Children of the Dark World

by Will Townsend

  “How so doctor?” he replied, immediately on guard. She noted the tension that developed in his shoulders and smiled.

  “Not psychologically Commander, I mean ethnically. The blue eyes were within the ranges of possibility but I pictured pale skin and fair hair to go along with them.”

  “My mother described my father exactly like that, but she was mostly Cherokee with a little French mixed in for good measure. The eyes are from my father, I would guess, but the hair is definitely from my mother’s side. As for the skin color, I imagine both sides contributed.”

  “You’re an American correct? Your family has lived there for centuries hasn’t it?”

  “It’s probably more like fifteen millennia in my mother’s case.”

  “Ah, yes that would be right of course. I noticed from your genetic testing your ancestry includes some Greek and Eurasian. Do you know where the Greek and Eurasian ancestry came from?”

  “I haven’t the slightest idea doctor. Ancestral lineage went out of the window during the Dying as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  “I noticed you said your mother described your father to you. Was he out of the picture during your childhood?”

  “Yes, he was dead,” Farr said brusquely and then he continued, “as I’m sure my personnel file stated. By my teen years I had trouble remembering his face. Doctor, if you’ll remember, I asked you here to discuss a crewmember, not to give me a psychological evaluation.”

  “I see,” she said with a Cheshire cat smile, “and which crewmember would this be?”

  Farr pretended to reach for a folder then noticed her smiling again and dropped all effort at pretense. “Lao Tzu Ming,” he stated flatly.

  “Ah, I see. I’m very well acquainted with Mr. Ming. What’s troubling you?”

  Farr sat back in his chair and regarded the doctor. This was not going very well at all.

  “In that case doctor I don’t intend to play any more of your psychological games. I think you can tell me what my worries are and whether or not they’re founded. I believe I can trust your judgment.”

  “First, let me say that I like to observe people when they aren’t aware that anyone is watching. In other words, when the mask they wear for the world is down. I’ve done that with most of the crew and I’ve also done it with you. I must say you’re one of the most unselfconscious individuals I’ve ever known. But the one thing about you I’ve noticed more than anything else is that you do the same thing I do. And that you seem to read people very well. You’ve already read me and determined that I’ll not lie to you about the mental or physical health of any crewmember. And I won’t, ever. You’ve my word and my reputation on that. But before I address your concerns about Ming, indulge me, and tell me what your instincts are telling you. Not the political paranoia that goes along with being a captain of a ship, but your gut instincts.” Farr eyed her closely, his respect for the doctor having gone up a notch in the last few minutes. She had an intense stare that seemed to burn through the normal barriers that people erected around their innermost self.

  “My gut, if you will, is telling me that he can be trusted, that he is a serious person when the time comes to be serious and, just as importantly, he’s the kind of person who won’t let you down when the situation goes south.”

  “Very good, your instincts are sharp and your read is correct. Now let me tell you why we’re here. You see him joking about and you’re doubting, not him, but your own instincts. You wonder if they’re failing you. You hear him go on and on about his sexual conquests and you wonder if he’s a loose cannon that’s going to offend the female crewmembers under your command. I can tell you he will not. I’ve known him for several years now and he never gets romantically involved with anyone he works with. As far as his joking and womanizing, and the reason for it, well that’s confidential. All I can say is it will not affect your command at all and it might help morale. I’ve gone out with him many times and if you get to know him and get beyond that face we all paint on ourselves for strangers, I believe you’ll agree with me.”

  Farr stared for a moment reviewing what had just been said. Then his eyes widened.

  “Doctor, could you back up a moment? Did you just say in the same breath that you had gone out with him many times and that he never becomes romantically involved with someone he works with? Which is it? Don’t you think you should’ve informed me about your relationship?” Ilsa’s head snapped back as she laughed loudly. It was a rich, throaty laughter that bespoke genuine amusement, at least on her part.

  “Something funny doctor?” Farr said acidly, knowing she was about to make him feel foolish and, probably, that he’d earned it in some fashion.

  “It’s nothing really,” she snickered before controlling her mirth, “but you know sometimes Commander you make me feel young and idealistic again. Because, of all the people I’ve met in my life, there is still a bit of innocence and naiveté in you. That is really quite remarkable for a thirty-three year old man in today’s world. When I said I went out with Ming, I meant that we went out as pals, shipmates or just friends. You see we often go to nightclubs together and chase women.” She winked at him. “You know, see which one of us goes home with the prettiest lady by night’s end.”

  Farr blushed. “I see, well… I… uh, I didn’t mean to…” he trailed off.

  “I know you didn’t Commander and that’s why I like you. You’ve got a job to do and you focus on it utterly to the exclusion of everything else. You judge people by how they accomplish the tasks given to them and you’re sometimes incredibly oblivious to certain aspects of a person’s nature, not because you’re unobservant, but because it just isn’t relevant to how you judge a person’s worth. I think the Resolution could’ve done far worse for a captain.”

  “Well thank you, I think,” Farr said, “and thanks for giving me your opinion on Ming.”

  “Not at all, Commander, that’s what I’m here for.”

  That had been eighteen months ago when they’d finalized his crew manifest. Most of the crew were civilians, each the best in their particular discipline and while they seemed dedicated enough to the stated mission of the Resolution they were none too eager to spend a good deal of time onboard the ship before the mission, with the exception, of course, of Ming.

  Farr had been part of the initial inspection team that had boarded the former Cybelean Princess to assess her condition. The team had boarded the support ship through the docking port ingress and worked their way toward the bridge. The life support systems had been depleted almost a century before and a thin sheen of frost was here and there where the moisture left after life support failed had coalesced. Overall, however, there was no obvious damage. By the time they had worked their way to the bridge, auxiliary oxygen tanks had been installed in life support and a portable fusion generator had been spliced into the ship’s power grid. The ship’s century old nuclear reactor had been set to its lowest setting and a part of the team was even now preparing to use the emergency ejection procedures to remove it from the Princess. A space tug designed specifically to intercept the reactor and insert it into a collision trajectory with the sun was already standing by. From this point forward the ship would be fusion powered and its new engines would be onboard the next ETO.

  It had been Farr who’d restarted the ship’s systems and he had been rewarded when the lights began coming on section by section, starting aft. The faint hiss of oxygen filling the command module had been a pleasing sign indeed.

  No one reasonably expected the shipboard computers to be operational but, following the schematics, Farr restarted the system and crossed his fingers.

  “Stand by, system booting,” a mechanical voice crackled from an ancient speaker and Farr hoped against hope that the data onboard was not corrupted. The ship’s computers would hold invaluable information on the asteroid colonies, or at least the ones at which she had docked and serviced. When the boot-up was complete the command and control screen was displayed above a ho
lographic table. So far, so good, he thought. Farr moved his hand above the table and touched the holographic life support status indicator.

  “Life support at sixty-three percent,” the metallic voice said. That was good enough for Farr and he removed his helmet and drew in a deep breath. It was a little stale and dusty perhaps, but there was nothing untoward about the air. That would change quickly as the ship warmed up however. The original crew had probably tried to escape in the life pods, but as far as anyone could tell in that chaotic time none had survived. Farr would’ve been surprised if they had. The earth had been encircled by debris and magnetized iron dust from the Calamity. If the debris hadn’t destroyed them then the magnetized iron dust would’ve coated the pod they were in and shorted out all of the systems. They would’ve been unable to control their reentry angle and the life support systems would’ve shut down. Farr shuddered. There would be no cooling of the capsule’s interior and the angle would’ve assured that the vehicle eventually burned up, but not before its’ occupants were slowly roasted. It wouldn’t have been a very pleasant way to die. And it wouldn’t have been fast, lasting many terrifying minutes. It would’ve been better if they’d collided with debris and Farr prayed fervently that they had. No one who works in space has any illusions about what happens when something goes wrong. It was simply a mathematical equation. If the math said you lived, then you lived. If it didn’t, well then you’d better have your affairs in order.

  When they’d left the ship they’d left everything behind, foods, beverages and perishables of various kinds. The ship’s temperature was currently fifteen below zero C, but in another twenty minutes life support would increase the temperature all the way up to seventeen C, which was considered the optimal working temperature on this class of ship. And the century old perishables that had begun to go bad and had then frozen would thaw out again. There was a team onboard to deal with that but they’d argued about how to dispose of the frozen perishables.

  They were in a twenty two thousand kilometer orbit around the polar icecap. If they just ejected it from the ship without direction then it could wander into the orbit of another craft or satellite. If your craft hit a frozen turkey meal at twenty five thousand kilometers an hour it was going to be a very bad day. In the end the techs assigned rigged holding tubes into which they loaded the garbage and fired it out of the penetrometer tubes. This gave it a known trajectory and speed and ensured the waste burned up in the atmosphere and didn’t become a hazard to navigation.

  The legends and stories from the time of the Calamity all agreed that the crews of the five corporate ships had abandoned their vessels and had tried to reach the surface, so Farr’s surprise was genuine when he entered the bridge control area and came face to face with the mummified former captain of the Cybelean Princess still strapped into the command chair.

  “Taylor, Foch, can you come up to the bridge please?” he said as he engaged the environmental suit’s communications.

  “Just a second Commander, we’re launching some more garbage but we’ll be right there.”

  The two men drifted onto the bridge engrossed in some conversation regarding their current assignment, so as a consequence they were quite close to the captain’s chair when they turned toward Farr.

  “Holy shit!” screamed Taylor and Foch, with a horrified look on his face, did his best to backpedal away from the gruesome sight, which in zero gravity makes you look like you’re running backwards, in place, and doesn’t achieve anything more than cheap amusement for your shipmates.

  “That was exactly what I was thinking too Taylor. Gentlemen, we’re going to need something to function as a body bag, so if you two could round something up, I would appreciate it. And the faster the better, because it’s going to be warming up in here if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes sir, right away,” they’d said in unison leaving the scene as fast as zero g would allow them. Didn’t even ask who it might be, Farr chuckled.

  The captain had been respectfully removed before the temperature rose very much and he would return to Earth with them for burial. Farr briefly wondered why the captain had stayed behind but turned his mind toward the ship’s logs in the computer instead. They would probably answer that question for him if they weren’t damaged.

  He went back to the computer table and searched through the holographic menu until he found the ship’s logs. “Accessing.” The computer replied. Farr kept his fingers crossed and a date coded listing appeared above the table in front of him. He accessed the last entry and the holographic screen melted into a three dimensional view of the bridge. A man’s face appeared in front of him and began to speak. He had a ruddy complexion, a wide florid face and well groomed red hair that bespoke an Irish ancestry.

  “This is Captain Malcom Grebe of the Cybelean Princess and this will be my last log entry. The crew, against my advice, has taken the escape pods in a futile attempt to make planet fall. I fear the only thing they will find is an ugly death, but then again, at this point there’s no easy way out. Death is the only thing we have to look forward to. Maybe they were right to at least make the attempt, even though the mathematics plainly shows it to be futile. No, I’ve been in space too long. If the math says you’re dead, you’re dead and while their deaths will be much quicker than mine, mine will at least be a painless affair. So be it. The die was cast long before now and the only option I have is to finish the ride.”

  “It’s now August and the deluge assaulting earth appears to be thinning, but I can clearly see the large, deadly strikes that still occur. It doesn’t interest me anymore though. In fact, nothing has since London disappeared and along with it my lovely Ruth and my little Kay. According to the communications net that I’ve been listening to it happened on the fourth day. I wouldn’t have known that because the nets are normally encrypted, but apparently the Chinese and the Americans are working together. At least someone is. I heard the names of the two leaders but they weren’t familiar to me. My family died when London perished and I died when they did. Nothing has mattered since.” He paused. His movements were sluggish and disoriented, as if he were drugged, Farr thought and then the answer came to him as he watched the last narrative of Captain Malcolm Grebe.

  “No, that’s not entirely true. I’ve been listening to these channels day in and day out since this all began. I’ve pieced together something over the many conversations between the two leaders that sorely troubles me. It seems we’ve been branded cowards by the entire human race. At first I couldn’t figure out which ships they were talking about and I naturally jumped to the conclusion that it was the military ships. After all, we received no communications from them after we’d expended all of the missiles they’d installed onboard. But then, as they talked over the course of days, I slowly came to the conclusion that we and the other corporate ships were being blamed for deserting the Earth. I was shocked naturally, especially when I heard of the sacrifice the military ships had made. So there it was right before me, my crew and I were branded cowards, and I’m sure my name and that of my crew and this fine ship will be cursed throughout history, maligned for all time. That is, if those two men can salvage anything from a world gone mad. Maybe they can. They seem like strong, honest men, better than me I’m sure, for I’ve heard them talk of the families they lost, on the day before I lost my family. Yet they’ve continued to fight and I’m lost, without the will to go on. Yes, they’re better men than me, but if anyone ever finds this I want you to know; we were not cowards, my crew and I. When we couldn’t contact the military ships the corporations had shifted us over to another net and directed us to stand by for further orders for evacuations. I swear this to you. The corporation must’ve jammed the military frequencies and diverted us in hopes of us evacuating them. It didn’t save them and at least I’ve got that piece of revenge. We never heard from them again. The Princess couldn’t have helped them at any rate. We’ve nothing that could operate in that gravity well. Please, whatever stranger finds this,
tell everyone; my crew weren’t cowards. I wish we’d received the military calls. We’d have followed their path to save our families and I wish we had, because I’ll die here in futil… fut…” Grebe’s head slowly nodded and his eyes began to close. He jerked himself awake with an effort.

  “My death will serve no purpose here. I’d have liked to die with my family. It…” His head nodded again then jerked up again. “Found… plenty of… sleeping pills still onboard and I’ve shut down life support. It should… it should be fifty below soon. They say dying in the cold is easy. I… hope… tell them… not cowards…” he finished with a rasping breath. An intense look came into his drooping eyes and his head came up a final time and looked slowly around the bridge. “This is no place to leave your ghost, boyo,” he said to himself. His head then slumped onto his chest as the remaining life drained out of him and Farr watched another five minutes as the temperature obviously dropped on the bridge. There was a brief venting noise and the captain’s body moved up before the straps stopped his ascent as the ship’s atmosphere was vented to space. At that point the holographic image disappeared.

  Farr knew that he’d never forget that day, not because of the dying captain’s words, but because of the reaction of the Council when Admiral Ngata had forwarded the downloaded system data.

  “We’re under orders to say nothing about that log entry to anyone. The Council feels that it should be released later, after the missions have left Earth so as not to have any anti-corporate rhetoric ongoing while they’re trying to refurbish those four ships.”

  “Admiral,” Farr said softly and respectfully, “Those captains and crews deserve to be exonerated. They’ve been hung in effigy for a century and they were just another victim of the corporations.”

  “Your right, son,” Ngata said and Farr could see the angst in his face. “But we’ve orders and we’ll follow them. That doesn’t mean that you and I can’t see to it that the captain is buried with honors, though. We just can’t talk about it.”