Dominion (8 page)

Twelve

The crutches, Hawke quickly realized, were needed by Wind Passage because he was missing his left leg.  Since his pants extended down all the way, he couldn’t tell if the whole leg was missing or just the lower half.  Hawke was just curious why they didn’t have prosthetics in a place fond of the sciences.

He moved very quickly for a disabled man, but maybe it was just the desire to get out of the cold and into a heated tent.  Wind Passage had informed him along the way that the Pioneer was being stored in the large tent near the armory. 
Hawke had no problem identifying the tent he spoke of since the massive tent could have easily doubled as a circus tent.  Mercifully, he noticed, there were multiple smoking chimneys rising out of each of the tent’s peaks.

A giant armed Sasquatch guarded the door to the tent.  As the two of them approached the tent, the guard rested his rifle against one of the bracing ropes, then opened the door and held it open for Wind Passage. 
The boy entered the tent, followed immediately by Hawke.  The door closed behind Hawke just as he caught sight of a very poor facsimile of the Pioneer.  He wondered in that moment if he was the subject of a joke done in bad taste.

“That’s not my ship,”
Hawke said, following far behind Wind Passage.

“
I’ve no doubt it looks a lot older and a bit more ragged compared to the last time you saw it, Hawke.”

He stared in awe at the horrible reproduction as he stepped around the gravitational-reflex ring.  The Pioneer had a shiny
silver ring while this version had one that was gray and scratched in many places.  The Pioneer was a white ship and this one was gray, with random streaks of black.  Every portion of the craft was covered in various dents and scrapes in all sizes.

“It can’t be the same craft.  It looks like it was excavated from
the bowels of a volcano,” Hawke said.

“
Well, there’s no telling what you passed through in the light years between your home world and ours,” he replied.

Wind Passage led the way to a wooden stairwell that had been
moved up against the side of the ship.  The hatch to ship’s interior remained ajar near the topmost stair.

“It would make my day to hear that you guys managed to hook up an exterior power supply to the ship,”
Hawke said, “Just enough to bring the computer systems online.”

“Well, your ship still had to have some power in order to keep you alive, but we’re not sure how to operate anything and were wary of doing anything that could be dangerous.”

Wind Passage navigated the stairs like a pro and entered the Pioneer ahead of Hawke.  Hawke was still silently hoping this was all some sickening trick as he pondered the implications of the dirty pockmarked hull before him.

“Are you coming?” Wind Passage asked, staring down from the side of the ship, “We rigged some lighting up in here yesterday.”

Hawke sighed, then climbed the stairs to the open hatch.  He wiped a finger across the hull just to see how thick the layer of grime was.  To his dismay, the damage appeared to be permanent.

He ducked through the hatch and immediately recognized the vacant spot where his cryo-tube once lay.  He glanced at the other wall and was startled to see the other cryo-tube that had contained Shores.

“It made no sense to open it since it was perfectly sealed and there was no chance of revival,” Wind Passage explained from behind him.

Hawke
took a step toward the coffin, then reconsidered.  He thought about it for a moment longer, then proceeded to the sealed cryo-tube.  There was already a smear mark on the clear cover where someone had brushed away the layer of dust.  He took another step and then peered into the tube.  He choked back a scream and leapt back with his hand over his mouth.

“Dear Lord!” he sputtered, talking another step away from the cryo-tube.

The image was seared into his mind now.  It looked like a skeletal mummy covered in a shellac of dark blue glaze.  The gel had obviously dried up and crystallized long after the man had died.  The pilot would not decay further due to the lack of oxygen inside the sealed coffin.

“It’s not fair,”
Hawke muttered, “That man would have been more use to you people than I’ll be.  He was a mechanic, a pilot, a soldier, and an astronaut.  He was an honorable man and I’m just a college dropout who borrowed ideas and concepts from the true scientific community.  All I did was steal a few things, give form to the written concepts, add some miniscule tweaks of my own in order to bring the results I needed, and then suddenly I was hailed a ‘genius’ and a ‘hero’.”

He closed his eyes, trying to remove the horrific image.

“A
genius
,” he laughed, “The only original part I came up with was how to get the gravitational-reflex ring to maintain the warp without damaging the ring itself.  Well, that and how to actually increase the warp.  I didn’t come up with how to make it, how to power it, or how it would function.  I’m a fraud and yet I’m the one they choose to keep alive.”

“I don’t know what these things are that you’re talking about, but it doesn’t sound to me like you’re a fraud.
  In our world, science is all about a community of people sharing ideas and working off the ideas of others.  There’s always both contributing and borrowing,” Wind Passage said.

“Were you able to determine how long it’s been?”
Hawke asked, turning to the man on the crutches.

“We’ve done some tests, but nothing is a hundred percent confirmed,” he replied, “Your ship is no less than a hundred thousand years old and no more than five hundred thousand years.  I know that’s a wide-”

“A hundred thousand years?” Hawke choked out, “Surely your figures are a little skewed.”

“We’ve used all sorts of dating methods throughout the ship and these have proven accurate through all history,
Hawke,” he said, motioning for Hawke to follow him to the pilot’s cabin, “And let’s not forget the state of your ship as well as the decomposed state of your pilot.”

“You couldn’t make a judgment based on his decomposition.  We don’t know when his capsule shut down or even the rate that a body would decompose inside a sealed cryo-tube,” he argued.

“The Shomani bury their dead in airtight caskets after their bodies are covered in a rubbery paste that eventually hardens very much like blue stuff on that man back there.  Archaeologists have discovered ten thousand year old mummies in a better state than that man back there.  While that isn’t much, it coincides with everything we’ve tested,” he said, “You most definitely are no younger than a hundred thousand years.”

“But the power systems on board were-”

“They are
still
operational on a very small scale.  This ship was built to sustain you two for
thousands
of years and at least one of you for much longer.  Don’t ask me how because your technology is beyond us,” he stated, “But arguing this will serve no purpose.”

Hawke
sighed again, then shook his head.  The boy gestured him to lead the way into the piloting chamber.  Hawke obliged and found his way to the seat he once used.  Wind Passage leaned in, but remained between the seats.

“
Do you know if you can bring this ship back online?” he asked.

“Very d
oubtful, but I’d like to at least access the computer,” Hawke said.

Hawke
slid the keyboard out from the main control panel and tapped the power switch.  Nothing happened.  He then peered beneath the systems panel and located the auxiliary switches.  He flipped all three on, then tapped the power switch on the keyboard again.  This time, it offered an audible beep.

A moment later, the small screen on his control panel came online.  It flashed a warning that the system was operating on minimal power and could not guarantee it wouldn’t shut off suddenly.  He quickly brought up the ship’s automated logs.  He turned to Wind Passage while it loaded the files.

“What do you know about the bane ore you guys use for heat?” Hawke asked, “I never heard of such a thing before and I’d like to think I’ve got a pretty good understanding of the elements.”

“Bane is one of the most valuable substances we mine anywhere,” he said, “It’s useful for heat and lighting mostly, though there are unsubstantiated claims of its potential use for weaponry or rocket propulsion.”

“Where does it sit on the periodic table?” Hawke asked before waving off his question, “I mean… well… I really don’t know how to better pose my question if you haven’t started examining and charting things on the atomic or molecular level.”

“Technology again causes a rift in our communication
.  I’m more than willing to perform whatever experiments you present.  Does bane remind you of an important ingredient you require to bring your ship back online?” he asked, “It’s merely a river pebble in the lighting over your head.”

He looked up and saw two small lamps hung from the cable above him.  They offered a good amount of light, which made him question why they used oil lamps so often.  He even verbalized the question.

“Again, bane is a valuable substance and oil is not.  Although oil lamps use a lot more fuel, we are slaves to the fact that there is plenty of fish oil available in a fishing village,” he replied.

“I totally understand.  We see similar situations where I come from,”
Hawke replied, noticing that the computer finally pulled up the logs, “Here it is.”

He scrolled through the coded log, mostly checking the dates and times.  The computer kept records of everything, from
the daily bio-checks to its annual power systems reviews.  He ignored all the redundant notes in the log, searching for anything unusual.

“It’s like a book that requires a single page,” Wind Passage said, watching intently as the words scrolled past.

“Don’t even ask,” Hawke chuckled, continuing to scroll through the many lines of data, “I really have no idea how computers ultimately work, not to mention how LCD screens display the information from the computer.”

“We all have our areas of expertise,” he agreed, “If just you could have brought a whole crew of scientists to our world.”

“I hate to state the obvious, but I think that already happened long, long ago,” he muttered.

They both watched in silence as he scrolled through centuries of useless data.  The only satisfaction he’d achieved so far was the fact that both
Hawke and Shores were still alive and frozen as of 2986
CE
and the years were still scrolling by.

“I think you are taking the long way to the end,”
Wind Passage said, “You are apparently dissatisfied with all those words passing by, so why not flip to the last page of the book?”

He kept his finger on the key that ensured the
continuous scrolling.  He could hear Wind Passage’s impatience growing behind him as the words flowed past.  Finally, he agreed and hit the “end” key.  The screen flickered, went dark for a moment, and then brought up the last page of logs.  The final lines spoke of the Pioneer’s computer system powering up, a command requesting the retrieval of archived logs, and finally the system’s compliance with the retrieval.  To the left of those commands was a date that caused his stomach to churn.

September 18, 192,780
C
E
– Archived records retrieved

The year didn’t even look like a year to him.  Years were
spelled out by using only four digits.  They’ve always been four digits it seemed.  Nothing about that number on the display made any sense to Hawke.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, patting
Hawke on the shoulder, “Is the date what you expected?”

“No,” he blurted
a little too abruptly, “No, not what I expected, but it does agree with your assessment.  It’s been over a hundred and ninety thousand years.”

No response came from the boy behind him. 
Hawke was beginning to have a greater respect for the kid.  Wind Passage, like any scientist, knew when to speak up and when to remain silent.  In a moment like this one, Hawke was at a loss for words and there was nothing anyone else could say that would give him comfort.  The screen brought up another line of information all of a sudden.

September 18, 192780
C
E
– reply Earth: More information required. No known class identified as Pioneer and no ships reported in that sector.

“It looks like there’s communication coming from Earth,”
Hawke stated.

Curiosity made him scroll up a page.  The
reply continued annually, stating the exact same thing.  The log showed no outbound communication however from the ship.  He scrolled back further, then located the outbound message sent seventy-two years prior. 

September 18, 192,708
C
E
– Distress Beacon Alert: Pioneer life support offline and energy reserves near depletion. Request assistance.

The ship had been calling for help.  He scrolled back further, getting the same annual reply from Earth.  One hundred years before the distress call, another identical distress call was sent from the Pioneer.  He scrolled back further, shaking his head at all the automated communiqué between the dying ship and its home world.