Explorations: First Contact

by Isaac Hooke

  My breathing returned to normal, but the ache in my side remained.

  Sholaliah struggled against Lafige’s grip, sobbing and kicking at his shins. She snatched a wooden spoon off the table and hurled it at his head. It bounced off his temple and left a gob of porridge in his hair.

  Lafige let go of her wrist and slapped her across the face, knocking her into the wall.

  It was that moment that I stopped being a tomb raider, a disgraced and desperate spacer, and remembered that I was a father.

  I charged Lafige, who swung his knife back blindly when he heard me coming. I ducked under the blade and speared him with my shoulder and drove him back. Lafige punched me in the face, sending stars across my eyes.

  I grabbed his knife arm and snapped my hips against his waist. I used my leverage to lift him off his feet and dump him on the ground face first. The rest of him flopped belly-down to the ground.

  Lafige gave off a startled grunt, then went slack. He didn’t move.

  “Lafige?” I nudged his boot with mine.

  A pool of blood spread from his chest, running into the grout channels between floor tiles. I didn’t need to flip him over to know he’d fallen on his knife, or that he was a dead man.

  A piecing scream came from behind.

  Sholaliah, one of her eye lenses shattered, looked at me in terror. She saw the real—alien— me and the dead Lafige. Not the false projection from her lenses.

  “Father! Mommy!” She held her hands up to ward me off. Her features went slack as she looked at her right arm, then her left, seeing her wizened body through one eye, the lie through the other.

  Her hands started shaking and she curled into a ball, sobbing and begging for her parents.

  Feyashan still lay on the ground. The cook in the back was a statue.

  “Shol,” I knelt before her, my hands up and offering help. “I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to do this. I’m not here to hurt you, I promise. I have a little boy. Here, look,” I slipped my family’s photo from a chest pocket and held it in front of her. “His name is Bryce. I’d never let anyone hurt him and I won’t let anyone hurt you either, OK?”

  She looked at me through her fingers, tears in her eyes. She held out an arm, her hand shaking like a leaf in the wind.

  “What’s…what’s wrong with me?”

  Feyashan’s body went limp, hunched over. He straightened up in fits and starts, like someone was turning a giant invisible key in his back, then reached over and took her by the wrist. He pressed a capsule against the port on her arm and there was a slight hiss.

  “You’re a little sick, my love,” Feyashan said. “I gave you some medicine. Let’s go back to your room and go to sleep. You’re tired, aren’t you?”

  “Daddy!” she jumped into his arms and he lifted her up. She looked at me like I was a monster as her father carried her out of the kitchen.

  The blood pool around Lafige reached the table legs. Red crept up the wood’s grain.

  The cook came to life and walked towards me. I looked around for a weapon and backed away, keeping the table between me and the android. Useless, I realized. If the farmer could recover from a knife wound there wasn’t much I could do to protect myself.

  “I won’t hurt you,” she said. “You fought the other one. You would not harm my little girl.”

  “We didn’t come here for this, I swear. Things just…got out of control.”

  “I know. Come with me.” She lifted her skirt as she stepped over Lafige’s body and led me back to Sholaliah’s house. She stopped me at the edge of the window, but let me peek inside.

  The girl was in the preservation chamber, still sobbing as her android father stroked her hair.

  “The vala’kitic’shoom will erase these memories. Tomorrow she will awake to another perfect day,” the cook said. “I will replace her lenses and repair the damage while she sleeps. She cannot leave here.”

  “She stays, and there’s no guarantee that lost colony of yours will ever come back. Or even find you.”

  “She cannot leave. I will give her perfect days. That is my purpose until the Caalora return. You may go now. We will dispose of the other.”

  “As one father to another, I understand. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my child. I’m sorry things…turned out like this.” I watched as Sholaliah lay back and closed her eyes. The farmer sang a lullaby as the glass closed over her and tubes snaked toward her limbs.

  “What am I going to tell Shiroyama…wait, do you still want the dysprosium?”

  “You will still trade after your partner’s death? No mourning period?”

  “Lafige was never my friend. The foundry on my ship has a couple kilograms of dysprosium for electronics assembly. I’ll bring it to you.”

  “We will exchange a copy of our archives. Schematics for all the technology but what keeps her here. Your computers are simple, we will teach them to understand our engineering. Fair?”

  “Fair,” I looked back to the forest where the airlock was hidden…and the second and third order effects of what would happen when I came back with data and no Lafige hit me.

  “I’ll tell my boss this place was destroyed by a meteor strike,” I said. “Same hit killed Lafige. That way no one will ever come looking for this technology. I won’t even mention it in my report. I doubt humans will ever come here again.”

  The farmer walked out of Sholaliah’s building and said “Acceptable. If your species ever finds the Caalora…”

  “It’s a real big galaxy, lots happening with the displacement drives. But if we ever do come across your people, me, or someone I trust, will tell them that you’re here.”

  “As one father to another…thank you.” The android bowed his head and touched his fingertips to his brow.

  Richard Fox Bio

  Richard Fox is the author of The Ember War Saga, a military science fiction and space opera series, and other novels in the military history, thriller and space opera genres.

  He lives in fabulous Las Vegas with his incredible wife and two boys, amazing children bent on anarchy.

  He graduated from the United States Military Academy (West Point) much to his surprise and spent ten years on active duty in the United States Army. He deployed on two combat tours to Iraq and received the Combat Action Badge, Bronze Star and Presidential Unit Citation.

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  The Bottom Line

  By Chris Kennedy

  Earth Orbit, Solar System

  “Helm, are you ready to get underway?” Captain James Montgomery asked. White-haired and mustached, Captain Montgomery stood tall and proud as he surveyed the starship’s bridge. One of only 14 captains chosen to venture to the stars, he knew his record had earned him the right to be there, and he intended to make the most of his opportunity.

  “Yes, sir,” the helmsman replied. “Course is laid in and we’re ready to depart.”

  Captain Montgomery heard a polite cough from behind him and turned to find Mr. Stevenson, the corporate accountant in charge of loss prevention. The man had been everywhere the last few weeks and was a major pain in the butt. “May I help you?” Captain Montgomery asked. “You aren’t supposed to be on the bridge while we’re maneuvering.”

  “Actually, Captain, I’m here to help you,” Mr. Stevenson said, handing over a large manila envelope. “Here is our new destination and mission briefing.”

  “What is the meaning of this? Our destination was set years ago. We are heading to—”

  “No,” Stevenson interrupted. “We aren’t going there. Our true destination is in that packet.”

  “But we’re supposed to form a universal union with the alien race on—”

  “Yeah, well, we’re not going to do that, either. You may remember that this ship was built by an industrial conglomerate, right?”

  “Well, yes,”
Captain Montgomery said, “and that makes sense. We are supposed to open trade relations—”

  “Like I said, we’re not going there, and we’re not doing that. Get over it. Our mission is to go to the third planet of the Gliese 667C system and acquire samples of their weapons for our stockholders.” Stevenson smiled. “Let’s face it; there are going to be winners and losers in the race to the stars, and those of us that control the weapons are going to be the winners. No offense, it’s just business.”

  “Are we even going to try to open up trade with the inhabitants of Gliese 667C?”

  “Sure we will, as long as they are willing to give us what we want.” The smile faded from Mr. Stevenson’s face. “If not, we’ll trade them their lives for their weapons.”

  “New course laid in,” the helmsman announced.

  Captain Montgomery looked down at the packet he was still holding...he hadn’t given the helmsman orders to plot a new course. He looked up sharply. “How many people on the crew know about your mission?”

  “My mission? Nearly everyone, but it isn’t just ‘my mission;’ it’s all of ours now. It would be much easier to tell you who doesn’t know about it. You were hired to give our mission legitimacy in case anyone noticed that an overwhelming number of our crew had military experience, or that the majority of our scientists have backgrounds in weapons technology. They all know what we’re doing, and they’re getting paid handsomely to bring this mission off.”

  “So it’s all about the money.”

  “For the company, yes, it’s all about the bottom line, and that’s why our benefactors sponsored the mission. For the people onboard, the money is certainly nice, but all of us are more than simple mercenaries; we’re patriots. If we can find the other races, they can find us, and at some point they are going to. Earth needs to be prepared for their arrival, and that means we need to have as much of the aliens’ weapons tech as we can get our hands on prior to their arrival. The fools in the UEF may believe in this ‘universal union’ of yours…but my superiors do not. And if we get paid in the process?” The smile returned. “So much the better.”

  “What if someone noticed?”

  “Obviously, you need to do more research on your employers. Our parent company is a multinational conglomerate; most of what it owns is media-related. We are, for all intents and purposes, the media. We control what the reporters say, and the message the civilians hear. We decide public opinion by telling the people what they should care about…and if we don’t want them to care about something, we simply don’t tell them it exists.” Stevenson shrugged. “The media and public opinion were never serious concerns.”

  “But what if someone had started asking questions?”

  “Ahh…you mean the troublemakers,” Stevenson acknowledged with a small nod. “There were indeed a few individuals who noticed our crew’s make-up who had to be...dealt with. If they took heed of the warnings they were given, they were given better jobs at higher pay elsewhere in the company. The treatment was somewhat harsher for those who decided to press on in their folly.” He paused and then added, “A few had to be permanently dealt with.”

  Captain Montgomery suppressed a shudder. “You killed them?”

  “I didn’t, but someone very much like me did. I don’t tell you this to intimidate you, but to warn you that we are deadly serious in completing this mission. You were chosen to lead it because of your experience in the space program. We believe that experience will serve the mission well, should you choose to join us in our task, and I personally would like you to stay on as Captain.”

  Stevenson didn’t mention what would happen if he didn’t choose to play ball, Captain Montgomery noticed. He had a sneaking suspicion there would be one fewer mouth to feed on the way to Gliese 667C if he declined Stevenson’s ‘invitation.’

  Captain Montgomery gave Stevenson a wry half-smile. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

  “Good,” Stevenson replied. “I’m glad you see the light. Our mission is of the utmost importance; we really could use your experience.”

  “Thank you. I only have one question.”

  “Yes?”

  “What happens when we disagree about the mission’s parameters? At some point it’s likely we will have different ways of solving our mission’s challenges.”

  “You’ll either have to convince me you’re right, or do what I tell you.”

  “And if I fail to convince you?” Montgomery pressed.

  “Only one of us is armed,” Stevenson said, sending shivers down the captain’s back, “and there are a lot more of us than there are of you.”

  Two Years in Transit

  Captain Montgomery swapped the exterior monitor from the port bow to the starboard bow and sighed softly. There would be no hiding it when they arrived at the Gliese 667C system. His ship would look like—hell, it would be—the UEF’s first space warship.

  He switched to the starboard aft view and shook his head. He had been so excited to lead the mission that he had fallen for the story, hook, line, and sinker. A trade mission, they had regaled him with the commercial value of the finely ground lenses, electronics, and power converters that had filled a portion of the cargo compartment. But when the technicians assembled those components inside the specially-made storage container holding other trade goods…voilà! One ready-made laser. He flipped through the exterior monitors and corrected himself. Not one; there were at least six lasers being mounted to the surface of the ship. Maybe more.

  In the hold, he knew that some of the specialists were adding rocket motors to the enormous bars of tungsten they had brought ‘to trade with the aliens.’ When de-orbited with the motors the crewmen were installing, the tungsten bars would become excellent orbital bombardment rounds. Traveling at 36,000 feet per second, each of the 12 telephone pole-sized tungsten rods would release the kinetic energy equivalent of 120 tons of TNT when they hit the surface.

  Additional crewmembers were installing the stations for the new bridge crew positions. Offensive Systems Officer. Defensive Systems Officer. Montgomery had wondered why the bridge had been designed with more room than was necessary. “Ergonomic studies indicated additional stations might be needed for future missions,” he had been told when he asked.

  He had believed that, too. God, he was stupid.

  The consoles were designed to fold so they took up very little space and could be hidden nearly anywhere. When assembled, they mounted easily into the empty spaces, completing the ship’s warship transition.

  He couldn’t dwell on it; there were more important things to do.

  “How’s the trajectory looking?” he asked, mentally changing gears.

  “Good, sir,” replied the helmsman, who was the only other person on the bridge. Other than monitoring a few of the instruments, there really wasn’t much to do.

  Of course, the helmsman was probably tasked with keeping an eye on Montgomery as well, to make sure he didn’t do anything…rash.

  “We’re almost finished with the curve,” the helmsman added. “One more day, and we’ll be pointing at the target.”

  At least they’d done that right, Montgomery thought. Their initial track had started well to the side of Gliese 667C, and they had slowly altered it so that the ship was now sweeping in on their intended objective from a different direction. If the aliens at ‘the target’ tried to track the mission back to its origin via its approach vector, they would end up at a star far distant from Earth’s. At least he wouldn’t be responsible for the destruction of Earth if things went badly.

  Unless the aliens somehow got the ship’s logs; that could not be allowed to happen.

  Arrival, Gliese 667C, Day One

  “Five minutes to emergence,” the helmsman noted.

  “Set General Quarters,” Captain Montgomery ordered in preparation for turning off the displacement drive and returning to normal space. While the alien drive reduced the time required to travel to the new system from centuries to years,
it encased the ship in a warp bubble that blinded the crew while it operated. The crew couldn’t see or react to their surroundings…but then again, nothing from the outside world could affect them, either.

  This would be the third time the ship had come out of warp as it approached the target system, with each stop meant to fine tune the navigation so they didn’t emerge too close to the alien planet and spook its inhabitants.

  It would also hopefully keep them outside the range of any alien weapons systems.

  “Battle stations manned and ready,” the Damage Control Officer (DCO) reported, indicating the ship was at its highest state of readiness, with all of its airtight doors closed and locked.

  The crew watched as the numbers on the countdown timer continued to cycle. “Coming out of warp drive,” the navigator noted as it reached zeroes. The main viewer flashed, and a starscape appeared, with a small, dim star visible in the distance.

  “Understood,” Captain Montgomery replied. “Let’s determine where we are and get a survey started on our destination planet.”

  “We’re right on target,” the navigator said a few minutes later. “150 million miles from the star, give or take a percent or two, or about the orbit of Mars back home.”

  “What about the planet?” the CO asked.

  “I’m still gathering data,” the Offensive Systems Officer (OSO) replied, “but I can tell you what I know so far.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Well, it looks like the scientists back home were correct. The planet appears to be a tidally-locked water world. One side permanently faces the star in the same way our moon faces the Earth. Nearly all the signs of habitation I see occur near the terminator line between the day and night sides.”

  “How wide is the habitable band?”

  “Wider than you might think. The planet has a fairly thick atmosphere that allows the heat to transfer to the side facing away from the star. The planet orbits at about 11 million miles from the star, which is about one third the size of the Sun.”