Dark Running (Fourth Fleet Irregulars Book 4)

by S J MacDonald

  ‘Big stuff,’ Martine agreed. ‘High impact, a lot to deal with all at once. For us, too. Samart has been almost a legend to our people for so long, and such a mystery, so little known, that it is a marvel to us to be here.’ A quick little grin. ‘We’re not getting much sleep. So much to learn, and everything we learn generates a hundred more questions. But I will ask just one more, if I may – to settle a debate, amongst ourselves. The Prisosans have a legend, dating back to around three and a half thousand years ago, of a visitor they call the Silent Prince. He is described as a visitor from the stars, silver haired and sapphire eyed. There are no records of such a visit we know of, just stories, a poem. Since we discovered that you are of similar genome, we have been debating whether it is possible that there might have been such a visitor, long ago, from your world to Prisos. Is that something you can tell us anything about?’

  Another pause, and Caldai Genave looked amazed.

  ‘You mean one of the Lost?’ he asked, and it was clear that the Samartians had their own mythology about that. ‘Yes! It is possible! It was then, in that era, that we sent out ships to explore, to search for other life. But they did not come back, any of them. We have stories about it, writings, movies, the Annals of the Lost. But there was…’ he used a word which the matrix blipped on translating, though it was only a couple of seconds before Davie slapped in mass protest and Jermane tagged it with global rebellion. ‘A lot of people felt very strongly,’ Caldai Genave said, responding both to her enquiring look and to the automatic this word did not translate signal generated by the matrix for the Samartians as well as for them. ‘There was going to be another ship sent out, it was being built and a crew was being chosen – they were volunteers, brave of the brave, but people said no, they came to the streets and they shouted, they said it was murder to send people out there, they would die as certainly as if the ship was fired straight into the sun. It was a…’ again, the matrix blipped, offering moral surge as the literal translation. ‘A time of maturing, for our civilisation, making a moral choice, a principle. People felt it was wrong to keep sending out ships. To begin with, yes, justifiable to take the risk in the hope of what might be discovered, but when the only outcome was certain death, to keep on sending out ships was murder. So we stopped sending them, and built ships only to defend our world, after that. But you say one of our ships got to Prisos? Do you know which one, and when? And what happened to its crew?’

  ‘I’m sorry – all we have to go on is the legend,’ Martine said. ‘Here – I’ll send you all the information that we have…’ she used a pocket comp to call up the relevant files and transmitted them in a data-burst. ‘Our main source is this poem, the Lay of the Silent Prince. It is possible that Prisos may have some records dating from that time, but I wouldn’t expect any detail. They were a Dark Age world themselves, at the time, and records from such times are always erratic. It does seem possible that one of your ships did reach there, though – a matter of purely historical interest, obviously, but it has been the subject of debate amongst us.’

  Alex and Davie had a bet on it, in fact – for no more than crowing rights, but still, a bet they’d shaken hands on. One of the Mindful Society’s events during the long run out here had been a debate over the question of whether it was possible that the story of the Silent Prince could be rooted in historical fact – the fact that Davie was currently crowing like a cockerel made it apparent that he believed he’d won that one. And Alex’s acknowledging tag of Point to you made it clear that he agreed.

  It was evident that Davie had been right, too, to push for this question to be asked at the first appropriate opportunity. It hardly needed micro-clue analysis to see that Caldai Genave was not just amazed by that revelation, but thrilled. It was a point of connection, however tenuous, between them and the Other. That was psychologically important, helping the Samartians to adjust from a view of the cosmos in which they were under siege from a horde of hostile aliens.

  ‘But it is fantastic, that they could have got there, all that time ago,’ Caldai Genave said. ‘And we never knew, they never came back – did the Other stop them from coming back?’

  ‘Honestly, we don’t know,’ Martine said. ‘We just noticed, ourselves, that the description was like you, and yours is a very distinctive, unusual genome, you see – some of our people know the poem, from studying ancient languages, they made the connection and we wondered about it, that’s all.’

  Caldai Genave accepted that, recognising that even if the Fourth did know more, they weren’t going to say.

  ‘You say it is true, confirm, true, though, that the Other have been coming to us in peace, all this time?’ He asked. ‘But they have fired on us – some of their ships have fired on us, and we have lost ships, too.’

  ‘I can’t speak for them, obviously,’ Martine said. ‘But yes, Caldai, it is true that they have been sending ships in efforts to make alliance with you against the Marfikians. They may at times have tried to capture one of your ships to learn about you, but their intentions, I know, have always been to try to make friends with you.’

  Caldai Genave looked stricken for a moment, though he set his jaw, resolutely.

  ‘We did not know,’ he said, defensive but with a forlorn note. ‘We did not understand.’

  ‘No,’ Martine said, matter of factly. ‘It was not possible either for you or the Prisosans, at your levels of technology and knowledge, to communicate with one another. They will understand that, too – it is quite common for attempts at contact to be rejected at first, even over hundreds of years. As we say, that’s how it goes – fear, incomprehension, even with the utmost goodwill between entirely peaceful people, there is always a period of fear and confusion, a huge barrier of incomprehension. It is important to understand that to overcome that is a process which can not be rushed. Managing the pace of contact is vital, so that it is not overwhelming and there is time to understand, to think about things and make informed decisions. And it should be clear, too, that it is you who control that – we are the visitors here, and our protocol is that we follow your lead, that you set the pace and the agenda for meetings. As we said at the start, if you tell us to leave, we will go at once.’

  Caldai Genave boggled a bit, rather obviously at what was being said in his headset rather than in response to what Martine had said. He even looked just for a moment as if he was going to protest against something. Then he shut down with military discipline, the snapping note coming back into his voice.

  ‘And come back with a fleet?’

  Martine gave a smothered but perfectly obvious chuckle.

  ‘We wouldn’t dare!’ she said, as if that was an entirely spontaneous, unguarded response, instantly qualified, ‘I mean, we wouldn’t, obviously, that’s just not who we are or what we do. The League, I mean. We too have had our moral surges, things we agree as a people, on principle. One of those things is that we do not invade other worlds. Pragmatically, too, we agree with you entirely on the fact that it is pointless. As you say, even if you conquer a world, how do you rule it? There’s the Marfikian way, of course, but holding a world at gunpoint with missiles targeted at their cities is only effective so long as they believe you will fire them. It wouldn’t take any world long to call our bluff, on that – to figure out that we were making empty threats. And I just can’t imagine a situation in which our government would give orders to fire missiles at a civilian population, or for that matter any Fleet officer who’d obey them if they did. There are rules of honour, and some things that are just not done. Even the Marfikians have some code of honour – they destroy cities, yes, but they have never destroyed a world, even they draw the line at blowing up planets. For us, that line is very clear; we do not fire at civilian targets. So no, Caldai, we would not come back with a fleet, even if we thought we could conquer your world, we wouldn’t want to, the idea is morally unacceptable and it would be unsustainable anyway.’

  ‘So what do you mean, ‘we wouldn’t dare?’ Caldai G
enave asked, suspiciously.

  ‘Come on!’ Martine said, as if she thought he was joking. ‘Quite apart from ethical, constitutional and diplomatic reasons, we’re not dumb enough to mess with people who can kick Marfikian backside!’

  He glanced aside again, listening, and gave a definite nod.

  ‘Acceptable,’ he stated, and added, rather grandly, ‘We will consider what you have said.’

  ‘Gratitude,’ said Martine, and remained there, smiling, till she was absolutely certain that the hololink was severed. Then she punched the air, allowing herself one moment of adrenalin release as comms opened up and she could hear the cheering and table-hammering applause roaring through the ship. ‘Yes!’

  Then, comically, she composed herself back into Fleet dignity, addressing the feed to the command deck. ‘I trust that was satisfactory, skipper.’

  ‘Eminently,’ Alex grinned back, giving her a nod of commendation. ‘Take a tea-break,’ he told her, in a tone which made it clear that was not open to discussion. ‘Debriefing in twenty minutes, all right?’

  He was still involved in ops discussions, analysing what they’d achieved and how things might go from there, when Simon called to ask for him in sickbay.

  Ali Jezno was sitting on his bunk. He’d lost some weight during his time on life support and had a tired, drawn look, but he was clearly fully awake and alert. He was wearing ship-issue sleeping rig, a grey t-shirt with a small logo of FFI: Heron. It was normally worn with shorts but Ali had a pair of uniform pants, and deck shoes, too, indicating that he had already got out of bed.

  ‘Oi!’ As soon as he saw the skipper come through the door, Ali began to swing his legs off the bunk in an obvious attempt to get up. Simon, however, was having none of that. ‘Feet!’ he said, pointing at Ali’s legs, with an imperative gesture, ‘Bunk!’

  Ali made a small noise of protest, but capitulated, settling himself back down again and giving the skipper a look of embarrassed appeal.

  ‘He’s a chopsy little tyke,’ Simon observed, with rather more approval than complaint. But he was, himself, already heading for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to mind him for a bit,’ he said, and with that, pointed a finger at Ali. ‘Stay – in – bed!’

  Then he was gone.

  Alex took a moment, just to catch his breath. He and Ali were alone – Banno Triesse had gone back to his mess deck that morning and Tina had been discharged just half an hour ago. Sickbay, like any room Simon had just left, suddenly seemed very quiet. Ali was grinning, half abashed and perhaps a little confused.

  ‘Hello, skipper.’

  ‘Mr Jezno.’ Alex walked over to the bunk and shook hands, Ali rather awkwardly.

  ‘I could get up,’ he said, evidently feeling that it was both ridiculous and rude for him to be feet-up on his bunk when the skipper was there. At the very least, he would want to sit up with his feet on the floor. ‘I’m just a bit shaky, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t argue with Simon,’ Alex said. He pulled out a folding visitor-chair and sat down, giving Ali an appraising look, and a smile. ‘So, how are you doing?’

  ‘Okay,’ Ali said, but as Alex raised an eyebrow he conceded, wryly, ‘I dunno – it’s all a bit weird, skipper. Simon says I’ve been out for nine days – can’t quite get a handle on it. He said I had a nasty bang on the head, but that don’t take you out for nine days, skipper, does it? There’s stuff he’s not telling me, and these meds, whatever he’s got me on, it’s making stuff seem kinda fuzzy, like, weird, like I’m dreaming.’ He looked at the skipper with bewildered eyes. ‘What happened, skipper? Simon said you’d tell me.’

  ‘Yes, of course I will,’ Alex said. ‘What’s the last thing you remember?’

  Ali grimaced. ‘That’s just it,’ he admitted. ‘It’s just so weird – I’ve got all this stuff going on in my head like stuff has just happened but it’s like I saw it in a movie or dreamed it, like.

  ‘I know we’re at Samart, and I think I remember us chasing them, or them chasing us. Simon told me there were Marfikians and we beat them,’ a wistful note crept into his voice, with that, ‘us and the Samartians, fighting together, taking out a trio of Thorns, wish I could remember that. But when I try to think about what happened there’s just this…’ he waved a hand, expressively, ‘noise! Like a fire alert, but louder, like, it was the only thing, the last thing I knew, and kind of like I knew it was going to be the last thing, it seemed like the end of everything. I think – kind of think – was I cat eight, skipper?’

  Alex nodded calmly.

  ‘Thought so!’ Ali seemed more pleased about that than otherwise; satisfied, at least, that he was right. ‘Simon wouldn’t say, but, you know, I wake up nine days out and all scraggy, like,’ he glanced down at himself and grimaced again, ‘Doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’ve been in a tank. So how bad was it? What’s the damage?’

  ‘You had serious head injuries – significant brain damage,’ Alex told him. ‘I am sorry, Mr Jezno, but I have to tell you that you will have some degree of memory loss. You were in a serious condition – so serious, indeed, that they had to call on me to make the decision.’

  ‘What? Oh! The decision,’ Ali realised, and did look shocked, then. ‘It was that close?’

  Alex nodded. ‘It was that close,’ he confirmed. ‘Frankly, it came down to a choice – to accept that you were brain-dead, according to conventional medical practice, or to allow Simon to carry out radical, experimental surgery. I made that call, and you’re here, obviously, so you know which way I called it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ali considered that, and was puzzling over it for more than a minute. It was a long time to sit in silence, but Alex just sat there, watching and waiting while Ali processed what he’d told him. ‘Well – thanks, skipper!’ he said. ‘Obviously, rather not be brain dead. But what’s he done, then?’ He reached up and was feeling with his fingertips around his skull and face, gently probing, mildly perplexed. ‘It feels all right,’ he said. ‘Am I missing a chunk of brain, or something?’

  ‘Or something,’ Alex said. ‘Part of your brain was damaged beyond repair, but Simon cloned replacement cells and rebuilt your frontal cortex.’

  ‘Cool!’ Ali said, looking quite impressed. ‘Is that why I’m feeling so funky? Brain in reboot, kind of thing?’

  ‘Something like that. Simon said you’ll feel disoriented for a while, till you can make sense of things,’ Alex told him. ‘Just give yourself time, Mr Jezno.’

  ‘Okay, skipper,’ Ali said, with a rueful look, but with some anxiety creeping in, too. ‘I am gonna be okay, though, right?’

  Alex didn’t answer straight away, which was an answer in itself. Ali got very still, and his eyes were fixed on Alex’s face.

  ‘Am I gonna die?’ he asked, clearly suspecting that his condition was terminal and bracing himself to face it bravely.

  ‘What? No!’ Alex said, with instant and entirely convincing sincerity. ‘The surgery was successful and you’re making an excellent recovery – phenomenal, in fact, amazing to see you sitting up and talking – half the crew were in tears when they heard you were talking and having breakfast.’

  ‘Oh.’ He took some time to think about that, too, frowning with the effort. ‘That close?’

  ‘We weren’t sure how much damage there would be,’ Alex said. ‘There was a chance you wouldn’t remember who you were, or have normal function.’

  ‘Oh. You mean I could have ended up a moron?’ Ali looked searchingly at him, apprehension rising again. ‘I’m not a moron, am I? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you, skipper?’

  ‘No, you’re not a moron,’ Alex couldn’t help grinning at that. ‘The fact that you’re asking the question should tell you that you’re not. You have, I have to tell you, lost a small amount of brain function – Simon says that you have dropped a few IQ points, which is, as he says, an excellent outcome. You may find that you have to work a little harder to concentrate and learn things, but you’ll still rank high average IQ, all
right? Our main concern is the memory loss. You lost a lot of memory, I’m afraid. Simon used a technique called rapid engramisation to help you rebuild as much of your memory as possible – that’s why you’ve been in the tank for so long. We’ve been showing you images, all the records we had about you. That’s why it feels like a dream – actually you have been dreaming, for days, forming new memories of what you did before.’

  ‘Freaky!’ Ali said, and having thought about it, ‘Like an upload from backup?’

  ‘No – more like running an algorithm to re-acquire scrambled data,’ Alex said. ‘The memories that seem dream-like are the reacquired ones. Simon says that, over time, you’ll reprocess and things will feel normal again. But that will take time, and I’m afraid that there will be blanks, some gaps.’

  ‘Yeah … I know, I’m missing some stuff,’ Ali said. ‘I know things that have happened but I don’t feel as if they really happened. And there’s stuff I can’t remember at all – like, high school, I know I went to high school and where it was and what exams I got, but I can’t remember anything about it, not who my mates were or anything. And I can’t figure out – I know my Dad died, but I can’t remember it, not when it happened or how I felt about it, and I know I don’t get on with my Mum. Simon asked about my family, see, and I told him my Dad’s dead and I haven’t seen my Mum since I was fourteen – I know I left home as soon as I turned fourteen, ran off to space and worked deckhand till I got in the Fleet, and I know, I don’t want anything to do with her, but I don’t know why. Will that clear up? Will I get my memories back?’