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Christopher
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Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296
Purgatorial Incarceration

0 posted 2002-05-27 05:22 AM


It has been a while since I've posted any new stories here in Prose. Please believe that I do have sound reasons for that. *smile* However, lately, I've felt like sharing something. So, I've brought this one out, one of my more recent pieces. As always, critiques are welcome, and comments appreciated. Letting me know if you liked it or not is really the goal.

Thanks,

Chris


No Place Like Home
©2001 C.G. Ward

James Allen, Captain of the Starship DreamCatcher, was not happy.

Had his melanin rich skin allowed, the high cheekbones of his aristocratic face would have sported bright red blotches as evidence of his anger. And had his upbringing and position allowed, the firm set of his long jaw would have been stammering curses instead of collectedly instructing his crew for more in-depth explanations. In addition, his large, uncalloused hands would have been clenched tightly, knuckles white from the pressure of an externalized anger.

But James Allen was a well-bred gentleman, first in his class in the Naval Academy. Because of this, he maintained a smooth exterior of capability while inside his thoughts traveled dangerous paths of rage and confusion.

“Ensign Palmer?” He prompted with a thick accent placing him from Boston Commonwealth. Barely directing the turn of his dark brown eyes in the direction of the Navigational Specialist, he maintained a rigid stare at the constant printout trailing down the main screen like blue-green trickles of blood. He imagined it exactly as that; the lifeblood of eleven hundred people dripping through the cold, uncaring reaches of space, at the mercy of an equally cold and uncaring computer.

“Negative Captain,” the young man responded with a slight tremble edging the tone of his youthful tenor. He simply nodded, ignoring the evident uncertainty in the ensign’s manner - he hadn’t been bred to react calmly in a crisis. His only recourse was to fall back on the relatively short period of Navy instruction, which trained a person for everything except, of course, this.

A brief round of questioning screened through the other specialists proved as unenlightening, while he continued to stare at the main screen as if by will alone he could change the reports damning them with each new item listed. He was claiming a desperate grip on his anger in the hopes that his mood wouldn’t degenerate into despair. Keeping his head level and clear presented their only chance of survival, no matter how dim that hope was.

Cringing internally, and closing his eyes - the only outward sign of his distress - he thought back to the final briefing immediately before takeoff. Even The President had been there, congratulating and wishing the new Captain of the first manned extra-systemic expedition his warmest wishes. Like everything else in his life, James Allen had accepted the President’s wishes with a salute and a smile.

“Nothing to it,” the Admirals had told him, attempting to calm the quiet, yet nonetheless present fears of a man who was about to leave his entire life... entire world behind. “You go to sleep, then you wake up at a new home. That’s all there is.” He had accepted their words as he accepted everything else. Having been bred to a military life, he expected nothing else; if it was good enough for the Navy, it was good enough for him.

So it was that he swallowed the last chunks of his reserve and gazed hungrily at his surroundings as he, the crew of the DreamCatcher, and its thousand passengers paraded through the press conference, bore the tearful good-byes, and strode proudly into the belly of the shuttle which would lift them from orbit and into space, where their then-certain destiny awaited. He had pressed the images of that last day into an internal compartment for future recollection. Their last view of home... suddenly all the things he’d taken for granted had seemed much more precious.

He clenched his fists at his sides, making sure they wouldn’t show to the crew, remembering how simple it was to have been.

The premise: search out a habitable planet and colonize it.

That Earth was overpopulated had long since been established, accepted, and written off as a lost cause. It was far more viable to fund the multi-billion dollar space venture than to try and change the mating habits of trillions of people. People did not want to curb their lifestyles - no matter how much damage they did to their planet. They refused to accept governmentally mandated birth control, and would form revolutions at the mere mention of it.

Tax them into poverty, dictate their education, and choose the color of their car, but do not interfere with their right to procreate.

Up and away, the DreamCatcher represented mankind’s ‘relief valve;’ the method by which to ensure continued existence in spite of himself. Off to new and unexplored domains, the starship was to pave the road (metaphorically of course) to a brand new future.

Encapsulated in the bowels of the DreamCatcher, the entire complement would sleep the sleep of the frozen dead through several generations’ worth of time as the ship’s automatic system scouted, dissected, discarded, and finally, accepted a planet suitable for human life. Once this proverbial Holy Grail was found, the ship would take up a stationary orbit over the largest land mass and awaken the crew from their cryogenic hibernation.

Estimates for time of completion ranged from one hundred to a thousand years; how could one guess at what might be out there? For this reason alone, finding a thousand settlers plus Naval supplement should have been difficult.

It wasn’t.

Even as the DreamCatcher was losing sight of Earth, another ship, the SecondDream, was being assembled to meet the sudden demands for immigration to the stars. Due to the overwhelmingly positive response, the DreamCatcher had been stocked with the best that could be found. Her human cargo ranged from scientist to artesian, politician to carpenter - men and women covering all ranges needed for life on a new planet rested comfortably in the bowels of the DreamCatcher, steadfastly dreaming of the life they left behind... or they life they would soon have.

Captain James himself had left a family and 43 years worth of memories back on Earth to forward a dream he believed in. As he sat in the chair, fostering worry with a stone face, he wondered if he’d made the right choice.

“Captain!” The young officer could barely restrain his excitement. Captain James wondered idly as he nodded what it would feel like to emulate the boy’s puppyish expression. With a moue of distaste, he resolutely hoped the ensign had the first good news of the day.

“Captain,” the young man repeated again. “A planet.”

Even James Allen joined the crew on the bridge in the simultaneous sigh of relief which sent a breeze of worry washing away through the corridors of their steel home. A planet. Those two words did more to free the Captain’s heart than any other the young man could have uttered.

Having been awakened by the ship two hundred thirty one years, three hundred fifty five days and seven hours after being placed into the cryo-tubes, James Allen had opened his eyes to the blackness of space. Disappointed, but not yet distraught, the captain had then ordered the ship to present him a view of the planet they’d arrived at.

“No planetary matter within range of external pickups.”

The message, blinking on and off on the main screen had threatened to destroy his equilibrium. He had been expecting that the ship was just turned away from the planet, or that it was... what? He didn’t know, but he knew that there had to be something wrong, very wrong for the ship to have wakened the crew without a planet in range.

Neither was he mistaken.

Initial diagnostics, replacing the computer’s damning declaration, had begun to list off all the portions of the ship which had degenerated throughout the long voyage. The log was surprisingly empty through the first half century, with only minor circuits - mostly redundant backups - having failed. It was then that the items began to scroll down so fast he had to have the comp-tech slow it down.

Navigational systems: dead. The DreamCatcher had been traveling in random patterns for almost two hundred years. All sense of direction was lost. They were lost.

Communications: dead. Who were they supposed to talk to anyway? Firmly rooted in the belly of logic, James Allen refused to believe in extraterrestrial life. Neither the Navy nor his religious upbringing allowed such a fancy.

Thrusters one, five, and nine: dead. Didn’t matter? There was barely enough fuel to power the remaining seven. And without a known direction to travel in, the captain had simply instructed his crew to choose a random direction and begin moving at the slowest speed possible to conserve what fuel they did have left.

Life support was failing, and the cryo-tubes were in danger of being underpowered, which was why the crew was finally called out of sleep. It seemed the designers had kept everything in mind, except for the possibility of failure.

In better situations, James Allen would have commended the attitude. But with his life and the lives of over a thousand people hanging on that surety of success, he could only curse the now-dead designers.

“Report.”

“Captain,” the Nav-Tech replied with a patient smile. “There’s nothing yet to report. All we can tell with the equipment as faulty as it is, is that there’s a planet. There are also indications of several more in succession.”

“Habitable?” He knew the likelihood was slim, but around any planetary mass they would have a better chance of recouping, of repairing the ship if such were possible.

“Unknown, Sir. We’re too distant yet to tell. When we approach closer...”

“Captain!”

James Allen spun his chair in the direction of the Radar Tech. The sound of the woman’s voice could have indicated many things, all of them bad. Examining the features of her face, he knew it had to be very disturbing at the least.

“Captain...”

“Yes Lieutenant?” He prompted calmly. He was tempted to snap at her, but made the allowance that he didn’t know what she knew, so had no idea whether or not her fear was justified.

“Captain,” she repeated again, swallowing a lump of fear and attempting to maintain her posture. “Another ship.”

He slumped imperceptibly in his chair, a pressure bearing him down that few noticed, yet which was evident in the sudden stoop of his shoulders. Regardless, his face remained firmly set, and his eyes were alight with the fervor of duty. After a moment of introspection, which he spent battling with lifelong preconceptions, he pressed the woman for more information.

“Negative Captain. I’m sorry sir, but our computers are so damaged that we’re lucky we could make out that it was a ship.”

“Can you put it on screen?” He asked with little hope tingeing the corners of his tone.

The woman bent over her screen for a moment, and punched several keys. She paused, then turned back toward the captain. “Aye sir,” she responded carefully. “I think I can do it, but it might take a while.”

“As quickly as you can Lieutenant,” he nodded. She bent over her screen one more time, then dropped down to begin digging at the cables routed beneath her station.

“Communications?”

“Yes sir,” the old Warrant Officer responded. His face, like James Allen’s, was as calm in appearance as a smooth lake. Having been with the captain for several years (awake years, the cryo-tube time not counting), he was sure that W.O. Mansfield really was calm and collected. Never in their whole time together had James Allen seen the man with a different expression on his face. He wished he personally was unaffected by the events, that he wasn’t afraid of what was approaching him, that he didn’t miss home so much.

“Anything?” He asked without hope. Communications had been one of the most damaged sections on the ship.

Home.

Waiting for the man to run his checks, James Allen realized how much home meant when one was out in the middle of space, wandering around aimlessly. It meant family and recognition, the feeling that no matter where you were, you were somewhere. When a whole planet was your home, the idea of being ‘lost’ meant nothing in comparison to the paths one could travel through the depths of space. Out here, lost meant so much more than it did with solid ground beneath your feet, satellites watching your every move, and a reasonable atmosphere to greet you each morning.

He imagined the smell of the air, the feel of the ground, the presence he’d never recognized until it was absent. He tried to use the images he’d stored on the day before takeoff to push back the tendrils of space – dark, and soul-searing cold – which threatened to rip sanity from his chest. The uncertainty that the approaching ship represented warred with his desire to simply go back to sleep; write the past day off as a nightmare.

“Captain,” Mansfield broke into his thoughts, slowly shaking his gray head. “Nothing. We think she’s sending us something, but it’s so garbled it might as well be static. We’re trying to see what we can do to pick up the gain, but with all the amps fried...” His voice trailed off, the only indication that the old man was even slightly distressed. More likely though, he had simply run out of words to say.

Doing the unthinkable, James Allen rested his head on his hand, and his elbow on the arm of his chair. Options. He needed options. But what options does a crippled vessel have in the middle of nowhere with all her instruments broken or breaking? The ship approaching could be hostile, friendly, or indifferent for all they could tell of her. Unable to see or hear, James Allen was sinking into a desperate funk. Without a word, he left the bridge and took himself to his cabin. Despite the rattling of distress in his head, he fell asleep instantly.

Several hours later, rested as much as possible, he left his cabin to view an image of the approaching ship. Communications was still working on their end, but had little hope to promise the captain.

“On screen,” he spoke to the Lieutenant through clenched teeth.

His first impression was that of size. DreamCatcher was the biggest ship ever built, designed to hold over a thousand people, cargo and supplies for settling a new world, as well as instrumentation to get them there (theoretically). The ship approaching them, while not as large in diameter, was over twice their length. It seemed to stretch across the space of the screen like a metal divider, separating their half of space from the half the DreamCatcher was claiming.

Extrusions mounted on the forward portion of the craft seemed to send out ominous waves, all but boasting themselves as weapons. James Allen suppressed a shudder at the thought of what those strange weapons might be capable of. The metal hull, bright enough to reflect the starlight back at them was bluish-gray, giving the ship the look of a giant, distorted whale, slicing through the waters of space.

Grossly distended, like pulled taffy, three slender fins spread back from the ship, one on top and two on opposite sides. While unappealing from an aesthetic point of view, they gave the giant ship the impression of speed. He knew it was ridiculous to attribute the extrusions that characteristic; in space, a bubble could go as fast as a streamlined vessel – with no atmosphere to push against, shape mattered less than nothing. He still felt, from the depths of his military training, that the ship could exceed speeds far greater than that of the DreamCatcher.

Pockmarked along the entire length were what appeared to be viewing bubbles, places where a crew could stare into the depths of space without a viewscreen. He pondered on what that portended, but let possible similarities between species wait for confirmation.

“Communications?”

“Sorry Captain,” the W.O. replied. “Nothing. I think she’s a lost cause on this end.”

“Very well,” he replied. “Then tell me what you think of that.” His finger pointed at the ship racing in their direction. It was moving far faster than a ship ought to, he thought, with another glance at the fins racing from the back of the ship like streamers in an alien parade.

Mansfield looked for a brief moment, and then simply shrugged. “It’s a ship Captain.”

James Allen looked at the old man for any hint of mockery... but could find none. He decided that his nerves were wearing thin. Perhaps he needed to rest again. “I know that,” he replied, acid threatening to leak from between the mortar holding his words together. “Any other brilliant deductions?”

The old man simply shrugged again, shook his head, then went back to his screens. It took a monumental amount of effort for James Allen not to explode, not to berate the man for... for what, his casual, calm, collected attitude?

“Approaching Captain.”

He glanced up at the screen again. The ship was obviously slowing. As it drew nearer, James Allen made some quick decisions. He’d spent the past several moments in quiet contemplation. The whole day had been one of rerouting preconceptions about the mission, his life… the world. In one fell swoop, an entire civilization was being molded into something new.

He pushed a button on the arm of his chair, wiping at small beads of sweat forming on his head. Thus begins a new future, he thought to himself before addressing the crew.

“All hands, this is your captain speaking,” he bellowed through the speakers. “Prepare for boarding. All hands prepare for boarding. Arms are to be issued and all personnel to carry full gear. Division one-oh-eight prepare for counter measures, and meet me in the main airlock. All other divisions not vital to their stations split up and maintain closure of the remaining airlocks.” He paused, taking a long breath.

“This is not a drill people, this is the real deal. We are being approached by a ship of unknown manufacture, and have no knowledge of their intent. You are not to fire unless danger presents itself. I will not start an interstellar war simply because some sailor gets jumpy at the sight of some bug-eyed alien. We don’t know what we’ll be facing, but we must all hope whatever it is, is friendly. Captain Allen out.”

He beckoned to several deck officers, including the W.O., and took them to the armory. Thankfully, this was one concern they need not foster; due to the unpredictability of what they would be greeted with on a new planet, weapons of all types had been provided for the settlers. Each man chose what suited his specialty… or fear, and helped the others to check their suits. Armed, they proceeded to the main airlock. Internal com was still active on most decks, so he was able to maintain a rapport with the bridge.

“Status?” He queried the bridge. Spread out in the room accessing the main airlock, he and a dozen others waited in varied degrees of doubt and dread. Some betrayed their confusion through various mannerisms, such as uncontrolled pacing or incessant talking. Most, however, chose like James Allen to hide whatever emotions lay in their souls behind the veneer of a calm exterior. On all faces though, were tiny beads of sweat - physical proof of the approaching uncertainty.

“Bridge! Status?” He repeated, having received nothing from the techs several decks above the main airlock.

“Captain, they’re settling now into a synchronous path with us. Distance,” the tech paused, ostensibly to check his screens, but James Allen suspected the young officer was grabbing for a hold on his fears. “Distance is roughly one-point-five kilometers and holding.”

He could all but feel the waves of concern rolling like an evening tide from the hearts of the men nearby. That ship was close! He did his best not to stammer as he told the bridge to keep him updated.

“Why am I here?”

He heard the murmur from one of the men nearby, but couldn’t tell who had issued the question. From the lack of response, he could tell that all were wondering similar thoughts. He too wondered why he was here.

A dream. It was all because of a dream. The dream of space. Wide-open, all-consuming space. Space, and truthfully, the promises it held in its secret heart. The promises of hope and glory, solutions and salvation. The belly of the black beast was the only hope for a mankind that might very well be dead by now.

Even so, James Allen mused that he would rather have his feet firmly planted, than to be routed through the fear, confusion, and indecision facing him today. He wanted nothing more than the life he’d left behind, the life he would never be able to reclaim.

Hours passed with little contact from the bridge. The men grew restless and irritable, and it was all he could do to maintain them as a viable force rather than a dissembled group of fear-filled individuals. The silence seemed to prey on each individual, both in the hold, and those on the bridge. The pangs of doubt penetrated each report the bridge passed down to those below.

At one point, the ship had begun to flash lights on what seemed to be antennas in a definite pattern. It was hoped, at first, that they might be able to decode the pattern, but James Allen gave up on the idea as they realized it was likely too alien to even hope for any measure of comprehension. The lights flashed for almost half an hour, then apparently realizing lack of progress, stopped.

More time, more fear.

Voices around him wondered at what their visitors would look like. Guesses and terrors ranged from the most mundane to fantastical. Men painted verbal images of the most monstrous and amazing creatures their human minds could conceive. When asked his thoughts, James Allen simply told them that he had no guesses, as the creatures would likely be beyond their abilities to imagine. The crew fell silent after that, and the Captain felt somewhat guilty for spoiling the only distraction they’d had since beginning the watch.

“Captain Allen.” The voice, sounded from the bridge, was neither fearful, nor confused. James Allen realized that if the aliens were hostile, all they had to do was wait. In a few more hours, his crew would be so tired they’d be unable to form a viable defense.

“Yes Bridge,” he responded, recognizing that his voice held the same timbre of exhaustion.

“There is a port opening on the nearest side.” The voice paused. “Captain,” the voice sounded with more animation now. “Something’s leaving the ship… it appears to be a shuttle.”

James Allen rubbed his forehead and cast a glance over the condition of the men around him. He was pleased to note that the impending approach seemed to have awakened some reserves in them, as if they had merely been on hold for some form of action. He almost smiled at the looks of anticipation covering their faces. Almost.

“Acknowledged Bridge. Count off distance to contact.”

“Aye Captain. One-point-four kilometers. One-point-three. One-point-two.”

The voice droned inside his head, but James Allen soon ignored it, boring his eyes and attention on the airlock as if he could render an image of the future through force of will alone. He spent what could be the last moments of his life visiting the memories of home in his mind. He replayed walks in the parks, old lovers. He paused at his father’s footsteps and gazed across the landscape of a proud but dying planet.

Waiting, he finally did let out a small laugh. Feeling his homesickness become more imperative, he found himself hoping that the approaching aliens would have a place for him to set down, to place his feet on solid ground... assuming they even breathed the same air, or, for that matter, breathed at all. Right now, he would give anything to no longer be in space. What it had once represented had faded drastically in the past day. Dreams of promise no longer held the sway they once had, once, when he had his feet tightly mounted on the ground of reality.

The atmosphere grew tense and silent. James Allen could have sworn that he could hear the dripping of sweat despite the relatively cool confines.

“Approaching main airlock Captain.”

“Acknowledged.” It took all his will to maintain a calm exterior in the face of the unknown. Time passed slowly, each second measured out by a dozen heartbeats nearby.

Clanking sounds rebounded off the hull. The crew straightened, preparing each in their own way for what would walk through the airlock. Briefly, James Allen considered barring the locks, refusing entry. But remembering the protrusions on the alien ship, he squelched the desire as suicidal.

The locks engaged, turned, opened. The inevitable mist from pressure exchange, and then it was walking through the open lock, defying all fears and uncertainty. In one moment’s passing all the waiting had come to a conclusion and all questions were resolved.

James Allen and his crew stood silently in disbelief, weapons forgotten. He had believed that he was prepared for anything; listening to the crew, despite his statements to the contrary, he’d believed he would stand tall in the face of whatever form presented itself to them.

He wasn’t prepared for what walked through the open airlock. Apparently, by their response, or lack thereof, neither was his crew. They all stood in silence as their visitor took off what seemed to be a helmet, and looked directly at Captain James Allen.

“Welcome,” he said, in perfect English.

James Allen stuttered, then barely stifled a half-mad giggle.

“Welcome,” the suited young Naval Captain repeated. “Welcome back to Earth. We don’t know what happened to your mission, but we’re glad you found your way back home.”

Slumping to the ground, James Allen began to cry. Whether from relief or despair, no one ever knew.


© Copyright 2002 C.G. Ward - All Rights Reserved
Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
1 posted 2002-05-27 07:01 AM



You did very well in having the reader feel the tenacious draw of what is missing when one is missing that which means most to them...and this requires another read.

You also do well in maximizing your talents when it comes to setting a scene with description.  I found myself watching for that, in that you just did not want "thanks, good job"...[with you it would hardly be just a "thanks"...] but look at the hour!  So again, I'm coming back, because I lot of thoughts were going through my head as I read this and I want to play fair in any analysis...

So I'll be back...

Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612
Hurricane Alley
2 posted 2002-05-27 10:34 AM


Sigh. The sign of a good story, well written, is that the reader wants more. I would like to know more please!!! Is the earth better? What happened to the second ship? I loved this story Chris. I'll read it again if you want a critique...but from a reader's standpoint, it's a good read!
Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187
St. Paul, MN
3 posted 2002-05-27 10:06 PM


Quite the story Chris, satisfied most of my story reading desires. The suspense you built was wonderful, it really draws you into worrying for all those poor souls and wondering just what that approaching ship is. The ending was surprising for me too, actually.. I was trying to figure out how you would pull it off, I figured it might be humans, but not an envoy from Earth. It made for a very satisfactory ending. Kudos Chris, I certainly hope to read a few more tails from you in here soon.

"A hard, cold wisom is required for goodness to accomplish good. Goodness without wisdom always accomplishes evil" - Robert Heinlein

Kethry
Member Rara Avis
since 2000-07-29
Posts 9082
Victoria Australia
4 posted 2002-06-01 09:17 PM


Christopher,
I agree with Kari, PDV and Dusk trader - from a reader's point of view  it is a gripping tale that left me with hundreds of questions that need answering and which I would love to see answered in print.
Just one small notation you made a typo in this line
steadfastly dreaming of the life they left behind... or they life they would soon have.

Cheers
Keth

Here in the midst of my lonely abyss, a single joy I find...your presence in my mind.  Unknown



Tiersdin
Member Elite
since 2000-11-17
Posts 2364
east coast
5 posted 2002-06-03 03:00 AM


I'd read this a few days ago but didn't have a chance to comment.

Get that book published!

~R.T.

"I shall never bond again, as I have bonded with you..."

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