by Jim Laughter
A simple thing like boredom also forced him to emerge from his self-imposed shell and associate with the other troopers onboard. Making friends had never been Stan’s strongest point, but circumstances had forced themselves upon him. To his surprise, he found he could open up to a few of the other troopers quite easily, and he found he wasn’t alone in his grief. Many lives had been affected by the loss of the destroyed mothership and her crew.
After dinner one evening, Stan found himself in a free floating discussion of service politics with several scout captains and computer techs.
“I think mission assignments are still made according to favoritism,” one captain said.
“That’s where I think you’re wrong,” another countered. “If you look at assignments for the last year, there’s been a consistent pattern of matching missions to the capabilities of the captain.”
“You’re just jealous that you didn’t get to do any on-site exploration,” a third captain added.
Stan tended to agree. “In my section, assignments are always on the basis of ability.”
“That’s because those fool computers of yours are more magic than science,” someone retorted. “I still think you wave magic wands over the things and they do your bidding without rhyme or reason.”
“And I’d be the first to use one if they were available,” Stan quickly agreed. “But it doesn’t change my point. Assignments in all sections still reflect a matching of need and skill.”
“Well, you guys can haggle all you want,” one of the other captains offered. “I’m just glad to be back. Riding around on horses and crude wagons just doesn’t suit my anatomy.” He’d recently returned from a pre-industrial planet on the far edges of the sector patrol zone. He’d told stories of ancient steam locomotives, aboriginal tribes, and riding on the backs of domesticated animals. He stood and stretched what appeared to be a kink out of his back.
“See you clowns later. Don’t conquer the galaxy without me.”
Stan watched the captain limp away toward the cabin area. For some reason, he liked the guy’s attitude and decided to strike up a friendship if he could.
Two hours later, Stan broke away from the company of scout captains and computer techs and made his way to his own cabin. A glance at his computer revealed there were several messages waiting for him.
Resigning himself to an hour of reading and answering his starmail, Stan set his computer to retrieve them while he made use of the small bathroom facility.
Stan found two messages from his section supervisor, one from Leatha, and one from Ert, his old friend the Horicon computer from his advanced training on Mica.
This should prove interesting, he thought as he keyed up the first message. In short order, he read and answered the two notes about upcoming projects in his section. Then he braced himself and read the message from Leatha.
My Darling Stan,
Just a short note between assignments to let you know how much I love and miss you. The distance between us can be measured in more than miles and light years, and it’s a chasm I’m determined to fill. I’ve finally resolved to be more frank about how I feel, so here goes.
I know how much you’re hurting over the loss of Delmar. RoseMary Sabeti sent me a starmail yesterday. She said Agnes and Robert are taking Delmar’s loss especially hard, which is understandable. She said Agnes has become very frail and despondent, and has withdrawn from all community activities. I don’t want that to happen to us, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to restore the relationship we once shared.
That Delmar didn’t need to die tears me apart as well, so what I’m going to say next may not set well with you. I know you may consider this a bit intrusive, but have you spoken to anyone about it? I can see the way it’s eating away at you. And if you keep it bottled up inside the way you’re doing, the bitterness will surely destroy you like an acid.
I’m not saying to forget Delmar or try to hide from your grief. I’ve heard this foolish counsel from people who don’t understand. I’m only asking that you find someone you can share your pain with before it makes you a victim of the tragedy as well.
I love you, my darling, and look forward to the day when I become your bride.
Leatha
Stan sat and stared at the note for several long moments. Knowing that Leatha somehow understood his inner turmoil caused a knot of grief inside to break loose.
She’s right, he thought.
“No need to put it off any longer,” Stan muttered to himself. He typed in the access sequence to the ship computer. It only took a few key strokes to schedule another appointment with the ship chaplain.
There, that’s done, Stan thought as he severed the computer link. Now let’s see what Ert is all excited about.
Stan opened the file from Ert. He was surprised at the massive size of it and rightfully concluded that it must include several graphic images.
DEAR STAN,
I WAS WORKING WITH LEATHA’S MENTOR STUDENT, MELISSA, AND SHE CAME UP WITH SOME VERY INTERESTING OBSERVATIONS ABOUT THE DESTRUCTION OF THE SECTOR 2046-W MOTHERSHIP AND ITS RELATIONSHIP TO DELMAR. PLEASE CLOSELY EXAMINE THIS FIRST IMAGE.
The screen shifted and displayed the image of a piece of burnt metal. Another dozen images followed, and in each Ert had circled the edges where the pieces had been burned.
NOTE IN THE CLOSE-UP PICTURES THAT THE METAL STRUCTURE WAS DEFINITELY DISTORTED BY THE EFFECT OF HEAT. NOW LOOK AT THIS NEXT ONE CLOSE-UP.
Again, the screen showed the edge of a piece of metal. Stan recognized that it was not burned, but torn.
NOTICE THAT IT APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN PHYSICALLY TORN RATHER THAN BURNED BY AN EXPLOSION OR FIRE. BY COMPARING IT WITH SAMPLES TAKEN AT THE METAL TESTING LABS, ITS CLEAR THIS PIECE WAS TORN OFF OF ITS SUPPORTING STRUCTURE BY PHYSICAL, NOT EXPLOSIVE FORCE, FROM THE OUTSIDE. THE SHIP THIS PIECE OF HULL PLATING BELONGED TO MAY NOT HAVE BEEN INCENERATED LIKE THE OTHER SCOUT SHIPS IN THE DOCKING BAY. FURTHERMORE, IF THE SCOUT CREW HAPPENED TO BE ONBOARD AT THE TIME OF THE RED-TAIL ATTACK, THEY MAY HAVE SURVIVED.
The image reappeared on Stan’s screen. Then it began to shift as the enlargement was reduced to normal size. Stan let out a gasp of astonishment when he realized that he’d been viewing the edge of the piece of hull plate from Delmar’s ship. Below the reduced image, Ert inserted the first encouraging news Stan had received since learning of Delmar’s death.
THANKS TO MELISSA’S KEEN OBSERVATIONS, I THINK WE CAN CONCLUDE THAT THIS PIECE OF HULL PLATE WAS TORN OFF OF THE CABBAGE PATCH RATHER THAN BLOWN OFF BY ITS DESTRUCTION. I ALSO CHECKED THE ENTIRE DEBRIS LOG AND FOUND NO RECORD OF OTHER PIECES THAT COULD BE MATCHED, EVEN ON THE ATOMIC LEVEL, WITH THOSE OF DELMAR’S SHIP. REMEMBER, THE CABBAGE PATCH WAS THE ONLY F.A.R. SCOUT ASSIGNED TO THAT SECTOR MOTHERSHIP. ITS STRUCTURAL SIGNATURE WOULD HAVE BEEN UNIQUE TO THE MATERIAL USED TO BUILD THE NEW SCOUTS.
JUST TO BE CERTAIN, I’VE REVIEWED THE REMAINS OF ALL HUMAN BODIES RECOVERED. AT LEAST PART OF EVERY HUMAN ASSIGNED TO THE SHIP OR THE SCOUTS ATTACHED TO IT WAS RECOVERED. THE ONLY EXCEPTION TO THIS IS DELMAR. NOT ONE MOLECULE WAS FOUND. THIS RAISES DOUBT IN MY MIND ABOUT HIS PRESUMED DEMISE.
I REALIZE THESE FINDING ARE FAR FROM CONCLUSIVE, BUT I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE INTERESTED. PERHAPS THERE’S HOPE AFTER ALL. I’LL LEAVE IT IN YOUR CAPABLE HANDS. YOUR FRIEND,
ERT
Stan continued to study the picture of the hull plate for several minutes. He ran the record back and reviewed all of the evidence Ert had presented to him. Somewhere deep down inside, a glimmer of hope began to take shape.
Chapter Sixteen
The small room was still dark, dawn being hours away when the young man awoke. He lay on his bed staring into the darkness above him.
Delmar let his mind wander, mulling over the little mysteries in his life. That he had significant memory loss was obvious. He and Doctor Murphy had even theorized a number of reasonable conclusions as to why.
Repeated blows to the head along with severe electrical shocks coul
d easily account for much of his problem. He struggled to recover every little piece of memory he could, but always met with failure.
Maybe Doctor Murphy is right. Perhaps I’m trying too hard.
Delmar deliberately slowed his breathing and tried to relax, hoping to release the memories that still eluded him. He remembered a cave, and he recalled a confrontation with three men—a fight. Or was it an attack? He couldn’t be sure. And for some reason stars and the blackness of space flashed before his eyes then disappeared.
He felt more than remembered a vessel of some kind, a vessel he instinctively knew was important to him. Hideous red creatures assaulted his thoughts but he couldn’t recall what they were, only that they’d somehow been involved in his current situation.
Pressure began to build behind his eyes and his head throbbed as if a thousand hammers were pounding inside his skull. His mind swirled with bright lights, smoke and noise. Images of an immensely large vessel of some kind—a vessel filled with many people dressed in black uniforms and coveralls like those he’d been wearing when the old prospector had found him in the wilderness.
The vision loomed just out of reach. He could see it from a distance, then it exploded in a brilliant nova of light. There was no sound. He felt more than knew he was confined to a smaller vessel of some kind, but he couldn’t picture it in his mind. He found himself spinning through darkness, and he felt the surge of electricity overpower him.
As quickly as the images appeared, they vanished. But the throbbing in his mind continued, pounding from within as if something of immense importance was trying to make itself known. Try as he might, he couldn’t make them clear into focus.
Without knowing why, he got up. Dressed and slipped out of the rooming house. He pushed through the front door. Instead of turning toward the repair shop, he set his eyes on the hills and box canyons several miles from town. The air was cold and growing colder. There was bite of snow in the air, but he didn’t care. He knew he was inadequately dressed but something compelled him to venture into the wilderness.
Hours later, Walter came into the repair shop, fully expecting to find Del Erdinata working on an urgent job they had to get out that day. Instead he found the door locked and no sign of Del. A bitter wind pushed him through the door where he found the job undone and the wood stove cold.
This is not like Del, he thought.
Walter pondered the situation for several minutes, concern wrinkling his forehead. Was there something to be concerned about, or had Del simply decided not to come to work today? Perhaps he’s with Abby Henke and has lost track of time?
No, that wouldn’t be it, he thought. Something is not right.
Making a decision, he put his coat and hat back on and hurried out the door for the doctor’s office, a feeling of dread blanketing his thoughts.
∞∞∞
Stan had just gotten his lunch tray in the ship’s mess when he noticed a certain scout captain sitting alone. On impulse, he headed over and approached the table.
“Mind if I sit down?”
The captain waved Stan to the chair opposite his own.
“You’re Stan Shane from the computer section, right?”
“That’s right. But I never caught your name the other night.”
“George Citti,” the man said, offering his hand. “I’m Captain of the scout ship Reacher.”
“You don’t mean that new galaxy class scout in hanger bay two, do you?”
Captain Citti nodded and smiled.
“That’s my baby,” he said proudly.
“Boy,” Stan said. “I’d sure like to get a look at your system. You have the new T31/K2 transmitter and receiver with a subspace pinpoint transmitter.”
George looked over at Stan and smiled again. “You know, you sound just like Akir.”
“Who?” Stan asked.
“Akir Asmed. He was my co-pilot on a special assignment a while back. He was with me when I assumed the captaincy of the Reacher.”
“Ah, I see,” Stan said.
He wasn’t really sure he understood George’s strange comment.
“Yeah, he was excited about being able to key in the name or registration number of any Axia ship and pinpoint its exact location anywhere in the galaxy. Then he said I could transmit an immediate signal to that ship regardless of its location, and that the signal didn’t have to retransmit through transponder beacons along the way. He said it would be instantaneous and that there would be virtually no loss of signal clarity.”
“There’s a reason they designated it a galaxy class,” Stan answered.
“That’s just what Akir said,” George said. “You sure you don’t know him? You two computer nerds would hit it off. I’ll have to give you a tour sometime.”
Stan was excited at the prospect of being able to examine the Axia’s latest computer and communications equipment outside of a laboratory setting.
Wish I could tear it apart and see what makes it tick.
“I heard you say last night that you just got back from an on-site survey of a planet,” Stan said. “I’ve been on a couple of planet-side details, but I don’t think I’d want to do it full time.”
“It can be a real bore most of the time,” George said. “You spend most of your time doing mapping, taking soil samples, stuff like that.”
“What about the rest of the time?”
“That’s what you live for,” George answered with sudden intensity. “There’s nothing like seeing a civilization for the first time. The people, the buildings, the society. It’s all different and yet strangely the same!”
“Where did you say you went on your last trip?”
“They had me assigned to one of the fringe areas,” George answered. “It was my job to trace out a report of an inhabited planet called Panay hiding over there.”
“And did you find anything?”
“Find something!” George replied explosively. “Did I ever!”
What followed was a detailed description of George’s entire expedition, from initial survey to actual landing. Stan quickly discovered not only how much George loved his work, but that he was also an accomplished storyteller. Finally, the narration wound down with George’s return to the mothership.
“You said you have a collection of artifacts from these places,” Stan said.
“They’re not really artifacts. Nothing valuable, anyway, or historically important. We’re not supposed to remove valuable artworks from the planets we visit, so I collect trinkets and craftwork I pick up at native gift shops. Many planets have aboriginal inhabitants that produce the most incredible handicrafts. It’s fascinating work if you like to explore and meet new cultures.”
“I can’t imagine the variety of alien treasures you’ve collected.”
“A hobby of mine,” George said. “Helps me remember the good times when I’m stuck with a lousy assignment. Why don’t you come out to my ship tonight and I’ll show you?”
“That sounds great!” Stan said with real enthusiasm. “How about I see you around seven?”
George wasn’t sure if Stan’s interests were really on his exploration or on his new transmitter.
Either way, he thought, it will be good to have some company.
Stan arrived at the Reacher at exactly seven o’clock that evening. As George expected, the first thing he wanted to see after taking a walking tour of the ship was George’s communications console.
“I never expected to see one of these things up close.”
Stan examined the controls on the new equipment, studying the specifications sheets and operating instructions. He was amazed at how intricate the electronics were laid out, yet how simply they’d been designed. If there was one truth about Galactic Axia research and development, they didn’t waste valuable resources.
Later that evening, Stan and George were seated in the captain’s cabin. Spread around them was the fine collection George had amassed in his years of exploration.
“You have more th
an I thought.”
Stan surveyed each piece of the collection, careful not to damage any of the irreplaceable trinkets.
“That’s nothing. You should see what I brought up this time.”
After a moment of rummaging in a travel bag, he pulled out a carefully wrapped item.
“I found this at a little gift shop in a backwater town on the planet,” George said as he unwrapped the item. “It struck me as being a bit odd.”
He pulled out the wood carving and handed it to Stan.
Stan took the piece and carefully examined it. Like George, he was struck with the similarity it bore to an Axia scout ship.
“C’mon, George,” Stan quipped. He had the feeling his leg was being pulled. “This is a sculpture of a scout ship.”
“No it isn’t, Stan,” George replied honestly. “I bought that in a little gift shop on the planet Panay.”
George reached back into his travel bag and removed a narrow piece of paper. “Here’s the receipt,” he said, handing the paper to Stan.
“Then who carved it?”
“The store proprietor said it was carved by one of the tribes of aborigines,” George answered. “He thought it might be an image of one of their gods or something.”
“Strange looking god if you ask me,” Stan said, turning the carving over in his hands. “Are you sure someone didn’t see your ship and carve this?”
“Positive,” George said, taking the image back. “I didn’t take the Reacher to Panay. I was dropped off and picked up by a rendezvous ship.”
“I see.”
“Besides, if it was of my ship, the ends would be rounder and there wouldn’t be an arrangement of the rods. Galaxy class scouts don’t use a rod system.”
He pointed to the back of the image.
“This looks more like one of those new Fast Attack Recon scouts, but we don’t have any on this ship, and there shouldn’t be any assigned to this sector.”
