The Island of Hope (10 page)

10.

"T
he mind boggles," Jedian Lange turned off the monitor and sprang back to his feet. Psychoanalysis and neurosurgery were his calling, but today, for the first time in his life, he regretted not having become a clerk or a mechanic.

"I need an audience with the Commander!" he demanded into the intercom. "ASAP. It's about his family."

Somewhere in the depths of Stellar's cybernetic brain lurked the microprocessor of the admiral's private secretary. Ten to fifteen seconds later — a considerable amount of time for a machine — the loudspeaker resounded with a melodious female voice, "Your appointment is for eleven thirty."

Jedian cast a glance at the timer. Eleven twenty five. The old man still appreciated his grandnephew. He replaced the memory crystal in his desk drawer, peeled off his lab coat and hurried out of the private office down the labyrinth of underground communications of the Confederation Fleet HQ.

Admiral Vorontsov was waiting for him in his office. He was one hundred sixty-one years old, and only his private doctors knew whether there still remained any of his own organs inside his body. Most likely, most of them had already been replaced with cloned ones. The founder of Fort Stellar, the creator of the Tri-Solar Confederation's military doctrine was sitting in a rigid diagnostic chair.

"Jed, my boy, what's up?"

Jedian lowered his head in respectful greeting, "Sir."

"Stop that. Nobody can hear us. Help yourself to some booze. I can see you're nervous."

"And for a very good reason, grandfather." Jedian gulped and offered the old man a 3-D photo of a computer image. "Is this face familiar to you?"

No man living in the habitable part of the Universe had ever seen or could even imagine something like that: the lips of the fabled admiral notorious for his disregard for human emotion suddenly trembled. Tears welled up his eyes.

"Andrei."

"Grandfather, are you sure?"

"Where is he?! Is he alive?!" the admiral shouted, but immediately pulled himself together. "It can't be. You must have found his body or an archived pic. That's cruel," he reproached him.

"Not at all. This photo is a computer model of the memories of a young man they found a week ago in a cryogenic chamber of a battered spaceship dating from the First Galactic war. He was born and grew up on the spaceships' cemetery located where the battle unfolded — during which Andrei Vorontsov was supposed to have died. The young man's memory is dominated by this image. This is his father's face!"

"Can you expand upon it?" the admiral asked. "I want you to tell me everything you've found out, every little detail. But first answer this question: what happened to Andrei?"

Jedian braced himself. "Your son - my uncle is dead."

He disliked his grandfather for his cruel uncompromising attitude and was rather afraid of his angry outbursts. "He died eight years previous to his son's departure from the cemetery in a spacecraft built with all sorts of wrecks and debris. They failed to repair the hyperdrive, so they used photon thrust instead. The cruise control was set to the Galaxy's center."

"How did my son die?"

Jedian turned pale under his grandfather's icy stare that revealed the whole measure of his grief. He was a good psychologist and could see perfectly well the possible consequences of his answer.

"Andrei was shot by a robot," he uttered. "Judging by the memories scanned from my cousin's cortex, that was a
PLENET
class battle machine which was part of standard equipment of the Free Colonies' Fleet."

The admiral gritted his teeth. He could still remember everything as if it had happened yesterday; his memories nested in him, exhausting him, leaving behind only emptiness and suffering.

He had sent Andrei to his death.

* * *

"Sir, we've made it!" Alexander Vorontsov, the senior officer on the flag cruiser of the Colonies' Fleet, had slid the door closed behind him and glanced at the Commander's hunched back.

Their spaceship was maneuvering. The stars on the survey screen were performing a frenzied dance that only navigators can appreciate.

The commander turned round and gloomily looked at the officer. "What's there to be happy about?"

'The old fool!' Alexander thought in desperation, inconspicuously unclasping his holster. "Admiral, I've lost my son in this fight, but you seem to have lost your mind," he snapped. "Our duty is to fight on!"

The old admiral shuddered. He was crushed. The monstrosity of the battle and the mind-boggling number of casualties were beyond his comprehension. He had seen the explosion which had consumed millions of people – the horror of these figures was absolutely unimaginable – and he didn't want to see it through. He didn't want to lead more lunatics to bomb more planets in order to consolidate their sudden strategic success.

"There're people left there," he said slowly, "and also some machines. Our duty is to go back and rescue at least some of them. Not to engage in a new bloodbath."

"There's
nobody
left! Who do you expect to rescue from the area where even metal has evaporated?" the officer managed, trying not to scream. "All spacecraft whose force fields did hold have already re-established contact, and as for any functioning robots that might have survived the inferno, honestly, I don't give a fuck! I'm awaiting your orders!"

"You must be mad!"

"At least I'm not a coward and I'm not going to die!" Alexander raised his pulse handgun. "My son has given his life for the cause, and I'll avenge him! We're going to crush Earth now, while it's not too late, while they haven't received reinforcements!"

The Commander turned away from him, staring at the screens.

Alexander couldn't shoot a man in the back. "You're arrested," he had said icily. "I'm taking over command."

* * *

That had been so long ago. The first steps in his difficult rise to the rank of Commander. Actually, at that time he'd wholeheartedly believed in what he was doing.

Jedian stared in bewilderment at the Commander's lifeless face.

"Leave me," the Commander demanded, resurfacing from his reminiscing. "No, wait! Where's the young man at the moment?"

"His name is Simeon. He's on board the patrol cruiser
Io
blockading the most probable direction of the-"

Vorontsov turned pale. What was that? Fate, maybe? Or the belated retribution for having betrayed his own son?

"I see," he interrupted Jedian. "I want you to contact the base and tell their senior officer that I want
Io
to be withdrawn. Let them replace it by any other ship, at his own discretion."

He remained silent for a while, as if he had lost all of his energy in those minutes. Suddenly Jedian realized how old the man sitting in front of him really was.

The Commander's face spasmed. "He
must
survive. I don't care if it's impossible!" the admiral's voice filled with authority. "By all means! You understand?"

Jedian nodded.

He lingered in the doorway. For so many years he'd been afraid of the man, prostrating before his rank and power. Now he just wanted to see this passionless face spasming again.

"The crystal containing the boy's memories is on the table," he said nonchalantly. "I suggest you check it, grandfather."

The door slid shut, leaving the Commander alone with his own memories and the lonely file on the table that kept drawing his stare. He feared this crystal disc more than death itself.

He knew that its contents were far worse than death for him.

11.

T
he crew of the patrol cruiser
Io
was not very numerous and had plenty of work to be done, which was why it was only Vladimir Yusupov, the onboard doctor, who was monitoring Simeon's awakening.

Simeon lay covered with a sheet, watching inconspicuously this strange man in white coveralls pacing the module and taking readings of all the numerous instruments.

Vladimir finished the check and returned to the table with a portable computer on it. As usual, he looked at his patients before sitting down. The girl's waxen body kept rotating slowly in the jets of saline solution, but the boy was lying with his eyes open, glaring at Vladimir's belt.

"At last!" Vladimir rearranged the holster with his trusty
Viper
. "I thought you'd sleep until we reached Stellar."

Simeon tried to say something, but could only heave a deep sigh.

"Easy, man, easy," Vladimir took a wad of cotton and moistened Simeon's dry lips. "Take it easy. Drink this," he placed a round amber-colored piece of candy into his mouth. The candy exploded, filling his mouth and throat with a pleasant sensation, cool and tickly.

The boy's lips trembled. He tried to speak; finally he gasped, "Yanna."

Vladimir pressed the intercom key and moved his chair closer. "So, let's start from the beginning. I understood your question. Try to relax. Everything's OK."

Simeon leaned back on his pillow and lowered his eyelids. He was so weak that he struggled not to faint.

"Are you listening?" Vladimir said.

A barely noticeable nod served as an answer.

"So, you're among friends. Quite by chance, we came across your spaceship drifting through space and sent an assault group to check it. There must have been an accident — or you might have collided with a meteorite – we never worked it out. The fact is that the ship was disabled, there was a huge shell-hole in its side, all power units were exhausted except for the two stand-by ones which fed the cryogenic compartment from whence we extracted your companion and yourself. There was nobody else in the ship except a non-functional android, model unknown.

At these words Simeon tensed up.

"Don't worry, he's here on board, but it looks like our technician has given upon him," Vladimir smiled.

Simeon nodded, then half-shut his eyes again. "How's Yanna?" he wheezed; the question was hardly audible.

Vladimir took his time. "You see, the cryogenic process is very complex. The capsules you were in are outdated which is why our onboard reanimation equipment is practically incompatible with them. Therefore we should exercise caution. You've come round because your body is stronger. In short, the girl is alive, we're supporting the proper functioning of all organs of her body, but I'm afraid the total awakening is not something we can do tomorrow."

Simeon re-opened his eyes again and squinted over his shoulder; he caught sight of the transparent sphere containing Yanna's body.

"What's your name?" Vladimir hurried to ask, trying to divert his attention.

"Simeon."

"OK, I'm Vladimir," he squeezed Simeon's shoulder in a friendly manner. "Don't worry, she'll make it," he said, sounding more optimistic than he should. "You'll see. Just give me some time, and I'll sort it all out."

Simeon's head dropped onto the pillow. "I'll be waiting," he whispered, his lips dry with dehydration.

Exhausted by the conversation, he soon drifted off into a deep sleep.

Vladimir rolled his chair away. "Have you heard, sir?" he asked.

"Yes, I have," the captain's reply came through the intercom. "He speaks International English with an old-fashioned Russian accent. As far as I know, there are no such worlds left in our sector."

"Right. But he's slept for the best part of a hundred years."

"Most likely, he comes from some other location. In any case, I don't think it's an attempt to plant a mole on us. Their ship was built out of damaged modules of battle spacecraft from that period. Apparently, these two have had it hard."

"They have sir. Any news from Stellar?"

"It's too early for news, Vladimir. We'll reach the patrol point in five hours, and only then we can have a communication session with them. Let's hope they've deciphered the file you made."

* * *

For the next five days captain Hans Frauenberg thought about the rescued astronauts only occasionally:
Io
had reached the assigned zone measuring eight cubic light years, and began patrolling. This sector was considered as one of the most dangerous in case of a sudden break-through of enemy ships, and the task of the cruiser was to promptly locate the point where the hostile spacecraft would come out of hyperspace and contain them until the main forces of the Fleet arrived.
Io
was a kamikaze spaceship.

That was the tenth year of the Second Galactic war — the Free Colonies, having conquered Earth, were dividing the spheres of Galactic influence.

* * *

He was alive.

Simeon was lying under a thin sheet, enjoying the coolness of a fresh bed.

No doubt, the spacecraft was only a fraction of the world where he longed to go, but a really great one! All the sensations were new. You had merely to open your eyes – and you saw the soft radiance of the ceiling panels. The floor exuded warmth. The rustle of air regenerators didn't let up for a second. The ship was in good working order, not a wreck, but part of a larger world which traveled through space obeying people's will; it wasn't helplessly drifting with the elements.

He turned round. Yanna's motionless body was still wound with the tubes of the life support system. Vladimir was sitting at the table busy with some paperwork.

The sight of the helpless girl awoke his dormant anxiety. If only Andor was with them! But in spite of all his efforts, Simeon could not remember under which circumstances Yanna and himself had been placed into cryogenic chambers and why the android had had to switch his power over to them.

Vladimir finished writing. "Aha, you've woken up!" he said joyfully. "Excellent."

Simeon forced a smile and sat up. Weakness had almost disappeared, but he felt giddy as before.

"Think you can get up?"

Simeon slowly placed his feet on the floor. Could he trust his feelings? His atrophied muscles were hardly able to bear the weight of his body. Simeon staggered, then made a few steps. It was as if history repeated itself: once again he was learning to walk in the gloom of their cramped compartment. In a moment, the door would open and the father would come in.

The young man's hands lay on the cold plastic of the life support capsule. He leaned against it, his face at the same level as Yanna's. Vladimir carefully took him by the arm.

"She’s stable," he answered his unasked question. "We're waiting for some info from Stellar. We must get her there."

"You mean your planet?" Simeon asked, stepping toward a chair.

"Sort of," the doctor answered vaguely while reaching into a closet for a flight uniform kit. "The captain wants to talk to you; besides, our computer technician is looking forward to the moment when you're able to walk," Vladimir cast a testing glance at Simeon as if about to ask something. Still, he stopped just in time, remembering the captain's interdiction. Hans Frauenberg had promised to personally deal with anyone who’d utter a word about
Io
's patrolling in front of Simeon. Vladimir kept his fingers crossed. If only they were in luck, like last time. He really didn't want to think of all the consequences of a potential breakthrough in this sector.

"So, where would you like to go first, to see the captain or the tech’s laboratory?" he asked once Simeon had dressed. His experience suggested to him that it would be better to take the guy as far as possible from the motionless body of his young companion.

"I want to see Andor."

Vladimir raised his eyebrows, uncomprehending.

"I mean, the android," Simeon corrected himself. "His name is Andor."

"OK, then, Hawley will be glad to see you," Vladimir said, locking the door of the medical compartment. That Simeon had no idea of the on-board subordination didn't astonish him at all.
'In fact, the captain can wait, why not?
' he thought, not without some pleasure, while they headed for a between-deck lift well.

Io
was about a mile in diameter and almost twice as long. The internal space of the ship was divided into ten self-sufficient decks.

Simeon walked along the corridors, taking in the odors and sounds of the living breathing ship and couldn't believe that he was here, among people, and that all around him wasn't a figment of his imagination. It was real.

* * *
 

Deck 2 of the spacecraft housed the launch pads.

They stepped onto a narrow balcony that traced the internal perimeter of a huge hall. Simeon involuntarily stopped to examine the launching pads on which ten, small hawk-nosed assault module their armor glowing, hunched like birds of prey with their wings folded but ready to launch at any second. The hatch of one of them was open. A bright spot of light fell onto the dark coating of the launch pad.

Vladimir touched his shoulder. "Sorry, I'm a bit pressed for time."

Simeon nodded, forcing his eyes away from the majestic panorama of the launch site, and followed the doctor into a side corridor.

There was nobody in the technical laboratory.

"Hawley!" Vladimir called. "Where the hell are you?"

Silence. Puzzled, he looked round.

All of a sudden Simeon brushed him aside and walked into the laboratory. He kneeled before a bulky capsule inside which lay a strapped-down android.

Vladimir realized that he had made a mistake. The sight of the immobile robot made the boy suffer just as much as the sight of Yanna.

'Why?'
Simeon kept asking himself, unable to find an answer.
'What happened to our ship and to us?
' his fingers slid off the transparent plastic of the capsule.

"You stay here while I go look for him in the workshops," the voice of the on-board doctor interrupted his thoughts. "Just don’t touch anything, OK?"

Simeon nodded.

Now his attention was focused on Andor. The transport capsule was equipped with a complex set of instruments. A number of cables and energy interfaces were reaching from numerous connectors to the robot's head. Two monitors displaying a chaos of sparkling dots confirmed a total inefficiency of the testing and control systems. Andor was dead.

Simeon’s hand lay onto the built-in keyboard unit.

Enter activation code.

At one time Andor had made him memorize the access code and showed him how to reset his systems. Simeon noticed his fingers tremble and willed himself to stay calm. He couldn’t afford to make an error and run the wrong sequence.

Something clicked inside the capsule’s inner works. The information carrier drive rustled to life.

The access program worked. The data entry port was enabled.

The chaotic dance of dots on the right monitor was replaced by a short message,

No charge detected. External power source required.

It wasn't yet Andor, but one of his emergency programs. Simeon looked around him. He was alone but he wasn’t going to wait. He disconnected some equipment and plugged in the capsule’s power cable.

The message on the monitor instantly changed.

Please wait. Main accumulator is being charged. Built-in power sources will be switched on in 618 seconds.

Simeon perched himself on the edge of the capsule, imagining how Andor would emerge from his oblivion, recovering consciousness and memory byte by byte.

The intercom panel blinked with an incoming call. Awaking from his reverie, Simeon startled and looked round. Nobody.

He pressed the connection button.

"Hey, Hawley, what the fuck?" a built-in loudspeaker growled with the captain's voice. "We've got a problem. Code Alpha twelve! Go quickly to the launch deck, Sergei and Spyte are there fixing module #7. You've got a second!"

The loudspeaker clicked and disconnected.

Simeon couldn’t make head nor tail of Frauenberg's tirade, but the order was quite clear. He glanced at the monitor. Three hundred seconds left till activation.

He could make it. Simeon hurried out onto the balcony of the launch deck. The hatch of one of the modules was still open. Simeon vaulted over the low railing and covered the fifteen-foot drop in one leap.

Voices came from the wide open hatch. Simeon walked over to the gangway and froze. He had no intention of eavesdropping, but a few random words rooted him to the spot.

"Bullshit! Can’t the Captain understand we’re cannon fodder!"