Ariticle Six

by C. T. Christensen

  Doctors Victoria Treelam, Jonathon Ames, Gladys Twisst,--Stoker’s team--and CeCe turned in frozen silence to face the Governor and Doctor Stoker when Wills made that statement. The silence grew thicker as Stoker stared wide-eyed at Wills’ face.

  Finally, Doctor Stoker turned to look at Victoria Treelam; she shrugged and said, “It won’t get better.”

  Stoker stood up to match the governor’s 195 centimeter height and elevated heart rate, “Admiral Governor-General Wills Reynolds, as leader of the Forest Assessment and Survey Team under the authorization of the Terran Federation Colonization and Contact Commission, I, hereby, invoke full implementation of all directives contained in Article Six of the Statement of Procedures Regarding the Planet Forest and its Inhabitants.”

  He stepped forward and took Wills hand, “Admiral, this is a moment in human history; may God place our steps carefully.”

  It had been a long time since Wills Reynolds had been called “Admiral” even though he always wore the uniform and insisted that CeCe and other personnel still under the Navel command structure wear theirs when on duty. Old and rusty mental mechanisms stirred. He looked at the clock on the wall.

  Admiral Reynolds swept a hand toward Doctor Stoker’s team, “Doctor Ames, Doctor Twisst, as the linguists of Doctor Stoker’s team you will have to be the first on the ground at Forest; get your gear together and be ready to go in two hours. The Santana should be on the ground by now and we can have it turned around by then. Report to the ship as soon as you are ready.”

  “Doctor Treelam, Doctor Stoker, Commander Copeland, you’re with me.” He turned and headed for the door. A left turn and ten meters down the hall to a right turn down another hall and the heavy door that opened into the Archer Flight System Control and Communication room.

  The supervisor’s station was at the top of the terraced room overlooking the three levels of operator stations and the massive wall of screens depicting flight operations all over the Archer system. Only three of the other twelve stations were occupied and traffic indicators were minimal.

  The Admiral started toward the supervisor’s station from where he had entered at the side of the room, “PORT OPERATOR.” He called as he walked.

  A startled young woman at a second level station jumped, “Huh, WHAT?”

  He arrived at the supervisor’s station where Gerald Falmann sat with a look as startled as the one on the Port Operator’s face.

  He faced toward the woman, “Is the Santana on the ground yet?”

  “Ahh . . . yes, sir, about twenty minutes ago.”

  “Is Lieutenant Hayes still at the ship?”

  “Just a moment, sir, I’ll check.”

  He pressed his thumb against the reader pad below a sealed switch panel and smiled as Falmann’s eyes widened and his hands gripped the arms of his chair, “Good morning, Jerry, how’s your day going?”

  He looked out over the room and loudly ordered, “ALL OPERATORS - SAY CRITICAL TRAFFIC NOW.”

  The three confused faces just looked from one to the other and shook their heads.

  The panel opened and the Admiral flipped the seven switches labeled: BUILDING, PORT, CITY, PLANETARY, ORBITAL, NEAR SPACE, and OUTER SYSTEM.

  When the screen at the upper-left of the display wall indicated that every communication system was now overridden and tied into the Archer Military Command System, he picked up the microphone lying below the switches, “Attention Archer, this is Admiral Wills Reynolds. At 0929 hours 3 June 2258, Article Six of the Statement of Procedures Regarding the Planet Forest and its Inhabitants was invoked by Doctor Roland Stoker.

  “All ships, personnel, and resources within the Archer System are now under military control. All interstellar-capable ships are ordered to head for or remain in Archer orbit and prepare for evacuation operations. Those of you that will be required to participate in this operation will receive orders shortly. For now, anyone connected with port operations or heavy construction is to report to their normal posts. That is all for now.”

  He returned the microphone, reset the switches, and smiled at the stunned supervisor again, “My day just took an interesting turn.”

  The woman at the Port Operations station stood up, “Admiral, Lieutenant Hayes has left the port area.”

  “Alright, call ground operations and get the Santana ready for liftoff ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The Military Command System did not cover personal communicators so it was unlikely that Lieutenant Hayes had received the notice. Reynolds tapped in a number on the station com panel; Command Master Sergeant Stephanie Hayes answered the call.

  “Admiral, we received your notice; all members of the Marine detachment are being notified. We should be ready within the hour.”

  “Excellent, Master Sergeant, but my main concern right now is your son; he just hit dirt and left the port. I need him back in the Santana and boosting for Forest in a couple of hours. I hope he’s not at the bottom of a bottle already.”

  The Sergeant acquired an embarrassed look, “Well . . . actually, sir, he has a girlfriend now; I think I know where he is.”

  He hadn’t heard about that; his eyebrows went up, “A girl? Well . . . okay. Find him and get him in front of me five minutes ago; I don’t care what state of dress he’s in.”

  “Yes, sir; will do.”

  Her salute startled him but he managed a reasonable recovery and returned it. That was another thing that had fallen by the wayside.

  He turned to face his entourage, “Doctor Stoker, Doctor Treelam, I intend to be on a ship heading for Forest as soon as I get things organized here. Do you wish to remain here or accompany me?”

  The two stellar physicists exchanged a look; Treelam shrugged again, “Our work here is finished; it is possible we could be of some use at Forest.”

  Stoker nodded and turned to Wills, “We will go with you, Admiral.”

  “Very well, get your gear together and keep your com pads on; I don’t know how long this will take. With any luck we should be out of here by tonight.”

  They both nodded and started for the door. As they turned, Victoria Treelam hesitated and turned back to Wills; she placed a hand on his arm and looked up to fix pale green eyes on him, “Roland and I hesitate to say this but you should know that it may be too late already. We were surprised at how far the situation within the Forest primary had degraded since last month. The magnetic disruption being caused by the Anomaly places this situation outside of known science, but the inevitable result is clear; it will cause violent flares that will wipe all life from Forest. We have little time.”

  Wills watched them leave the room. Victoria Treelam was one of the top stellar physicists and had been for decades. Hearing her say that put a knot in Wills’ stomach.

  He turned back to face CeCe, “Commander, is the Weasel operational?”

  It had been several months since she had visited the old ship, “Well, when I was last there, Captain Helt was just finishing the installation of the last of the Berlin reactors, the isolator drive was in good shape, and the Silverman Integrator was up and running. I believe that the next thing on the list was the lift ring. If they haven’t gotten far with that then it should be usable.”

  “Good, get Captain Helt over here now and call whatsisname, the construction guy, Salmond, and get him here now, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” She pulled her pad out and started calling.

  Reynolds returned his attention to the people at the work stations; they were all facing him.

  “Who is Traffic Control?”

  The older man at the station in front of and below the woman at Port Operations held up his hand, “Jesse Granholm, sir.”

  “What interstellar capability do we have in-system?”

  “Sir, the cargo ships Winslow and Pugnacious, and the passenger ship Gregory Falls are in orbit. The scout ships Santana and Melinda are on the ground as is the survey ship Streak which is having some minor repairs made. The Patrol Escorts Kel
logg and Rance are on their usual patrol routes in the outer system. The passenger ship Wilshire Glade is due to arrive in one week.”

  When Granholm had finished, Reynolds turned to Copeland, “Get Lieutenant Commander Billings here now.”

  She started tapping on her pad again.

  “Traffic Control, you will send a message to the Kellogg and Rance and reinforce my general announcement; they are to return here immediately. You will then call the Winslow, Pugnacious, and Gregory Falls. Make absolutely certain that they understand that they now belong to me. They are to remove all extraneous passengers, crew members, and cargo to the surface and prepare their ships for evacuation duty.”

  He turned back to Copeland again, “Get the Police Commander here now.”

  He pointed at the last person sitting at one of the stations, “Are you handling low-level traffic and port ground movement?”

  “Yes, sir.” replied the older, gray haired woman.

  “Contact the Wexton-Hanna people and tell them I need supplies moved from storage facilities to orbit and the spaceport. Then contact the Captain of the Streak; see if the ship is operational.”

  The door opened and Lieutenant Commander Billings entered. He stopped in front of the Admiral and saluted. The balding, fortyish pilot was dressed in a standard dark blue ship suit.

  “Sir, I was down the hall when I got Commander Copeland’s call.”

  “Good, is the Melinda ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir; I was going to lift for Forest in three hours as per my normal schedule.” His brow furrowed as he looked straight at Reynolds, “I get the feeling I won’t be doing that.”

  “That is correct Commander; you are to lift for Sandalwood and then New Braxton. At each stop you are to notify them by com that Article Six is in effect and they are requested to send anything that can help with the evacuation directly to Forest. Also, at both locations, notify the Paradise Found resident supervisor that I have command of the Gregory Falls for this operation. And, you will do the same for the owners of the Winslow and Pugnacious. You will then go to Forest to see if you can be of any help there.”

  The Admiral took his arm and steered him toward the door, “I have to stress that it does not look like we have much time. Get this done as quickly as possible.”

  Billings turned and saluted again, “I will, sir.”

  As he went out the door he nearly ran into Police Commander Clacton. Erica Clacton had been Police Commander of Michigan City for longer than the twenty standard years that Wills had been the Governor-General. The average looking woman enhanced her looks by always wearing her police uniform. She wasn’t much of a cop but she was an excellent administrator and knew how to put people where they did their best work. She had to lean her head well back to look at Wills as they shook hands.

  “I heard your pronouncement Admiral, how can my people help?”

  “Erica, I want you to handle my non-resident problem. There are three ships in orbit that will be unloading passengers and unnecessary crew members. I want you to locate all available housing for them here in town and out along the rail system. In two or three weeks there will be an influx of the inhabitants of Forest that you will have to handle.”

  “Well, sir; there should be no problem with the ships that are here. We have plenty of unused transient space, but how many can you bring from Forest?”

  Wills had to stop and think about that, “Hmmm . . . the cargo ships should be good for a thousand each, the passenger ship maybe another eight hundred, say about another five hundred between the Streak and the patrol ships; a bit over three thousand between them. However, the big problem will be the Weasel at around 250,000 or thereabouts.”

  A feeling of depression went through him, “That’s still only half their known population if we don’t have time for a second trip; doesn’t sound like much, does it?”

  Copeland waved a hand at him, “It’s worse than that, sir. The interior of the Weasel has been highly modified; we might get about 100,000 aboard.”

  He turned to face her, “What, we’ve lost over half its capacity?”

  “Yes, sir; the Berlin’s reactors are huge and required both room and massive structural reinforcement at the midline level; all of the passenger decking from just below midline up to the crew decks was removed. What remains are the cargo decks and fourteen passenger decks.”

  It was bad enough before he heard that; now it seemed like all of this effort was useless. Wills closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths.

  “Alright, whatever; Erica, we will need some form of housing for however many we manage to rescue from Forest. You will be in charge of moving them to those areas. To help you, I am going to authorize activation of the T8 project on a crash basis and assign the Marine detachment to you.”

  As he said that, the door opened and a short, solidly built, middle-aged man walked in; he was dressed in work clothes and had a red hardhat under his arm.

  Wills put out his hand, “Benais Salmond, it’s been a couple of months since I last saw you.”

  “It has Admiral; you should drop in at the Engineers Hall more often.”

  Benais nodded to the Police Commander, “Good morning Erica.”

  “What can I do for you, Admiral? I assume it has to do with the activation of Article Six.”

  “It does; in two to three weeks there will be refugees from Forest arriving and they will need housing. I want you to transform the T8 project into something that they can use. Pull the data from the file system, and see what you can do to build something that resembles their habitats. You can expect 100,000 of them and you don’t have much time. You are authorized to acquire any equipment, supplies, and assistance that you need which are reasonably available. If you need any help convincing anyone to cooperate with you, I am placing Erica in charge of civilian activities while Commander Copeland and I are on Forest. This construction operation has the highest priority; any questions?”

  “Two weeks, huh?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  Salmond turned and headed for the door; he put his hardhat on and waved a hand over his head, “It will be done.”

  They watched him disappear through the door. Wills turned to face Erica again, “I wish I had his confidence. I was beginning to think this day would never come; now that it has I feel like everything I do will be so ineffective as to be a well planned joke.”

  She looked up at him, “What you do will be all that you can do; it will be all that can be done, and it will be greater than the nothing that would have been done if we were not here.”

  “Erica, your philosophy is correct, but right now I need a couple of unmodified Weasels.”

  The door opened again and Captain Ellias Helt walked in; the tall, thin Maintenance Operations Director stopped in front of Wills and saluted.

  “Well, Admiral, that day has arrived.”

  Wills nodded, “Ellias, I need the Weasel; please tell me you can get it ready by tomorrow.”

  Captain Helt smiled, “It will be ready in no more than twelve hours; as soon as I heard your announcement I called everyone in and started final prep work and provisioning. The interior is not pretty in many places, but all flight systems and life-support are operational. We were about to begin work on the lift ring and had all the sheathing removed. Right now, I have a dozen people going over the ring millimeter by millimeter checking for problems.”

  He put his hands in the pockets of his coveralls and changed mental gears, “You know Wills, The last fifteen years has had far more times when the Weasel was not operational. To catch it at the end of all major aspects of the project and just days before we pulled the last major system down for reman is . . . hmmm.”

  He smiled again and gave Wills a calculating look, “Do you believe in God?”

  That was an unexpected question, “Ahh . . . no!”

  “Do you believe in luck?”

  “No!”

  “Do you believe in coincidence?”

  “No!”r />
  “Do you believe in Fate?”

  “Nooo . . . where are you going with this?”

  Ellias’ smile turned into a full grin, “You had better reevaluate your beliefs because one of those four things just happened.”

  He started for the door, “I have work to do. Send your . . . ” Ellias stopped halfway there and turned around, “Do you have a crew for the Weasel? Do we even have a qualified pilot?”

  Wills froze as his mind tried to come up with a name of someone, anyone, that was even remotely qualified to handle a Rhino-class starship. The names of every available pilot on or near Archer went through his head without triggering a response. He reached the end of that list and became aware that he had turned and was looking straight at CeCe. She saw his eyes focus on her and recognized that look.

  She pointed a shaking finger at him, “No! No! No! Absolutely not! I haven’t been behind the wheel of a shuttle in four years and a starship since I brought that thing here. Even then, I was only the co-pilot.”

  Wills pulled out his pad and called Nanci, “Nanci, do a file search for anyone on or near Archer that is or was rated to pilot a Rhino-class ship.”

  Nanci’s eyebrows went up as she started tapping, “You’re taking the Weasel?”

  “If I can.”

  “Yes, sir; there is one experienced person on Archer, although I’m sure her rating has legally lapsed due to no logged time in type in about fifteen years.”

  “Is this who you’re talking about?” Wills turned his pad to face CeCe.

  “Oh, hi CeCe. I understand you’re taking the Weasel to Forest.”

  Trapped!

  Wills thanked Nanci and returned his pad to its pouch.

  “Admiral, you do realize that I am no longer rated in that type of ship or anything near it. It’s been fifteen years since Lieutenant James was first officer on the Weasel for a one-way trip and only then because I had served as second officer on that type during Academy summers. At the least, I’m going to need a month’s worth of training on the system modifications.”