Children of the Old Star

by David Lee Summers

  McClintlock noticed that the captain's back seemed to straighten with that last statement. He felt a sense of purpose emanating from Ellis. Wishing he could mimic the captain, McClintlock said, “I have a menu to prepare."

  * * * *

  "Mr. Yermakov,” barked Ellis as he stepped out onto the command deck. “Status report!"

  The first mate was typing commands on a holographic projection of a control console. He sniffed, rubbed his nose on the sleeve of his blue flannel shirt, and then looked around at Ellis. “No problems here, skipper,” he said.

  The captain took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Are we ready to get underway, then?"

  Yermakov looked toward the screen then changed his holo console to a status readout and back to a console again. After thinking for a moment he shrugged. “Nope."

  The omission of the word “sir” irked Ellis. He knew it was not required aboard a civilian ship. It bothered him nonetheless. “Do you care to elaborate, Mr. Yermakov?"

  The first mate sniffed again, then shrugged. “We're still taking on supplies, energy packs, that sort of thing. It should all be in your briefing packet. Besides, we've yet to receive destination orders from the boss."

  "We know our destination, Mr. Yermakov,” snarled Ellis.

  "We know we're going to Zahar,” conceded Yermakov. “But via which route? It's not a direct jump. Five of the routes were mapped within the last week. Do you know which five?” Yermakov put his hands on his hips. “Which of the ten remaining routes do we take? Or, are we mapping a whole new route?” The mate shook his head and returned to work.

  Ellis moved forward and gripped the back of the command chair until his knuckles turned white. He looked forward at the holographic display, showing the Earth rotating below the ship. In the display, it looked as though one could reach out and touch three separate space stations. Forcing himself to relax, he felt the eyes of all the officers on the command deck staring at him.

  Ellis turned his attention to Natalie Papadraxis. Her long hair was tied in a braid running down her back. Instead of the floral print dress, she wore shorts and a bikini top. She smiled vacuously. Laura Peters, wearing the same type of brown jump suit as the day before, slowly turned her attention back to her work. Ellis sighed, realizing that his task of shaping up the bridge crew was not going to be an easy one nor was it off to a good start.

  Ellis stepped to the front of the command chair and put his hands on his hips. He looked from Papadraxis to Peters to Yermakov. “I think it's important for me to emphasize that while this is a civilian ship, I am still its master. I do require a minimum of discipline. When I request a status report, please give me a complete report.” Peters turned her attention from her work back to the captain. Having everyone's attention, Ellis nodded, satisfied, then sat down next to his first mate. Softening his tone a little, he continued. “I admit, I'm new to mapping vessels. When I request a status report, please realize it's to help me keep the ship running smoothly."

  Yermakov turned so he was facing the captain more directly. “Start then by realizing that we know our jobs.” He put his hands on his knees.

  "And I know mine,” said Ellis, with an edge in his voice. The captain looked to the floor for a moment, then looked back up into Simon Yermakov's deep brown eyes. While the lighting on the command deck was bright, Yermakov's pupils seemed large. The captain pursed his lips and stood. “If you need me, I'll be in my office.” With that, he shook his head and left the command deck.

  As the captain sat down behind his desk, he looked up, startled to see that Natalie Papadraxis had followed him in. She stepped up meekly and sat down in one of the chairs opposite the desk. “You have a lot of pent up hostility, Captain."

  "Not hostility,” said Ellis shaking his head. “What can I do to help this ship run more smoothly?"

  Papadraxis’ gaze drifted around the room before it settled back on the captain. “Perhaps you could call him, Simon,” she said dreamily. With that, she stood and left the room.

  Ellis slammed his fist down on the desk. If he were going to get in contact with the Cluster, he would need a disciplined crew, not a bunch of spoiled brats. He would need people who could respond to orders quickly. The captain took several deep breaths and attempted to calm himself. “I am the captain,” he told himself firmly. The captain's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” he called vaguely annoyed.

  Kirsten Smart's frame filled the width of the door. “May I come in?” Her tone was curt and formal.

  Ellis held his hand out toward the chair opposite the desk. She came in and sat down. “What can I do for you, ma'am?” asked Ellis.

  Smart took a deep breath and folded her hands. “I understand you were just out there blustering about discipline. One of the crew says you implied they didn't know how to run this type of ship."

  Ellis sat forward. “All I did was request a complete status report from Yermakov,” he explained. “I would hope my first mate could produce a more lucid answer than ‘nope.’”

  "Did you read his status report on the computer this morning?” Smart folded her arms. “If you had, I think you would have found it more complete than anything he could give you verbally."

  "The ability to provide a succinct verbal report is necessary in times of crisis,” said Ellis, standing.

  Smart held out her hands. “What crisis? This is a mapping vessel."

  Ellis rubbed his hand through his hair, leaving it tousled. “What is Yermakov taking?"

  Smart looked like she had been slapped. “What? What do you mean?"

  "The constant sniffling. His eyes are dilated. He seems capable of standing up to me when you say he shouldn't be able to. He's on some kind of medication,” said Ellis. “I don't need my officers impaired."

  "He's probably taking Proxom. He's not a natural leader. As first mate, he's under a lot of stress.” She shrugged. “I may not want him in command, but I don't want him to snap either. You're not helping by yelling at him."

  "You asked me ‘what danger?'” retorted Ellis, pursing his lips. “What if Yermakov gave me an incorrect report because of the drugs? What if he took too much and passed out?"

  "You should talk,” said Smart simply, but seemed to check herself. She stood and put her hands on Ellis’ desk. “You are awfully uptight about something."

  Ellis thrust his hands in his pockets. “Is it so wrong to want discipline on a star vessel? After all, we're surrounded by vacuum. While I'll concede it's a civilian ship, our lives are on the line all the time we're out here."

  Smart looked to the deck and wrung her hands. After a moment, she looked up again, her gaze softening. “Okay, I'll agree, some amount of discipline is necessary.” She moved away from the desk. “But, your style of discipline may be hard for most of this crew to swallow. You might try ruling with kid gloves, not an iron fist."

  Grudgingly, Ellis nodded. “I'll try it your way."

  "Good,” she said, turning to leave. As she reached the door, she turned back. “Think about losing the beard, it doesn't look very professional."

  * * * *

  Kirsten returned to her office and fell into her chair rubbing the bridge of her nose. She had just blurted out the suggestion to shave the beard. It came out sounding like an order.

  On one hand, she supposed she did it to see if he would bend to her will. On the other hand, something about his face seemed familiar and the beard seemed wrong.

  She tried to remember the last time she actually watched the holo news, rather than listening to it. Somehow, she thought that if she could remember that date, she might figure out why she asked Ellis to shave.

  * * * *

  That afternoon, Ellis emerged from his office. “Simon,” he said, carefully modulating his voice. “I read your afternoon report. It sounds like we're ready to depart for Zahar in the morning."

  "That we are, Skipper.” Simon Yermakov stared forward at the viewscreen.

  Noticing they wer
e alone on the command deck, Ellis sat in the chair next to his first mate. Leaning over, the captain whispered, “I understand you spoke to the boss after I'd asked you for a report earlier."

  Yermakov's eyebrows came together. “It wasn't me,” he said, flatly. The first mate turned to look at the captain. “I may not agree with your ideas about discipline. More to the point, while I don't like your style, I figure you'll settle down after a while."

  Ellis examined the two empty stations at the front of the command deck. If Yermakov was not the one who went to Smart, he wondered who was. “I'm glad to hear it wasn't you,” said the captain. “I prefer my officers come to me if they have a problem."

  "I prefer my captains read my reports before they demand them in front of junior officers.” Yermakov's eyes were still forward.

  Ellis arched an eyebrow and stood to leave.

  "If you're here for a bit, I figured I might take a coffee break,” stated Yermakov, wryly.

  The captain fought an urge to inform his first mate of his place. “Sure,” sighed Ellis as he sat down. The command seat had never felt so hard.

  * * * *

  That night, Ellis stood in the lavatory, in his quarters, staring in the mirror. He debated whether he should shave his beard or not. Neatly trimmed as it was, it did not look unprofessional to him. Besides, he thought, who aside from the crew was going to see it? The captain continued to tug nervously at the beard. Finally, he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  About the same time the captain acknowledged the knock, G'Liat stepped into the room. “I understand there have been some teething pains, today."

  "You could say that,” said Ellis, stepping from the lavatory and taking a seat at the table. He gestured for G'Liat to do the same. “Do you think I should shave?"

  The warrior remained standing. “That seems to me to be a personal decision.” G'Liat stepped over to the bunk and looked out the view port. “Do it or don't. It makes no difference to me."

  "Ms. Smart thinks the beard makes me look unprofessional.” The captain's shoulders slumped.

  G'Liat moved with feline grace from the window to the chair opposite the captain. “If you think shaving will make you a better warrior, then shave. Some of your kind think it's a necessity. Do it for yourself. Do not do it for her."

  Ellis shrugged. “Today, my confidence has been shaken. In the military, I knew how to command a ship.” Ellis stopped. “I should say, I thought I knew how to command a ship. Now I'm not so sure I do."

  G'Liat's body grew rigid. “Are you saying that when we find the Cluster, this crew won't follow you?"

  Shaking his head, Ellis stood. He moved over to the bunk and flopped down on it. “After commanding the Firebrandt I thought I had it all figured out. I won the loyalty of that crew by being strong. I'm not sure how to win the loyalty of this crew."

  "Perhaps you are trying too hard,” pondered the warrior. “Did you win the loyalty of Firebrandt's crew by being strong, or by being yourself?"

  Ellis pondered the question and looked out at the stars. “Have you ever been to Zahar?"

  "It's a beautiful world.” G'Liat folded his arms on the table. “The oceans are especially delightful. A mariner such as yourself would be impressed.” The warrior lay his head on his arms.

  "How would you know?” laughed Ellis. “Rd'dyggians would be crushed on the surface just the same as humans."

  "I've seen it through their eyes. I've been in the minds of some Zahari. While unique in their own way, they are not unlike your friends, the whales."

  Ellis folded his arms and looked over at the warrior. “Do you suppose the Cluster will be there?"

  "At Zahar?” G'Liat shook his head. “I suspect we have much farther to go to find the Cluster."

  Ellis tapped his fingers on the table. “Where do we go?” asked the captain, growing more agitated. “How do we get there?” Ellis let out a sigh. “Do I want to get where we're going? I don't know anymore. You keep hinting that there's more for me to learn. What must I learn?"

  "You must learn to be a warrior,” answered G'Liat simply. “To do that, you must learn to communicate."

  "To communicate, I must know who I am.” Ellis sighed. “I thought I was the captain, by nature. Also, the military trained me well. They made me a pretty good warrior."

  "No,” said G'Liat. “They taught you how to be a soldier, not a warrior. The Cluster lies on the path of knowledge. Only a warrior survives on that path. A soldier is merely cannon fodder."

  "Where do we start?” asked Ellis with a shrug.

  "When we jump, listen as the beyond sings the song of time. When you begin to understand the lyrics you will be ready to confront the Cluster."

  Ellis’ brow creased. “But you failed in your attempt to talk to the Cluster. How would you know when I'm really ready?"

  "I'm still learning the melody. I hope you will teach me the words.” With that, G'Liat stood and left the room.

  * * * *

  Manuel Raton was worried. Fire had left for work early in the morning. It was now late at night and she hadn't returned home. He stepped out of the Ellis home into the fog. Raton shivered in the chill, wet air. His bones seemed to ache and his breathing felt labored. He almost thought something would jump out of the fog and attack him.

  "Manuel, you forgot to lock the door!” called Coffin's scratchy voice from the fog.

  Raton jumped and let out a yelp. “Uh ... yeah, thanks,” he said. “I just thought I'd take a walk up to Fire's office and see what's keeping her."

  "She's probably afraid of your cooking,” retorted Coffin. “That stuff's so damn hot, no one could eat it.” Coffin closed the door. Manuel heard the bolt slam home.

  Raton shook his head. “Can't get any decent chilies on this damned island. Too hot, my ass,” he muttered as he felt his way through the fog. After walking for fifteen minutes, Raton cursed, realizing he had ambled up the wrong street. He found a side street that took him around a corner. Ultimately, he found his way to Vestal Street, home of the Maria Mitchell Association. He held on to the white picket fence that surrounded the observatory. From there, he could just make out the faint glow of Fire's office, just off the Association's library. He ambled across the street and let himself in the building.

  Fire looked up at Raton when he entered and smiled.

  "You're late for dinner,” said Raton.

  "Oh,” gasped Fire. She looked at the clock on her holo-terminal. “I hadn't noticed the time. Sorry.” The office was paneled in wood. Wooden shelves lined the walls, filled with ancient, but real books. Fire's desk was an antique that had been modified so that the holo-terminal was incorporated into the top. Around the desk were assorted storage disks and crystals.

  "Find anything good?” Manuel threw himself into a chair across from Fire's desk.

  Fire shook her head. “Mostly stuff I already know. The Titans have always claimed that they evolved on Titan. However, it doesn't wash. There are no naturally occurring lower life forms. The architecture has always been the same. The only ruins look exactly like the buildings do now. As best as we can tell, their technology hasn't changed in over three thousand years."

  Manuel shrugged. “I thought that the Titans said that they foolishly killed off the lower lifeforms when they were more primitive."

  "No fossil record of any lower lifeforms,” countered Fire.

  "How do you know? They rarely let scientists outside of their respective domes. There's a lot of Titan that's simply unexplored, except potentially by the Titans themselves."

  Fire stood and stretched her arms over her head. She walked around the desk and planted a kiss on Manuel Raton's nose. “The Titans are hiding something. They're lying about their past. If the fossil records were there, they'd show them.” She reached back and touched her control pad. An image of the Cluster came up. She touched the pad again. This time, a picture of the domes came up.

  Manuel shook his head. “Silver spheres and silver domes. So what if
they look the same?"

  "The dimensions are identical,” said Fire flatly.

  "Are they made out of the same material?” asked Raton.

  "Who knows?” Fire turned off the display. “No one's scanned the Cluster. But, I'll tell you this. The alloy used to construct the oldest Titan domes is not known in this galaxy."

  "Ay, carajo!” Manuel leaned forward. “How did anyone find that out?"

  "The Rd'dyggians performed some scans almost a thousand years ago. Seems they've always been suspicious of the Titans."

  "Just like humans have been,” said Manuel, sitting back in the chair.

  "Just like humans,” said Fire, nodding.

  "So, what do we do now?” asked Manuel.

  "All of this only demonstrates why we're skeptical that Titans are really locals. There's maybe just a hint of evidence that they're tied to the Cluster somehow. None of it answers where the Titans came from.” Suki Ellis shook her head, her lips pursed. “What do we do now? We go home for dinner.” She slid into Manuel's lap.

  "Then?” asked Manuel, hopefully.

  "To bed,” grinned Fire.

  "What about the Titans?” asked Manuel.

  "They can get their own sex,” said Fire, playing with Manuel's long mustache. Manuel pursed his lips. Fire shook her head. “The next question I have to answer is whether I can learn to operate Titan data retrieval systems. If so, maybe we can do a little spying."

  "Now that's what I want to hear!” said Manuel, his grin growing broadly.

  Fire pouted, letting her lower lip protrude. “Spying on Titans sounds more fun than sex with me?"

  "Spying on Titans sounds like more fun than kicking around the house with Old Man Coffin, I'll tell you that,” grumbled Raton.