Haven

by Vincent E. Sweeney

  Stephen shook his head. “I don’t think they will.”

  “Why not?” Dylan asked.

  “Well, think about it. They’re vicious. They’re savage. They’re primal. But they’re probably not all that smart with technology. I mean they’ve never attacked us with guns of any kind. They’ve never taken hostages as a strategic move. They’re animals. I bet they’re using their former masters to control the big weapon. It doesn’t feel like we’re dealing with an intellectual enemy, just a ruthless one.”

  Michael smiled, nodding. “You’re a smart kid.”

  Stephen looked to the floor. “Not really.”

  “You want to come with us?” Michael asked, stunning Stephen and Dylan both. “In case we do run into some of them on that satellite, you can show them how you feel.”

  Stephen thought for a moment, and then felt a yearning in his heart. “Absolutely,” he said, rising to his feet.

  “Alright then, Stephen,” Michael said with a smile. “I believe we have our plan.”

  Dylan swallowed a lump in his throat. He unfolded his arms and left to perform his assignments.

  The crowd of soldiers chattered among themselves quietly in the chill night air near the city’s fountain. Michael had assembled every member of his military crew for this possibly final meeting.

  Michael stepped up on the pool’s concrete ledge. The once-beautiful fountain in the square now churned black water due to the ash from the explosion. The square was surrounded on all sides by charred rubble and still-flaming debris. Along with the pale moonlight, the small fires provided enough luminance for the meeting to take place. Michael raised his hands in the air to draw the men’s attention.

  “Men, we have a mission,” he began. The crowd settled quickly, and the soldiers stood at attention while the Commander spoke. “There is a species apart from our own inhabiting this planet, and the truth is they’re not too far away. As you probably already know, they’re hostile, and they want us all dead.” At this, the commander stopped for a moment to look each of the men in the eye. “So all we can do is to kill them first.”

  The men nodded and muttered in agreement.

  “We have a way to do that. We attained a logbook from the Alpha Journey, and it gives us a hope for success. For that, I turn you over to Governor Carlisse.”

  All the men, including Stephen, glared at Michael, astounded.

  “Governor,” Michael reiterated, as he stepped down from the ledge.

  Stephen looked at the makeshift podium with bewilderment, unsure if he should acknowledge or defer the Commander’s great accusation. He then realized his mouth was hanging open, and he quickly snapped back to attention. He closed his jaw and hopped to the ledge, leaving that resolution for another time.

  “The creatures, which we know to be aliens here, have a weapon that we all witnessed a taste of this morning,” he began. “We’ve attained detailed information about that weapon, and we’ve found a way to use it against them.”

  The men had already forgotten about the shock of what Michael had called Stephen, and were now intent on every word the Governor had to say.

  “The beam of the weapon is fired from a tower to the north,” he continued. He decided it would be best not to mention the gargantuan size of the tower. “That beam is fired into the atmosphere where it intercepts an orbiting satellite. That satellite then reflects the beam to another satellite, which reflects the beam back to any given point on the planet surface.”

  The men stirred briefly, and then settled again.

  “These satellites are unmanned and controlled by a computer system which we can access from information attained by our predecessors. We have to intercept one of these satellites, engage its computer system, and program the satellite to reflect the beam back to its origin the next time it’s fired. We’ll use their own power against them.”

  At this, the crowd was lost to skepticism. The men all began talking among themselves, and some began laughing. Michael started to speak up to snap the men back to attention, but Stephen had already begun talking again.

  “Yeah, relatively simple plan, I know,” he shouted bitterly. “But there’s little else we can do. We’ve tried fleeing them, and they proved we couldn’t do that for very long. We’ve tried forting up in the city, and they certainly won’t allow that either. Unless anyone else has a better idea, we’re to going to go ahead with this plan, and we’re going to make it work. I don’t need any comments, and I don’t need any second-guessers. What I need is compliance from each and every one of you to make this thing work. Now either you try it with me, or you die without ever knowing if you could have lived.”

  Commander Lee jumped back to the ledge and stood behind Stephen. “We’re looking for volunteers to go up in the shuttle with us,” he shouted. “Any guts out there?”

  For a moment, time stood still, and no one dared move. Only the sound of the night wind stayed the silence.

  Dylan was the first to make a move. He did not care for pride at the moment. The eminence of battle had taken over his consciousness. He spat on the ground, unfolded his arms, and began walking towards Stephen and Michael. As he moved among the other men, he made a distinct effort to push each of them aside when he passed.

  “I’ll do it,” he announced, when he arrived before his leaders. “Not much left to lose.”

  Michael nodded to the warrior, and then looked back into the crowd for more followers. It wasn’t long before another young soldier, whose name Stephen did not know, came up and stood beside Dylan.

  “Ah, we should at least go out fighting,” he said. He then spat on the ground with all his might, producing a good laugh from the crowd. Another soldier began walking forward, but before he could arrive, two others had begun the walk too. Soon, all the men had congregated around the fountain in the city square, and the team was whole again.

  Stephen smiled and glanced at Michael, who could not help but smile back.

  Michael pulled a small notebook and pen out of his pocket and handed them to the closest soldier. “Each of you put your name on a sheet of paper. Dylan, you go around and collect them all and we’ll draw from a hat to see who goes and who stays. Those of you who stay will assemble our supplies and equipment, and have the shuttle ready by oh-five hundred hours. Those of you who are going had better be in bed, resting, the moment your name is drawn.”

  The men nodded in agreement and began passing around the notebook.

  “Good men,” Michael proclaimed. “By this time tomorrow, we will either be alive or dead. Either way will be honorable.”

  Kirin sat up in her bed, awakened by a lamplight shining in the doorway. Michael quickly snuffed it out, after mentally formulating his footpath across the room. He tiptoed gently to the dresser where he set the lantern down. He did not notice her watching him.

  “Eh-hem,” Kirin huffed softly.

  “Sorry,” Michael said. “Did I wake you?”

  She smiled and set her feet on the floor. “It’s okay. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I know, it’s late,” Michael said as he sat down on his bed to unlace his boots.

  “Do you want something to eat?” she offered. She lit a candle on her bedside table.

  “No, I’m fine,” he said, placing his boots beside the dresser. “How are the survivors doing?”

  Kirin shrugged. “The hospitals are full,” she said. “But we didn’t lose very many patients. It will just take some time for everyone to heal now.”

  “Well, that’s good,” Michael said. He lifted his legs onto the bed and sat up, leaning his back against the corner of the wall.

  Kirin walked over and sat next to her father, leaning her head on his large upper body. He put a strong arm around her shoulder.

  “What did you find out today?” she asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

  “It’s long and complicated,” he said. “But we’ve got one chance at survival.”

  “What do you have to do?” Kirin asked.<
br />
  “We’ve got to go back into space tomorrow. There’s some mechanical work that needs done, and then we come home.”

  Kirin remained silent for a moment. “Is it dangerous?” she asked, timidly.

  “Nah,” Michael replied instantly. “It’s no big deal.”

  Kirin recognized Michael’s usual, over-assuring tone. “What will happen if it doesn’t work?” she wondered.

  “Well…” Michael started. He looked away - thinking carefully on what to say next. “Things will be alright…no matter what happens. Even if the worst takes place, it’ll be alright.”

  Kirin nodded slightly. She noticed a beam of moonlight shining on the wedding band Michael still wore on his left hand. She reached out to touch it with reminiscent fingers.

  “I still miss her,” she whispered. “Even now...”

  “I see her every day in you,” Michael said.

  Kirin smiled at this warm flattery.

  “You know,” he continued. “I’ve never told you this, but I dream about her sometimes.”

  “Really?” she asked. Her smile grew wider.

  “Yeah,” he assured. “She even speaks with me. It feels like she’s right there.”

  “What does she say?” Kirin asked.

  “She only comes when I’m really worried over something,” he said. “And she always reassures me about it.”

  Kirin smiled and laid her hands in her lap.

  Michael turned his hand over and examined the ring himself. He noticed how scarred and dull it had become over the years. As he rolled it round and round with his thumb, Michael saw the ring in a different way than he ever had before.

  2

  Stephen lay quietly on his back, watching the stars. He had never left the fountain area where the meeting took place. He felt he would be no more comfortable indoors than outside on this night, as he knew he might be facing his own death in a few hours. He had dozed for a little while, but could not rest easily. He was afraid, but determined to succeed. There was nothing else he could do but face this fear.

  Dust still hung loosely in the air from the previous day’s attack, and so the stars were somewhat obstructed from Stephen’s view. But he did not mind. The stars had faded anyway, as the warm morning sunlight began diffusing across the western horizon. Stephen felt quite at peace with himself. He had always wanted to do the right thing - to win the respect and admiration of others. This, he felt, would be a noble deed worthy of undertaking. This would earn him the recognition he desired, whether he survived or not.

  Stephen suddenly heard voices and footsteps nearby. He sat up straight. Coming down the street toward him were the other members of the strike team. Michael Lee led the party with his daughter, Kirin, close by his side. She wore a simple white dress, her nurse’s dress, and her hair was tied back. Stephen thought she looked like an angel in the darkness, walking toward him as if to carry him off to Heaven.

  Behind the other crewmen followed a small caravan of the townsfolk who wished to see the men off on their mission.

  Michael walked up to Stephen and let the others go on towards the launch pad. Kirin stayed with him but kept still and quiet.

  “Did you get any sleep?” Michael asked.

  Stephen shook his head. “No. Not really.”

  “Me either,” Michael said, nodding. “But it’s alright.” A smirk crossed his face.

  Stephen smiled back and looked to Kirin. She smiled slightly, but was obviously troubled. Michael turned his attention to his daughter.

  “If you like, you can watch the surveillance with Byron up in the control tower,” he said, pointing to the large building behind him. It was the tallest one in the city.

  Kirin nodded. “I will. Take care.”

  Michael leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “It’ll be alright.”

  She nodded softly and smiled at them both. Then, she turned and walked toward the control tower.

  Michael put a hand on Stephen’s shoulder and began walking with him toward the waiting shuttle. “Alright, Stephen... let’s go face destiny.”

  Stephen sighed loudly then nodded in agreement. “Destiny…”

  The darkness was beginning to fade from the countryside as the shuttle lifted slowly into the air, emitting its shrill, characteristic screech. The sun would soon begin to peek over the horizon, and a new day would begin. Stephen only hoped it would not be his last. Some of the townsfolk cheered, but most just waved hopefully as the craft vanished into a group of far off clouds.

  The shuttle bumped rapidly up and down and many of the men were struggling to remain on their seats. It ascended rapidly through the atmosphere, silhouetted by the dawn of the rising sun.

  Stephen sat strapped on a bench in front of Dylan Hamish, who was staring calmly toward the ceiling with his head rested against his seat. Right next to Dylan, Michael sat with his eyes closed and his fists clenched on his seat-restraint.

  As Stephen watched the two men sitting side by side, he began to notice several attitudes and respects that both of the men shared. He noticed how similarly the two men spoke and behaved, and was interested to realize how much Dylan shadowed Michael like a son. The two men were close, whether each would ever admit it or not (which was probably better for their stiff, militaristic demeanors). Through his stern, yet caring, methods of discipline and teaching, Michael had discovered a kindred mind that looked up to him with a passion for wisdom and a fighting spirit. Perhaps, Stephen thought, Michael saw a younger version of himself in the youth next to him: bold and full of passion concerning the principles of truth and discipline. But then why had he chosen Stephen to share in this fellowship too?

  As this pondering passed from Stephen’s mind, he noticed that the shuttle was beginning to steady from its stomach-churning rattle. The awful scream gradually lowered to a faded, vibrant drone that was quiet enough to allow for low-voiced talk among the men. However, no one said anything.

  Several of the men opened their eyes and swallowed hard as their pale faces tried desperately to refrain from expressions of sickness. They were nauseated by the nervousness of not knowing what awaited them once they reached their destination; the horrendous motion of the ship also lent itself to this effect. The shuttle jostled briefly once more, and then was calm again as it raced through open space toward the closest space station in orbit.

  An equally nervous group was busy in the control tower back in the city. Kirin sat in front of a monitor in the far corner of the glass-enclosed room next to the technician she knew to be Byron. Intently, they watched the scanner display that periodically pinged back images from the shuttle’s outboard sensors and cameras. Behind them, the room was buzzing with reports of position and pressure measurements of the shuttle’s hull, and several technicians were moving quickly back and forth between computer consoles as they double-checked their readouts and sensors.

  “Distance to target: 600 kilometers…” reported one statistician over the chattering noise in the room. “… estimated time to arrival: 4 minutes…”

  Byron pressed a switch on his control panel, and his monitor display shifted to an image of the gargantuan tower outlined in pale morning light. Byron was pleased at how well the camera that Michael and Stephen had left at the site was transmitting. Although it relayed with an inevitable, minor delay, the image itself was sharp and clear with the aid of enhancement routines built into the computer’s image generator. Byron looked over to Kirin, who was wringing her hands as she watched the computer monitor.

  “They’re almost at the station. This whole thing shouldn’t take very long,” he comforted.

  She smiled in reply. “I hope so.”

  After several minutes of silent waiting passed onboard the shuttle, the co-pilot announced over the speakers, “Almost there, gentlemen... just another minute. We’ve got a visual on the target now.”

  At that, the small-screened monitor in the passenger compartment lit up in front of the soldiers. It displayed the familiar, speckled backgroun
d of distant outer space. In the center of the screen, a single, off-colored object twirled slowly in the sky and became gradually larger as the shuttle drew closer. When the entire sun-lit surface of the space station came into view, Stephen felt the shuttle’s retro-engines fire momentarily, and the ship lurched to a slower pace. He stared at the monitor display and took in, with calm fascination, the object they were rapidly approaching.

  The station was basically a large, spinning cylinder in space with several thrusters positioned all over its surface to provide accurate, calculable aiming of its reflector-plate. The station was several times larger than the shuttle and vastly overshadowed the tiny craft once it came close enough to dock.

  “All-stop!” the pilot called.

  As the shuttle slowed to an agonizing crawl, Stephen saw the large reflector-plate come into view from around the station’s edges. It was large, at least as large as the shuttle, and consisted of hundreds of tiny reflective platelets that shimmered in the faint morning sun. These were composed of a special foreign element which could reflect the aliens’ energy beams without much depreciation.

  The pilot, Joel, then announced, “Hang on tight, gentlemen. You’re in for quite a bump.”

  At that, the shuttle rocked violently, and Stephen was jostled against the inside of his harness - so quickly that he didn’t have time to prevent his ribs from slamming hard into his metal arm-rest. He winced once in pain, along with several of the other men, and then all was still.