Everyone surrounding him nodded in full agreement.
PROJECT WASTELAND
Pathfinder Series: Book Two
Chapter XIV: Hope And Glory
Aboard the Ali Rinai…
Shortly after the regular crew finished eating a hearty meal delivered straight from the Pathfinder’s kitchens, Adam found his way into the Mess Hall and paged his three Crasel friends along with Kra Wonin. They arrived to find a feast already laid out for them, including rare, prime rib roast beef with all kinds of vegetables. Carrots, pearl onions, along with double-stuffed baked potatoes were also among the sides available for dinner. The juicy slices of meat were soaking in au jus, and dark beef gravy was available for anyone who wanted it along with steaming, freshly baked biscuits to dip them in. For men used to eating whatever scraps were available, the aromas alone almost drove them mad with temptation. Adam smiled appreciatively, waving the four men into the room and ushering them over to a table laden with food.
“Feel free to try anything that looks tasty,” he suggested cheerfully, busily loading up a plate of his own. “And tonight we’re drinking an Earth beverage called beer, but not too much of it. Beer is wonderful, especially when served cold, but a drink that is best guided by the concept of moderation.”
“What is all this?” Cren Hollis demanded to know. “I’ve never seen so much food in one place before!”
“You men have fought hard for me, and trusted me with your lives,” Adam responded, pouring each of them a tall glass of beer. “Back where I come from, this is a tradition of sorts… at least a part of it is.”
“What kind of tradition?” Janney Stox asked curiously, snorting with laughter as he watched Hollis begin stuffing beef in his mouth even before grabbing a plate. He smacked the large soldier firmly on his right arm. “Show some manners, won’t you?” he demanded crustily. “I know you’ll eat anything and everything, but have some class, my friend.”
“Where is Snee Vasten?” wondered Kra Wonin, glancing swiftly around the mostly emptied room. “I was looking forward to discussing a few minor shipboard matters with him.”
“You can do that later,” insisted Adam, handing him a plate. “My friends on Pathfinder made certain to upgrade this vessel’s food stores, so meals will be a bit more palatable from now on. Enjoy.”
Arte Kasik and Cren Hollis were already seated, eagerly tearing hungrily at the meat and downing the vegetables in large bites. Hollis drained his beer glass in one long series of gulps and eagerly held it out. Adam shook his head with amusement before grabbing a large pitcher and refilling his friend’s cup. Behind him, the door to the kitchen opened, admitting the chef and several of his assistants. Each of them carried additional plates loaded with food. They moved in expertly, setting down the new platters and stacking together the emptied ones before moving swiftly back behind the tall, swinging doors.
“We’re going to need more pitchers of this beer as well,” Hollis called out eagerly.
“What about Vasten?” asked Wonin a second time.
“He is up in the Command Center, keeping watch with several of his officers,” noted Adam in response, holding up a cautious hand. “Don’t worry… I had food sent up to them. Everyone is eating well tonight although they’ll have to enjoy their beer later. Since both this ship and the Pathfinder have deployed shuttles and fighters to search the surrounding territory, we have some time to take a little break from the everyday grind and refresh ourselves. I’m simply guessing on the matter, but figured that the local cuisine could do with some improvement. It’s probably been awhile since you men have eaten well.”
“You figured correctly,” grunted Hollis, still chewing on a mouthful of beef. He poured gravy over the vegetables on his plate and smiled gratefully. “This is without a doubt the best meal I’ve ever eaten… even better than the one on your ship.”
“Agreed,” grinned Arte Kasik through pieces of biscuit caught in his thick black mustache.
“If you’ve launched fighters and shuttles from your support vessel, then we must already be in the center of the Wasteland,” observed Kra Wonin with interest. “That would require a PTP leap of incredible distance, or a swift series of smaller ones.”
“It was all handled with a single, massive transit into the center of the Wasteland,” acknowledged Adam with a confident smile. “The Pathfinder projects a portal in front of it, which this ship used to make the leap to our current position. Then, once they’ve confirmed that we’re safely on the other side, my friends bring their own vessel through.” His eyes moved to meet Wonin’s. “Our attack on the military installation may have given away our ability to transit across longer distances than most of the traditional clan ships, but we kept it reasonable. This much farther distance should also come as a complete surprise to them. They’ll still be looking for us in the area where we used to be, at least until someone in this region discovers our presence here. We’re nearly a hundred thousand light years from our previous position.”
“If there is something worth protecting here, you can bet that there will be lots of military traffic,” Wonin cautioned, shuffling some vegetables around on his plate with a rounded metal eating utensil. “In addition, there are many traps that will have been set…”
“Oh, trust me,” chuckled Adam merrily. “I’ve known about your traps for over ten years now. The Pathfinder unexpectedly fell into one of them on its initial journey outward from our home world. Our entire crew almost paid the ultimate price for carelessness, by allowing our caution to be trumped by sheer curiosity. This time around, all shuttles and fighters have been ordered to avoid dead worlds, moons and asteroid belts. If someone discovers them, it will be because of blind chance. And even that is extremely unlikely, since there is so much nebula dust in here that, lacking the normal array of suitably hot stars, most of the area is shrouded in almost total darkness.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “That will make our search tougher, but we’ve got some time now. In the end, I believe we’ll discover what we’re looking for.”
Janney Stox pushed his emptied plate in and poured himself another glass of beer. “I haven’t eaten so well in my entire life,” he admitted gratefully, waving a hand in mock disgust. “But enough talk about business. You mentioned earlier that this was a tradition of yours. What kind of tradition?” Absolutely gorged from the huge meal, he sipped lightly at the dark beer, savoring its taste.
Pausing for a moment, Adam remembered his earliest days as a hardware specialist before ending up serving on Earth’s moon base. “It was something my colleagues and I used to do whenever we finished a huge project,” he told them with a nostalgic smile. “We didn’t have much time for partying or eating large meals during the crunch of meeting deadlines, but once we had the toughest parts of our assignments licked we made certain to take the time to celebrate. I wanted to do so here as well, but this time before whatever is going to happen next. It dawned on me, after the loss of Tran Wuu…” He trailed off, raw emotion tearing at his gut. He fought back, successfully maintaining his composure. “It dawned on me that I should thank you people for helping me learn what I needed to know, so that we have real hope for a new future in the Wasteland, an honest future without the Kuth leadership manipulating everyone.”
Raising his glass, he took a moment to teach them how to toast along with a brief explanation of its meaning. “To hope,” they all spoke in unison, glasses clinking lightly together.
“This plentiful, wide variety of food, that other vessel out there, it’s all almost impossible to believe,” noted Janney Stox with a stern shake of his head. “How do your people accomplish all of this?”
“We are free to define our own path,” Adam told him in response. “When that freedom is threatened, we fight to regain it with as much passion and aggression as you do. The main problem that your people have always faced is that the Kuth have placed themselves in a position where they can remain dominate on an indefinite basis. My job, and that of my friends, is
to hit them hard enough so that their control of the clans collapses completely. We are committed to accomplishing this.”
“And with freedom, we can also learn to build ships like yours?” Arte Kasik appeared truly skeptical.
“Look more closely at your own clan, the Crasel,” suggested Adam. “Your spoken language is as complex as that of any clan, but your written language is much, much simpler, primarily comprised of pictures and graphical icons.” He shifted his gaze to Kra Wonin. “Some of the Yakiir receive a much more detailed education, but only those who cooperate with the Caucus. Anyone who opposes the status quo ends up on the frontier, fighting the wars against other humanoid clans.”
“That is true,” admitted Kra Wonin ruefully. “My own education is mid-range, at best.”
“Imagine what it will be like if the Kuth are gone,” continued Adam optimistically. “Just think what things would be like if everyone received an education, if everyone was given an opportunity to contribute the best of his or her talents and pass on what they learn to their descendants? That’s what my world is like… my people have a permanent foothold, generally free from large scale wars. You would be surprised at what can be built with a knowledge base that spans generations, as each new crop of young people learns from their parents and grandparents. Imagine worlds where people are free to produce as much as they can, to build creations that others will make use of and then improve upon. That is what my world was like, until war tore us apart in a manner that was much more abrupt than yours. Fortunately, we found allies who chose to help us. Together, all of us are working together now and have chosen to help you end your war.”
“How can we be anything but grateful to you?” asked Cren Hollis. “Were it not for you, we would long since be dead with the war raging on.”
“And my people eventually emerging victorious,” Kra Wonin predicted. “At which point the Kuth will have no more use for us.”
“They’ll use you for food,” guessed Janney Stox, slamming his glass down sharply for emphasis. “Or they’ll keep some of you well educated and doing their toughest work for them. It’s slavery or the dinner table that your people are facing. I must say my clan dying off completely would almost be preferable.”
“It would be preferable,” growled Arte Kasik with a deep scowl, turning over an empty pitcher and allowing several residual drops to fall onto the table’s surface. “We’re out of beer.”
“Yes we are,” said Adam with a headstrong nod. “And that’s the way things will remain until all of the fighting is over.” He waved a scolding finger at his friend. “Remember my suggestion regarding moderation… each of us needs to keep our sound judgment and mental faculties ready for anything.”
“I was hoping that it was just a suggestion,” Kasik told him with a disappointed frown.
*
An hour or so later Adam found himself walking through an outer corridor along the Ali Rinai’s damaged, starboard hull. Pausing at a window port here or there, he gazed out at the massive, swirling clouds of gently illuminated nebulae, admiring the soft reds, pinks and oranges to be found amidst a significantly larger quantity of dark blues and purples. Everything else, for the most part, was pretty much inky black darkness. It was difficult to see in the midst of so much drifting matter, among the gaseous vapors and dust pockets that were all that remained of thousands of suns. There was no trace of the vast, sweeping array of twinkling stars that would normally be found this deep within a galaxy’s spiral arm. Tragically, they simply did not exist any longer, so only the larger, cooler red giants remained to provide the occasional trace amounts of sunlight that hinted of the radiance that had once been.
But no longer.
Silently, deep in thought, Adam continued to stare out the window, partially mesmerized by the scope of the destruction. He idly wondered just how long it would take for the searching shuttles and fighters to detect anything relevant when forced to probe randomly within so vast an expanse. The region had been dubbed the Wasteland for a reason – out here there was virtually nothing but empty space and the perforated remains of a spiral, galactic arm that had once shown just as brightly as any other. Now the area was simply an empty desert, filled only with the limitless, drifting clouds of residual dust and gas that shrouded the few remaining stars in almost total darkness.
If the reconnaissance took longer than a few days, he briefly considered allowing the crew access to additional luxuries before promptly rejecting the idea. Right now they were battle tested and razor sharp, so he didn’t see any need to change any of that. What the Pathfinder’s crew had provided up to this point was a pleasant respite, so there was no need to tempt hardened soldiers with too much of a good thing. There was every indication that the Kuth would be coming for them, in large numbers and with murderous fury. When that occurred, everyone would have to be alert and ready for whatever challenges awaited them. Too much food and beer would dull their edge and that could lead to more death and the preventable loss of additional lives. Adam weighed this new responsibility of leadership with interest – there were so many ways to err.
The sound of someone moving just around a bend in the corridor caught his attention, along with the soft hiss of heavy breathing. “Hello?” he called out curiously, noticing as he did so that the presence of Kaufield in his mind suddenly vanished completely. The abrupt, unexpected loss of his implant connection caught him completely by surprise and a wave of fear swept through him since the event was unprecedented. More than a little concerned, he tested the implant’s functions and activated his eye HUD, insuring that his personal defenses were still active and available if needed. “Is someone there?” he asked again, moving now toward the left turn in the corridor. He rounded it just in time to halt in his tracks.
“Relax Adam Roh,” a voice he had never heard before suggested somewhat scornfully. “Communications with your Sentinel will be restored soon. I simply wanted to have a private conversation with you first.”
Adam studied the wizened, elderly man edging slowly toward him with intense interest. A soft white aura surrounded his body, pulsing softly in response to the receptors in Adam’s enhanced vision. Dark age spots lined the man’s arms and the sides of his face along with deep wrinkles that creased his face, forehead and the corners of his eyes. He was wearing silvery robes with dark black trim and his pale blue eyes studied the human with an inquisitiveness that matched Adam’s own. The newcomer walked unhurriedly and with the aid of a cane, coming to an abrupt halt less than three meters away, his eyes sparkling with confidence. By all appearances, he was at least a hundred years old and yet he stood there with a bold, charismatic smile that easily caught and held Adam’s attention.
“Who are you?” asked Adam, one hand reaching up to the transceiver in his ear. It too had gone dead. Wordlessly, he routed power to his personal shield and readied himself in case his weapons were needed.
“Are you going to shoot me?” the old man asked with a throaty cackle, somehow sensing what he was preparing to do despite any visual evidence. “Has this place rattled you so much that you would fire on an old man?”
“Living in this place for even a few days has made me a little bit nervous,” Adam admitted, somewhat impressed by the enigmatic charms of the other. The soft aura surrounding him continued to pulse steadily. “My enemy possesses the ability to transform themselves into humanoid shape, and I’ve never seen you before. So far, you refuse to identify yourself and you’re not a member of this crew. That doesn’t exactly leave me with the feeling that your intentions are honorable.”
“Let me ask you something,” the elderly gentleman suggested with a small smile. “Do you believe in an Intelligent Designer?” The inquiry caught Adam somewhat off guard, and he raised an eyebrow in response. “It’s not a tough question,” the stranger told him, scolding him mildly.
“You could tell me your name first,” said Adam softly. “That would be polite.”
“Answer my question first, young man.�
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“Well, my brother has always been the true believer in our family,” Adam replied after pausing long enough to study the man more thoroughly. “My wife is too, although she would never admit it to anyone but me. She’s been in combat several times in her life, so hanging on to the hope of a higher power has been of comfort to her during times when her faith is tested.”
“I didn’t ask you about other people. What do you believe in?”
Internally, Adam’s emotions were stirring to life as he wondered just why he would give this man an audience under these conditions. Perhaps because he has managed to shut off my contacts to everyone else, his mind suggested. Or is it something more? Just who was this man and what was he doing aboard the Ali Rinai? He waited for a response to his comments, but the old man just stood there watching. “Me, I’ve always tried to maintain an open mind regarding that subject,” he concluded finally, “even if I don’t always make it to Church at least once a week.”
“Why would you have any doubts?” prodded the stranger curiously, his smile growing. “Your people on the Pathfinder have truly seen the wonders of creation like no other humans before you. So why would you possibly have any lingering doubts?”
The man’s questions stirred a series of long dormant emotions in Adam’s mind that grew steadily stronger as their conversation continued. “Well I’m primarily a scientist at heart, and there is clear evidence of at least some evolution, for one thing,” he answered with sincerity, waving a hand casually. “However, the fossil record never seemed able to fill in the key missing pieces… and it should have.”
“Please continue. What about history?”
“Well, everything there seems to conflict too. Consider the sheer complexity of the ancient writings back on Earth, the obvious exaggerations and mistakes by authors with a clearly religious agenda, the symbolism along with the manner in which one writing always seems to contradict one or more others…” He trailed off at that point, eyes studying the stranger fervently. “Your name would be…” he persisted defiantly.
The Pathfinder Trilogy Page 68
