Rubicon Crossing

by Ralph Prince

  “… to … Garris,” said a static garbled voice. “Iva … Captain Garris, over.”

  Plucking the goggles from his belt, Don removed the communicator and shouted into it excitedly. “Iva, you’re okay.”

  “Not entirely,” sputtered the reply. “… sustained extensive damage … transmission is not clear. I … landed out … the city … previous landing site, over.”

  “I read you,” Don responded. “Hold tight, we’re on our way.”

  Leaving Stanton behind to look after the often-troublesome Victor, Don led the other three from the room.

  They emerged in the basement of the former office building to find the floor littered with fallen debris. The stairs leading to the surface were rendered impassable by tons of rubble and stone.

  “We’re trapped!” Will exclaimed, certain he had escaped a quick death only to suffer a more cruel, lingering demise.

  “Don’t panic,” Don scolded, quickly searching the area for another exit. “We can climb out of one of the holes in the ceiling.”

  “The building must have buckled,” Jackie speculated, looking through one of the openings, but seeing only rubble. “Will may be right.”

  “No,” Don insisted, raising his hand to the air. “I feel a draft. This way.”

  Leading Karen by the hand, he guided them through the network of pipes and ducts to a cool corner of the room. Small ice crystals fell through the opening above, accompanied by a stream of cold air.

  “Will,” he ordered, gesturing him forward, “give me a boost up there. I’ll check out the situation above.”

  With Will’s aid, Don climbed through the jagged hole, vanishing from sight. Seconds later, he reappeared, extending his arm downward toward them. Hoisting them up one at a time, he looked out over the ruined landscape.

  It was dark and cold. Sleet fell from the billowy black clouds which obscured the stars, stinging the exposed flesh of the travelers.

  “Donald?” Karen shouted over the howling wind as she rubbed her arms in a futile effort to keep warm. “What’s happening?”

  “I should have realized,” Don said, using his body to shield her from the bitter wind. “We’ve added a tremendous amount of moisture to your atmosphere and cooled it greatly. With this being the winter region of your planet….”

  “This is snow?” she asked, having envisioned it as being more beautiful, and less cold.

  “No,” Don replied. “This is sleet; poets don’t write about this.”

  “It’s almost like home,” Jackie said, referring to her native Canada.

  “There!” Will shouted, pointing with one hand and shielding his eyes with the other. “There’s the ship.”

  Don followed the direction of the pointed finger with his eyes, where they came to rest upon a protrusion jutting vertically from the ground. He gasped in horror before realizing it wasn’t the Nova, but a gigantic shard of ice. The ship rested beyond, at the fringe of their visibility.

  “Let’s go,” Don urged, pulling Karen closer and starting toward the vessel. “Hurry, before we all freeze.”

  CHAPTER 20: Requiem

  The appearance of the Nova was not encouraging. A long trench in the ground marked where it had impacted the surface and slid, leaving twisted pieces of itself, before finally coming to rest, at an awkward angle, on a small hill. A jagged scar stretched from the air lock forward, to a gaping hole just behind the bridge. The entire surface was scorched black, and melted in spots from the heat of reentry without the deflector shields. As they neared, they could hear the soft hiss of the sleet hitting the smoldering hull.

  “Damn,” Don exclaimed, his expectations shattered. “Be careful, it’s still hot.”

  From a full meter away, they could feel the warmth, despite the fact the ship had been cooling for nearly an hour.

  “Forget the air lock,” Don said as Will started toward the former entrance. “This rip cut right through the main power conduits. We’ll go in through here.”

  He approached the hole, which he knew led to his cabin, and peered inside before climbing through, careful not to touch the steaming metal of the hull. All that remained in the dark room were the metal frames of his bed and chair, part of his desk, and the charred remains of his bookcase. The air was warm and smoky from the fire that had gutted the room.

  He stood for a moment, taking in the scene as waves of emotion washed over him. His home and all his worldly possessions were gone—burned to ash like the Earth and everything else he had ever known. All that remained of his native planet were the three crewmembers and what little they had salvaged from the ship.

  He was barely aware of the others coming in behind him as he stepped toward the bed. There, wedged between the frame and a fragment of the mattress, was a scorched book. He picked it up and patted out the embers that clung to the cover with his bare hand. Flipping through the brittle pages, he smiled slightly and silently handed the ancient tome to Karen.

  “Don’t touch anything,” he said, noting the souls of his shoes stuck periodically to the previously carpeted floor. “And don’t stand in one place long.” Followed by Karen and his crew, he crossed the room to the door.

  “How are we going to get that opened?” Will asked, gesturing toward the metal barrier.

  “Stand back,” Don replied, drawing his blaster. A single shot cleanly removed the panel from the center of the door, allowing access to the lock release mechanism. Using the sleeves of his flight suit to insulate against the heat, he pushed the door open enough to pass through into the hallway.

  The dim glow of the emergency lights revealed the interior of the ship had sustained little damage. Other than one ceiling panel hanging precariously by a single thin cable, everything seemed in order. Following the corridor cautiously to the bridge, they heard soft choral music permeating the smoke-filled air.

  “That’s not good,” Don stated, feeling as though he were reliving his nightmare again. He felt as though his heart were clutched in an icy grip.

  “What is it?” Karen asked.

  “Fauré,” Don said, recognizing the music. “Pie Jesu, from Requiem. She’s playing a mass for the dead.”

  Hastening their stride, they rushed to the bridge.

  “Iva,” Don called, approaching the fire-scorched tactical console, “can you hear me?”

  “Don?” Iva replied as the music ceased. Her voice seemed to emanate from the front of the ship. “Is that you? My visual receptors are no longer in working order, and my audio receptors have been damaged.”

  “It’s me,” he replied, slowly approaching his station. He saw a huddled form next to the holofield emitter that rested between the pilot and co-pilot chairs. “We’re all here.”

  “I’m dying,” Iva said, as her hologram looked up at him with unseeing eyes. “Most of my bio- fluid has leaked or boiled away. I’m finding it difficult to think. Are we safe?”

  “Yes, Iva,” he answered, nearly choking on the words as tears welled in his eyes. “We’re green. You saved us all.”

  “Good,” said the agent. “I wasn’t sure. I thought I might have dreamt it. I can only muster enough power to extend the holofield about a meter, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t stand at attention for my mutiny hearing.”

  “No need for that,” Don said, kneeling next to her as the others clustered behind him. “You did the right thing. We all would have died if you hadn’t taken the ship. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” she replied. “I’m glad everything worked out. Is Will here?”

  “I’m here,” the lieutenant said, stepping forward as Don moved aside.

  “So many things to say,” Iva said, convulsing as her image wavered. She reached out toward him, but her hand vanished as it left the limited extent of the holofield. “There’s something I want to tell you. I may not have time, but Jackie knows. Ask her about our discussion after I’m gone.”

  “You’re not going to die,” Will insisted. “I can repair you.”


  “No,” said Iva. “You cannot replace the fluids I have lost. Not here. Besides, I have accepted death; it is the logical conclusion to life.”

  “You sound like a computer.” Will said, a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

  “I am essentially a computer,” she replied. “A sophisticated one at best, but a computer none the less. Compared to you humans, I am yet a simple being.”

  “No, you’re not,” Don objected. “You are as alive as any of us; you proved that when you offered to sacrifice yourself for the rest of us. You did it out of friendship, not because of your conditioning. Only a living being can make that decision.”

  “Do you think I will dream?” she asked, her voice becoming weaker and the image becoming transparent as the power faltered.

  “You deserve better than an eternity of dreams,” Will said, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “You deserve a chance to enjoy life now that you’ve obtained it.”

  “Dreams are what you make them,” she replied. “Fine wisps of hopes and desires, most never realized; fading as mist in the morning sun; clinging in the shadows of the mind; whispering ‘someday’ to ears that do not hear. Dreams are a dangerous thing.” Her words trailed off into silence as the hologram slowly faded away and the bridge went dark, the emergency power reserves completely depleted.

  Don closed his eyes and swallowed hard, trying to hold back the tears. It was the third time he had watched someone close to him die.

  Karen grasped his arm and held him tightly, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She had not known Iva long, but was profoundly touched by the little time they had spent together.

  Will knelt on the floor, trembling at the anguish tearing at his guts. His eyes welled and flowed freely as he reached for where she had been, as though he could have touched the hologram.

  Jackie turned her back so the others couldn’t see her tears. She didn’t want them to know how much Iva’s passing pained her. She hadn’t entirely trusted the agent, even after she had saved them from the Tants, but that had changed. She found they shared something: a love that transcended race or gender. Iva had made the supreme sacrifice for a race and planet that where not her own, and she did it out of love. Jackie felt unworthy.

  “Good-bye, Iva,” Don said, placing his hand lightly upon the center of the holofield emitter.

  “Mr. Garris,” a voice said as the emitter began to glow and the emergency lights flared to life.

  “What the hell do you want now?” Don snapped angrily, recognizing it as the Overseer.

  “To apologize,” came the unexpected response as the image of the robed entity appeared. “And perhaps make amends. It seems that in our evolution, we Overseers have lost a part of our humanity. I remember my first experiment, and the grief I felt when it failed. It was as though I had lost a child I loved deeply. I thought I would never plant the seed of life again; but I did. As time went on, I disassociated myself from my experiments and grew apathetic. It no longer mattered whether they succeeded or failed. At that time, I lost my compassion; my humanity. You were right, what good is a god without compassion?”

  “Just what the hell are you anyway?” Don asked, the anger still prevalent in his tone.

  “The Overseers are many things,” it answered as it paced to the center of the bridge, turning its back to them. “As for myself, I am what the people of your Earth have become. I am a Terran.”

  Simultaneous gasps escaped Will and Jackie.

  “And this is what you call maturity?” the captain asked, his anger giving way to disgust. “I don’t understand how you avoided extinction during your critical period.”

  “Undoubtedly through humans such as you,” said the Overseer.

  “How many?” Don asked. “How many of your experiments have reached maturity?”

  “None,” replied the Overseer, his voice heavy with remorse. “They have all ended in failure. Many of the other Overseers have seen success, but I have never had that good fortune.”

  “Has it ever occurred to you,” Don suggested, “that they might have cheated? You spoke of profound loss at the failure of your first experiment. Such loss can push some people to actions they might not otherwise take. Perhaps they found compassion and nudged their worlds toward maturity before the critical stage was reached. Maybe that’s the undetermined factor you’ve been looking for. Everybody needs a little help sometimes.”

  “That’s something to consider,” said the Overseer, pondering the earthman’s words as it turned back toward them. “I will, of course, keep my word and allow this planet to develop naturally. You may be right about them reaching maturity. I will leave you to your world now; you will not hear from me again. Farewell.”

  “Good riddance,” Will said after the image faded away.

  “I heard that,” the voice said angrily, causing Will to jump back as though he had received an electric shock. Then it continued in a friendlier tone. “Just kidding.”

  “Iva,” Don realized as her avatar appeared before them.

  “Affirmative, Don,” she replied. “Sorry about the fright, Will, but I couldn’t resist. The Overseer had to replace my bio-fluid and restore auxiliary power before it could inhabit me. It looks like I’m going to get a chance to enjoy life after all.”

  “But you can’t leave the bridge,” Karen said.

  “You mentioned that it was your original intention to make me a synthetic body,” she said, addressing Will. “If that’s still an option, I would prefer not to spend the rest of my life on the bridge.”

  “We had the fabricator moved to the caves when we cleared out the ship,” Will said, “We can print an androsynth body to house your systems. It was, after all, my family’s business, and I have the interface system and latest design specs in my computer. We’ll have you practically human in no time.”

  “Not so fast,” Jackie said, taking Will’s arm. “We need to set some ground rules here. First, we stick to Iva’s avatar design so she doesn’t end up looking like one of your ex-girlfriends.”

  “Agreed,” Will said. “And second?”

  “Well,” Jackie said provocatively. “Technically, once you make her a body, Iva will be a non-human with compatible physiology and environmental requirements. I know what her feelings are toward you, and if she’s up for it, I’m not opposed to sharing.”

  “You know,” Don said, putting his arm around Karen, and leading her away from the bridge, “even though the Nova was my home, and I’m going to miss her, there are a lot of bad memories here. I think it’s time to leave them behind and make some good memories elsewhere. I just wish I could have my books back.”

  “That can be arranged,” Karen said, snuggling up to him. “I had them taken to the city when we were cleaning out the ship.”

  “Karen,” he said, “you’re wonderful.”

  EPILOGUE

  They sat near a lake, upon a blanket spread beneath a towering shade tree. Above the gentle flowing music and the distant sounds of their children playing, a pair of songbirds cheerfully sang their songs of spring.

  He handed her a bouquet of freshly picked flowers, and raised a glass of wine in a toast to their continued happiness together.

  He read quietly to her, from an ancient fire-scorched book of poetry, as the sun sank slowly toward the snow-peaked mountains in the distance, and a warm zephyr lifted the aroma of spring to their noses.

  Stars began winking down upon them as the night came alive with the sounds of nocturnal insects, chirping happily.

  “Donald,” she said, her eyes laden with emotion, “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Karen,” he whispered in return, his past nothing more than a half-forgotten nightmare.

  From somewhere in space and time, the Overseer looked upon them and smiled, pondering if there was, in fact, a higher being smiling down upon him. In a way, he envied them their immaturity.

  THE END