The Falken Chronicles

by Piers Platt

  “We can dig at night,” Weaver suggested. “They usually stay inside the facility at night.”

  “Usually,” Falken agreed. “But there’s still a risk.”

  “Well, while we’re here, why don’t we start posting a lookout on the hill?” Weaver said. “I’ll go up there now, hide the hatch under the sail and some dirt again, and try to head off anyone that comes snooping around.”

  “That’s not a bad idea,” Ngobe said. “I’m going to need some time to look into the diagnostics test.” He tapped Falken on the chest. “And I want you around, with those tools you found, in case we need to turn some wrenches.”

  “I’ll head back to the colony,” Saltari decided. “I have patients to attend to.” He wagged his finger at the three of them. “But you three better not get any ideas about launching this pod without me around,” he warned them.

  Ngobe laughed. “Let’s find out if it can launch first. Then we’ll start drawing straws to see who gets to be the lucky astronaut.”

  Chapter 24

  Falken stifled a yawn, and glanced at the computer’s clock once again. Almost seven hours.

  He heard a clank from the hatch behind him, and swiveled the captain’s chair to look. He could see Ngobe’s legs through the hatch, lying on the ship’s deck. “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Ngobe grunted. “Yes. Just dropped the damn wrench again.”

  “Need help?”

  “No,” Ngobe called. “I’ve nearly got it.”

  “I thought the whole reason you wanted me down here with you was so that I could do all the hard work for you?” Falken pointed out.

  “Mm. But some things are best done by someone with an engineering background. And as it happens, I do need you, you’re being quite helpful right there. What’s the next step in the preventive maintenance checklist?”

  “‘Detach fuel hose clamp B from nozzle D,’ ” Falken read.

  “No, I just finished doing that,” Ngobe said. “What’s next?”

  “‘Check gasket integrity. Replace if rubber is cracked or compromised. If needed, apply a thin coat of SL-20D to lubricate gasket. Reattach fuel hose clamp to nozzle.’ ”

  “Well, the gasket appears intact … and we don’t have any SL-whatever lying around, so I suppose I’ll just stick it back on again.”

  “So we passed that check?”

  “We passed that check,” Ngobe echoed. “I’m starting to be cautiously optimistic that this thing is still flightworthy, even after all these years.”

  “Yeah?” Falken asked.

  “Cautiously optimistic.” Ngobe’s voice was muffled as he shifted position. “We’ll know for sure in a little while.”

  While he waited, Falken minimized the maintenance checklist and flipped through folders on the computer’s desktop, idly checking their contents. Maybe they have Solitaire on this thing.

  He couldn’t find any games, so he opened up the communications console, and clicked to open a channel and send a message. An error message dutifully popped up, warning him of the missing transmitter. He was about to close the window when a new query box opened.

  >>>1,452 inbound messages in queue. Download? Yes/No.

  Falken frowned, and then hit Yes. A progress bar appeared on the screen, and rapidly filled. The computer beeped at him when it was done. Falken clicked over to the message inbox, and found it full of identical new messages, all dated at least a century ago. He clicked on one and skimmed it: it was a request for the ship’s status, from an automated system at the exploration agency headquarters. Falken skimmed the list, but all of the messages were the same. He sat back in the chair and crossed his arms.

  Wait a second. If the transmitter’s missing, how did I just get all those new messages?

  Falken closed the messages window and opened a newsnet program. Again, a progress bar appeared on the screen, telling him that the program was downloading updated data archives. This time the bar took much longer to process – almost five minutes. But when it was completed, Falken found himself staring at a list of headlines – top news stories from Earth and her colonies.

  Are these up to date?

  Falken clicked on the top story – something about asteroid ore deposits and a new trade agreement being ratified by the colonial congress. He looked at the story’s date. Well, shit … what’s today’s date?

  “What day is it today?” he called out.

  “Hm?” Ngobe asked. “I have no idea.”

  Falken turned back to the screen. Well, I got sentenced back in May – and this story says it’s from September. It actually says it was posted “Today.”

  He opened a search bar, and typed in his own name. Several older results appeared, detailing the results of his last few professional fights. But scrolling down the story archives, he found a short crime blotter piece about his arrest, and it was updated to note that he had been sentenced to life in prison.

  “… to be served at an unspecified maximum security facility,” Falken read softly. “Ngobe!”

  “What?”

  “You need to see this,” Falken said.

  He heard the scientist grumble, and then a moment later he appeared behind Falken, looking over his shoulder at the screen. “Well? What is ‘this’? “

  “Newsnet articles,” Falken told him.

  Ngobe frowned. “Okay …?”

  “Recent ones,” Falken said. “Like, from today. From Earth.”

  “That shouldn’t be possible,” Ngobe said. “The communications suite is missing. Destroyed.”

  “The long-range transmitter is gone,” Falken said.

  Ngobe’s eyebrows shot up. “… but that doesn’t mean the receiver isn’t still online. Well done, Falken.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder. “Well, let’s see … does that change our situation at all?”

  Falken pursed his lips together. “I dunno. I guess not.”

  Ngobe considered for a moment, and then shook his head. “No. I don’t believe we can do much with the receiver, apart from … well, receive news. So. What’s happening in the world?”

  “Trade agreements,” Falken said. “Boring stuff.”

  “Oh … see if you can find out if Kenya won the World Cup,” Ngobe said, a mischievous grin crossing his face.

  “What, again?” Falken asked.

  “What do you mean, ‘again’? “ Ngobe asked.

  “They won it back when I was in high school. Years ago,” Falken said.

  “Did they really?” Ngobe shook his head, smiling. He sighed. “And I missed it, of course. My father will be happy, if he was still alive to see it. Well, never mind … I’ll have to read about it later. Run a search for ‘New Australia,’ ” Ngobe suggested.

  A number of results appeared, but as they scrolled through the list, it quickly became obvious the stories were all about the country on Earth’s southern hemisphere.

  “Try: ‘New Australia, planet or colony.’ ”

  >>>No results found.

  Ngobe snorted. “They’ve suppressed any records of it, of course.”

  Falken typed in: UNEV Khonsu.

  “Good idea,” Ngobe said.

  Several articles appeared, discussing the ship’s dedication ceremony, crew roster, and initial missions. The third story in the list was just a brief press release from the exploration agency noting that the ship had suffered a catastrophic engine failure while descending for a planetary survey, and the subsequent explosion had destroyed the ship and killed all crew members aboard.

  “‘… our deepest condolences go out to the families and friends of those lost aboard the ship,’ ” Ngobe read out. “Well, there’s your smoking gun right there. Whoever flies back needs to take a few items from the ship – the master manual and that jacket you found, the one with the mission patches. They’ve not only lied about us, they’ve lied about what happened to this ship, too.”

  “And we can prove it,” Falken agreed.

  Ngobe wiped a grease-stained hand across his brow.
“I better get back to the pod. How many more steps are there in the checklist?”

  “Only about six or seven,” Falken said. “We’re nearly there.”

  Ngobe read through the steps on the screen, pausing several times to check the visual diagrams that accompanied them. “Okay. Let’s finish this up.” He disappeared back through the hatch.

  With nothing better to do, Falken opened the newsnet feed again and skimmed the headlines for a time, reading a few articles that caught his attention. Then he remembered Weaver, up manning a lookout outside the hatch, and thought to run another search query. The top result was less than a week old.

  >>>Lawson County Sheriff gives update on missing Weaver family.

  “Holy shit,” Falken breathed. He clicked on the article and read it, quickly. Then he went back to the top and read it again.

  Falken stood and hurried over to the escape pod. “Ngobe.”

  “What?” the physicist paused in the midst of tightening a bolt in place, and peered up at Falken.

  “I found a newsnet article about Weaver’s family. They found them.”

  Ngobe put the wrench down. “Are they alive?”

  Falken nodded. “Alive and well. Traumatized a bit from being locked in a basement for a few months, but safe and sound.”

  Ngobe breathed a sigh of relief. “My god, he’ll be so happy to hear it.”

  “They caught the kidnapper, too – he confessed to everything.”

  Ngobe sat up and rubbed his hands. “Did they mention the fact that Weaver was already convicted of their murder?”

  “Mm-hm. The authorities are saying that he was depressed, and killed himself shortly after entering prison. His family thinks he’s dead.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Ngobe shook his head in disgust. “They have no choice but to say that, to cover up the fact that they’re not going to come get him.”

  “What do we do?” Falken asked.

  “You want to tell him?” Ngobe asked, by way of reply.

  “I think he has a right to know,” Falken said. “I’d want to know.”

  “Yes …” Ngobe trailed off, rubbing his chin. “But knowledge is a very powerful thing. Our friend Weaver is a good man, and intelligent. But is he strong enough to hear this?”

  Falken thought back to their first day on New Australia, seeing Weaver on his knees in the dirt, sobbing. Strong enough …

  “Something like that could tear a weak man apart,” Ngobe continued. “Being wrongfully convicted, then stranded here on this damn planet for the rest of his life. If you tell him, that bogus cover story of theirs might just come true. He’s liable to lose his grip, or kill himself. Or both.”

  Chapter 25

  Falken climbed halfway up the airlock ladder until he stood directly beneath the sagging fabric of the sail. He poked at it gently several times, pushing the dirt-filled fabric up slightly. Then he stepped back down, turning away and shielding his eyes as the sail shifted to one side and dirt cascaded down into the hole. It was dark outside – Falken could see the starry night sky through the hatch.

  “You guys done?” Weaver asked, in a hushed whisper.

  “Almost,” Falken said.

  He climbed up the ladder, and then took a seat next to Weaver beside the hatch, staring out at the ocean. The flat water mirrored three of New Australia’s moons perfectly, their varied hues reflecting off the calm surface.

  “How’s it looking?” Weaver asked eagerly.

  “So far so good,” Falken said. “Ngobe said he’s ‘cautiously optimistic.’ We’ll know for sure in a few.”

  “Just needed some fresh air?” Weaver asked.

  Falken sighed. “I needed to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  Falken opened his mouth, and then shut it. He shook his head.

  “What?” Weaver asked, frowning in the moonlight.

  “You remember when we landed here?” Falken asked.

  “Not really,” Weaver admitted. “I remember climbing out of the crate, but not much after that. The next thing I remember is waking up in the infirmary after that guy knocked me out.”

  “Yeah,” Falken said. “I remember.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, there’s more to the story than that. He told me he was going to do it.”

  “That he was going to hit me?”

  “Yeah,” Falken agreed, looking at the ground. “He wanted my help robbing you.”

  “But you didn’t help him,” Weaver said.

  “No, but I didn’t stop him, either. I could have, easily. But I let him do it. And I’m sorry. Things were different back then.”

  “Well, you didn’t know me, for one,” Weaver pointed out.

  “No, that’s not what I mean,” Falken said. “I mean that I was different back then. I know it was less than a year ago, but … this place has changed me, somehow. I’m not that man anymore. So I’m sorry I wasn’t a better man back then. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you until now.”

  Weaver was silent for a time. “What did you do?” he asked. “Back on Earth.”

  “Why’d they send me here?” Falken asked.

  “Yeah.”

  Falken sighed. “I’ve been headed here for years.”

  “Why?”

  “I was a pro fighter,” Falken said. “Mixed martial arts.”

  “I thought they banned that?”

  “They did. And it killed my career, right as I was peaking. I had money, fans, a shot at the title, and then suddenly, the Federation was outlawed, they went bankrupt and reneged on all of our contracts – one day I had a coach and a private training facility, the next day I was out on my ass, no sponsorships, nothing. Training amateurs for cash at the local gym. Fighting in underground matches at night.”

  “You must have been angry,” Weaver noted.

  “Oh, yeah,” Falken said. “And I took it out on everyone around me. My friends. Mallerie, my girlfriend. Everyone.”

  “You hit her?” Weaver asked.

  “Mallerie? No. Never,” Falken shook his head. “But … there are other ways to hurt people. My counselor would say I was ‘emotionally abusive.’ ” He traced a circle in the dirt with one finger, then smoothed it back out. “That’s about right. I drove her away, really. I got busted for illegal fighting a couple times, did a few short stints in jail. She stuck with me, but … I can’t blame her for running out of patience in the end.”

  “She left you?”

  “No,” Falken said. “I think she wanted to, but I managed to make it hard for her to leave. So she found someone else.”

  “Another man?”

  “Yeah.” Falken crossed his arms and looked out at the ocean. “I was so self-involved, I missed all the clues.”

  Weaver stayed quiet.

  “In the fighting world, you’ve spent weeks, months even training – putting all of your focus into that fight. I used to feel like I was winding up a spring inside me, storing all of that rage, that energy. I had this pre-fight ritual – ‘the calm before the storm,’ I used to call it. After weigh-in, I would do a light workout, just a warm-up really. Then I would head home, and Mallerie would make me a French omelet with some home fries. She was terrible with eggs, but she made the best home fries – crispy and brown, with a little onion and green pepper. Anyway, the morning of my last fight, I got home from the gym and she wasn’t there. I thought she was mad that I was fighting again, knowing they’d send me back to jail. I showered like usual, and when I got out, I could smell the home fries cooking, and I smiled, because for a moment it was like everything was back to normal again. I went into the kitchen and she said, ‘Sorry, I’m late – I was out with my girlfriend.’ And I hugged her, and it hit me like a ton of bricks, all at once. I smelled him on her – his after shave.”

  Falken took a deep breath. “I didn’t confront her, I ate my meal and headed out like I was going to the fight. But I took her phone with me, and found his apartment. And when he opened the door, all that pent-up anger came flooding out. Th
e energy for the fight, my frustration from losing my contract … the pain of Mallerie cheating on me. I just lost it.” Falken looked down at his hands. “I killed him. I didn’t even know his name until the trial.”

  “Would you do it again?” Weaver asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Falken said. “And it’s not just because I hate being stuck here on this planet.”

  “You miss Mallerie,” Weaver guessed.

  “Well, yeah,” Falken admitted. “And she deserves a better apology from me, for a lot of things.”

  Weaver smiled. “You want to get out of here so you can apologize.”

  “I guess so,” Falken said, smiling back. “But I’m not trying to get back with her … I think she deserves to be left alone at this point. I just want to show her how much I’ve changed. I want her to know that I don’t blame her, and I’m not mad at him for trying to take her from me. I feel sorry for him now. As much as I hated him in that moment, he didn’t deserve to die. I worry that I might still be capable of something like that, but … I think I’ve learned some restraint here, some self-control. I’m just sorry I wasn’t that kind of man earlier, when we landed. When I could have saved you from a couple days in a coma. I hope you can forgive me for that.”

  Weaver frowned, thinking. “We’re friends, right?” he asked after a time, looking at Falken.

  “I hope so,” Falken replied.

  “I know we are,” Weaver said. “And whatever happened that day, you’ve proven you’re my friend many times over since then. No one else would have sailed across the whole planet with me, right?”

  Falken smiled. “I guess not.”

  Weaver held out his hand and Falken grasped it.

  “Friends,” Weaver said. “Whatever happens, we’ll help each other through it.”

  “Deal,” Falken agreed.

  Weaver let go of Falken’s hand. The bookkeeper turned back to face the ocean, and the trio of moons in the sky. “I remember there was a full lunar eclipse last year. Back on Earth.” He smiled. “Elize and I woke up the kids in the middle of the night, and we all went out on the lawn wrapped up in blankets, and watched the shadow of the Earth cover up the moon. You could hear the crickets, and the frogs in the lake. And I was sitting there with my daughter on my lap, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier. It was just one of those moments, you know?”