering Jew)
CAST:
GABLE ‘GABE’ MCKENZIE, Captain
SARA MRAVINSKY, Second in Command
MYRION HEMMELLING, Life Support
JAKE FOO-WONG, Astrogation
ANDRE PASSANT, Security
STEVE JEFFERSSEN, Engineering and Maintenance
FREEDOM MAXWELL, Science
ALEK MAAS, Communications, Morale and Honorary Soap Operator (me)
EXTRAS:
Engineers, technicians, research personnel, the medical team, three cooks, sundry crew-members; one hundred and thirty-five in all.
NOTES:
Filmed live and on location near Mu Boötis, 108 light years from Earth.
~ * ~
The Wandering Jew had finished its initial survey of the system when the Event took place. Captain Gabe, looking darkly handsome in his official flight-uniform, had successfully slotted us into a close polar orbit about the primary star, a greenish FO of unremarkable appearance. Freedom Maxwell, as beautiful as ever with her blonde hair tied back in a loose ponytail, was preparing for the first flyby of the inner planet. Jake Foo-Wong cheerfully checked coordinates every couple of minutes, conferring with the computers in unhurried, precise syllables. Steve Jefferssen watched the tell-tales monitoring the mighty engines with an avuncular eye; he seemed pleased, in his bear-like way, which was a good sign.
‘OK, folks.’ Captain Gabe surrendered control of the Jew to Jake and the AIs with a flourish of his wrist. ‘This baby is rolling. Any questions, comments or suggestions?’
‘Nice work, Gabe,’ said Freedom, playing her part as Love Interest with aplomb, as always. Maybe a little too well. Was nature imitating art? ‘We’re ahead of schedule, again.’
‘Well, it all adds up, doesn’t it?’ Gabe smiled back, obviously flattered by the compliment. ‘Sixteen systems down the list, with thirty-four still to go. If we can save a day or two each time, that means we’ll get home ahead of schedule.’
Sara Mravinsky and Andre Passant watched from the sidelines, obviously bored with the routine manoeuvres and uninspiring dialogue. Steel-haired Andre looked unhappy, which I duly noted. The script called for sullen resentment over Myrion’s rejection, but I sensed something more. Was he, like Freedom, overacting, or could this be the beginning of a separate malaise?
I sat apart from everyone, studying the crew’s interactions for any sign of tension, or release thereof. Who knew what would be useful? Even the isolation of Sara and Andre might provide enough material for a sub-plot, although I resisted the idea of pairing the two romantically. Apart from my own feelings, her fragile, almost childlike beauty would look incestuous juxtaposed with the stern security head. Although, maybe she’d like that. I found it hard to tell what was happening inside that pretty head, with its close-cropped auburn hair and burnt-orange eyes ...
‘Ahead of schedule,’ commented Andre, ‘won’t be soon enough for me.’
I came back to reality with a jolt. So that was his problem. Earth-sickness. I’d need to look at that later.
‘Engines are fine, Captain,’ said Steve. He licked his lips, acutely aware that every word was being recorded. ‘It was a little rough for a moment there, but we rode through it. Give us four days to trace the problem and we’ll be back at optimum.’
‘Good.’ Gabe nodded, unconcerned. Maintenance on such a long mission was an ongoing problem but nothing to be overly worried about. There was little save a direct asteroid-strike or a matrix-implosion that Steve couldn’t fix on the hop. The engines only ran at full power once every five weeks, anyway, while we crossed the gulf between stars, so there was plenty of downtime to patch up the odd leak. ‘Jake, tell me about the system.’
The half-Asian astrogator shrugged without looking up from his screen. He was type-cast and he knew it; more, he played up to it. ‘Nothing new to report, sir. Three planets, two of them Jovian. The third is tiny and dense, in a close, irregular orbit. Probably a captured moon. No asteroid belts or cometary clouds to speak of.’
‘Good.’ Gabe visibly relaxed. The last binary system (Omega Herculis, a white Supergiant with smaller companion) had seemed as simple as this, at first, until closer inspection revealed a widely scattered belt of primordial black holes orbiting the primary sun. Tricky for astrogation and life-support, and, as a near miss had proved, potentially fatal. We were ready for anything, this time, including boredom. ‘Uninhabited?’
‘Of course. What did you expect?’
‘One of these days you might surprise me.’ Gabe smiled wryly. ‘Sara, all non-essential crew can take a one-hour break. On stand-by until further notice.’
Sara toggled the intercom and broadcast the order. A feeling of tension began to ebb as, throughout the ship, the superfluous crew left their posts for a breather. Eighteen hours of hard work - crossover, primary survey, injection - was finished. Earlier than normal, too, as Freedom had said; Gabe’s technique of combining insertion with flyby seemed to be working. Unless something went wrong, the ship would be back on regular rosters for the next few weeks.
Gabe flickered through various screens of information, browsing, filling in time until the flyby. I too watched the torrent of data, understanding no more than ten per cent but not feeling too bad about that. None of us understood it all, not even the backroom boys under Freedom’s command. In the eighteen months we had already been Out Here, we had collected as many anomalies as coherent facts, and more questions than answers.
As Morale Officer, it was my job to make sure the wrong questions were never asked.
The inner, rocky planet crept closer. A battery of instruments scattered across the hull of the ship subjected it to constant analysis. It was lifeless, as expected, and a potential wealth of minerals. Halfway there, three impact probes were launched from the Jew; they separated with a half-heard, half-felt clang and swooped down to their fiery rendezvous.
An hour later, three tiny flashes of light were recorded and filed away for analysis. And that was it until the next flyby, three days later. If Freedom’s staff found nothing too unusual in the spectrographic data, the Jew would shift its orbit to study the primary star in more detail, after which we would head out to the gas giants. Then we would leave.
Five weeks. Four, if the system was as empty as it appeared to be. Another month for me to keep the crew from each other’s throats.
I stifled both a yawn and a recurring inspiration to write a romantic sub-plot involving Sara Mravinsky and myself, just to liven things up. Perhaps I was wrong to suppress this urge. The cathartic process included myself, didn’t it? Who was going to keep me from my own throat?
Then it happened.
~ * ~
(Cut to: Close scanner shot of JAKE FOO-WONG studying the astrogation screen, concentrating on tracing a path through the system. Suddenly, his head snaps up; on his face is an expression that combines both fear and total surprise.)
JAKE:Captain! We have something!
GABE: Yes, Jake — ? (he looks up) My God! What the hell is that?
(Snapshot view of the screen: an orange tangle of overlapping lines and circles. One small dot is moving very, very quickly across the screen.)
JAKE: (Struggling for self-control) Astrogation reports ... an unidentified object —
GABE: Red Alert, Sara! Red Alert!
JAKE: — velocity three four by ten exp seven —
GABE: Standby main drive!
JAKE: — heading ... (he looks up, and his face is pale) ... right at us, Captain ...
GABE: Seal all airlocks. For God’s sake, Steve, get that engine running. I want medical on full standby!
(Pull back: Control is a mass of confusion; voices shout into intercoms; an alarm begins to wail. Captured in one corner of the shot, with a look of absolute, impotent horror on his cola-black face, is me.)
JAKE: (A little calmer, but still breathless.) We have visual, sir.
(Cut to: A star-speckled view with Mu 1-Boötis in the top-left corner. Nothing is visible at first, then a bright green dot appears in the centre of the starscape. With a soundless whoosh, it instantly fills the screen.)
GABE: Jesus Christ ... That thing is moving! What magnification was that, Jake?
JAKE: Full, sir.
GABE: ETA?
JAKE: One-ninety seconds.
GABE: Is it broadcasting?
JAKE: No, sir, and it does not respond to signals.
GABE: Shit. Give me an evasive course and I’ll take manual.
SARA: (Looking uncharacteristically frightened) Can’t we just jump the hell out of here?
STEVE: No. We need at least forty-eight hours to program a crossover.
SARA: (Embarrassed) Of course. Sorry.
(Cut to: FREEDOM MAXWELL, at her console. The same image as before, of the alien spacecraft zooming towards the ship, fills her screen. Note: although her hair retains its coppery sheen, even in this bright green light, her beauty is only matched by her efficiency at her job.)
FREEDOM: OK ... (briskly, to the computer) ... roll it back a frame ... more ... there. Freeze and store. Magnify.
ANDRE: (Leaning over her shoulder) What the hell ...?
FREEDOM: (Tapping on the screen to highlight aspects of the alien craft) Disc-shaped, rotating at a very high speed, a border of yellow light around the edge of the disc, seems to leave a particulate vapour in its wake ... (Turning away from the screen) Gabe, is this some sort of joke?
GABE: What? No, of course not. Why?
FREEDOM: Well, in that case, Captain, we seem to have discovered our very first flying saucer.
(Stunned silence.)
JAKE: Bogey still approaching. (You can tell by the look on his face that he’s always wanted to play this role.) ETA now seventy seconds.
GABE: (Still incredulous) Flying what?
ME: (With an almost insane grin) A bona fide UFO!
ANDRE: Alek, if this is one of your ridiculous sub-plots —
ME: God, no. I may be crazy but I’m not that crazy. Who would believe a flying saucer, out here in space ...?!
FREEDOM: And how would he program the visuals? We’re seeing them for real.
ME: Yeah. Thanks, Freedom.
ANDRE: (Scowling) Keep a lid on it, then.
ME: Only if you stay in character.
JAKE: (Interrupting) ETA thirty seconds.
GABE: Right. Suggestions, anyone?
(Silence, again, apart from the impact-siren.)
GABE: OK. I guess we’ll just have to try and bluff our way out. (His face shows a hint of fear but, on the whole, he maintains his persona well.) Hang on tight!
(GABE’S hands flicker over his control board as he wrenches the ship to one side. There is a muffled roar as the mighty engines kick into life. Note: there is no joystick; no falling from side to side; no screaming. This is real space opera, even if the dialogue’s a bit wooden in places.)
JAKE: Bogey changing course.
GABE: Towards us?
JAKE: Aye, sir. ETA fifteen seconds.
(The Captain tugs the ship in another direction. The grim set of his jaw reveals that he knows the gesture will be futile, but he tries nonetheless.)
JAKE: ETA ten seconds. (I belatedly applaud his next words, although I loathed them at the time.) Nine ... eight... seven ...
(Cut to, in turn: ANDRE, SARA, STEVE, FREEDOM, ME, JAKE and GABE, interspersed with snapshots of the visual scanner, upon which the alien ship is approaching rapidly.)
JAKE: ... six ... five ... four ...
(The saucer seems to explode out of the screen.)
JAKE: ... three ... two ...
(Everything goes green ...)
JAKE: ...one...
( ... blindingly bright green ... )
JAKE: Impact!
(Blackout.)
~ * ~
In the wake of the encounter with the flying saucer, a vague sort of panic reigned. Of all the footage faithfully recorded by the security scanners, there was only one salvageable line:
ANDRE: Where the fuck has it gone?
And, as no one at the time could provide a suitable answer, I was forced to archive it.
My first thought, to maintain the dramatic impetus, was to cut immediately to the debriefing session, held in the Captain’s quarters eight hours after the event. People had calmed down a little by then, and were able to make a little more sense.
But, after much shuffling and re-editing, this eventually became the episode’s opening scene:
Gabe chaired the meeting, naturally. His haggard face was a mask of tired determination. He hadn’t slept for over thirty-six hours. None of us had.
‘OK, folks. I guess we need to work out what the hell happened. Anyone want to suggest where we start?’
‘Something did happen, I presume?’ Andre was taking the easy way out: evading the problem by questioning its very existence. ‘It wasn’t just an hallucination?’
‘No.’ Freedom was adamant. ‘It’s all there on file, if you want to check. The bogey appeared, flew towards us under an acceleration beyond the capacity of human engineering and then disappeared on impact.’
‘The “bogey”?’ Myrion looked amused, although the half-smile was twisted by her usual bitterness. Her psych file spoke of deep traumas, buried beneath conditioning. She was one of the few truly complex characters in the drama of the Wandering Jew, and one for whom I had great plans. Plainly attractive, with shoulder-length white hair, she was an interesting contrast to Freedom, with whom she was usually at loggerheads. ‘I thought you said it was a “flying saucer”?’
‘Whatever. Does it matter what we call it?’
