“And didn’t you look fetching,” Bryce Wayne added.
Kent leaned in accusingly. “So, you couldn’t possibly be from another universe…” Pegasus Keeler cut her off. “It’s my story and I’m sticking to it” Professor Olive Queer, the renowned molecular biologist and brain doctor was similarly taken aback. “Why, this is like an episode from the Scary Zone of Unpredictable Madness,” she slurred, already several sheets to the wind.
This remark made the rest of the table titter. Pegasus Keeler suddenly remembered that he despised every one of these people, and began to think coming to Zorg’s had been a gross mistake.
“Somebody find me a chair so my ass can sit on something,” Sapphire Keeler bellowed, but an attractive serving wench was already seeing to that, bringing around one of the dark wooden chairs that was part of Zorg’s atmosphere.
Pegasus Keeler took a seat also. They were not seated adjacent to each other, but occupied the same side of the table with Delia in between them. Sapphire Keeler ordered Naked Borealans for the whole table, then specified to the waitress he meant the mixed drink that went by that name and he wanted to make damn sure there was no confusion on their part.
“Do you really believe you have been commanding Pegasus these past nine years?” asked Professor Parker, of the Astrophysics department.
Pegasus Keeler nodded, and reached for one of the twists of cheese and pretzel in the snack bowl in front of him. He knew very well what was coming next.
“How is the Graviton Drive holding up. Has the Transitional Diplosion Element remained constant, or has it migrated over time.” Parker had been an advisor to the Cloudbuster Aersopace team that had designed Pegasus’s hyperspace drive systems.
Pegasus Keeler munched some cheese. “Haven’t got a farkin’ clue what you’re talking about.”
“The Transitional Diplosion Element creates the dimensional shift that enables your Pathfinder Ship to enter hyperspace,” Parker persisted. “Surely, you would know that, if you had been in space these few years.”
“When I want to transition to hyperspace, I ask my navigator to do it,” Pegasus Keeler responds. “When some wiper-of-anatomical-crevasses asks me some technical question about the ship’s operations, I refer them to Mr. Alkema. That’s how a command works.”
“How can you possibly command a starship without knowing how its engines work?” Parker seemed smug in his certainty on this point.
“Because starships do not work that way!” Pegasus Keeler thundered.
“What about the cybernetic systems?” asked Danvers, an expert in the field of artificial intelligence. “You know, the basic research behind the Pathfinder Braincore was done at SIC Systems, here in New Cleveland. I was the lead research advisor to the project.” She always made sure everyone knew this.
“The Braincore achieved sentience, then it tried to kill everyone on the ship and destroy an entire inhabited planet,” Pegasus Keeler replied. “That’s how well it worked.” Around the table, groans erupted. “That was in the Meridian Mission report,” someone pointed out.
“On my Pegasus, we separated the entity from the Braincore without destroying it,” Pegasus Keeler defended himself. “She’s flighty as all hell, but handy to have around sometimes.”
Next, an astrophysicist asked Keeler a question about stellar fusion that he couldn’t answer. An anthropologist posed a speculative question about patterns of development in human civilizations on different worlds, which he was able to parry using examples from Bodicea and Yronwode. A geneticist asked him a question about a shift in a particular gene sequence and its variance across colony worlds, which he could not understand, much less answer. An engineer asked him a question about the ship’s systems he also could not answer.
Pegasus Keeler was keyed into what was going on. They weren’t interested in the places he had been. They weren’t interested in his discoveries, they were making a sport of trying to discredit him.
As the night wore on, the questions began to diminish and he knew that this crowd was largely convinced he was a fake, and speculation turned to what kind of a fake he way. He understood now why his counterpart had become a stinking drunk, but he still didn’t have an excuse for himself.
Around 1050 in the evening, through a soft gauzy haze of intoxication, he became aware of a woman at the head of the table, sharply ordering a waiter to bring her a chair and a glass of chilled water, no ice, with a hint of applegrass.
Pegasus Keeler looked at her and smiled. “Hello, Sis.” Bettilu Keeler smiled back at him, a little curiously. She was a rail-thin and tiny woman, whose blonde-white hair was perfectly coiffed and whose dress was immaculate. “Why are there two of you?” she demanded of the Bill Keelers.
Once again, Pegasus Keeler was forced to explain about Gethsemane, about the Gateway, and about how he had been commanding a pathfinder ship for the previous ten years. All the while, the faculty laughed at him and Bettilu Keeler’s eyes bore into him like lasers.
Her response was surprising. “I believe you.”
“You do?” Pegasus Keeler was surprised.
“I have a bit of the truth-machine gene,” she replied to him. She asked the Professor of Vibeology who sat next to him if he would mind relinquishing his seat and then claimed it for herself; directing his ass to the seat the waiter had brought.
“So, what’s the rest of the universe like?” Bettilu asked crisply, but with genuine curiosity.
Pegasus Keeler took a deep breath and gave the condensed version. “Well, EdenWorld’s filled with genetically altered human freaks. Bodicea is a world dominated by women, where men are kept as breeding slaves. Winter is a frozen hellhole, but its people live forever and are insane. Fiddler’s Green is a green planet inhabited by leprechauns and crazy people. Independence is kind of like what Sapphire would have been if it were run by Republic’s government. Medea is a dead world, that we repopulated with androids.
Hearth and Coriolus were conquered by the Aurelians. Ecco 1 is a dead world we repopulated with genetically-enhanced battle-cyborgs. Aurora is a planet of hedonists.
Yronwode is a prison planet locked in an endless cycle of violence. Fallon recently underwent a complete collapse of its civilization. And Gethsemane is about four or five days out from being destroyed by collision with another world.”
“Independence sure sounds like a perfectly awful place,” Sapphire Keeler put in.
“They had some lovely bars,” Pegasus Keeler replied. “And their capital city is perfectly round, like a great big circle.” He mimed a great large circle in the middle of the table.
“The rest of the galaxy sounds like a waste of time,” Bettilu said, a little saddened. “I had really hoped that the Odyssey Project would be more ennobling to the human spirit.” Keeler was shocked at her indifference. “But this is the galaxy! This is history. The greatest of human civilization is human civilization! We put colonies on ten thousand worlds, maybe more! And you don’t think is ennobling?” Delia patted his shoulder. “You’re drawing attention to yourself, dear.”
“But have you learned anything about what goes on in here?” Bettilu asked, thumping her chest.
“Oh, give ma an extra-large break and a side of Panrovian fries,” Sapphire Keeler belched. “Both of you, Mr. I’m-so-cool, I-explored-the-galaxy, and Mrs.
The-Greatest-JourneyIs-In-The-Human-Heart. You know what I think of space? I think space is an infinite expanse of near-vacuum with an ambient temperature three degrees above absolute zero.”
“So’s your mother,” growled Pegasus Keeler.
“Well, the University at New Cleveland may not be interested,” Delia commented. “But the University at New Tenochtitlan has started a College of Galactic Studies based on the Odyssey Project, Carpentaria Tech has an entire department devoted to applications derived from extra-colonial technology, and University of Arcadia is planning an Odyssey based curriculum. And they’re eating us alive in new enrollments,” she added.
“But eno
ugh about my boring space adventures, what have you been doing with your
life,” Pegasus Keeler challenged his sister. “According to the other me, myself, and I, you spend your time on the wireless gabbing to losers about their personal problems.”
“I help people,” she answered calmly, and after pausing to ask a passing serving girl for a small glass of sherry to go with her water, she went on. “I am also on the forefront of defending our planet’s morals, values, and culture against the onslaught of this New Democracy movement.”
“So, you’re the one who’s going to have their leaders taken out and shot,” Pegasus Keeler nodded approvingly.
“Of course not,” Bettilu replied. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“It’s what we’ve always done in the past,” Pegasus Keeler said. Then, he glanced around the table at the shocked expressions worn by some of the more naïve professors.
“Oh, right… sorry. Not in the esence-pray of itnesses-way.” Bettilu Keeler wagged her finger. “I’ve started a group called WITHSTAND – Women of Integrity, Temperament, and Honesty Standing Together Against the New Democracy.”
“Why not Broads Against Radical Fanatics,” Pegasus Keeler counter-suggested. “It’s more concise.”
Some of the less discreet male professors chuckled at this, but the female professors were glaring at him.
“The New Democratists have purchased an entire building in downtown Corvallis,” Bettilu paused to thank the serving girl for her sherry. “They are going to press The Thing to lower our standards of public decency until this whole planet is on giant Bacchanal Island.”
“Holy Milkbeast!” Pegasus Keeler sputtered. “Don’t they realize how that will devastate the economy of Bacchanal Island? There’s no reason to go there except to screw, gamble, and get pissed.”
“Nine million Sapphireans a year visit Bacchanal Island,” said Professor Cranston Lamont, an economist. “That should tell you something about the true state of our public morality.”
“Here, here,” agreed Professor Krankenschwester, the ethicist. “What would be so wrong about being more open about embracing the more deviant parts of our inner self-lives.”
“Because it doesn’t work,” Pegasus Keeler said, drunk enough to be serious about it.
“Za, it’s important to have times and places where people can indulge in hedonism and blow off steam; Bacchanal Island, the Halifax Platinum Festival…”
“Panrovia,” Sapphire Keeler interjected.
“… but you can’t have sleaze exist as part of your normal, decent society.” Keeler concluded.
“How do we know that?” Professor Krankenschwester challenged him. “How do we know we wouldn’t be better off as a society if we accepted and normalized deviant human behavior? Of course, some behaviors would be off-limits… killing, I suppose would be one.
Acting out against an unwilling partner would be another. But why can’t we have more general tolerance in our society for deviant behavior.”
“Because it doesn’t work,” Pegasus Keeler repeated. “On Aurora Colony, they’ve done just exactly what you suggest, and their civilization is dying, if it isn’t dead already.”
“Well, I’m sure that will never happen here,” Krankenschwester said, with a dismissive wave of her hand.
“Will to!” Pegasus Keeler insisted.
Bettilu Keeler poked Sapphire Keeler. “I like this outer space version of you.”
“I think he’s a tool,” Sapphire Keeler replied. He downed a shot. “Tell me, other me, have you solved the riddle of the collapse of the Galactic Commonwealth.” Pegasus Keeler spoke with that breed of total seriousness and absolute certainty that only the best drunks are capable of. “Za, the Galactic Commonwealth was destroyed by war with the Tarmigans.”
“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous!” Sapphire Keeler spat at him. “Tarmigans…
pah!”
“The Tarmigans are real!” Pegasus Keeler insisted so insistently that his drink insisted on depositing some of itself on the table, Sapphire Keeler, and a passing waiter. “I saw a planet where they shifted the orbit until the population froze to death! I saw a planet where they turned the colonists into salt! I have a report that says they may have destroyed an entire universe.”
“Evidence that the Tarmigans attacked, let alone caused the collapse of the Commonwealth is scanty at best,” Sapphire Keeler insisted.
“Scanty?” Pegasus Keeler shouted. “Is that the kind of fop I became if I stayed here? The kind of fop who uses the word ‘scanty.’ Allbeing!”
“I am not a fop!” Sapphire Keeler insisted.
Delia Keeler tapped Pegasus Keeler on the hand. “Darling.”
“What?” Keeler snapped at her.
“That green mark on your hand,” Delia said. “It just turned yellow.” Chapter 12
Pegasus – Command Center Conference Room – Three Days to Impact – “I think we have to treat President Kahn’s threat as genuine,” David Alkema informed the command crew after reviewing the message. In attendance were TyroCommander Change, Lt. Commander Kitaen, a pair of tacticians, Matthew Driver, and for some reason, Specialist Atlantic.
Eliza Jane looked noticeably more aggravated than she had been lately, and when she spoke, she sounded it. “Suspending our rescue operation is not an option. I am open to plans to get Mr. Redfire and the Commander back, but the rescue of the children remains our top priority.”
Alkema asked. “General Kitaen, how hard would it be for you to seize the Gateway Complex?”
Kitaen touched his datapad and projected a schematic display. “Three squads of warfighters could take the facility. Unless Kahn has weapons and men she has not shown to us, we should experience light casualties… if any.”
“You would have to pull warfighters from the rescue operations to carry out the attack, would you not?” Change challenged him.
“We could go in with fewer men, but some cannibalization of the search and rescue teams would be necessary,” Kitaen admitted
“We’re at the height of the evacuation now, I don’t want to leave any teams short-handed,” Change decided.
“I’ll also need to train and brief the teams in advance of the attack,” Kitaen countered.
“I will require time to prepare them.”
“You mean the rescue,” Alkema corrected.
Kitaen shrugged.
“We should delay seizing the Gateway until dawn of the last day,” Change decided.
“We’ll send one of the negotiators, Exeter, to keep Kahn occupied until we are ready to strike. Lt. Cmdr Kitaen, draw up a list of the warfighters you need. We’ll begin pulling them off search and rescue teams tomorrow.”
Gethsemane – Port Gethsemane – Aves Chloe settled onto the dock and the hatch opened.
Warfighter Copperhead emerged and crossed the dock to report to Anaconda-Taurus Rook in the Command Shelter, a tent-like structure where Taurus Rook and ten technicians tracked every rescue team on an array of monitors.
“84 Survivors,” Copperhead reported. “Nevalah is clear… as near as we can tell.” Taurus Rook frowned at the report summary. “It took you three days to rescue 84
kids?”
“It wasn’t easy,” Copperhead said, with a noticeable clenching of the jaw. “They were well dug in, and they were uncooperative. They completely eluded our initial SAR, and while we were trying to find them, they looted our ship and kidnapped our pilot. Lured him outside of the ship then hit him with a rock.”
“Is he all right?” Taurus Rook asked.
“Flight Lieutenant Ajax? He’s fine. Minor concussion injury.” She checked her nails.
None of them were chipped. “After that we set up a camp outside the ship and the next day we went back into the city. They hit the camp to steal our supplies again, which we had loaded with tracking devices and auto-detonated stun grenades. We got a dozen of the looters that way, and about thirty more of their compadres when they took the stuff back to th
eir bunnybeast warrens. That’s where we found Flight Lieutenant Ajax.
“When our prisoners revived, we fed them and gave them new clothes. When they saw that we were friendly, they helped us track down the rest. End of story.” She paused.
“Except for the part where one of them acquired Warfighter Cristobal’s weapon and started shooting at us. But, that’s just a detail. All of them are in the ship, mostly sedated, some heavily. They will be ready for transport to Pegasus following medical screens.”
“This is the last day that we will do medical screens on the surface,” Rook reported to her. “We’re running out of time down here, and they’ve gotten a lot better at processing upstairs.”
Her COM Link chirped. “Lt. Rook, this is Lt. Commander Alkema. Can you put me on holo-projection.”
Taurus Rook gestured to Specialist Fangboner, who brought up Alkema on a display.
He was standing in Pegasus’s Primary Telemetry Lab, looking tired but energized. “I’ve made refinements to our sensor processing techniques, and we may have found some pockets of survivors we overlooked the first time.”
“Go ahead,” Taurus Rook ordered.
Alkema brought up some displays of high resolution ground imagery. “Instead of looking for direct life-signs, we had the ship’s sensors look for secondary signs of human inhabitation. Take a look at these two crop areas. The trees here have fruit that’s falling and rotting on the ground. We detect it visually by inspecting the trees and the ground, and detecting chemical traces in the air from rotting fruit. This grove over here was recently picked clean. No rotting fruit on the ground. There must be a human habitation nearby. Similarly, this town is plainly abandoned. The streets are overgrown, there’s no litter. There has been no activity around it. But with this other town, there are pathways through the streets, and we detect the heat-signatures of campfires at night.” Taurus Rook was torn, she glad more survivors had been found, but despaired at forcing her weary and overtaxed rescue crews to go after them. “How more many areas have you detected with probable life-signs?”
Gethsemane Page 16
