Rubicon Crossing

by Ralph Prince

  “It’s a bit warm,” said the commander after a moment of silent contemplation, “but we shouldn’t need environment suits; that will make the repairs easier. I’m going out there to have a look around; you two stay here.”

  “You’re going out there alone?” Porter protested. “That violates standard procedure. Regulations strictly prohibit the ranking officer from leaving the ship without an armed escort.”

  “I know the procedure,” the captain responded, the irritation evident in his tone. “However, regulations also state that in a potentially hostile area, the ship must be maintained by the minimum crew necessary for an emergency lift off; that’s two people. Since our crew consists of only three people, we can’t follow both.”

  “But sir,” objected the lieutenant, “we have no proof the planet is inhabited, let alone hostile. Besides, Nav-Tac is capable of—”

  “Lieutenant,” interrupted the commander, “end of discussion. Don’t worry about me; I’ll take a photon blaster and a portable sensor. I’ll even turn on my HUD so I’ll be in communication with the ship at all times, and will be back in less than an hour. If everything checks out to my satisfaction, we’ll begin repairs upon my return. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Porter conceded, realizing how futile further argument would be. “I’ll have Nav-Tac watch out for you as best he can. If there’s any sign of trouble—”

  “You’ll stay put,” interrupted the captain. “Consider that a direct order.”

  Porter began to protest, but was stopped by a gesture from Lieutenant Monet. Nodding in acknowledgment, he turned back toward the tactical panel.

  “Okay,” said the commander, taking a final look at the status board. “Jackie, you’re in command here.”

  “Be careful, Don,” she called after him as he left the bridge and started down the ship’s central hallway.

  “I always am,” he called back as his footsteps receded in the distance.

  “That’s news to me,” she mumbled, manning her station and running a routine system check out of force of habit. She configured her station so the larger monitor in the center would display images from the captain’s heads up display, once he activated it. Four smaller monitors, two to each side of the central one, displayed images from outside the ship, one for each cardinal direction. One of the two screens flanking the main array displayed the readout of the captain’s biochip, while the other showed the interior of the starboard airlock.

  “Lieutenant Monet?” Porter asked, when he was certain the captain was well out of hearing range. “May I ask you something, off the record?”

  “Sure, lieutenant,” she replied, her gaze intent upon the images in front of her as she made minute adjustments to try to sharpen the pictures. “What’s on your mind?”

  “It’s the captain,” he admitted. “Has he always had this total lack of respect for regulations, or did I just catch him in a bad year?”

  “Don?” she laughed, spinning her chair around to face Porter. “He has his own set of rules. He says regulations were made to get people killed, so he only follows the ones that suit him and ignores the rest. Frankly,” she continued, “I think he’s right. I know his unorthodox style has saved his life more than once, and aside from Vic, he’s never lost a crewman under his command. Of course, by the same token, most of the crewmen have requested transfers after a mission or two with him. Vic, Inga, and myself are the only ones who have been with him since the beginning. With Vic gone, and Inga resigning from the Space Force after the war ended, I guess it’s just me. But, I wouldn’t let it bother you. I haven’t seen him make a mistake yet.”

  “Still,” he persisted, “I don’t think he should go out there alone. It’s against standard procedure.”

  “I think he’s just being a little overprotective,” Jackie said. “He’s been that way for as long as I’ve known him. On one of his missions aboard the Nova, before he took command, half of the crew was killed when they landed at an outpost which unknowingly was occupied by the Quillans.”

  “There are other things about him that bother me,” Porter continued.

  “Like what?” she asked, amused by his obvious frustration.

  “He never eats,” the lieutenant replied. “At least I’ve never seen him eat. For that matter, I’m not sure he sleeps either. He’s always awake when I go to bed, and he’s always on the bridge when I get up. One night I got up in the middle of the night, and he was standing in the hallway, just staring toward the engine room. It’s kind of spooky.”

  “Don doesn’t sleep much,” Jackie said, knowing exactly how the young lieutenant felt. Even after four years of service together, the captain sometimes mystified her with his unusual behavior. “He once told me he hates dreaming because, unlike most people, he vividly relives events from his past when he dreams. From what I know, he’s carrying a lot of demons from his time in the military, and I’m sure there are things he hasn’t told me about. You’ll get used to his eccentric behavior. You may never figure him out, but you’ll get used to it.”

  “I don’t know,” he said skeptically. “He’s always coming up with weird things I’ve never heard of, like Synthetic Aperture Radar. Where does he get that stuff? And his knowledge of Nav-Tac’s memory process; he seems to know as much about it as I do, and I worked on the design team.”

  “Don’s pretty bright,” Jackie explained. “He entered the Space Force Academy when he was fourteen. In three years, he took nearly every course they offered, and excelled at all of them. In fact, he had one of the highest ratings in academy history when he graduated at the age of seventeen. He could have had any position the Space Force had to offer.”

  “And he chose to be a freighter pilot?” Porter asked in disbelief. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “He was a combat pilot,” she corrected, “but, according to what Vic told me, he had a slight disagreement with his flight-major.”

  “A slight disagreement?” Porter asked, thrilled by the prospect that the captain might not be infallible after all. “This I’ve got to hear.”

  “It seems,” she explained, “that on a training mission, his flight-major was unintentionally leading the squadron into recently occupied territory. Don tried to warn her of her error, but the major wouldn’t listen, and threatened him with an insubordination charge.”

  “And…?” Porter pressed as she hesitated in the telling.

  “Don fired upon the major’s ship,” she said through a broad grin. “He crippled it so they couldn’t proceed with the mission. The charges were dropped when an inquiry proved Don to be correct, and that he had saved the entire squadron. He spent the next few years bouncing around various fighter squadrons and infantry troops, getting promoted, demoted, and reassigned. Apparently, he had a hard time taking orders, and no one wanted him under their command. Vic said Don never wanted to be a combat pilot anyway; it was just what he was best at. Eventually he ended up on the Nova, under the command of a Captain Turner. I never met the man, but Vic and Don spoke highly of him. When Turner was killed on a mission, Don was given command of the ship.”

  “Quite an accomplishment,” Porter said, somewhat disappointed. He had hoped to find a chink in the captain’s sterling armor.

  “One of many,” Jackie said, her eyes staring off introspectively at nothing in particular. “You should see his collection of medals. It’s quite impressive. Though he rarely shows them to anyone.”

  “I guess you know him pretty well then,” he said. From her expression and tone, Porter guessed that her feelings for the captain ran deeper than admiration or respect. For some reason, that bothered him. “I mean, you call him by his first name and all, and you said you two workout together in the cargo bay.”

  “I know him as well as anyone,” she said, shifting her attention once again toward the monitor screens. “We’ve served together for the past four years, ever since I got out of the academy. Of course, I had the ‘rookie’ status for the first year; it probably would have
been longer had I not been Vic’s little sister. Even though he’s probably my best friend, he’s still somewhat of a mystery to me. He never talks about his family, and his record, prior to joining the Space Force, is classified. Vic told me he has some deep, dark secret, but wouldn’t tell me what it was, if Don even told him. I asked Don about it once, but he became evasive. Besides,” she added, “I like first names.”

  “So do I,” agreed Porter, staring at her long, auburn hair. The bright lights of the bridge highlighted it with copper tinctures. He had always liked long hair, and the sheen of the bridge lights gave hers an almost hypnotic quality. He found himself getting lost in the gentle waves.

  “Then you won’t mind me calling you Willard?” she asked, suddenly spinning her chair around to face him.

  “No,” he replied, quickly averting his gaze, “but my friends usually call me Will.”

  “Will,” she repeated, scrutinizing the blond young man. “I like it; it suits you well.”

  “Thanks,” he said, blushing slightly. “I like your name too, Jackie.”

  “I do have one question that’s been bugging me, though,” she said. “Why did you make Nav-Tac look like a bald head in a jar? It’s kind of creepy.”

  “I was going to give him a synthetic body, but the space force wanted a more standard interface,” Will explained. “The project deadline was approaching and we didn’t have time to model a head, so we just scanned one in. The hair didn’t look right, so we removed it. I planned on going back and redesigning and texturing him, but I just never had the time. Now that I have the time, I’ve kind of gotten used to him the way he is.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jackie said, studying the hologram of Nav-Tac’s head as it watched the two of them converse. “It’s your head, isn’t it? I didn’t recognize it with that plastic-like texture and no hair, but now I can see it.”

  “Yeah,” Will admitted reluctantly. “The design team decided I was the most hologenic, so—”

  “Bridge, this is the captain,” a voice issued from her panel’s speaker unit, startling both officers. “Transmission check. Over.”

  “This is the bridge. Affirm transmission check,” Jackie responded, turning back to her station. “We read you loud and clear. Over.”

  “I’m in the starboard air lock,” the captain’s voice returned. “I’m beginning decontamination. Over.”

  “I copy that,” she said. “I’ve got you on my screens. Don, be careful out there; I mean it. Over.”

  “Wilco, Jackie,” he said, though she was certain she had heard him chuckle. “Decontamination is almost complete, and I’m about to disembark. Captain out.”

  CHAPTER 8: One Small Step

  As the decontamination process neared the end of its cycle, Captain Garris drew his photon blaster and checked the charge level and intensity setting. He didn’t expect to have to use the weapon, but it never hurt to be cautious. He holstered the blaster, and lowered his goggles from his forehead, fitting them snuggly over his eyes. Detaching the portable sensor from his belt, he switched it on and made a minor adjustment in the scan width. The interface between the device and his goggles displayed the readings in his field of vision. It revealed nothing unexpected beyond the airlock door.

  The alarm buzzer sounded twice, signifying the end of the decontamination cycle. Satisfied everything was in order, he entered the access code on the air lock control unit, and touched the panel, causing the outer hatch to open. Hot air buffeted him as the hatch slid aside, carrying with it a dense cloud of suffocating gray dust.

  His goggles instantly darkened to compensate for the brilliance of the mid-day yellow star as the captain stepped out onto the surface of the mysterious world, stirring up tendrils of dust around his ankles. The parched gray landscape was interlaced with a complex network of deep cracks, evidence that the region rarely, if ever, had rainfall. Sparse vegetation, primarily scraggly bushes, dotted the level terrain; their drying leaves drawing barely enough life-giving moisture from the surrounding air. A blue-gray sky hung overhead, bespangled with silvery cumulous clouds.

  Glancing around, the captain found himself under the scrutiny of a small gray lizard, which was basking on a rock. Its slender red tongue darted rapidly in and out, as its dark eyes silently observed him. Suddenly it scurried away, seeking a more private place to lounge.

  Tapping the temple of his goggles, activating the integrated communicator, the captain spoke: “Bridge, this is captain. It’s hot as hell out here. Over,” he said, taking in a mouthful of dust.

  “Affirm. I could have told you that from in here,” Jackie’s voice returned. “Nav-Tac reports possible life form readings in the area, and requests confirmation. Over.”

  “Affirm on the life forms,” he acknowledged, checking his sensor’s readout. “Aside from the flora, there are small reptiles and insects. However, there’s no indication of higher life forms. I’m going to circle the ship to check out the external damage. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Jackie said. “Keep in touch. Out.”

  Turning toward the ship, the captain surveyed the outer hull. The dull gray metal was battered and blackened in places, as though it had been subjected to a massive weapon assault. Many of the textured silver sensor panels were missing, while others were toasted to a deep brown hue; few appeared undamaged. Fortunately, the ship’s stores were well stocked with replacement panels, and they were simple to install.

  He walked slowly toward the bow of the fifty-two-meter-long vessel, his attention alternating between the sensor readout and the surrounding terrain. At one point, he paused to watch a small arachnid as it tenaciously attempted to drag a dead winged insect, twice its size, into its lair. He admired the creature’s persistence.

  As he rounded the ship’s bow, he got his first view of the stone rise to the north. Its majestic brown walls rose from the ground like a mighty fortress, impervious to the ravages of time and the elements. He speculated as to its origin, deciding it was most likely a meteor crater from ages past. For several minutes, he gazed upon it, awed by its strength and fortitude. He had never really stopped just to look at the scenery of a planet before. Most of his life had been spent among the stars. On the rare occasions when he was on solid ground, it was during a military operation, and scenery was the farthest thing from his mind. Somehow it had escaped him that such beauty and wonder could be found in such a limited space. He had read of such sights in books, but even the words of poetry paled by comparison to what stood before him. If a world painted in shades of gray and brown could hold so many splendors, he wondered what treasures the wilderness of a pastoral planet like his native Earth would hold.

  “Captain, this is bridge,” the communicator conveyed, “are you all right? You’ve been staring into the distance for nearly a minute. Is something wrong? Over.”

  “Negative, Jackie,” he replied. “I was just admiring the scenery. I’m at the bow, and so far it doesn’t look too bad. Most of the sensor panels will have to be replaced, but the ship appears to be structurally sound. There’s still no sign of higher life forms, though I wouldn’t blame them for staying inside in this heat. Over.”

  “Copy that. Don’t complain to me about the weather,” she scolded. “You’re the one who insisted upon going out there alone, instead of staying inside of the nice, cool ship. Over.”

  “Don’t rub it in,” he warned. “Even a med-tech can replace sensor panels. Over.”

  “I copy that,” she said apologetically. “But you did bring this upon yourself. Over.”

  “Roger that. I’ll contact you when something new develops,” he said. “Captain out.”

  Continuing his cycle around the ship, he found the port side to be in much the same condition as the starboard side had been. The main difference was in the outlying terrain. Where the land to the south of the ship had been level, the north swelled with low rocky hillocks, extending to, and beyond, the circular crater. He kept a close eye on his sensor readout, watchful for anything that
may be hidden by the uneven terrain.

  As he neared the rear of the ship, his apprehension heightened. The photon engines were powered by a matter-antimatter reaction. Normally, the nuclear radiation, expelled from the rear of the ship, was re-collected by the photon-compiling units and re-channeled through the engines, providing additional thrust, as well as most of the ship’s power. Though the engines themselves seemed undamaged, the photon compilers were not functioning properly. If they were severely damaged, there would be no hope of ever returning to Earth.

  Reaching the aft section of the vessel, he paused to check the sensor’s readings. It registered higher than normal radiation levels. “Damn,” he muttered, visually scanning the six exhaust ports. The metal meshed photon cells, covering the ports, were pockmarked with gaping black-fringed holes, where the radiation had burned through them. Unlike sensor panels, the photon cells were not carried in the ship’s stores, and were too large to be printed with the ship’s fabricator.

  Shaking his head despondently, he activated his communicator again. “Captain to bridge. I’m at the engines now,” he said. “We may have a problem. Nearly all the photon cells are damaged, and we don’t have replacements on board. Other than that, the compilers seem to be in working order. Over.”

  “Roger,” came Jackie’s response. “We’ll see you in a few minutes then. Over.”

  “Negative,” he replied. “I’m going to check out the rise to the north; maybe I can get a look at the city, or whatever it is, from there. Over.”

  “Negative Don,” Jackie protested, making no attempt to hide her concern. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. The monitor picture is breaking up, and the sensors are pretty limited at that range. It could be dangerous. Over.”