Far Country

by Fanpro

  By evening the refuges had closed on the target. It sat like a huge metal egg, one hundred thirty meters tall and one hundred wide. In solitary splendor it dominated a broad expanse of chest-high kusa. Knyte tapped on the interlock of the ship's personal access door, and the portal opened at once. The smell of stale air rushed over him, and he paused for a moment before entering, almost expecting someone to protest his breaching of the seal. Only silence greeted him.

  Takuda and his troops poured into the DropShip, eager to discover all they could about what it was and where it came from. And where the people who had once crewed it? Almost immediately they came upon the human remains. These had been so well preserved in the climate-controlled environment that they were almost like unwrapped mummies, rigid at their stations or in their bunks. The computer log would hold the key.

  Takuda called all the DEST members of the command bridge of the Hideyoshi Toyotomi, where they would unlock the ship's mystery. He waited until all were gathered, then pressed the pressure-sensitive log-screen to bring up the most recent entry. The screen glowed to life, and the face of a handsome man, his features strained by fatigue and resignation, filled the square. "This is the last entry in the log of the Hideyoshi Toyotomi, which departed from the planet Salford in the year 2510. We were docked to the Draconis Combine JumpShip Raiden. The JumpShip encountered a cosmic accident of some kind, and we misjumped into this system. With the Raiden breaking up, we abandoned the JumpShip and made our way here. We believe that we are the only survivors. A breach in the pressure hull killed many of those on board, but we were able to land safely.

  "We have survived for one year at this location, but our commlink inquiries were never answered. We have discovered no sentient life with whom to communicate. It has become obvious that we will die here, for we have no way to reproduce. There were a dozen women aboard ship when we made the jump, but the breach in the pressure hull took the lives of all of them. Thus we are a society of twenty-five men. We will not survive.

  "Rather than die old and useless, we have decided that seppuku is the honorable way to depart this life. We will close the ship against the indignities of the environment, and we will reduce power output to the lowest point. We trust that at some time, when we are discovered, the Hideyoshi Toyotomi will be in a condition to bring honor to its crew:

  "This is Captain and Master Pama Tohoku of the Draconis Combine DropShip Hideyoshi Toyotomi wishing good luck to those who find us. Signing off."

  Takuda and the rest stood in silence as the transmission ended. This was the nugget at the heart of the legend. It was one of those who had fallen from the sky with fire. The survivors had not become a society that would save the Tetatae, at least not by their action. But perhaps they had, in their own way, given the little bird people a chance to live a life of freedom and security. Here, far across the mountains, it would be years, perhaps decades, before the humans of the vast plain ventured this far. Here they would have the fresh start they so needed.

  But there was now the question of the humans themselves. Here, sitting silent and barely alive, was a transport that could free them of this planet. Perhaps it would be possible to reach one of the stranded JumpShips now hanging as orbital junk above the planet. Perhaps there was a way off. And even if they could not reach the ships or get them operational, there was another habitable planet within the star system. They could go there.

  49

  Davud and Jacobs began a detailed examination of the ship. It wasn't that they were looking for something, they were looking for everything. There were so many questions that had to be answered before they could even come up with an intelligent option. The first question, of course, was whether the ship could fly. After that would come the question as to whether or not the ship should fly. And if it should, where would it go? But first Takuda needed to know if they could even get off the ground.

  On that score there was some good news and some bad news. Parker Davud had never been on the command bridge of a Vulture Class DropShip. He'd never piloted a Seeker either, but he'd had simulator training on the type. The Seeker was an ovoid design rather than the aerodyne configuration that he had brought down. That meant the ship would land on extending legs, settling straight down onto the target. His ship had operated more like an aircraft, requiring a strip for takeoff and landing maneuvers.

  Davud settled himself into the command seat and ran through the computer simulation sequence. It would take a day or two to become familiar with the instrumentation and access programs. That shouldn't be a problem, for the ship had ample reserve power in the storage capacitors. Any additional power requirements could be supplied by the Locust. There were power access ports on both the 'Mech and the DropShip, and even though there were no common cables, Jacobs could cobble something together. The bottom line was that neither man saw any reason why the ship shouldn't be able to fly. Docking was another question.

  Davud took a good look at the exterior of the egg-shaped craft. Though the interior had been sealed for the five hundred years it had sat here, the ship's exterior had not been so protected. Five hundred years was a long time for metal to resist the attacks of nature, no matter how well protected it might be. In addition, the weight of the DropShip, which was about ten thousand tons, had also affected the DropShip's situation.

  By its own weight, the ship had settled into the ground until the entire lower hull arc had pushed below the surface. The six landing legs were embedded to a depth below the access doors, and the doors themselves had buckled under the weight. They would not close, and there was some doubt as to whether the legs would retract.

  There were also signs that, aside from the ruptured area that had killed so many of the crew, the ship's outer skin had lost some structural integrity. Davud ran a pressure test on the vessel's interior, and the results had neither condemned nor vindicated the strength. The frame was still straight, the laser designator and mirrors confirming that the columns and spokes that formed the skeleton had remained true.

  The quad thrust V450s were completely buried. There was no way to test whether they would actually fire on demand. Davud had gotten a green reply from the several diagnostic programs he'd run on them, but he still couldn't be sure that they would fire. That was Jacobs' problem.

  The result of all this inspection was a "maybe" to the question of flight. Though they found no obvious reason why the DropShip couldn't fly, suspicions lurked that it would not. The only way to be absolutely sure was to try, but that was probably going to happen only once. It might fly the first time, but the chances of it being able to do it more than once were a gamble Davud was not thrilled about taking.

  Jacobs' news was not as good. Getting the fusion core restarted would be a problem because it had died long before. They could create a magnetic vessel to contain the reaction from the energy of the Locust's own reactor. It had enough power, assuming the 'Mech didn't need to move, to generate the bottle. The second problem was supplying the tritium for the reaction core. Tritium was produced by a neutron flux passing through water, which could be produced by breaking up the shielding also found around the Locust's reactor and filling the cavity with water. So far so good. They could then extract the water and use electric current to split it into hydrogen and oxygen, then dump the raw hydrogen into the fuel stream. The reaction could then be triggered by firing a laser through the tritium inside the bottle. Voila, reaction.

  The Locust's medium laser had more than enough kilojoules to initiate the process. But the biggest "but" was the impossibility of getting the laser energy into the center of the reactor housing. The only way would be to separate the laser from the Locust's chin mount and carry it into the DropShip. If all those tasks could be accomplished, the DropShip would have power. That was fine for the energy requirements of the vessel, but none of that would get it off the ground. For that they needed hydrogen fuel.

  Under normal conditions, the DropShip would be fueled with liquid hydrogen from holding tanks at a spaceport
. The Seeker/Vulture Class carried enough fuel to get off the ground, land, get off, and land again. That allowed the DropShip to land on some planet as part of an assault force and still have enough fuel to get back to the mother JumpShip and then return planetside. The Toyotomi had been fully fueled when it departed Salford. They'd landed hard but safely without rupturing the fuel cells, but time and the tiny hydrogen molecules had taken their toll. The fuel cells were less than half full. There would be enough to get the Toyotomi off the ground under normal circumstances, but neither Jacobs nor Davud considered this launch normal. They would have to generate hydrogen.

  Again, water could be charged to produce the hydrogen needed, but liquifying it would be a trick. The Toyotomi had compressors, but it would take days to create enough hydrogen to fill the tanks. Fueling was a dangerous job, and five days of it was something no reasonable pilot would want to undertake. Too many risks of an accident—a liquid hydrogen accident was usually the last one anyone would have.

  The two men explained these problems to Takuda and the other refugees. Seeing the magnitude of the decision necessary, Takuda did not believe it should be his alone. It was fine for a commander to make tactical choices affecting the life and death of his unit, but this choice would affect the future of an entire civilization. It should be made by those most affected. The little society listened in silence as Davud, Jacobs, and Goodall made their reports.

  Paul Tessarak was the first to respond. Ever since Fullerton's defection, he had become the spokesman for the humans from the enclaves. "What do we gain or lose if we leave?" he asked. "What do we gain or lose if we stay?"

  "What we gain if we stay," said Goodall, "is the absolute certainty that we will be the gods of the Tetatae for the rest of our lives. It was all right at first, but I'm not sure I want to have an entire society hanging on my every word, my every action, for the rest of my days. I want the chance to be wrong for a change. I want to be able to make a mistake without having to wonder if it will kill someone. It's getting so I can't do anything without having some loving little fur ball at my feet or at my side. I'm tired of it."

  "It isn't that I don't like them. Dakodo, Totito,

  Dokaepi, and Têopõ and the rest have all been good to me, to all of us. But I don't want to be the head shove for their society. As far as I'm concerned, I'd rather go somewhere else, and leave them in peace. Let the memory of us be enough. We'll have fulfilled their legends. We'll have led them to a better place. The legend doesn't say anything about having to stay around. I say let's go and be done with it."

  Goodall's opinion was echoed by many others. They were willing to try for the other planet, the one they now called Toku Kuni, the Tetatae word for "far country". There was nothing for them here, and if they were to start afresh, it would probably be better done somewhere else. Toku Kuni was the choice. The total human population of their group was close to fifty strong. They were enough to survive in a strange, new world. If it was possible to make the DropShip mechanically safe, if it was possible to fuel the drives for the liftoff, they were willing to make the trip.

  Tessarak had a request if they were to go. He wanted to make sure everyone knew the rules before they went aboard the DropShip. Once on board there would be no turning back. The request was seconded by all.

  This was a new experience for Takuda. Never before had he been involved in the creation of a government The officers, Takuda, Davud, Goodall, and Jacobs, huddled together with Tessarak to cobble together a form of government but the task was monumental. An absolute dictatorship with Takuda as the chief involved a whole series of problems, the most difficult of which was that of transition. Who would take over when Takuda's reign ended, and how would that time be determined? The DEST commander wanted to be important in the government, but he did not want to BE the government. The lights burned late in the DropShip bridge as they hashed over the dilemma.

  It was the body of refugees and the rest of the DEST team Who finally solved the problem. They were willing, they said, for Takuda to have absolute power in the government for at least one standard year. After that time, they suggested, the people should meet again. Yes, this would put absolute power into the hands of the military, but having seen Takuda in action in both combat and administration, they felt they could trust him. Besides, no one else in the group seemed qualified, so why not set up a government like a family with a pater familias? Their group was certainly small enough for that. According to the refugees, Takuda's greatest assets were his contemplative nature and his unwillingness to use his power in an arrogant or selfish manner. If he would lead, they would follow.

  Takuda took the news with resignation. He was proud that the members of the little society believed they could trust him, but sitting alone in his sparse quarters on the Hideyoshi Toyotomi, he wondered if he would be up to this new and immense responsibility. Now that the chain of command had been formalized, the weight of responsibility was even greater.

  There was also the problem of the Tetatae. Takuda sought out the leaders of the combined tribes. He called together Totito, Dokaepi, Dakodo, and Pikaete of the Usugumo enclave to discuss the situation. The decision that the humans, especially Goodall, Jacobs, and Takuda, were about to depart threw the aliens into a panic. They had only just decided that the humans were the symbols of their new life, and now they would be deserting them.

  "No," said Takuda, "we are not deserting you. There was the legend that other humans would come to lead you to a better life, and that part of the legend has been fulfilled. There is nothing in the myth that says that the humans will remain to rule or guide. The ruling and the guiding must come from your own ranks. You have been through a great ordeal that has shown your own ability to work together, no matter what your tribe of origin.

  "No one will come here to trouble you for some time. The leaders of the enclaves will be at each other's throats; they will not come looking for you. And even when they do, many more of your people will have joined you by them. They will hear of you and they will come. Your force will be strong. From here on, you don't need us anymore."

  50

  Mark Jacobs let the hydraulic pressure rise against the piston. The shining steel slug moved forward into the cylinder, and Jacobs watched the pressure indicator scroll upward as the kg/sq cm rose toward the liquification point of the captured hydrogen. This was the forty-seventh time he'd gone through the process, and every time he felt his palms grow wet with nervousness. The snaking hoses that led away from the pressure pump to the fuel storage tanks had been checked and rechecked each time the procedure was completed, but it still made him nervous. Jacobs was well-versed in the theory of statistics, and he knew the first rule: if there exists any chance of a disaster occurring, no matter how slight, it will happen if the procedure is repeated often enough.

  Although a liquid hydrogen leak would cool itself as it expanded, a hydrogen-rich atmosphere was not pleasant to contemplate. Any spark—ANY spark—would set it off. The only good thing was that if it happened, Jacobs wouldn't be in any condition to worry about it. He tried to console himself with the thought that he wouldn't suffer from horrifyingly disfiguring burns.

  He watched the kg/sq cm scroll to liquefication and held the pressure to let the piston and cylinder coed. Then he opened the valve and saw the hoses stiffen with the liquid hydrogen. The piston crept forward as the hydrogen rushed through the hoses to the tanks. The pressure dropped, and Jacobs began to breathe again.

  Outside the DropShip, Parker Davud had crews excavating the landing pads and thruster ports. The pads were easy compared to the difficulty of digging all the way under the ship's ovoid body to open the venturi. Finally the workers resorted to tunneling under the DropShip to reach the openings, which permitted Davud to squirm through to inspect the conic thruster exhausts. They seemed undamaged by the landing, although the number five cone showed some distortion.

  Inside the hull itself, Goodall supervised the placement of the Locust's medium laser in the fusi
on generator. The other techs had salvaged enough tritium from the coolant water of the Locust's core to initiate fusion if enough heat could be applied. The magnetic containment bottle was ready. Now it was only a matter of throwing the switches, which were, at the moment, in Mark Jacobs' pocket. He had insisted, and reasonably so, that all circuits be absolutely dead while he generated the liquid hydrogen. The only assurance he would accept was to have all the switches with him until fueling was complete. Even then, he demanded that the area be swept for pockets of hydrogen before they went any further. The more fuel he created, the more paranoid he became. As did they all.

  Sagiri Johnson took over the dismantling of the Locust, though there was little of any value still on the 'Mech. The machine guns and ammunition were stowed aboard the DropShip, although the vessel itself had plenty of inherent firepower. They would also keep the medium laser or at least the guts of it, onboard the ship. The three-meter-long barrel would remain where it was, at the request of the Tetatae. They wanted to keep the Locust as a reminder of what they had been through and as a visible symbol of their legend fulfilled.

  Takuda had granted their request, as long as the Tetatae let the humans salvage all usable equipment.. He did not know what he and his people would face on Far Country, nor did he think it a good idea to leave the Tetatae with advanced technology they didn't understand. All it would take was for one of them to figure it out to unleash a chaos they could probably not control. The fusion core would be the last thing they would shut down. It would remain in the Locust, mainly because it would not be of any value. If the DropShip's core failed, two cold power plants wouldn't do its passengers and crew any good.