Chief Elder Rubinku tumKeren, waist-long red hair braided and looped around his neck, stood by himself in the council chamber, his arms behind his back. He thought about how well this season had gone for the entire extended clan. The river flooding had been the greatest ever. After the crops were planted, his pater, Kerenku, also one of the council elders, had said he could not remember ever seeing so many fields in use at once in his entire life.
With how many fields they’d used, the early crops had given up enough that there was so much available to be bait. The gartane herds, attracted by the feed laid out for them, had been numerous beyond count. They had just about walked up to the hunting shacks and towers, pressing in against each other to eat. As a first, there were so many of them the senior hunters consulted with both the elder and shaman councils, asking when they should stop slaughtering gartane — for it truly had been slaughter, not hunting — to provide meat for the clan. The farmers had joked among themselves they wanted to capture some to find out if they could train them to pull the plows, replacing the lintaks which had done just that for so many generations.
Additional smokehouses had been built by the clan to prepare all the meat for storage. The overpowering smell of smoldering wood had mixed with the mouth-watering scent of smoked gartane to permeate every building. For many tendays, everyone had woken up with spit-drenched bed coverings, barely able to breathe, hungry for meat.
Rubinku smiled. With harvesttime finishing in not much more than another tenday, the clan was already planning for the harvesttime festival. This year, obviously, it would be a large one. To make it even more pleasurable, his first wife, Ulinka, had reminded him it was more than 4 rotations since he had expanded his house — so it was long past time for him to consider doing so. His smile grew greater, thinking of the young women he could dance with and woo this festival … and, if Ulinka approved, perhaps more than just that.
His face then darkened, brought back to his responsibilities as the chief elder, as he remembered the predictions of the senior shaman, Hinsku tumYalek, only two tendays earlier. Sensha Hinksu had stood before the elder council, a disemboweled baby lintak spread before him on a table. With his head covered by incense-infused wrap, he’d felt through its innards, saying the clan should be especially happy for the harvest and hunting they’d had. The winter, though, would be an exceedingly harsh one. Snowfall, he’d said, would begin after only two more cycles of Wekta, the minor moon. Each cycle was five tendays, but, still, that was far too soon for the comfort of any of the clan.
As he thought about what other preparations were needed before first snowfall, he suddenly heard a loud thundering noise from outside, up in the sky. It seemed to pass overhead, coming at first from the direction of the nightward Serletu mountains but then heading towards the fields.
<<Tal’!>> he shouted towards the entry archway.
After a grain, his son, Talenku tumRubin, came running in. <<Yes, pater?>> Talenku’s hair was just as brightly red as Rubinku’s, but hanging loosely down to his shoulders. After all, he was still a couple of rotations shy of being old enough to wed, so he wasn’t allowed to let it grow longer.
<<What was that?>>
<<I don’t know. Through a window, I saw something go by up in the sky, coming from over the mountains. It seemed to be burning.>> Talenku thought for a moment and then corrected himself. <<Well, there was much smoke coming from it. I didn’t see any flames. It was heading to the fields.>>
<<Damn! If it’s caused a fire, we’ll need to call the clan to put it out. You’re one of my runners! Go out to the fields and find out what it was! Take another runner with you so someone can report back while you stay there! Do you understand?>>
Hearing the dutiful final question addressed to him, Talenku straightened to attention. He realized he was now being called on to fulfill his role as a council runner, not simply standing there as a son of the chief elder. His feet slammed together and he crossed his arms in front of his chest. <<Yes, Chel! I hear and obey!>>
With that, he turned and headed out through the archway, already running.
Almost a turn passed before another runner, Gebveku tumWenla, came dashing into the council chamber. Since there had not been an ongoing cry, Rubinku was reasonably certain a fire had not started in the fields.
<<Geb’,>> Rubinku asked. <<What happened?>>
<<Chel,>> Gebveku was gasping, trying to catch his breath. He was not one of the elders’ children, but he was a good young man and an excellent council runner. <<There was a giant silver … box … that came and settled in one of the empty fields. The farmers said there had been smoke pouring from one end of it until just after it was in the field.>> He paused, taking deep breaths to be able to speak. <<Then, a mouth opened on its side and … a MAN walked out on its tongue!>> His eyes widened as he said this, still unable to believe what he was reporting and what he had seen.
<<Yes? And then what?>> Rubinku urged him to continue.
<<Chel, I saw the man standing there, next to this silver box. I don’t know what he’s wearing. It is … it is tight against his body, and without any sort of fur on it to keep him warm. And … his hair is so short! Like a baby’s! How could he be a grown man with hair so short?>> He shook his head in disbelief before continuing. <<He was standing there, sometimes saying something, but it is just sounds coming from his mouth. No one understands anything of what he says.>>
Damn, thought Rubinku to himself. There was no way this could be a good thing. <<Gebveku, I need someone to go back there as quickly as possible. Are you able to run back to the field, or must I call another runner?>>
The youth stood up straight, eyes shining as he heard himself being addressed directly by the chief elder to perform a mission. <<I can run as fast as any of the other runners, Chel! I could be there and back in the time it would take you to call another one to this chamber!>>
Rubinku smiled, remembering his own childhood, when he had been a council runner and completely unwilling to admit inability to do anything. <<Very well. You are to run back to the field. Once you get there, walk over to the man who came from the silver box. Stand to attention before him, and then gesture for him to follow you and start walking — and you must walk, not run — back here, leading him. If he doesn’t follow you, go back and wave for him to follow you, although I believe he will.>>
The runner’s mouth opened, as he realized that the chief elder seemed to have some idea of what might be going on. <<Chel … will it … will it be safe? I am unarmed. Should I have a weapon?>>
<<Absolutely not! I guarantee you will not be harmed. He will follow you, he just needs to know it is you he is to follow. Do you understand?>>
Hearing this, Gebveku crossed his arms, and responded with the formality, <<I hear and obey!>> He then spun around and began sprinting back towards the field.
<<Runner!>> Rubinku called out.
Barely a grain passed before another runner entered the room, coming to attention. <<Chel?>>
<<You are to find at least two other elders and tell them I need them to come here. Try Pardaka tamFilgen — she should be at her house. And I know my pater, Kerenku, is at my house preparing for harvesttime festival. If you can’t find either or both of them, start looking for any of the other six elders. You must have heard what Gebveku said. The two you find — tell them of the man in the silver box and that he is coming here. Whoever you find, they must be here within a turn! And tell them I want them to be armed! Do you understand?>>
<<I hear and obey!>> The runner crossed his arms and turned to run out.
With that accomplished, Rubinku headed into the chief elder’s personal side room. Against one wall, there was the room’s weapon rack with his scabbard and belt resting on it, seemingly just waiting to be worn again. Strapping it on, the sword felt comfortable resting against his hip as it always did, balanced against his dagger on the opposite hip. The dagger was always there, but, for him, wasn’t quite the same without the balance. Even though he’d only used the longer blade for practice over the past several rotations, it was like it had never left his side.
Now to wait for the other two elders … and this oddly dressed, short-haired man … to arrive.
Pardaka and Kerenku entered the council chamber at almost the same time. As he’d asked, they were carrying their weapons — swords sheathed on their hip, daggers opposite — just as he wore his. In addition to what he’d been told to say, the runner had probably told them that Rubinku had asked for two elders, so they didn’t say anything until both were there. Once both of them were, though, they turned to Rubinku, questions clear on their faces.
<<I have no idea. According to the runner who returned from the field, it was a <silver box> and a man, with short hair and not wearing fur-edged garments, stepped out from a mouth on its side. I’ve got Gebveku going back to lead the man here. That’s as much as I know right now. There’s clearly something wrong and who knows how bad it’s going to be?>>
Kerenku put his hands on top of his head, grimacing slightly. <<Uh-oh. All I can say is that I’m glad this was your rotation to be chief elder. I think I can speak for Pardaka,>> he nodded towards her, <<and all of the other elders when I say that I wouldn’t want to be Chel for this.>>
<<Oh, thank you ever so much, pater. Your support is deeply appreciated.>>
Pardaka took the opportunity to smile. <<Rub’, you know that you have the support of all of us. Next rotation, I’d be Chel and needing to deal with this. We have faith in you. Don’t worry about it. Just lead the clan through whatever this is. You understand that, right?>>
<<Yes, Chel-to-be.>> Rubinku smiled and came to attention, crossing his arms as the runners had upon receiving orders. <<I hear and obey.>>
<<Oh, stop that,>> Pardaka said, laughing. <<You don’t get to push this off onto me. This is still all yours.>>
With that, both Pardaka and Kerenku walked to their council seats, settling down. <<Any idea how long it’ll take until he gets here?>> asked Kerenku.
<<No idea,>> answered Rubinku, thinking about the time involved. <<It took runners a little over a turn to go out, find out what was going on and come back to report to me. Since they won’t be running back, we’ve probably a bit until they arrive.>> He sighed. <<I guess I might as well also get comfortable until then.>> Having said that, he walked over to the chief’s seat, a little elevated from the other elders’ seats at the edge of the room. He sat down, facing the entrance, mulling over what would be happening very soon.
In just a few ticks, Gebveku walked into the council room, followed by, as he’d described, a very odd looking man, with hair so short it was barely even visible. The runner stood to attention. <<Chel! As you ordered. I have led the man from the silver box in the field to here.>>
Rubinku smiled. <<Very good. You have done well. Now, please, leave us. You are to close the door behind you. No one other than another council member is allowed to enter. Even then, a council member must be announced and granted entrance before the doors may be opened. Do you understand?>>
Gebveku crossed his arms. <<I hear and obey!>> and then walked out, closing the doors. They thudded together ominously, leaving the council room lit only by torches and the late day sunlight filtering in through the glass windows on one side of the room.
The elders sat there, looking at the strange man; the strange man taking a moment to look at the elders and around the room.
It had been a very quiet shift so far at Station 4X-1ZT. This was something Lieutenant Desmond Cowell was deeply grateful for. He’d been transferred here straight out of the academy and arrived on the station only two weeks ago. To make it even more stressful, this station was at least a couple of centuries old, so nothing was located where it was supposed to be. He was routinely getting lost even just going back and forth between his quarters and the prep room next to the launch deck. Combine that with all the shuttles being three or four times as old as he was and he was just about continuously feeling like a complete idiot.
Of course, almost crashing into the side of the station at the end of that first checkout flight hadn’t helped at all. The chewing-out he’d received from Commodore de Lete, in charge of the station, had been exceeded by the one he’d gotten from Captain Veevers, commanding officer of the flight deck. For both of them, he’d had to just stand there, at attention, being told what a waste of air and other resources he was. It had been far, far worse then any of the regular insults over the past four years from the training officers at the academy. He was a good pilot, but this equipment was so old and none of it was what he’d trained with!
After that, he’d spent every waking hour practicing with the simulators and had been able to squeak through passing the test for flight clearance. Captain Veevers had grudgingly admitted that he was reasonably certain Cowell would not, in fact, fly into the side of the station while trying to simply land a damn shuttle. The captain had gone on to say that, given his sense of direction — something that everyone on the station seemed to be aware of — it was entirely possible he might get lost on the way in. If that happened, though, at least he’d be able request a new shuttle and a new lieutenant — hopefully a competent one this time. That remark had burned, more so even than either of the chewing-outs had, and still stuck in his memory. He needed some way to show that he wasn’t the absolutely incompetent idiot his entire chain of command seemed to believe he was and, he had to admit, he’d so far shown himself to be.
So there he was, sitting in the prep room, all by himself. The two other pilots on call had stepped away a few minutes before, shaking their heads and whispering to each other about how Cowell was, once again, going over all of the shuttle manuals and procedures. He’d just read, for what seemed to be the hundredth time, the pre-landing checklist, when the alert came through the speakers. “General Quarters! Call to General Quarters! Enemy fleet detected at system border.”
That was followed, moments later, by Commodore de Lete’s voice coming on for a more detailed station-wide announcement. “Sensor platforms show a fleet on the opposite side of the system. It’s been relayed in to us, so they’ve been in-system for at least half an hour. From what we can tell, it’s two heavy cruisers with escort force and they’re maintaining velocity. Looks like they’ll be getting to where they can see us in another three hours and we’ll be in combat range of each other another twelve hours beyond that. We’ve called home, but we’re on our own for at least a couple of days. Maybe even longer if we don’t get a defense support force.”
*Crap!*, thought Cowell. *There’s no fighters on this station, just defense platforms. And I haven’t heard about any sort of a support force down on the planet. Then again, it’s not like I know anything about this damn planet. I’ve been here for two weeks and haven’t had time to learn anything at all about it!*
Just then, the intercom in the prep room clicked on and it was the Commodore, “I need someone to get down to the Neradaka clan and warn them about the incoming fleet! Who’s ready to go?”
Cowell practically leapt over the tables, racing to the intercom system. “Lieutenant Cowell, sir! I’ve got this!” With that, he tossed the handset back onto the table. Grabbing his helmet from the rack as he ran out the door onto the flight deck, he yelled, “Which shuttle is ready to go?”
The nearest Flight Deck noncom looked at him for a moment, before shouting back, “Shuttle 362 in Launch Rack Four is warm, sir! But, it’s …” As soon as he heard the shuttle ID and the launch rack number, Cowell started to pull on his helmet, blocking out whatever else was said to him. He now knew where he was running to — Launch Rack Four — with, as the Chief had said, a shuttle sitting there, entry hatch open and engine running.
As he got close, he shouted out to the spacers clustered around the shuttle, “Clear for launch!” He was inside and strapping into the pilot’s seat viewing the others clearing from around the shuttle. Then he just had to plug his helmet into the shuttle’s audio and computer interface. He flipped the toggle to close the hatch on the side.
Cowell tried to get himself into flight mentality, scanning all of the instruments and placing his hands on the flight controls. Instruments showed fully fueled and everything else looked good. As always, one shuttle was kept warm and ready to launch, and he’d gotten here first. Finally — a chance to show he was capable!
A light fingertap on the button on the side of his helmet activated the voice interface to the shuttle’s computer, and he tried to remember how to initiate the interface. “Shuttle 362, Lieutenant Cowell. No one else on board.”
The shuttle’s digital voice responded, “Lieutenant Cowell.” There was a brief pause as it processed his voice. “Recognized as senior pilot. One soul on board. Orders?”
*Huh? Oh, right — I’m the only pilot, so of course I’m senior.* “Locate Neradaka clan on-planet. Set as destination. Prepare to launch. Request time before able to launch?”
“Pilot, Shuttle 362. Processing. Able to launch in three-zero seconds. Repeat: three-zero seconds. All crew are to be strapped in prior to launch. Pilot must engage helmet flight display prior to launch.”
*Damn. I’m still clumsy. These ancient shuttles don’t automatically activate those,* thought Cowell as he slid down the heads-up display filter over his helmet. That would be sensed by the shuttle’s computer through the helmet connection, so it would recognize it as engaged and allow launch.
“Station flightcom, Shuttle 362, Lieutenant Cowell. Launching in …” He glanced over at the launch time remaining. “Two-one seconds.” The timer ticked down. “Repeat: Shuttle 362 launching in two-zero seconds. Heading down to warn the Neradaka clan.”
“Shuttle 362, Station flightcom — clear to launch. Orbit and all airspace clear. Safe flight!”
“Station flightcom, Shuttle 362, Roger. Clear to launch.” A pause to let the shuttle computer process that and be ready to detect a new communication as he felt his hands tense at the controls, feeling them and letting his hands remember what to do. “Shuttle 362, launch when able.”
His helmet display updated suddenly to show more than just the view through the front window of the shuttle. Now, it was covered with all of the information a pilot in friendly space could want. There was his location relative to the station (on the flight deck) and relative to the planet, as well as a clear line showing the most direct path down to his destination — the Neradaka clan down on the planet.
“Pilot, Shuttle 362, prepare for launch,” the shuttle told him. Cowell could feel the slight shift as all of the physical connections between the station and the shuttle detached. The shuttle lifted off the flight deck, hovering for a moment. And then, in his display, all the lights along the flight deck changed from their normal white to green just prior to launch, pulsing as they streamed out from the deck to space. He was slammed back into his seat as the engines and the station’s launch system activated simultaneously, hurling him into space.
“WOO-HOO!!!” he shouted, happy once more to be out in space and fully in control of a flight vessel.
“Pilot, Shuttle 362, command unrecognized. Please repeat.”
“Shuttle 362, ignore command.” He grimaced as he remembered this shuttle’s computer was not recent — and smart — enough to discard a pilot’s gleeful screaming.
The initial flight out of the station and down into lower orbit was easy enough. The on-board computer auto-pilot was handling most of it anyway. Cowell knew that his skill as a pilot would be needed for the final descent and landing. Indeed, it was as he crossed into the denser atmosphere that he realized he needed to be a lot more active. The shuttle began to shake — so much so that he felt himself being held in only by his straps.
“Pilot, Shuttle 362, warning. Reverse thrust not functional. Stabilization thrusters not functional. Main atmospheric thrust engine 80 percent functional.” A few lights on the instrument panel that had been green suddenly changed to yellow, and some others flickered through yellow to red.
*What the hell?* thought Cowell. *The shuttle’s not ready for atmospheric flight? Why was it prepped on the launch deck? Why didn’t anyone …* And that was when it occurred to him. *Oh, crap! The Chief did try to tell me about it. That’s what the ‘But, sir …’ was going to be about. The shuttle was fine for space flight, but not so great for atmospheric flight and a landing. And I completely ignored anything he might have said.* He sighed. *Ok. I’ve trained for this. Sure, it was with a shuttle that was a lot newer and cleaner than this flying brick, but I can do it!*
“Shuttle 362, confirm landing thrusters functional? Confirm in-space rotation thrusters functional.”
“Pilot, Shuttle 362. Confirmed. Landing thrusters 100 percent functional. Rotation thrusters 100 percent functional.”
*All right. At least I won’t leave a giant splatter on the side of a mountain or in a field somewhere … probably.* He grabbed the controls and started trying to smooth out the shuddering to get a cleaner flight — still following the visible flight path through his helmet’s visor. Now he only needed to figure out how to reduce velocity as he descended even lower into the atmosphere prior to landing.
“Shuttle 362, confirm inverse flight path can be displayed during descent?”
“Pilot, Shuttle 362. Confirmed. Inverse flight path display available.”
*Ah-ha! That’ll do it. Now I need to know when to start. And I’ve got to get this antique shuttle to stop with all of this back and forth calling crap. It’s wasting too much time.*
“Shuttle 362. Disable communication initiation until landing. All orders and responses to be direct. If main thrust is used to reduce velocity, how long until thrust is required to reduce for atmospheric flight and landing?”
“Calculating.” A pause. “Reverse thrust required in one-two minutes.”
“Use launch timer to display countdown to reverse thrust. Bring rotation and main thrusters online and prepare for use. Confirm functional status and test for use.”
“Main and rotation thrusters online. Functional status testing to be done. Warning — minor thrusts to confirm status.” After a slight pause to allow Cowell to cancel, there was the feeling of rumbling and quick jolts to each side and a short kick behind him as the shuttle verified the thrusters were truly as functional as it thought they were. “Thruster active status confirmed.”
The next ten minutes passed quickly and he could feel himself starting to sweat in anticipation of the difficult piloting that would very soon be required. When the timer clicked down to a minute left, the time for anticipation was over — it was time to be as good a pilot as he’d been trained to be … and as good as he believed he was. He rotated the shuttle so it was pointed backwards. “Activate inverse flight path display.”
“Activated. On display.” In his helmet, he now could see the path he’d been on from the station to here. Now he just had to be sure to stay on it until he slowed down enough. A couple of button presses later and he felt the seat pressing hard against him, the main thruster blasting as hard as it could. Through the windows, he could see smoke starting to build around the shuttle.
*What the hell?* “Confirm main thruster functioning at full power.”
“Incorrect. Main thruster is 80 percent functional. Remaining 20 percent functionality is post-thrust fuel leakage. Leaked fuel may burn incompletely.”
*Ok. That explains the smoke.* He watched as his velocity ticked down, the controls shaking in his hands as he struggled to maintain the flight path. The shuttle was getting closer and closer to where he would need to turn it around and fly down to land. “Warn me three-zero seconds out from destination area!”
“Confirmed. Will give warning three-zero seconds prior to destination area.”
The remaining five minutes were some of the hardest flying Cowell had ever done, as he constantly needed to provide little “love taps” to stay on the path. Not nearly soon enough, he heard the warning. “Warning. Three-zero seconds away from destination.”
*Finally!* He thought, then yelled at the shuttle, “Disable inverse flight path display and resume displaying forward flight path!” As he cut the main thruster, he had already yanked the control, spinning the shuttle around to face forward on its flight path.
“Confirmed. Forward flight path now displayed.”
Looking out the forward window, he could see what looked like fields all around him. The helmet overlay showed he was on target. Just a little farther in the distance, he could see buildings — which were labeled on his helmet display as his destination. However, a quick glance showed nothing that looked to be an area clear enough for him to land or anything even vaguely resembling a landing pad. He needed another answer and he needed one quickly before something else on this shuttle failed or the excess fuel burn would prevent him from returning to the station.
Pointing the nose down so he could get a better look through the window, he saw that some of the fields still had crops, complete with farmers working in them. He was reasonably sure that destroying crops and possibly killing anyone who wasn’t smart enough to run out of the way was not a good start to warning the locals. Some of the fields seemed to be cleared and he picked one that looked to be wide enough for a landing.
Pointing the shuttle towards that field, he got close and then activated the landing thrusters, feeling the shuttle settle down in the middle of the field. Cowell sat there, panting, as he allowed himself to shake for a moment. The magnitude of difficulty for the the flight he had just accomplished struck him and he felt he needed a second to congratulate himself on having proven, at least to himself, just how competent a pilot he was.
“Shuttle 362, power down and prepare to secure. Secure after I exit. Unknown how long I will be gone.”
“Pilot, Shuttle 362, powering down. Confirming shuttle will secure after pilot exits.”
He pulled his helmet off, running his hand through his short hair, feeling the sweat that had built up there. The helmet went over onto the co-pilot’s seat and he unstrapped himself, standing up and walking over to the entry hatch. The hatch opened, the stairs dropping down to the soil and he stepped out, walking down for his first time to stand on the planet.
Cowell stood there, looking as some of the farmers in the nearby fields came running over. Mostly, they were men, but with ridiculously long hair that was braided and looped around their necks. There were a few kids and teenagers whose hair was only down to their shoulders. It made no sense whatsoever.
All of them stood at the edge of the field and were jabbering among themselves in some language that he couldn’t understand. “Hello? I’m Lieutenant Desmond Cowell, from Station 4X-1ZT up in orbit. Does anyone here speak Standard?” No one responded, still just jabbering in whatever the local language is. “I need to speak to …”
And that was when he realized he had no idea who he needed to speak with. As Cowell thought about what to say next, he grimaced, thinking there was only one thing he could say and, at the same time, hating himself for it. “Please … take me to your leader.”
It wasn’t until about half an hour later when he saw two young men running from the direction of the buildings — the village? They ran to the farmers and kept jabbering on, still making no sense. After maybe three minutes, one of them went running back towards the village. Maybe this would be the way for someone to come talk with him?
Another hour passed and the same teenager came running back and walked into the field to stand in front of him. He made sweeping gestures with his arm and then turned to walk slowly away. The youth paused and looked back, seemingly waiting for Cowell to follow. He hoped running wasn’t going to be required, but, thankfully, it was just a long walk into the village.
They reached the edge of the village and then kept walking in among them. A few minutes later and the two of them went through what seemed to be a small village square and stood in front of a larger building right next to it. It looked to be some sort of main building — the town hall or local equivalent, perhaps? — and they both walked up the steps, through a hallway and into a large open room.
In that room, there were a set of pillowed seats around the edge. In front of him — the head seats? — were three adults, two men and a woman, all of them with the same ridiculously long hair and, the first he’d seen, bearing swords on their hips. Their garments all had some sort of grayish fur on one edge or another. As he thought about it, most if not all of the residents he’d seen were wearing fur somewhere on their bodies.
Then, as soon as the two of them were in the middle of the room, the boy stopped, putting his feet together and standing at what was clearly some sort of attention stance. He addressed the adults with the same sort of meaningless language that he’d heard out at the field. A quick conversation was followed by him crossing his arms, and walking out. The doors thudded close behind him.
The room was quite a bit darker now, lit only by some torches at the edge of the room and what little sunlight was let in through the windows.
Cowell looked around at the decorated walls and at the three sitting in front of him, thinking of what to say next.
Rubinku looked at the man standing before them in the center of the council room. “I am Chief Elder Rubinku tumKeren. Who the hell are you and why did you violate orders to land almost in the middle of this village?”
Cowell was surprised at understanding what he heard and did a double-take. “You … You speak Standard? I am Lieutenant Desmond Cowell. An enemy fleet arrived in-system and I was ordered to fly down and warn the Neradaka clan about it.”
“All right. On second thought, I don’t care who you are. You’re obviously an idiot who didn’t bother to follow orders that explicitly prohibit you from providing even a glimpse of a shuttle anywhere near a clan village! As for warning us, that isn’t even worth the inedible discarded innards of a gartane! You can have your battle up in the skies. If you win, great — someone can come down and tell us all about it! If not, your loss will be displayed for all to see by the giant fireball that appears in our sky when the station blows up!”
As he heard this, Cowell’s anger flared. “Fine! I’ve done my duty and come here and warned you! If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be going back to my shuttle so I can fly back to the station and help defend it, you and whoever else lives down on this horrible excuse for a planet!” He sneered at them. “I’ll be leaving now, Rueben-whatever-your-name is!”
He had barely even started to turn, about to storm out, when Rubinku leapt out of his seat, drawing his dagger as he did. A heartbeat later, Cowell could feel the cold edge of the blade pressed against the side of his neck. The Chief Elder spoke intensely, almost every word being emphasized with a slight increase of pressure. “First off, you will address me as ‘Chief Elder’ or, if I do not currently have steel against your throat, you may use the shorter form, ‘Chel’. Otherwise, you will discover just how difficult it is to speak with your neck sliced through, blood spewing from it, and your head bouncing on my council room floor. Do … you … understand?”
Cowell gulped, painfully aware of how sharp the blade felt and trying desperately not even to twitch. “Yes, sir … Chief Elder. I understand. My apologies. I did not mean any disrespect.”
“I’m pretty certain you meant a steaming pile of lintak waste of disrespect … which is why I felt it necessary to demonstrate to you exactly how disrespectful you were being! Secondly, if you had bothered to read them, there are standing orders for how to land on this planet! They state, very clearly, that you are to land far outside of sight of any villages, and dress in local clothing, with a wig so you don’t look like a baby. Then you are to use a hoverscooter — every shuttle contains one, along with all the other items you would need — to get close enough to walk in! Instead, you drew a giant smoking arrow to the edge of our village and, since that wasn’t good enough, you then left a huge silver beacon that I’m sure could be spotted from …”
He paused as the significance of his own words made it past his dressing-down of the pilot. “Damn it!” he said, turning his head towards the other elders. “This blithering idiot’s shuttle is still out there. We have to dispose of it somehow!”
“Chief Elder, I can go back to my shuttle, lift off and just fly back to the station.”
Kerenku chimed in, “No, you can’t. A smoking trail down towards us could, possibly, be dismissed as a meteor. One that flew back up, breaking into and then above orbit would definitely not be quite so easily dismissed.”
Rubinku sheathed his dagger and began to pace, turning back to Cowell after a moment. “Where did the enemy fleet appear?”
“On the opposite side of the system, Chief Elder. This side of the planet will not be visible to them yet.”
“Ok. That makes this a little bit easier. The shuttle’s autopilot can fly itself into the side of a mountain. That will go along with the idea of a meteor strike.”
Cowell thought painfully about what this would mean for him and how he could be stuck down here for a while and sighed. “Yeah, I can set the autopilot to do that.”
Pardaka smiled and said, “True. But one of our runners can get there so much faster.” <<Rubinku, you know what needs to be done here.>>
<<Indeed I do.>> He walked to the doors and threw one open as the pilot watched, perplexed. <<Runner!>> he yelled. <<I need an elder child runner!>>
Talenku ran over and came to attention before him. <<Chel! I stand ready!>>
<<Tal’, you’re back from the field?>>
<<Yes, Chel,>> he smiled. <<As soon as I saw the pilot leave with Gebveku, I checked — from a distance — that the shuttle was secure. Once I was certain it was, I came back. I had a suspicion you might need more of us here.>>
<<Good choice. You’re right. We need to get rid of the shuttle. It’s too obvious. You are to …>> Rubinku thought about how to manipulate this so that it could be more easily explained to the other clan members. <<Ah-ha! I know. Go get a smoked gartane hind. Take it with you to the shuttle. Call, from a distance, so it unlocks and opens. Once it does, go inside with the gartane. Power up the shuttle and set the autopilot to fly, full speed, spinward into one of the mountains of the Delvatu range — you pick which one. It must crash into the mountain. Set it to lift two grains after you give the order. Once you’ve done that, hurl yourself out of the hatch. Do a roll so you’re unharmed. That should be enough time for you to run to the edge of the field while it closes the hatch and lifts. Do you understand?>>
<<Ah … I believe I do, Chel?>> He chuckled, thinking about the intended meaning of his orders. <<You want me to make it seem as if I am part of an offering to the shuttle. It likes the gartane but doesn’t like the way I taste, so it spits me out and then leaves?>> Talenku laughed.
<<Very good,>> Rubinku smiled at how quickly his son had figured out his plan. <<That is correct.>> Rubinku was pleased with his son and congratulated him quietly. <<You do understand.>>
Talenku crossed his arms. <<I hear and obey!>> With that, he spun on his heel and was running off. Rubinku pulled the door closed and walked back into the council room.
Cowell was utterly confused, not having understood any of the conversation between the Chief Elder and the teenager who’d entered the room. “How … How is he going to command the autopilot? And how is he even going to get the shuttle to open up?”
Kerenku laughed. “Foolish lieutenant. You really didn’t read anything about us, did you? All of the elders and our children are trained and hold reserve ranks. Tal’ is Rubinku’s son. He outranks you.” He laughed even louder. “The shuttle will recognize him and follow his orders.”
Hearing this new information about the elders and their children, Cowell sank down to his knees, burying his face in his hands, his body quivering as he tried to not begin sobbing. “I … I don’t understand any of this!”
Rubinku walked over next to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You must really be new in-system to not have read anything about the planet, and us, and what we do here.”
Holding back his sobbing, Cowell lifted his face from his hands. “No, Chief Elder, I haven’t. I graduated from the academy and was immediately assigned to 4X-1ZT. They didn’t even give me a chance to go home and visit my family, instead sending me straight out here. I only disembarked onto the station two weeks ago. Everything is so old! I keep getting lost walking around the station and trying to learn how to use these ancient shuttles. They’re nothing like what I trained with! I just hadn’t had a chance to read about anything else.”
“Ahhh… That at least explains why you made such a horrid mess coming down here to ‘warn’ us.” Rubinku walked back to his seat, sitting down as he realized this might be a lengthy conversation. “Commodore de Lete is usually smarter than that. I have no idea why he thought we would need any warning.”
“Rub’,” Kerenku reached up to grab his braided hair looped below his chin. “We’re the next clan due to be lifted. Maybe he thinks it’s very likely they’re going to lose, so he wanted us to know this would be why no one’s coming down to actually schedule us when we’re needed?”
“That … could be it. Although it’s still completely idiotic. Hmm… then again, maybe things are even worse than they’ve ever shared with us? He might be afraid that we’ll be left here for … well, possibly even forever if they lose? That’d almost definitely mean the station will be blown. Maybe it’s even a subtle way of warning us there won’t be a replacement if that happens?”
“Wait … ‘clan due to be lifted’? I … I’m sorry, Chief Elder, I really still don’t understand.”
“Ah, true.” Rubinku smiled at the lieutenant, still on his knees, utterly flustered and confused. “It’s been shown, after many, many, many attempts, that it’s much easier to train a small population to learn to use limited technology than it is to train a more technological population to survive without any technology. On this planet, there are thirty-seven initial colonization forces. Once a planet is found and is determined to be able to be colonized, one of the clans is lifted — every single clan member. After that clan is lifted, one of the other clans still on the planet divides and forms a new child clan which will grow into a full clan within about five generations. That allows us to maintain a cycling set of colonization clans.
“For the clan that’s been lifted, everyone other than the elders and our children are trained, in very limited fashion, to get some initial familiarity with technology. That’s done while we’re in-transit to the new planet. Then we get there, land, and start to rebuild our clan village and agriculture. Usually, within a couple of weeks, at most, the clan has rebuilt the core of the village and we start truly settling and expanding. Two or three generations are typically all that’s needed to build the initial settlement necessary to sustain a much larger colonization landing that is, by then, damn near guaranteed to be fully successful.”
“You’re a colonization force? But — why not let anyone else know about technology and the station and … everything else?”
“Because the whole idea is that an initial colony has to be able to live without technology. That first landing force absolutely must be able to survive without any sort of support. Trying to do that initial landing and colonization with the typical massive tech landing just … well, it doesn’t work. The casualties after even just two seasonal cycles is usually forty to fifty percent … at least. And that’s if the entire colony doesn’t just completely die off from something they weren’t prepared to handle.
“We, however, are all used to living without technology. Hell, everyone other than the elder families don’t even know about more technology than …” Rubinku paused, trying to come up with the technological level. “Well, call it approximately Iron Age? Just about everyone here grew up without it. Even the children of all the elders …” he gestured at Kerenku and Pardaka, including them. “They’re only trained after they’ve grown to be teenagers. They go off on an ‘elder training course’ for a few months that gives them both hands-on and direct mental education about more modern technology.” He smiled for a moment, “as well as naval training to give them reserve rank.
“So the whole ‘living without technology’ lifestyle — we can do that with barely even thinking about it. Starting a new colony is, relatively speaking, easy. We just land and start rebuilding our lives. It’s no worse than some of the severe local disasters we live through on a regular basis. The only difference is that we’re much more actively trying to grow to support the more technologically based colony.
“And also, once we land, every clan member knows that their descendants will eventually be honored as a colony … and planet … founder. That concept — honoring our ancestors — is part of what is continually trained into all of the clans, even prior to being lifted.”
Cowell was shaking his head. “I don’t understand it at all.” He shrugged. “But — I guess I don’t have to. I’m just a new lieutenant pilot who’s now stranded here.”
“Indeed!” Rubinku stood up, grabbing the braided hair at both sides of his neck. “And, now, we need to come up with an explanation for all of the other clan members about who you are and why the heck you’re here with us. Oh, and since you may be stuck here for a while, you hopefully do realize that you’ll need to learn the Neradaka language … not to mention letting that pitiful excuse for hair grow longer!”
