Somar couldn’t afford to keep to himself. This presented him with a great deal of discomfort, but it was unavoidable. His species was naturally solitary most of the time. Large social engagements were rare, and they were certainly less flamboyant and chaotic than what he’d seen of human gatherings. Officers among his people were even more reclusive, keeping social interaction down when among one’s subordinates. It was a means of maintaining propriety and preserving authority.
But above all, Somar himself was a solitary person. Even among his own people, he preferred to remain by himself. He had excellent relationships with his immediate subordinates and his superiors, but he rarely attended celebrations or parties, and even state functions were something he would avoid if he could.
It had been a point of contention with some of his superiors. Norchek, the admiral who had promoted Somar to the rank of Captain, had been particularly concerned about the man’s apparent introversion. In fact, it was the reason he had ordered Somar to take part in the Human-Esool Exchange Program.
“It will be good for you to be among the humans,” Norchek said. “The ability to interact with others is what gives an officer strong leadership skills. You are a good leader, Somar. But you could be a great one.”
“I understand,” Somar said. Though in fact, he didn’t understand at all. He had led men for some time now—many decades in fact. In the conflict with the humans, he had led troops of men in battle. He had led a crew of men into intricate combat in space. He had led men since he was just a cadet. How would living among the humans make him a better leader than he already was?
But it was not his place to question the orders or wisdom of his superiors. Norchek had proven himself to be a brilliant leader and a true friend. Whatever reasons he might have for wanting Somar to be involved in this experiment, they would be good ones. For both Somar and the Esool.
At present, however, it wasn’t his own people that concerned him. It was the humans. For the first time since that conversation with Norchek, back on the Esool home world, Somar saw that he would have to form relationships, not to be a better leader but to simply survive and to keep these people alive as well.
It was proving very difficult.
“Why should we listen to the scrub?” he heard one of the Blue Collars say. It wasn’t meant for his ears, of course. Or maybe it was. After all, there were few places that could be considered private, here in the shadow of Citadel. And the man had spoken quite loudly. “He’s not an official officer of the Earth Colony Fleet. He’s not even human!”
“He has an honorary rank,” one of the Blue Collars said in Somar’s defense.
“Honorary! I’m an honorary member of Commander Carrot’s Cartoon Cavalry, but does that make me an animated vegetable?”
Several crewmembers laughed. “Tell ‘em, Jack! Maybe the scrub knows Commander Carrot personally!”
“Come on, this is insane,” a woman said. From Somar’s vantage point, it looked like one of the White Collar crew. One of the veterinarians, he thought.
“What do you care, he’s not a puppy,” spat another White Collar worker. “He’s an alien. And I can’t help but notice that we crashed and nearly died on an alien world. Didn’t the Esool want this one for themselves?”
“They want all of them!” someone shouted.
“They agreed to let Earth put a colony here. It was part of the treaty.”
“Some treaty,” the first Blue Collar, Jack, said derisively. “They convince us to split up the good worlds, and then they send one of their agents to sabotage us.”
“We don’t know that,” the woman said sternly.
“I know what I know. I know that I’m stuck here, planet-side, instead of back on my ship heading for my next assignment. I know that after the hundreds of lightrail drops I’ve been on, this is the first one that’s ever gone wrong. I know that I nearly died. And I know that one of those green-blooded bastards was right there when it all went bad!”
There were plenty of grumbles of agreement in the crowd.
This was not a good situation. The humans were afraid and looking for someone to blame. They were looking for an enemy at a time when they should concentrate on bonding and working together. Somar knew that the situation was becoming more and more volatile and would require some sort of action to head off disaster. He would have to decide what to do, and quickly.
Whether they realized it or not, these people needed a leader, and he was best qualified for that position. Unlike the humans present, he had actual command experience. And he was obviously far less volatile. Several times since the crash, he had been forced to intervene and bring peace between the Blue Collar and the White Collar crews. It seemed to be a constant battle. They just could not understand that they were all in this together, a group of humans in a bad situation on an alien world. They were determined, it seemed, to stick to their prejudices and class distinctions.
These people needed a cool head in charge. They needed Somar, whether they realized it or not. It was time to take action.
Somar stepped out from where he’d been seated. The reaction was immediate as many of the humans realized for the first time that he’d heard everything. Those who assumed he had been listening from the start were suppressing grins or open expressions of hostility. They were daring him to attack them. They were daring him to defend himself.
Somar moved deeper into the crowd, past Jack and his gathering group of malcontents. To the humans, he must have appeared to be oblivious to them. He continued to step ahead as if no one were before him. And if anyone refused to move from his way, he would step around them and then immediately step back to his path. His steps were deliberate, focused, and intent. Many of the humans watching seemed enthralled by what they surely assumed was some sort of strange, but purposeful, alien behavior.
Somar, however, was making this up as he went along. The only thing he knew for sure was his destination, and that he wanted all eyes to follow him.
Now he arrived at the base of the module, which rose above him and broke through the tree line into the blue sky. The sun had moved past the mid-day point and was now glinting from some of the more polished surfaces of the module. As the humans looked his way, Somar made sure that he was square in the midst of the near-blinding reflections. He stepped up onto one of the equipment crates that had been brought out from the cargo bay, and as all eyes locked on him, some shaded by palms or caps, others narrowed in squints, he spoke.
“This is Citadel.” His voice was strong but quiet. He had not shouted, as many had expected him to do. He had not used a tone of arrogance or authority. He had simply made a statement of fact.
The response of the humans was silence. Mostly. There were some titters from further in the crowd. From his vantage point, he could see clearly the faces of everyone present. There were some who were scraped and bruised. All were dirty. Many were belligerent.
After a pause he said again, louder, “This … is Citadel!”
He raised his arms and turned towards the gleaming tower. Moments before it had merely been wreckage, a standing symbol of chaos, a routine landing gone horribly wrong on a planet impossibly far from home. Somar, though, was turning it into a symbol for something else.
He turned back to the crowd. “We stand now in the reflection of light. And in this light, we are all the same. White Collars, Blue Collars … scrubs.”
He paused to allow them to laugh if they felt like it. Few did.
“This is Citadel,” he said again, looking deeper into the faces of the humans. “And just like its namesake, it is a fortress, a stronghold. It is hope.”
The crowd had become completely silent now.
“When we crashed on this world, we were individuals, each with our own lives and agendas. Each with our own loves and our own prejudices.” He moved his gaze over the crowd as he spoke, pausing slightly at intervals, giving the illusion that he was talking directly to each person. “Now we are much more,” he said.
“We are not a crew. We are not an army. We are not a town or a colony or a civilization.” He paused for a long moment, and just as the humans were becoming uncomfortable with the silence and the unspoken, inevitable question of who—if none of these things—they now were, Somar filled in the answer. “We are family. And a family divided is one that will fall.”
He looked around at the faces of the humans as they covered their eyes, straining to see him amidst the reflected glare. “If we do not ban together now, if we do not bond now, we will die. We will be as a tree whose roots are too far from the water it needs to survive. We will become dry and brittle, and we will break. We cannot afford to stand alone. We cannot afford to look away or look inward. We cannot even afford to look to small clusters of friends. Isolation here, now, means death to all of us. We stand now, not in the shadows of isolation, but in the light of strength, of community … of family. This,” he said indicating the wrecked vessel behind him, “is not Citadel.” He turned back to the crowd and held his arms out wide, including everyone present in the virtual embrace. “This is Citadel. This. Is. Citadel.”
Suddenly someone in the crowd shouted and clapped. Then others joined. It was small, but it was there.
“This is Citadel!” he shouted.
More shouts, more applause.
“Citadel!” someone shouted from within the crowd.
“Citadel! Citadel!” someone began chanting.
“Citadel!” others joined in. And soon the chant took hold, rolling like a wave over the crowd, and Somar raised his voice to join it. And as he stepped down from the crate and into the crowd, he saw even those who had been belligerent and angry were suddenly galvanized, chanting and cheering and striking the air with their fists.
As Somar moved through the crowd and back toward the command center they had established, he felt that maybe, just maybe, he had accomplished something here. For the first time, he felt less like an outsider, the “alien captain,” and more like a member of this community—of this family.
As he passed Jack, his detractor, the man met his eyes with an angry stare. He said nothing, but continued to watch Somar even after he’d passed.
No family, Somar thought, is perfect.
The shuttle settled to the ground in a clearing about three miles east of where the first pod had crash-landed. The temporary heat sink that Mitch and Alan had rigged had done a good job in keeping the engine’s core temperature down for a time, but they were at the very limits now. It would be some time before the engines cooled enough to allow them to lift off again.
The terrain in this region was rocky and uneven, and looked to be worse to the west. It wasn’t going to be easy to retrieve the pod.
Mitch, Alan, and Thomas had pulled on packs with food, water, and climbing gear. “Ever do any rock climbing?” Thomas asked.
“Not really,” Mitch said. “Hard?”
Thomas shrugged. “Never tried it. I was a lab rat.”
“Gear head, here,” Mitch grinned.
“It’s not easy,” Alan said. Mitch and Thomas looked at him as if they’d just remembered he was there, which was pretty close to the truth. “Especially if you’re used to artificial gravity.”
“Great,” Mitch said. “I can hardly wait to discover the joys of the real thing.”
Reilly leaned in from the doorway leading back to the crew chamber. “You sure I shouldn’t be going with you? Wouldn’t it be easier if four people carried this thing?”
“Sure,” Thomas said. “But in case something goes wrong, you’ll have to fly the shuttle back to Citadel.”
“Besides,” Mitch said, “once the shuttle cools down, you might be able to fly in and help us get the pod out.”
“Why not just wait until the engines cool, and we can fly there? Why go for a hike when you don’t have to?” Reilly asked.
“The shuttle won’t be cool enough to launch for hours,” Thomas said. “In that time, we might be able get to the pod and maybe even be back here. If the images from our entry are any indication, there are a lot of these things scattered all over. Some of them may be damaged. Time could be running short for some of these people.”
Reilly nodded, obviously not thrilled about being left behind.
Mitch, seeing the faintly frightened expression on Reilly’s face, pulled her aside. “Hey, we’ll back as soon as possible. Just track us on the nav computer. We all have beacons. You’ll have to be our eyes and ears as we get closer.”
“I know. I can handle it. I just … well, I’m not really used to being alone.”
Mitch laughed. “What, you miss me already?”
She smiled and punched his shoulder, hard. “Just don’t get yourself killed, Mitch. And take care of Alan.”
“What about Thomas?”
She looked at the White Collar engineer, “Something tells me he can take care of himself. But yeah, look out for him, too.” She paused then, looking at him, as if considering something. Then rushed forward and hugged him tightly. Before Mitch could say anything, she turned and hurried back to the pilot controls.
“Well,” Thomas said from behind him, “we’d better get going.”
Mitch turned, his eyes wide with surprise. He blinked, nodded, and hit the release for the cargo hatch.
Since the shuttle wasn’t pressurized, there was barely a noise as the large cargo door settled down to the ground—just the sound of the hydraulics and the low hum of the motor, followed by the crunching of gravel as the door settled in. The three men stepped down the ramp and were making their way over the rocky terrain in no time.
Mitch reflected on the spontaneous hug and took a quick glance back at the shuttle. He grabbed the wireless from the shoulder strap on his pack. “Shuttle this is Search Team,” he said.
“Go ahead Search.”
“Just … checking the comms,” Mitch said.
“Everything’s clear. Don’t forget to wind them.”
“Roger, out.”
He looked at the other two men who were obviously suppressing smirks. “I had to test the comms,” he said.
“Of course,” Thomas said.
“Charge your batteries,” Mitch grumbled, and unfolded the hand crank from the back of the wireless, turning it as they walked. When the charge meter hit green, he folded the handle back into the radio and clipped it back to his pack strap. The others did the same, grinning the whole time.
The day was a little warm, and after walking for half an hour, they stopped and opened their jumpsuits, letting the top portion fold down and hang around their waists. Mitch took a sip of water from his canteen. “This may take longer than we expected,” he said.
Thomas was studying a photo print of the map they’d used to get here. “The terrain’s pretty rough. It’s going to slow us down quite a bit. But I don’t think it will be much longer. I figure we’re about halfway there.”
Mitch nodded. They moved on, trudging through snagging brush and rocky terrain.
“This reminds me of when I used to go camping with my grandfather,” Thomas huffed as they made their way through thick brambles and rock-strewn patches.
“Yeah? What planet did you grow up on?”
Thomas seemed to hesitate. “I was Earth-born.”
“Earth?” Mitch said. “I didn’t think there were many unoccupied areas left on Earth.”
Again Thomas hesitated, as if composing an answer. Mitch took note of the brief hesitation, wondering what it might mean. “There are a few patches here and there, I guess,” Thomas said. He obviously wanted to let the subject drop. Mitch wondered what he was hiding, but decided not to pry. For now.
“Your hands seem to be ok,” he said, changing the subject.
Again there was hesitation.
“Yeah, well, they’re not hurting anymore. I think they weren’t as bad off as everyone thought.” As if to demonstrate, Thomas held up his hands and slowly flexed them.
Mitch nodded, then turned his attention back to the rough terrain. If Thomas had secrets he felt the need to keep, then that was his business, wasn’t it? Mitch personally had no real secrets. Nothing anyone would be interested in learning, anyway. Growing up in starships, where privacy was limited, secrets that stayed kept were rare. Still, Mitch understood that there might be some bits of a man’s past that he would want to keep quiet. So be it.
Alan had moved a bit ahead and suddenly stopped. “Wreckage,” he called back to them. They hurried forward to the slight rise where he stood, to get a better look.
Sure enough there were bits of wreckage spread out on the landscape in front of them. Large sections of the colony module lay strewn in a great swath of destruction. The distance was deceptive, as they looked as if they were close by. In reality the huge chunks of metal were miles away.
The three men were silent for a time. Finally, after looking at the horizon of twisted metal for a few minutes, Thomas asked, “Can any of that be salvaged? Used to repair Citadel?”
“Maybe,” Mitch said. “But it’s going to take a larger expedition than what we’re on at the moment. I’d say we’d need to bring a large crew back here. And we’ll need the shuttle to be in better working condition.”
“So we need parts to fix the shuttle, so we can go get the parts we need to fix the shuttle,” Thomas smiled.
“Irony sucks,” Mitch nodded.
It was Alan who came up with a plan. “Once we have a few of the pods rescued, we could land the shuttle near where the control deck crashed,” he pointed to one of the nodules of the craft that jutted out over the terrain ahead. “That will have the majority of what we’ll need to get the communications system up and running again.”
Again Mitch nodded. “And if we can spare it, we should try to make an attempt to salvage a couple of the propulsion and coolant systems from the atmospheric engines.”
“Those are pretty far apart,” Thomas said. “It might add a couple of days to our trip. We’ll be outside of our window.”
“What if we went for the engine parts first?” Alan asked.
The other two exchanged glances. “You mean, before we rescue the pods?” Thomas asked.
“If we have fully functional engines, we can make better time on getting the pods.”
“Damn,” Thomas said. “Why didn’t we think of that?”
Mitch was shaking his head. “That’s not the mission. Captain Somar ordered us to make the pods a priority.”
“He’s right,” Thomas said. “And those people may be dying as we speak, if the pods were damaged. Time is a factor here.”
“The pods would still be the priority,” Alan said. “With working engines, we can get to more pods in a shorter time. It might make a difference in how many we can save.” He was intense but not insistent. It actually surprised Mitch that the young man was so mature. He believed that his plan was the right way to go, but he wasn’t insisting that his idea be followed. He was willing to give his opinion and then let the people in charge make their decisions.
Mitch looked at Thomas, who was clearly trying to determine the best course of action. “You’re leading this mission,” Mitch said. “It’s your decision.”
“What do you think, Mitch? What’s your take?”
Mitch shrugged. “He has a point. If we got the engines back online and working properly, we could get to more pods in less time. It’s a gamble, though. Even if we find the parts in decent condition, it will take some time to rebuild the engines.”
“How much time?”
“Maybe a day,” Mitch answered.
Thomas thought for a moment. “If we are able to make better time to the other pods, though, that day won’t cost us much. We’ll actually be able to come back ahead of schedule and go out for the next run.”
“That seems to be it,” Mitch said.
Thomas immediately came to a conclusion. “ok. We know there’s at least one pod between us and the wreckage. We’ll continue on and make the first recovery. We’ll also pick out and clear a landing zone for Reilly, and when she’s ready she can make a hop close by so we can load up and head for the wreckage.”
That was as good a plan as any. Alan seemed to nod his approval as well. Mitch found himself feeling a deep respect for both men. Alan was proving to be resourceful and intelligent, and Thomas, secrets or no, had a good head for this kind of thing.
He pulled his radio and called to Reilly to let her know about the new plan.
Somar was perplexed by what he was seeing. After studying the survey maps and the satellite images for the past couple of days, he could come to only one conclusion.
They were not where they were supposed to be.
At first, he had accepted Mitch Garrison’s suggestion that some of the survey maps might be missing. But after carefully searching through every map he’d found, he was satisfied that the entirety of the planet was laid out before him. Now that the computers were powered up and working, he confirmed that there was no data loss, and the digital maps matched the paper prints precisely. The satellite telemetry, which was spotty but functional, provided him with a landscape that diverged wildly from the survey maps.
These surveys had been made by satellites that had been thrust into orbit by an open lightrail beam only a year earlier. As the network of lightrail hubs expanded further into the galaxy, the number of newly discovered planets increased exponentially. Satellites were sent to potential colony worlds with precision and a great deal of planning, and only to the worlds that hit specific markers for supporting life.
The satellites were, in effect, small lightrail hubs. Digital technology could not function at light speed, and no known signal could traverse the wide expanse of space fast enough to be useful to anyone receiving it. So once an exploratory satellite was within orbit it could use the lightrail to fire memory modules back to a distant hub. There the data would be inspected and scrutinized by engineers and scientists. It was a complex but precise process, all in the name of finding new worlds to colonize. And it worked extremely well.
Somar often marveled at the ingenuity of humans. His people had a system of exploring the stars that was very similar but incurred a greater cost. They would load their starships with what they needed, say goodbye to their loved ones, and accelerate to light speed using their own version of the lightrail—a near-solid beam of light that propelled their vessel to faster-than-light speeds. However, unlike the lightrail system developed by the humans, with its variable beam strength, the Esool beams remained at constant power levels. An Esool vessel would be propelled onward until the beam weakened, and they would emerge … somewhere.
The Esool had long ago managed to calculate the odds of a planet being able to support life, based on its placement in the solar system, the “wobble” of its orbit, and thousands of other tiny, minute metrics. It was a complex process that was not without its failures, but it had led to the colonization of many worlds. And with their own network of “hubs”—in their case not space stations but relays that held precise positions in space to form a web of lightrails—the Esool had managed to mirror the human’s development and expansion in their own corner of the galaxy. The only advantage the Esool system had was the greater range of their lightrail beams. They could explore further, if not faster.
Plus, the longevity of the Esool, with lifespans spanning centuries, made it less risky for them to spread out and explore. And they did so, in great swathes, settling roots into the soil of any rare, habitable world they could find, exploring the universe, seeing all of its wonders open before them as buds of leaves open to the light of the sun.
It was inevitable that the Esool and the humans would one day collide in a dispute over a world. Habitable worlds were, after all, quite difficult to find, and even more difficult to reach. Suddenly discovering another race of beings out there, in competition for a world you had sacrificed so much to find, coupled with barriers to communication and cultural misunderstandings—war was inevitable.
And it was a bloody, brutal war. The humans were passionate and easy to rise to the call of hatred and violence. The Esool, on the other hand, met human fire with an icy efficiency. Each was particularly skilled at killing the other, and both were determined that they would dominate. The fighting raged for decades.
All wars, however, must come to an end. The brutal battles between human and Esool were taking their toll on both sides. Colony worlds were decimated, made uninhabitable. Vast, fragile threads of the lightrail web were torn and shredded. The humans had the advantage of flexibility in combat, but the Esool outmatched them in patience and long-tail planning. Gradually it became evident that if the war continued, both sides would lose. Treaties were drafted. Plans to share resources were made. And the first tentative steps toward peace and cooperation were taken.
The war was now over. Humanity and the Esool had become … not friends. Allies? Partners? Somar thought of them as fellow explorers on a trek among the stars, who finally, after years of fighting and dying, had agreed to disagree, and to move on in tandem with each other. Now, when one of the human satellites found a world worth visiting, they shared that knowledge with the Esool. And both races worked together to improve the range and stability of the lightrail, combining the Human’s variable-strength technology with the Esool’s power distribution systems, and refining the ability to identify habitable worlds with complex metrics and ingenious systems.
Together the two races were refining and perfecting star travel and using it to find more habitable worlds. Then both races would decide, together, who should dig their roots into newly discovered soil.
With the Human-Esool Exchange Program, though, for the first time Esool and Humans had decided that they might be able to share one of these worlds—or at the very least share the exploration of it. We’ll work up to cohabitating later, they felt. One day, we’ll both set foot on a world and call it home. But this was a good start. The satellites went forth to find new worlds, and together the humans and the Esool would expand outward into the Universe.
It was a good system, and it was proven. It worked. Hundreds of planets were discovered by these satellites, and the data was always reliable. So why, now, did Somar have before him two very different maps? Why did he now have a screen filled with contradictions?
How had they landed on the wrong world?
It seemed impossible. The odds of a miscalculation by the computers, both Esool and Human, were astronomical by themselves, but what of the odds that this miscalculation might inadvertently lead them to a different habitable world? Was it possible that this planet and their target were, perhaps, in the same solar system? That was almost as unlikely as finding a habitable planet at random.
The simplest explanation—the “Occam’s Razor” as the humans called it—must be that someone planned Citadel’s route to this world. Was it part of the sabotage?
This seemed unlikely as well. Why would a saboteur plot a course for a world where the crew might survive?
If they were lost, they could still conceivably reconnect to the lightrail network. The strength of the beams weakened with distance, but any connection was enough to get the ship moving. Citadel was equipped with three lightrail relays, intended for dropping along particularly lengthy routes. These would be enough to strengthen and maintain the lightrail beam and get the vessel back to civilization.
Had the saboteur made a mistake? Surely he hadn’t intended for Citadel to reach this world safely. Were they meant to crash into it?
Again, the odds were impossibly high against it. First, it would mean that the saboteur knew of the world’s existence. Second, with all of the uninhabitable, inhospitable worlds in the galaxy, why would he choose one where potential survivors could live? For that matter, why not choose to deposit the ship into a star? Somar thought this would have been a much more likely plan, if the goal was to destroy the colony.
There were many questions, and Somar did not believe he had enough information to form any answers. The only things he knew for sure were that someone had intentionally sabotaged Citadel and that this, the world they now stood upon, was not the planet that had been their original destination.
So the real question was, where were they?
“Captain Somar?” a voice came from behind.
Somar turned to see crewman William Sans. “Billy,” as his crewmates called him. “Yes, Mr. Sans?”
“The satellite link is working … sort of.”
“Explain, Mr. Sans.”
Billy looked uncomfortable, or maybe he was annoyed. Somar wasn’t yet able to read the emotions of humans very well. They wore every emotion, all at once, on their face and skin. It was like being deluged with information all the time. But clearly the crewman was struggling with something.
“The satellite link works, but we’re not getting any two-way comms from the orbital platform. And the orbital satellite … the original scout probe … it seems to be malfunctioning. It’s like it isn’t there.”
Somar nodded. He knew that the probe satellite was actually not there, because they were on the wrong world. But he felt it best to keep that knowledge to himself for now.
“Maybe it was damaged when we entered atmo,” Billy said. He seemed to be uncomfortable with Somar’s silence, and was filling it with any idea that popped into his head.
Somar had seen this before. His own people spoke only when there was need, but the Humans seemed to feel compelled to fill every silence with words. To put the young human at ease, Somar said, “You have done well, Mr. Sans. Has there been any sign of communication from the orbital platform?”
Billy relaxed slightly and nodded. “We’re getting a feed from the orbital platform but no response to our transmissions. I’ve checked the transmitter, and it’s working. The platform’s communication array may have been damaged. But so far, there hasn’t been any word from Captain Alonzo or anyone else on the platform.”
Somar gave a brief nod, “At least, we are assured the platform is there. That means there is a good chance they all survived and are simply dealing with their own difficulties at the moment. Very well, Mr. Sans. I expect you’ll continue to monitor the satellite communications?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. And what about contact with the recovery team? Now that satellite comms are working, have we attempted to reach them?”
Billy hesitated. “Well … no. I … I didn’t think to. I was trying to reach Captain Alonzo.”
“Do you not agree that making contact with the rescue team might be a priority, Mr. Sans?”
Billy’s face went through a series of minute, tiny contortions. Somar might not be able to read the expressions of the humans with any certainty, but he was sure that this young man was angry. When he spoke, his voice was tight. “Yes, sir. I believe that is a priority, sir.”
Somar paused for a moment. The young man was angry, no doubt, but he seemed willing to adhere even more closely to formal protocols of address than usual. He was respectful. Still, it seemed as if he were using that formality as a form of attack. Somar fought the urge to sigh. He would never understand humans. “Very well, Mr. Sans. I trust you’ll make contact.”
The young man only nodded and turned to leave without a word.
Somar reflected on the conversation. He was unsure what he might have said or done that had offended the young man. Perhaps Sans, like many of the others, simply resented having an alien in charge. Or perhaps he resented being on this world in the first place. Billy Sans was a Blue Collar, one of the crew that stayed perpetually in space. The idea of being rooted on a planet might be causing a great deal of frustration and distress among the Blue Collar crew. Somar felt he should address this, but for the life of him he had no idea what he should say or do. His own people yearned for the soil beneath their feet, for the moisture in the air, for the sun on their skin. Being on a planet’s surface was always preferable to being in space. But he understood that to some of the humans, it was the change that they resented. Humans were addicted to a familiar routine, it seemed. They craved it, longed for it. When it was gone, in whatever form it had taken—space flight, a colony, a house, family and friends—it was taken almost as an act of war. The reaction was similar, anyway.
“If I cannot have what makes me whole, then I will destroy what makes me weak,” Somar said to himself. It was a quote from the Book of Nolad, the great Esool philosopher. It was a warning to the reader that living beings—Esool, human, or other—will seek strength and power as a means of survival. To the humans, Somar knew, strength and power could be as simple as “familiarity” and “stability.” Having a home they recognized and felt comfortable and safe in gave them the power they needed to survive. Take that away, and they would resort to the only means left to them—war.
War requires an enemy. The greatest danger here, on this unknown alien world among the crashed ruins of the colony ship, was that the only enemies present were the humans themselves. And, oh yes, the strange, alien Captain that many already resented because he was somehow put in charge of their fates. He was hardly anything to them, however, if they decided to strike. He was one man, and he would fall easily enough. It was the division in the crews that would supply the real war. It was Blue Collar against White Collar in the minds of many of the survivors.
So what could be done about it? How could this war be averted? Somar knew of only two possibilities.
One was for Captain Alonzo to contact them, instruct them, and eventually rescue them. He could take the Blue Collar workers back to their place of comfort and power, the ship whose thin walls were the only protection against a death by decompression in space.
The second way, however, was much more under Captain Somar’s control—the rescue of the sleeping colonists.
If the colonists were returned safely, their sympathies would be much more in line with the White Collar crew. This would mean a sudden shift in the balance, with one side taking dominance. It was a sad truth, but Somar knew all too well that peace was often a function of domination by one side. At present, the number of White Collars and Blue Collars was fairly equal, and tensions, resentments, and outrages were already rising.
It was a like a fire. The flames could start small, but they would no doubt rage, soon enough. Just as one would control a large fire by using several “break fires,” Somar could keep this fire in check if he could bring those colonists home.
At least, that was what he was counting on.
If only he could contact Captain Alonzo. The Blue Collars trusted him, and the White Collars respected him. All of the humans would see him and the orbital platform as a symbol of authority and hope. They would feel that rescue was imminent.
But what if it wasn’t? What if they were truly stranded here on this world? They had one working shuttlecraft, which at present could not even make it out of the atmosphere much less initiate a lightrail beam. If, by some chance, the orbital platform was damaged beyond repair, along with the starship module that Captain Alonzo commanded, then Somar and the humans would find themselves in what would surely be an untenable situation. And such feelings of weakness and helplessness were exactly what the great philosopher Nolad had warned against.
Somar felt the need to stand in the sun and stare into the sky. It was an old tradition of his people, whenever they sought comfort and spiritual guidance. If ever these were needed, it was now.
There was a crackle from the comms. “Shuttle, this is base camp.”
Reilly had been going over the launch checklist, and she fumbled with the transmitter controls.
“Base camp, this is Shuttle! I read you. Is that you, Billy?”
“Yeah, Reilly. I’m glad we could reach you! The alien asked me to contact you guys.”
The alien? “Can I talk with Captain Somar,” Reilly said, placing a bit of emphasis on the Captain’s name. She couldn’t understand why there was so much hatred towards him. The war was over, wasn’t it? This idea that he might have had something to do with the crash was stupid. It was pure racism, and she wasn’t going to be a part of it.
“I’ll get him.”
The comms went silent, and Reilly found herself regretting the lost connection. She hadn’t realized it before, but being alone in the shuttle while the others were out hunting for the colonists was starting to get to her. She had never really been alone for so long in her life, and it was starting to wig her out a little.
“Shuttle, this is Captain Somar. I am pleased that we could make contact.”
The Captain was so formal it made Reilly smile. She liked him. He was a true leader, she felt. Maybe a bit starched, but he seemed friendly enough. “Captain, it’s good to hear your voice. Have you heard from Captain Alonzo?”
“No, I’m afraid not. How is your mission proceeding?”
“Slowly. I’ve been idle for hours, Sir. The boys all took off to get to one of the pods, and I’ve been waiting for the engines to cool. But it looks like there might be a slight change in plans.”
She explained to Somar about the crash site, as well as the plan to repair the shuttle and, hopefully, to be able to get to the colonist stasis pods more quickly.
“It is a good plan, but not without risks,” Somar said when she had finished. “If they are unable to repair the shuttle then the whole endeavor will cost us time.”
“Yes, sir,” Reilly said. “But if they can get her fixed then we’ll more than make up for it. That might make it worth the gamble.”
There was silence on the other end, and Reilly was afraid for a moment that the connection might have been lost. “Very well,” came Somar’s reply, finally. “Tell them they have my full approval. They are retrieving one of the pods first?”
“Yes, sir. It’s between us and the wreckage. And for all we know, there may be a lot of pods near the crash site, too.”
“Agreed. Then I will leave you to your work. Please give Misters Thomas, Garrison, and Angelou my compliments.”
And the connection ended.
Reilly felt as if she’d suddenly gone deaf and was reeling from the loss. She hadn’t realized how much she missed the constant communication she’d had onboard Captain Alonzo’s starship. Nearly her entire life she had been a Blue Collar, living primarily in space and only setting foot on ground when she piloted passengers and cargo to and from an orbital platform. This little stint after the crash represented the longest in-atmosphere experience she’d ever had, and she was pretty sure she hated it.
As soon as they could repair the shuttle and get these colonists back to Citadel, she was more than ready to get back into space. Captain Alonzo would have her and the other Blue Collars back to something resembling normal in no time.
She hoped.