Citadel: First Colony (11 page)

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.