The companion planet eclipsed the local sun and plunged Nocturnia into an extended night. Dr. Clinton Hardgrave pulled his coat closed against the evening’s falling temperature. He moved quickly through the small throng of workers constructing the Celestial base of operations, paying courteous recognition to each as he passed.
Base of Operations: that term carried too much emotional weight, conveying a sense of militarism, violence, and primate dominance, but if the phrase applied then refuting it would be an exercise in self-deception. He consoled himself with the thought that his mission was not one of grotesque violence, but one of salvation. With the guidance of the Aguru and generations of patience, Nocturnia would be saved.
Hardgrave skirted around the pit dominating the base’s center and turned up the central street to their communications and consensus building. Inside, he passed associates working hard at their terminals, exchanging required courtesies and honorifics with each person, until he reached his private offices. Nataya waited inside, her small round face set into a hard and unforgiving expression and her close-cropped blond hair clinging to her head like an ancient warrior’s helmet.
“You’ve made a mistake.”
She ignored civility and in return he ignored that insult, reminding himself that even among his people the Aguru had crafted innumerable paths. He removed his coat, gave her a smile and a polite half bow before taking his seat. He gestured to the guest’s chair, but she rudely refused.
“I think I know what you refer to, Nataya, but let us speak clearly and plainly.”
“You know exactly what foolishness I am talking about, making that ‘Feral’ your—”
“We do not use that word.”
“It is an accurate description for anyone—”
“However, you utilize it as a pejorative. Do not hide your intention behind a facade of ‘accuracy’.”
“I will not be derailed into an argument over courtesy.”
“Then behave appropriately. Present or not, unenlightened or not, all humans deserve respect. If we forego that we start upon the same violent self-destructive path as our ancestors.”
Exhaling a heavy sigh, Nataya sat. She and Hardgrave recited the calming mantras and then shared a centering silence. Hardgrave watched her closely. He had arrived at the mission site just a few weeks earlier, but not only had Nataya already lived in deep cover among the unenlightened for more than a year, this was also her third establishment. Perhaps it was past time for her to return home before constant contact with uncivilized behavior corrupted her.
After the mantras, the silence, and the required ceremonial shared absolution to cleanse their thoughts and soothe their emotions, Hardgrave was ready to discuss her concerns.
“I did not make my decisions hastily or lightly.”
“And I am not intending to belittle or insult you. The Aguru nominated you as our new mission commander so you would hardly be unintelligent or rash. However, you are inexperienced in the ways of unenlightened humans. It is one thing to study the texts, to practice against simulations, and to hear the histories, but nothing can prepare you, not fully, for their animalistic ferocity and lack of control. You cannot trust someone raised in such a manner with any measure of responsibility.”
“Do you not trust the Aguru’s guidance? Do you not trust their psychological profiles?”
“I do, Commander, but I also know that they are not perfect and those profiles are very limited when it comes to anyone who is not a Celestial. Please, I beg of you, do not allow him access to Forge. Perhaps he will prove me wrong. Appoint him to a trusted position, listen to his advice, but do not let him have that access. Even children can do right occasionally.”
“A relationship cannot be built upon mistrust. We will need the help, enthusiastic help, of locals with the vision to see that there is a better way than what they have been taught by their parochial culture.”
Nataya started to counter, but Hardgrave continued on, employing his position’s privilege.
“I understand just how –” he searched for a proper non-pejorative word, “– unpredictable non-Celestials can be, and I have not granted Mr. Nguyen unfettered access, just enough so that he can be fully supportive of our mission.”
The verb’s tense did not slip past her unnoticed.
“I am already too late.”
“No.” He ran a hand through his light brown and curly hair. “You are right to voice your concerns, though it would be better if you voiced them in a less prejudiced manner.”
She stood.
“I respect you and your position, but they do not think like we do and they do not value life like we do.” She moved to the door. “I hope I am wrong, for all our sakes, I truly do, because either Mr. Nguyen is the valued ally you see or he is the dangerous animal that I see. There are no other options.”
She bowed and observed all protocol, but Hardgrave sensed an undercurrent of anger and rebellion. With the office quiet he considered sending a message back to the Aguru. It was time for Nataya to be at home. It was not unheard of for a Celestial to lose their balance and adopt dangerous native tendencies. Knowing that haste and emotion led to faulty decisions, he put the issue aside and turned to the work of coordinating cultural subversion.
The locals practiced a level of soft surveillance that made inserting operatives a lengthy and difficult task. In the few months since the mission had become operational they had succeeded in placing 30 Celestials within the population and half of those only since they had recruited Mr. Nguyen. Together with Nguyen’s knowledge of the colony’s computer networks and Vulcan’s Forge to break in and counterfeit the files necessary to create cover identities, the Celestials’ objective had become much more obtainable.
Hardgrave was deep in planning when the crisis exploded.
All power failed, plunging the office into total darkness. The emergency lights flickered to life and then they too failed. Using his personal slate for illumination, Hardgrave made his way through the maze of dark hallways and rooms and emerged into a base lit only by the dim reflected glow from the companion planet. Here and there the scant glow of slates bounced like ghosts from primitive superstitious stories. Faint starlight fell on the center structures and he looked up to see the camouflage screen yawning open. As he watched a flyer rose from the central pit’s transit pad and accelerated quickly through the opening.
Two hours later, after emergency repairs and medical aid for those wounded by Mr. Nguyen’s sudden violence had been attended to, Hardgrave convened an emergency meeting of the command and consensus council. The computer and power systems remained inoperable. They sat around the circular table taking notes by hand and their slates provided the only illumination.
Nataya did not crow or engage in meaningless posturing, but the facts vindicated her conclusions. Even with only limited access to the nearly self-aware computer, Vulcan’s Forge, Mr. Nguyen had successfully disabled all the Celestials’ safeguards, destroyed their backup Forge, and rendered the transit pad inoperative.
After every report had been heard in depressing totality, Hardgrave asked, “What are our options?”
“Very few,” Nataya said. “Though we have no evidence to support it, I think it is quite clear Nguyen planned this for some time, and with Forge under his control we have no ability to discover whatever identity he has created for himself.”
“We have agents already in the colony,” someone protested. “Surely they can find him?”
“We have 30 people, the colony has nearly four million. What do you propose? Search tower by tower?”
Hardgrave held a hand out, palm up, calling for civility.
“Nataya is right,” he agreed. “With Forge covering both his movements and his network footprint we have very little chance of finding Mr. Nguyen.”
“So what do we do?”
“We wait.” Hardgrave sighed. He intended it as a calming breath but even to him it felt like defeat. “Eventually he will be careless and when he does we must be ready. Eventually someone as unenlightened as Mr. Nguyen will make a mistake and leave some trail, no matter how slim, in Nocturnia’s colonial network. When he does we must be ready to act.”
So Hardgrave and the Celestials waited for Eddie Nguyen’s mistake, and after more than three years it arrived.