The Galathea Chronicles

Generation-2

Chapter TwoPROSPECTING SHIPS LIKE Polestar Corp’s Galathea ran to a tight timetable. To provide an acceptable return on the company’s investment, the crew had to locate and claim at least ten resource-rich planets uninhabited by intelligent life per mission, on average. After that—or maybe before if they stumbled across a planet loaded with a highly valuable substance such as mythrin, base ingredient of blissful, stupor-inducing mythranil—the crew would start to stack up bonuses. Bonuses were the only thing that made it worth enduring the nearly endless boredom and starvation wages of space prospecting.

The ship’s master took the lion’s share, of course, and the rest of the crew’s dividends were portioned out according to rank. As chief security officer, Jas’ rank and dividends were in the middle range. She wouldn’t be relaxing in the perfumed seas of Balgamon, as First Mate Haggardy planned to do when that mission was over, but neither would she be handing over every penny she had for the most basic genetic upgrade to her as-yet unconceived child, as one of the maintenance crew had mentioned.

Not that Jas planned on having kids anyway. Her own childhood hadn’t exactly endeared her to the concept, and she had an irrational fear that her child might turn out to be someone like Master Akabe Loba, into whose blood-threaded eyes she was currently staring.

“Enough arguing, Harrington. Twelve sites. Twelve LIVs, and you’ve found nothing but some kind of bushworm, gliding non-venomous spiders, and an ambulatory slime mold. Twelve LIVs that turned up no hostile life forms or territory, and you’re still not prepared to give the all-clear?”

Loba was leaning across a horizontal screen that projected a spinning hologram of K. 67092d. They were in the mission room, where Jas had been summoned to ‛discuss’ her delay in clearing the planet for resource assessment with the master and other high-ranking officers. The master’s head was thrust into the moving holographic image, and the miniature topography played across his features, lending him an even more than usually crazed effect. His carefully coiffed, white-dyed curls seemed about to uncoil and stand on end.

Jas knew she was fighting a losing battle, but she was going to fight it anyway. She was head of security. The safety of the entire crew was her responsibility, and if she had a hunch something on a planet was dangerous, she was going to damn well act on it. She’d never been wrong before.

“I’ve already told you my reasons. It makes no sense that we’ve found no intelligent life. Those structures were built. They aren’t geological. The building material is artificial, manufactured. We’ve found nothing else on the planet like it. Something sentient made those buildings. That’s what Haggardy’s report says.” She turned to the first mate for back up. He was seated at the far end of the table and picking at his nails.

First Mate Haggardy held up his hands. “Now wait a minute, Harrington. I wouldn’t go that far. I only said we can’t conclude it’s natural or artificial. That’s all.” He glanced at the master, who was glaring at him.

Jas cursed under her breath. That wasn’t how his findings read, and he knew it. Was he planning on rewriting his conclusions? She suspected Haggardy was as interested in his bonus as Loba was, or he was even more of a wimp than she’d taken him for. He was a scientist. He should know better than to risk everyone’s lives on a lack of immediate evidence.

She swung back to Loba. “Just because we can’t find what built those structures, that doesn’t mean they weren’t built. The life forms responsible might be hiding. Maybe because they’re afraid, or maybe they’re waiting to attack. We can’t allow Resource Assess on the surface until we know more. We don’t have enough defense units to protect them from a full onslaught.”

“You seem to be getting confused, Harrington,” said Loba quietly, “with your talk of what we can and can’t do. I shouldn’t have to remind you that I’m master of this vessel.” His facial muscles were rigid. He stood straight and drew himself up to his full height, which was a head shorter than Jas’.

Her stature had always bothered him, she knew, like it seemed to bother many men. But she couldn’t help that any more than she could help doing her kratting job.

“The presence of artificial structures does not prohibit a resource claim under deep space property law,” the master continued. “Several precedents have been set where such items were found to be relics of extinct species. Maybe the structures are buildings, but if that’s the case it’s most likely that whatever created them has long since died out—”

“But the fact—”

“THE FACT remains that if there’s no sign of intelligent or hostile life after twelve LIVs, the planet’s safe enough to assess for resources. Your refusal to give the all clear is a dereliction of duty, and—”

“Sir,” exclaimed Navigator Lee, jumping out of her seat like a jack-in-the-box, “if I could—”

“What?” barked Loba, not taking his eyes off Jas, who held his glare and made a special effort to look down at him.

Lee seemed to momentarily regret her decision to come to Jas’ aid, but she soldiered on. “C.S.O. Harrington’s service has been exemplary throughout the mission,” she said quickly, and didn’t stop when Loba opened his mouth to speak, but gathered speed. “She saved many lives when we were attacked on K. 87593g.” She ran the numbers together: eightsevenfiveninethree. “The defense units were all in the right place at the right time. If it hadn’t been for her command of the evacuation, some of us wouldn’t be here right now.” She looked pointedly at Haggardy, who gazed into space.

“Your point?” asked Loba.

“I just think, if she’s worried about the safety of the planet, we should listen.”

“Thank you for your input, navigator,” said Loba sarcastically, “but if Harrington’s prior performance is under scrutiny, your example hardly helps her, does it? After all, if she was any good at her job, the crew would never have been in any danger in the first place.”

Jas ground her jaw. She’d warned him. She’d gone to his cabin and warned Loba that there had been an overnight increase in animal tracks around the assessment site, and that she recommended withdrawing the team until she could investigate. It was a warning he’d conveniently forgotten. She wasn’t going to let him forget this one.

Her fist thumped the screen and the hologram of the planet wobbled. The officers at the table jumped in their seats. Haggardy got up and backed away. “I’m chief security officer, and I’m telling you that planet isn’t safe. I can’t tell you why, and I can’t tell you when or where an attack might come from, but I know it will come, and I’m not giving the all clear. You might like to play fast and loose with the lives of two hundred people for the sake of a fat bonus and a regular supply of mythranil, but I sure as hell don’t.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth—before, even—she knew she’d gone too far. As she finished, she drew back from the screen. Everyone was still except Lee, who raised a nervous finger to her lips as her gaze flicked between Loba and Jas.

Without taking his eyes from his security officer, Loba murmured, “Hologram, off.” The slowly spinning image disappeared and without its illumination, the room became dim. No one moved a muscle to switch on the lights.

Loba was an addict. The whole crew knew. It was why no one was allowed to disturb him for six hours of the quiet shift, on threat of dismissal. It was why he dyed his hair white, to cover up the tell-tale crimson tinge. It was why he breathed quickly even when not exerting himself. In the silence his quiet panting was plain to hear.

“Your judgment is clearly impaired, C.S.O. Harrington. For your own safety and the safety of this ship’s crew, you are confined to your cabin until further notice. Should you leave your cabin without permission, you will be placed in the brig for the remainder of the mission. I’ll consider your release if you pass a mental health assessment. Haggardy, accompany her.”

The first mate rose to his feet and moved toward the door.

Jas whirled on her heel, her fists clenched at her sides, looking for a single sign of support from the other officers. Officers whose lives she’d protected on every planet they’d visited that mission. None met her gaze but Lee, who only grimaced in sympathy.

Haggardy was at the open door, waiting for her. There was nothing to do but leave. She stomped over and exited without another word to Loba or the rest of them. Haggardy struggled to keep up as she marched through the corridors to her cabin. What did it matter if she couldn’t tell them why the planet wasn’t safe? Didn’t her years of experience count for anything?

But though Jas was furious, a stronger emotion overrode her anger: fear. In her eleven years in the job, she’d never been wrong when it came to sensing danger. And all her alarm bells were ringing.

The first mate was the closest person to take out her frustration on. “Thanks for your support.”

“Harrington,” replied Haggardy, “your case is weak, and we’re on a schedule. And you certainly didn’t do yourself any favors back there. You shouldn’t have lost your temper like that. Mentioning the master’s indulgences? Bad move.”

Jas turned to him as they arrived at her cabin. “There’s something down there. I know there is,” she said quietly.

“Been running the blood yourself?” was his reply as her cabin door closed.

Chapter ThreeCARL LINGIARI WISHED for a storm. A super cell or a tornado, like the ones that swept the western New South Wales plains of his boyhood. Storms he’d grown up learning to dodge while crop dusting the family farm. Oh sure, he’d encountered a few. At the last planet but one—he never could remember those strings of Kepler numbers—the place he’d mentally dubbed Arse End of Hell, there’d been a beauty of a buster to dodge. He grinned as he remembered the RA team’s cheer when they made it back to the ship. Though the passenger cabin still smelled faintly of vomit, that had been the kind of ride that made piloting worthwhile.

Not this ferry tripping. He took his feet down from his console and scanned the instrument panel. Descent was going smoothly. All readings were normal. They were nearly there. He thumbed the mic on his headset. “Touchdown in five.” The ‛five’ was drawn out as he fought to stifle a yawn. He thumbed his mic off and put up his feet again. The shuttle could just about fly itself. It did fly itself most of the time. He was like a parent holding a toddler’s reins: only there to stop the kid from doing something stupid.

One day, Carl would pilot a starship. A starship like the Galathea. Massive starjump engines below, Raptor Xs to the rear, control and living quarters long, sleek and neat along the top. A handful of pulse cannons on the off chance they encountered a hostile space-faring life form. It hadn’t happened in the history human space travel, but you never knew. That was the kind of bird he’d fly.

Carl wouldn’t be copilot, understudy, backup-in-case-of-disaster anymore. He wouldn’t be stuck doing the school run in a rustbucket while someone else got to commute in the latest model. He stretched his arms wide, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

In his imagination, he was sitting at the control panel of the Galathea. His Polestar Corp uniform was clean, crease-free, and neatly buttoned to the neck. His pilot’s hat was on his head, set at just enough of an angle to make him look sneck. Wearing your hat while aboard ship wasn’t strictly required according to regulations, but he had the corporation’s image to consider.

Yeah, he would fly that bird through space with style.

A tall, shapely female figure appeared in his daydream. She moved to his side in the pilot’s seat on the Galathea’s flight deck. Who was this? Could it be C.S.O. Harrington, in her tight-fitting combat suit? And what was she doing? She leaned down to whisper in his ear. She had to tell him something important and personal, something that couldn’t wait. As she leaned toward him, her breasts came so close to his face he could feel their warmth—

“Landing gear lowered.” The shuttle’s announcement sounded in the cabin, loud and formal. Krat. Drawn roughly back to reality, Carl’s feet landed on the floor with a thump. He checked the instruments again. No problems. Through the plexiglass window, he saw the planet’s surface rising rapidly. To one side, about five K from the landing site, was one of those hexagonal structures. The rest of the view was mostly ocean. The RA was to take place at a shoreline.

The sun was coming up, and the RA team would have about five and a half hours before it set. The day promised to be uneventful for Carl, who would wait for the team to take their samples before he had to shuttle them back to the Galathea. He wasn’t allowed to leave the immediate vicinity of the shuttle in case there was an emergency and they had to make a quick getaway, but that wasn’t so bad on this planet. He didn’t think he’d ever been anywhere so boring. The shuttle touched down and rolled across the stony beach to a stop.

“Prepare to disembark,” Carl said into his mic before pressing the switch to open the airlock. He removed his headset, undid his harness, got up, and pulled on a jacket. They were on a warmer landmass compared to some on the planet, but the temperature remained chilly. By the time he opened the cabin door, the RA team had left, and the passenger cabin was empty but for First Mate Haggardy, who was supervisor this trip. The team was sticking to the master’s orders to get a move on and gather their samples and data. Carl went between the rows of seats and out the airlock. He jumped off the ramp, landing roughly on loose pebbles. He staggered.

As he straightened up, he saw that one of the RA was lingering by the shoreline, her back to the others, who were retrieving their equipment from the hold and setting out to get their samples. Her shoulders were shaking.

Carl went over and stood behind the woman, unsure what to do. He glanced back, but no one else seemed to have noticed her. Gently, he laid a hand on her shoulder. The woman jumped a little and turned to him, hastily wiping her eyes.

“You okay?” Carl asked.

“Yeah,” the woman replied. She looked at her feet. “It’s just...it isn’t how I imagined it would be. Space travel, I mean. I thought it would be exciting, adventurous, you know? But instead it’s...kinda...”

“Boring, right? Is this your first mission?”

“Yep. I signed up straight out of college. Everyone else on board seems to have friends already. People they know from previous trips.” She looked down again. “I don’t seem to fit in anywhere.”

Now Carl remembered her. He’d seen her sitting by herself at meals. He’d thought that was what she liked to do, or he would have sat with her. Some people were loners. Was her name Pasha or Sasha? He couldn’t remember, and it would be embarrassing to ask. He had a feeling she was with geo-phys.

“You fly the shuttle really well,” the woman said. “I hardly felt that landing.”

“Huh, the shuttle just about flies...I mean, I trained for five years...to fly starships, and...” He faltered. “Looking forward to a good day...taking...rock samples?”

She laughed. “I don’t take rock samples. I operate that.” She pointed to a large metal instrument another member of geo-phys was pulling out of the cargo hold. It looked like a device for torturing medium-sized, warm-blooded mammals. Like humans.

“Right,” replied Carl, nodding, “I see. And that’s a...”

“GPR. Ground Penetrating Radar.”

“Hmm...” He rubbed his chin. “Thought I recognized it.”

The woman laughed again. “You’re funny.” She paused a moment to look at the ocean, then back at Carl. She pulled on an earlobe. “After we get back, I don’t suppose...” She paused and looked away. “Do you want to meet up for dinner?”

His eyes widened. “Sure, that’d be great.” But where? The ship’s refectory was the last place aboard for a potentially romantic dinner. “I tell you what, meet me in the shuttle bay when you’ve freshened up, and I’ll bring something special to eat.”

Carl had been hoarding a care package his mother had sent him for the mission. She did it every time he went away. Now would be a good time to break into the tinned and packaged luxury foods.

“Okay,” said the woman, smiling. “See you then.”

Carl watched as Pasha or Sasha went to the other side of the shuttle to pick up her torture device. She wasn’t Harrington, but she seemed really nice and in need of a friend. Harrington was confined to quarters anyway. Personally, he thought the woman’s quick temper was sneck, but Loba didn’t agree. But Carl wasn’t going to pine over her. It wasn’t every day a Pasha or Sasha invited you on a date.

***