"They enjoy watching someone suffer?"
"It is not someone, Human. It is a thing. Sentient and aware, but a thing, all the same.” Urtogen gestured toward Votana with his disruptor and told Mike, “Help him up."
As Mike bent over to grasp Votana's arm with his still weak left hand and made as if he was about to brace Votana's back with his right, he was all too aware of his pulsing heart, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and his face beginning to flush. I really hope Urtogen isn't good at reading human emotional reactions.
His right hand dug deeply into Votana's robes and then the stunner was in that hand and he was bringing it around the side of Votana's body and firing at Urtogen.
Who fell, limp and silent, to the deck.
He let go of Votana, looked at the still form of Urtogen, and said to the unconscious Sobrenian, “You talk too much, you know that?"
Votana sat up. “This is marvelous, Hu—Mike. Now we can—"
Mike stunned Votana too. “And so do you.” He gathered up Urtogen and Votana's disruptors, took their control bracelets from them, picked up the stasis case, and ran as quickly as he could down the corridor.
He didn't continue toward the southern port; instead, he headed “north."
Once at the northern dock, Mike easily gained entrance to Urtogen's ship using his command bracelet. He was grateful now for Votana's earlier insistence that Mike help pilot the Atir. It was a simple matter for him to ease the Moravek away from the Station of the Lost and set a course.
Not for the Asaph Hall.
For the Sobrenian home world.
* * * *
It took the better part of a week for Mike to pilot the Moravek there, a place no human had ever visited. It was a world largely shrouded beneath dark, thick clouds. Much of what little land area Mike could make out was rough terrain, pockmarked with craters.
The aftermath of the comet strike, Mike thought. Nearly three hundred years earlier, that impact had nearly wiped out the Sobrenian species. Surviving that massive tragedy was the primary reason Sobrenians considered themselves inherently superior to other galactic species.
Several military craft converged upon the Moravek demanding to know how a mere Human had obtained Sobrenian control bracelets and what his intentions were.
The commander of the lead Sobrenian ship was surprised and clearly suspicious when Mike powered down the Moravek's minimal defenses and weapons and invited him aboard. That commander declined the invitation personally but sent over five heavily armed security personnel, who came onto the Moravek with energy rifles set to disintegrate mere flesh. They made sure to rough Mike up just a little, just to show him who was boss, but fell silent when Mike showed them Urtogen's “organic art."
Mike and the Sobrenian commander quickly reached an agreement. The security team programmed the Moravek's navigational computer to the course Mike suggested and locked it in. Then it left.
Mike trusted the Sobrenian commander to respect their agreement; he knew most Sobrenian military commanders prided themselves on their integrity, even toward “presentients."
He also knew the commander would blow the Moravek out of the sky if Mike deviated in the slightest from the programmed course.
Mike sat passively in the pilot's chair, watching as the Moravek skimmed the planet's atmosphere. The glare from the forward viewscreen became red hot, then white hot, and finally Mike had to shut his eyes against that glare before the screen stepped down the brightness—apparently Sobrenian eyes could withstand brighter light than human ones.
A small cube display in front of him showed Mike what happened next, as the Moravek launched a probe into the Sobrenian home world's atmosphere, at a much deeper angle than recommended. Which is the whole idea, Mike thought. He watched the sensor readouts as that probe, with Urtogen's organic artwork aboard, quickly heated to dangerous levels, then broke up. Votana's sister had come home, and was dead.
I'm an explorer, Mike thought. I never got into this to become a killer.
As the Moravek rose out of the Sobrenian atmosphere, however, and set a course that would eventually take him to the Asaph Hall, to home, he saw no reason to grieve for her death, only for her life.
Copyright (c) 2008 Dave Creek
* * * *
(EDITOR'S NOTE: Mike Christopher appeared earlier in “Some Distant Shore” [September 2007], “Swarming Korolev” [November 2000], “Pathways” [May 2000], and “A Glimpse of Splendor” [February 2000].)
[Back to Table of Contents]
Short Story: THE ASHES OF HIS FATHERS by Eric James Stone
* * * *
Illustration by Vincent di Fate
* * * *
In dealing with people, it's as important to understand culture as logic.
* * * *
September 27, 2999 C.E.
Mariposa Hernandez arched her left eyebrow as she looked at the cargo manifest the freighter pilot had just downloaded to her pad. “Ashes?"
She checked the planet of origin on the form, and her implant revealed Jeroboam was 37,592 light-years from Earth. Her puzzlement increased—in the three years she'd worked on Orbital Customs Station 27, she'd never seen a freighter from so far out. It must have taken him over two years in that antiquated ship. “You've come thirty seven k-lights with nothing but ashes?"
From behind the diamondglass wall of his quarantine cell, the pilot shrugged at her. “Our planet ain't got much worth trading. Not that the ashes are for sale."
She looked up the pilot's name on her pad: Shear-jashub Cooper. “Mr. Cooper, why are you trying to import ashes to Earth if they're not for sale?"
"Religious reasons.” His tone was matter of fact.
"I see,” she said, as if his explanation made sense. She had a vague memory that her Catholic great-great-grandmother sometimes got marked on the forehead with ashes, so she queried her implant about the religious significance. Nothing relevant to the importation of ashes from other planets came up.
She looked down at her pad. Ashes. “Ashes of what?” she asked. “Are they biological?"
Cooper nodded slowly. “They are the ashes of the 9,746 founders of Jeroboam Colony. I'm returning them to the planet of their birth."
"Human remains?” She queried against Earth Customs and Immigration Enforcement Regulations and found several subsections devoted to importation of human biological material. “You'll need to get special clearance for that. I'll send the forms to your pad."
"Thank you.” He smiled at her.
"I'll also need to run a thorough scan on your cargo. I hope that doesn't offend any religious sentiments, but we can't risk—"
"That's fine."
She pointed to the chair at the desk inside the quarantine cell. “Please sit and put your arm on the desk so the system can take a blood sample.” She sent a command to the system through her implant, and a holographic image appeared at the desk to show Cooper the proper way to put his arm.
"Blood sample? You folks take customs seriously.” He smiled as he spoke, and he walked to the desk and superimposed his arm on the holographic one.
A restraining field flickered to life across his forearm, as a robotic needle arm emerged from a hidden compartment of the desk. With smooth efficiency it scanned his arm for a good location, inserted the needle, and let blood flow through one of its transparent tubes. After about thirty seconds, it withdrew and stowed itself.
"Seems like an awful big sample,” said Cooper.
"We want to be sure we catch any unknown disease elements in your blood."
A hatch opened on Mariposa's side of the quarantine wall, and she took out the vial of blood.
"Medical says this is the optimal sample size. It'll take them a few hours to run the tests,” Mariposa said. “If you're cleared, you'll be allowed into the public areas of Station 27. We have some restaurants and various entertainment facilities. Your ship will remain under quarantine, though, until I've had a chance to examine it."
He grinne
d at her. “Any chance I could buy you a meal?"
Mariposa stared at him. It took her a moment to realize that this was probably a signal of attraction on his part, rather than an attempt at bribery.
He spoke again before she could respond. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. You probably get pilots asking you out all the time."
"No, actually,” she said. “Most of the pilots that come through here know better. All Earth Customs Agents have their sex drives suppressed during tours of duty, so we can't be seduced into bending the rules."
To Mariposa's surprise, Cooper blushed. “Well. I guess the Elders were wrong."
"The Elders?"
"The leaders of Jeroboam. They warned me all the women of Old Earth were temptresses who would try to lure me to their beds."
* * * *
Just before reaching Medical, Mariposa got a thoughtcall from Verdun through her implant.
*What's your estimation of the Jeroboam pilot?* Verdun asked.
Mariposa frowned and stopped walking. Verdun was the head of the Earth Planetary Customs Service. As a high-level AI, Verdun was easily capable of directly overseeing the work of over one hundred thousand Customs Agents, but it rarely micromanaged.
*He seems nice enough,* Mariposa replied, *if a bit ignorant of how we run things around here. But I don't think he'll be a problem.*
*He's already a problem. His ship should have been red-flagged before it arrived. It shouldn't have even been allowed to dock.*
*I'm sorry. Nothing came up on—*
*Not your fault. Data integration problem with old records—I've fixed it. Did he seem hostile?*
*Hostile? No. What's this about?*
*That ship and its crew must be considered as possible enemy combatants. Protocol dictates that you arm yourself before any further interaction.*
*Enemy?* There hadn't been a war since before Mariposa's birth. *What enemy?*
*Jeroboam Colony has been at war with the United Worlds for the past 592 years. They broke off diplomatic ties in December 2407, and the UW assembly passed an embargo resolution six months later. Trade with Jeroboam is completely forbidden.*
* * * *
The floatgun's countergrav generator whirred softly from its position above Mariposa's right shoulder as she walked into the room adjoining Cooper's quarantine cell. Verdun had told her she'd get used to it, but she hoped the situation would be resolved before that.
Cooper cocked his head when he saw her. “So, my blood pure enough I can get out of this box?” His eyes darted to the floatgun and his brow wrinkled.
Mariposa stopped two paces from the glass wall. “Shear-jashub Cooper, I regret to inform you that you are now a prisoner of war. In accordance with the Geneva Conventions, you will—"
"What?” Mouth open, Cooper squinted at her.
"The Geneva Conventions are the protocols regarding treatment of prisoners of war.” Returning to the script Verdun had given her, Mariposa said, “You will be treated humanely until the war is over and you can be repatriated. I will send an explanation of your rights to your pad."
Cooper rubbed a hand over the back of his head. “You can't do this! I need to get those ashes down to Earth."
"Your ship and its contents have been seized. You and your ship will be turned over to military authorities when possible.” Mariposa's voice softened as she said, “I'm sorry."
"Please, this has to be a mistake. We are a peaceful planet. We can't possibly have anything you want."
"Mr. Cooper, your planet declared war on the UW."
"Is this some sort of psychological test?” He shook his head. “The Elders wouldn't start a war while I was on this mission—and even if they did, with our tech level it would be like a flea declaring war on a comet."
*He's right, Verdun,* she sent through her implant. *It doesn't make sense.*
*The technological differential existed when they declared war. The decision was not rational on their part.*
She pressed her lips together for a moment, then spoke aloud. “This is silly. For the record, Mr. Cooper, do you know anything at all about a war your planet started six hundred years ago?"
*This isn't the proper protocol.* Verdun's disapproval was almost tangible through Mariposa's implant.
"Six hundred years? We were barely a colo ... Oh.” Cooper's face turned red.
Mariposa arched an eyebrow.
"Look, you have to understand that the Founding Elders were persecuted on Earth for their religious beliefs. They wanted to leave Old Earth and its evils behind—that's why they found a planet so far away that there weren't any colonies within a hundred lights until fifty years ago. It's only since then that we've started having interstellar trade. My ship is the only FTL ship we have."
She nodded encouragement.
"So when the Founding Elders established Jeroboam, they sent a message back to Earth, called the Declaration of Holy Separation. Every child learns about it in school."
"What did it say?” Mariposa asked, even as she queried her implant for information on the document.
Cooper scratched the back of his neck. “Don't know as I can quote it word for word anymore, but ... It begins: ‘As you have cast us out from Earth into the heavens, so shall God cast you out from Heaven into the eternal fires of Hell.’ There's a lot more, but the important thing is the end: ‘And to maintain our holy separation, we declare war against all evil which might come against us, and we fear not, for God is the pillar of fire which shall consume the wicked.’”
As he spoke, Mariposa's implant retrieved a copy of the declaration, highlighting the relevant portions in her vision. “I see. So you really did declare war against the UW."
"But we never did anything about it,” said Cooper. “The Founding Elders said God would fight our battle for us. And the fact that no United Worlds warships ever came was proof. My people don't think we're at war with you. They think we won the war, six hundred years ago."
*I think he's telling the truth,* she sent to the AI.
*So do I.* Then Verdun spoke through the com speakers so Cooper could hear. “Mr. Cooper, what protected your planet was your extreme isolation, not a deity. The hypercom message only took 203 days to reach Earth, but with the FTL drives of that period, any military expedition would have taken over forty years to make the round trip."
Cooper flashed a questioning look at Mariposa.
"That's Verdun. My boss."
Nodding, Cooper said, “I'm just trying to explain that there isn't a real war between my planet and the UW, so we can clear this mess up and let me carry on with my mission."
"Wait,” said Mariposa. “These ashes you're carrying are the remains of those Founding Elders who declared a holy war against the UW?"
Cooper winced. “Not just them, but all the original colonists who were born on Earth."
"If they thought Earth is such an evil place, why are you bringing their ashes here?"
"Because God is a God of order,” Cooper said. “'For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return.’”
It sounded vaguely familiar, and her implant obliged by telling her it was a quote from the Bible. “I'm not sure I understand."
"I was born on Jeroboam,” said Cooper. “I was created from the dust of that planet. But the founders of the colony were created of the dust of Earth, and they must be returned to Earth before the new millennium so they may be resurrected according to God's proper order."
"Resurrected?” Mariposa blinked. “You expect them to return to life when you take them back to Earth?"
Cooper waggled his right hand in what Mariposa assumed must be a local gesture on his planet. “Sort of. God will raise them from the dead to live with Him in Heaven."
Verdun's calm voice came from the speakers. “I'm sorry to tell you that will not happen."
Shrugging, Cooper said, “It's a matter of faith."
"No,” said Verdun, “It's a matter of logic, assuming your religious beliefs are correct. The UW has
embargoed Jeroboam, therefore your cargo cannot clear customs, therefore the remains of your ancestors cannot return to Earth, and therefore your ancestors will not be resurrected."
* * * *
That evening, as Mariposa sat alone while waiting for the table's portal to deliver her Argentine chorizo sandwich, she thought about Cooper. He had looked discouraged when she left, assigned by Verdun to clear the paperwork for a diplomatic ship from Cumbria.
*We've got to do something about Cooper,* she sent to Verdun.
*I believe the situation is under control.*
*No, I mean we need to help him.* The table portal opened, and Mariposa withdrew the plate.
*We are trusted to protect the people of Earth as a whole. As a Customs Agent, you must not begin to identify with the traders.*
*I know that.* She bit into her sandwich, and the warm sausage fueled her annoyance. *You're far more intelligent than I am. So why can't you see how stupid this never fought, long forgotten war is? Isn't it in the best interest of the people of Earth to end it before someone decides to fight it for real?*
*The probability that Jeroboam could pose a conventional military threat to Earth is so close to zero as to be of no concern. However, the possibility of war by unconventional means cannot be ruled out. For example, the ashes Cooper claims to be carrying could contain a plague unknown to UW medical science. That is why the embargo was put into place, and why it must remain as long as the war continues.*
*And how long will that be?*
*I do not know. Until the diplomats say it is over.*
* * * *
September 28, 2999 C.E.
"I don't know as I've ever been called a diplomat.” Cooper's brow furrowed as he looked at Mariposa.
"You were chosen by your leaders, your Elders, to represent them here in returning the ashes of your founders, weren't you?"
A sad smile replaced Cooper's frown. “Chosen? I was born for this mission. My Christian name, Shear-jashub: it comes from the Bible. Means ‘a remnant shall return.’ Ever since I was a boy, my father taught me it would be my honor to return the remnant of our founders to the planet of their creation."
Analog SFF, May 2008 Page 11
