The Fifth Civilization: A Novel (13 page)

Roan heard a few murmurs amid the crowd. Nothing too
big—everyone was still processing.

“Even with all this information, we are left with
speculation. Where could such a comet have originated? We can assume it was in
the so-called West, because the further you get beyond Earth, the older life
becomes: that is, Earth has the youngest life of any planet, and the furthest
known planet, Nydaya, has the oldest, life there coming into existence about
5.1 billion years ago. But why was the comet sent on its path across the solar
system? I have another theory.”
 
A
stock animation of a comet appeared on the hologram.

“If a world existed with life millions or billions of years
ago, and suffered some calamity—a supernova, say, or an even bigger
catastrophe—bacteria could have embedded in a comet and traveled through
space. My best guess is there was such a world, a place where life evolved much
earlier than anything previously known, an Atlantis no longer in existence. And
assuming the comet moved in a mostly linear trajectory, taking into account
gravitic changes we can speculate that the world would be right beyond Nydaya.”

An animated line skewered each planet on the hologram.

“You might ask if telescopes or sensors would have been able
to pick up stellar remnants in that area. They might, if anyone was interested
in looking out that way. The region where I believe the comet originated has
been of little interest to human travelers because, quite simply, there is no
economic incentive to travel out that way. Though it would only take two to
three months to reach the area of interest, neither the Company nor the Scientific
Fleet has ever sponsored a trip out that way. The Nydens, meanwhile, have very
few exploratory ships of their own, and have never recorded a voyage out that
far.

“Furthermore, the area of space is noticeably devoid of many
stars, and the few that have been catalogued have been deemed unremarkable and
probably unsuitable for life. Most of this evidence used outdated calculations,
however. I have been to Nydaya, I have used their most advanced telescopes, and
I have found new planets. One in particular has stood out. In a stellar cluster
just beyond Nydaya is a world I call Planet X.” A fuzzy but distinct blue
planet appeared on the hologram. “Using direct imaging, I was able not only to
get its coordinates, but to determine that Planet X has constant temperatures
and orbits in a perfect circle around its sun—it’s in the Goldilocks
Zone, just right for the conditions of life. The exact data can be downloaded
from this pad. I don’t know if Planet X is where life sprang from, but it is
the best candidate for new life out there. Planet X could hold the fifth, and
oldest, civilization.

“Imagine yourselves in the year 1492. The Atlantic Ocean
exists, people see it everyday, but no one knows what’s on the other side.
Everyone is afraid to venture out there. But someone took a leap into the
unknown. Someone took a chance. And you’re watching this presentation today
because I need to know if someone has the guts to make that leap. To head it.
To fund it. Because this is quite possibly the most important scientific find
of any millennia. And that is damned
exciting.
Presentation T-I70. Thank you.”
 

The hologram clicked off, its blue glow gone and replaced
with the silence of the mess hall. It was just another bombshell to dump on the
already traumatized crew.

David spoke first. “Aaron Vertulfo was killed earlier today.
He told me last week he might not make it to present these findings to the
Science Committee, and he was right. Instead, he entrusted the data to me. He
entrusted it to
all
of us. This was
his life’s work—perhaps, if one believes in such things, it was his
destiny to reveal this information. I only hope you will consider it as best
you can, and decide whether or not you feel you can make the journey to this
uncharted planet.”

David stepped back beside Kel, giving her the floor. Roan
could sense that she was still processing Aaron’s information, as he was to
himself. Humans related to Kotarans, Bauxens, and Nydens? A mythical planet
somewhere in deep space? There wasn’t much one could say to that.

The Sikh guy spoke up. “If this evidence is true, it is the
biggest discovery in history. We could have the answers to the origins of
humanity and all life as we know it. I, for one, want to see where this
information leads.”

“How do you know how accurate it is?” the American crewman
asked. “Maybe this scientist was full of shit.”

“Hey,” Roan growled. “Don’t you say that about Aaron.”
 
The man shut up, but a crewman in
raggedy overalls stood up next to him.

“You’re asking us to risk our lives for conjecture. What do
you take us for, anyway? The Company isn’t paying us that much to get ourselves
killed by Kotarans…or worse, to starve to death in deep space.”

“Now listen,” Kel said. “No one is being forced to do
anything. I think it would be wise to do a show of hands now and see who wants
to stay on the ship and see this thing through to the end, and who wants to
depart at the earliest opportunity.”

“Which will be
when
,
exactly?” someone asked.

Masao spoke now: “I’d say you have a good month—I
don’t think anyone can depart until we lose this Kotaran ship, which will
probably not be until we reach Bauxa. If we try to get off anywhere in this
solar system, the police or the Kotarans can get us.”

“Some clusterfuck you got us into,” said another voice. Once
again, Roan sympathized with the man’s anger. “So, we have one month to decide,
is that it?”

“You already signed up for a two-month voyage,” Kel said.

“That was before I saw my friend hacked to death in front of
me,” the African said.

“What about our jobs?” asked the American. “If the Company
finds out we’re not headed to Orion, we’re all canned.”

That was something Roan had thought about. Technically he
was supposed to be back on the job in seven days, reporting to the Entrepot and
back to the
Dunnock
. The marks added
up after a while, and a job was a job. And yet Roan did not want to be on Earth
right now, not with the kangas searching for him. A part of him needed closure
for Aaron, if only in spirit.

David responded. “I presume that the Company has realized
what has happened on our vessel. They are not going to penalize you for being
hijacked. If, however, they don’t know, they won’t find out for a month when
Orion asks where this vessel has gone. At that time you can send a message from
Bauxa explaining everything.”

“Let me be clear,” Kel said. “We can’t turn around, and
going to Orion would put us out of the way of this historic discovery.”

“A vote,” Masao said. “Let’s do this vote now, so our
positions will be known.”
 
The
murmuring died down and Masao waited for Kel to make the beginnings of a vote
speech, but when nothing came Masao probably realized that he was the one who
brought it up and thus he was going to have to do it. He cleared his throat.
“All right. All those who wish to stay on until we reach this planet, raise
your hand now.”
 
David was the first
to raise his talon, quickly and high. Kel followed. Next, the Sikh guy, and
then three more hands from the crew. Masao eventually raised his hand, and all
eyes then turned to Roan, whose hands stayed crossed. “All right,” Masao said.
“Hands down.”
  
Down they went.
“All those who want to leave at the earliest opportunity—which will
probably be Bauxa—raise their hand.”
 
Two crew members did—Roan saw their uniforms and believed them to
be an engineer and navigator, not people easily replaced on a skeleton crew.

Still, Roan did not raise his hand.

“OK, hands down,” Masao said. “This was not a vote to
determine action, but to see where people stood. Now, did everybody vote?”
 
Masao allowed himself a smile, and looked
at Roan. Roan realized he’d have to explain himself.

“The truth is, I don’t know,” Roan said. “I trusted Aaron. I
still
trust his knowledge enough to
believe the information he presented to us beyond the grave is accurate. And
believe me, I’d be overjoyed if I could prove he died for something real. At
the same time, I always think about my crew and their wishes, and even though
this is not my ship, I have a duty to the men and women who would serve under
me. Many of them want to leave. Many of them have no faith in this origin of
life stuff. I understand that, and understand that going through all this
mayhem today has not exactly warmed everyone to a convoy across space with the
Kotarans.

“That said, I am going to think on it. Let’s all think on
it. We have a month, don’t we? When we eventually reach a good point to offload
some people, let’s all take a real long hard look at the evidence and ask
ourselves then whether it’s all worth it.”

One or two of the crew laughed. The American got up and
stormed out of the mess hall, fumbling with a pack of cigarettes and no doubt
heading to the smoking chamber. Roan couldn’t blame the man. He struggled to
process Aaron’s presentation, too. He didn’t want it to be true, being related
to bloodthirsty kangas. But he was among the majority of the survivors who
still sat in the mess room, contemplating the journey ahead with great anxiety.

Roan looked at Kel. She, like him, could sense that this
meeting was over, but it wasn’t going to be
finished
without some proper explanations of the procedures for the journey ahead.

“We have enough fuel and food to make it to Bauxa,” she
said, not saying that they had even a little extra now that half the crew was
dead. “The
Colobus
is getting there,
no question about it. We need to all do our part to focus on speed and keep the
FTL from shorting out. The Kotaran ship may be faster than we are, and they aren’t
going anywhere, but we have a head start, and we can maintain that head start
for a month. Periodic jumps out of FTL into dead-sensor areas, frequent
maintenance of the engineering section—all those things we can do. We can
beat them.”

The crew seemed to take this in stride. Nods all around.

“That is all,” Kel said. And after standing for a bit, she
walked to the door. Roan was going to follow her, but he’d done enough of that
today. Trailing Kel to her room was only going to make him a pebble in her
boot. Frankly, he didn’t expect to see her for a while.

Masao and David, standing awkwardly in front of the crew,
announced that everyone should return to their posts and keep the ship running
at least until the end of their normal shifts. They were all going to be
working double time now. Slowly, the group broke up, the squeal of chairs and
boots as they all shuffled out of the mess hall. Not one of the crew shot a
glance in Roan’s direction. Roan couldn’t blame them for that. He was the
catalyst of their misfortune, and not acknowledging him might change their
situation.

Masao merely nodded as he passed, giving Roan a flicker of a
smile.

David was the only one that said anything to him.

“You were Mr. Vertulfo’s friend. I trusted his judgment.”

Roan thought back to the engine room. To David protecting
the unconscious Kotaran, to the hate that must’ve been in Roan’s eyes. What did
the Nyden think of him after that?

“Like you, Mr. Roan, I have a judgment to make, too. About
your character. About what you’re capable of. I have seen you are a
narrow-minded human. Something of a brute, in fact. Maybe this can never be
changed, but Aaron believed that his discovery would bring the Four
Civilizations into closer harmony. Maybe it could change you, too.”

The Nyden’s brain began shining black. Roan wondered whether
it was some kind of anger indicator.

“Just as you have a duty to your crew,” David continued, “I
have a duty to those I care about. To those I love. And Aaron was someone I
loved. I can think of no better way to honor him than to validate his life’s
work. That is why I will be proceeding on to Aaron’s planet, despite the
danger. And I hope you do, too. You might need the answers to Aaron’s questions
more than any human alive today.”

 
The Nyden’s
brain returned to its usual blue color. David closed his eyes and bowed, then
left the room. Roan, alone in the mess room, wondered if the speech he’d been
given represented respect or a threat.

This was going to be a long journey.

Haven

A Kotaran in a headlock is not unheard of aboard a tactical
cruiser, as crewmen are encouraged—off duty—to settle their
differences with at least a modicum of fighting. But seeing a Commander take part
in such an action is extraordinary. The witnesses to the event, a few dozen
crewmen aligned in rows of eleven, stood rigid at attention but were
nevertheless riveted by Grinek’s grip on a shipmate’s neck.

“Most Earthmen are shorter than you,” Grinek explained,
winding up his hour-long demonstration in battle tactics. The shipmate grunted
under the vice of Grinek’s right bicep. “This usually makes it easier to break
his neck, which can be done with a simple twist of your other hand.”
 
Grinek gripped his claws around the
man’s head, but did not twist. This was not
that
serious of a demonstration. “Though this technique is often impractical
because you have to get so close to the Earthman, it can be a satisfying way to
get rid of your opponent, and instill fear in any witnesses.”
 
He let go of the volunteer, who fell to
the mat on the floor.

Clearly transfixed, the assembled crew offered no clacking
of their teeth in approval. They did not know if the lesson was through. Only
when Grinek helped the volunteer off the mat and clacked his own teeth did they
respond with the correct sound. Grinek genuinely thought highly of the
volunteer because it took courage to go up against a Commander and be his
“experiment” for the day. Grinek’s anger was a well-known, if little mentioned,
fact on board the
Hanyek
, as was his
propensity for dispatching “inferiors.”
 
In this case the Commander made a mental note to consider this volunteer
for future assignments, if only Grinek could remember his name.

The clacking died down and Grinek composed himself. “Those
were today’s instructions on combat tactics: laser handling, melee training,
and close defense. They will serve you well against the Earthmen. Remember,
while Earthmen are short, they are also fast, and adept at problem solving. You
will face them eventually, and when you do, you will learn that they are
over-reliant on energy weapons—because they know they cannot face a true
opponent without them.”
 
There was a
scattering of approving clacks.

“Your task for the next quarter-hour is sparring. You will
make sure to attempt to tire your opponent—and everyone
will
leave here tired.”
 
That was an order, not a joke. Everyone
present could potentially join a battle unit.

After a gesture of dismissal, the men spread out across the
mats of the Training Center to begin. Located in the bowels of the
Hanyek
, the Training Center was the only
facility on board that was guaranteed to relax Grinek. His duty there, which he
had taken upon himself, was to train all of the combat personnel for tactics
they would need to board the Earth ship
Colobus
.
Without Captain Sisal to constantly second-guess his orders, Grinek could
finally feel in control.

These troops would soon be experienced enough to capture the
vessel they’d been following for a month. Apparently, Roh and his insertion
team had not been able to seize control of the vessel. This was disturbing but
also something that would be rectified. Obviously, there were some well-trained
people aboard that ship. Though the
Hanyek
was a faster vessel, the Earth ship was smaller and easier to hide in nebulae
or other cosmic phenomena, as it had been doing for weeks. Each time the
Hanyek
caught up with the
Colobus
, the freighter screamed out of
their sights with its faster-than-light drive. Once they bore down on what they
thought was the ship, only to find it was a probe radiating a false energy
reading.

Listening to the thwacks of punching and kicking, Grinek
walked to his uniform, hanging on a chair. He picked it up and wiped his brow.
Barely a sweat. Two men in front of him were sparring—without protective
pads, as only cowards wore those—and Grinek approved of their jabs and
taps, not meant to cause serious harm. He wished he could spar now, were it not
below his station.

“Commander!”
 
It
was
that
voice.

Wrapped in a hideous red exercise robe was Vorjos, now
entering the Training Center. Against the grey garb of the others assembled,
the political officer stood out like a moon in the night sky with his garb,
perhaps more suited for lounging in the hot springs of Tiwathi Bay with his
political
friends. Such a man as
Vorjos could be counted on to dress for the wrong occasion.

“Observer. I was just about to leave.”

“Please don’t! I was hoping to talk with you here.”

“About what?”
 
For a week, Grinek had managed to avoid the man, not an easy feat on the
Hanyek
. The Commander sneaked around
hallways, spent short moments on the bridge or sat in his room ordering no
disruptions. Of course, the defense course kept him confined to the single
location of the Training Center—and therefore it was easy for Vorjos to
find him, as long as the insipid bureaucrat had access to his whereabouts.
Spies! The man had spies.

“Shall we?” The Observer gestured to the sparring
combatants. He gripped the belt of his robe.

“Please, Observer, I need to attend to the bridge.”

“You are not needed there.”
 
In other words,
I insist
. “Commander, indulge me. I need the exercise, don’t you
think?”

Indeed he did. Vorjos’ scaly belly had bulged over the past
month, indulging as he did with liver-destroying liquor and the sweetest, most
fatty cakes. Grinek cringed.

“Very well, Observer.”
 
Grinek threw his uniform back on the chair. “I trust you realize I am
not responsible for any injuries you suffer.”

“I am well aware of this. Don’t worry, the Council has
insured me.”
 
Vorjos undid his belt
and tore off his robe, revealing the flabbiness of his politically-honed body.
Grinek focused on his body only for a brief moment, but was glad its leathery
sag perfectly contrasted his own. Perhaps it would be good to let the men
compare these bodies and have them see how a true leader appeared.

Grinek raised his fists in front of his face and put his
feet shoulder-length apart in the
Mo’Skev
stance. For a second he thought of saying some words to provoke Vorjos, perhaps
making him lash out—but he would rather see what his opponent had planned
for him. That was always more fun.

The two circled each other on the tips of their long feet.
Usually, the most impatient man threw the first punch. And of course, Vorjos
swung first. His punch was ineffectual and impotent. Grinek easily blocked it
with his fist and responded with one centered on his opponent’s furry sternum.
Vorjos coughed and stumbled backward, but his tail provided balance and
prevented a fall. He put up his small claws in defense.

“Whew!” Vorjos panted. “I think I might need some more
lessons, Commander.”
 
Grinek said
nothing. Again, he brought his fists to his face. He noticed that some sparring
soldiers had stopped to watch their pugnacious commander in action.

Vorjos aimed a second punch, which Grinek blocked. Vorjos
tried a slice with his leg at the same time—a classic
OnCon
move—but failed as Grinek
interrupted that with his own leg.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this, Commander. Forgive
me.”

Grinek curled his mouth into sneer. “I thought as much,
Observer. You don’t use your hands much over at the Consular Palaces.”

“No, we do not. I should hope your men are better trained
than me.”
 
Grinek chose the moment
of babbling to attack, jamming his toes into Vorjos’ knee and landing two jabs
on the man’s fleshy ribs. Perhaps he punched a little harder than he should’ve,
was a little more forceful than he would’ve been with the crew—but Vorjos
didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t even stumble over. All that body fat must keep
him upright.

“I can assure you they are quite well trained, Observer. If
they are under my tutelage then they are the best Kotara has to offer.”

Vorjos caught his breath, then swallowed. “Hopefully, they
are better than the operatives you sent to capture the Earthman ship.”

A verbal rejoinder. How fitting. By now, most of the
practice sparring had stopped and the soldiers-in-training were watching Grinek
and Vorjos battle. The lack of discipline among them was unfortunate, but it
could not be dealt with now.

“Down to business, I see,” Grinek snarled. They still
circled each other, hopping in a circle. There was periodic jabbing and
thrusting. “Now you must indulge me, Observer. What brings you to the Training
Center? Not exercise, I imagine.”

Vorjos’ ears stood straight up. “The Ruling Council has
denied your request for another ship to intercept the Earth freighter. The
fleet is stretched thin in the Fortu System.”
 
A lie, but not a surprising one coming
from the Ruling Council. Clearly the politicians had abandoned their zeal for
the mission. “In fact, they had some words to say about the
Hanyek
’s assignment. I would preferred
to have told you earlier, Commander, but you know transmissions from Kotara
take hours to arrive. As the mission stands, the Council is not happy in the
least. They claim that you have failed to garner the required information, and
failed to capture an Earth freighter—something that is quite unbecoming
of your character, Grinek.”
 

How dare he use his personal name? Grinek jabbed at Vorjos’
right shoulder. That allowed the fatter man to get his first hit on Grinek’s
stomach. Grinek landed a hit on Vorjos’ head as he jumped away, but felt the
sting of the blow.

“The Council knows nothing of my character.”

“They know your record. You did so well with the
Grisholdans. And they know you should easily be able to capture a freighter of
Earthmen—or at least have your operatives do so. But you’ve had a month,
and you’ve failed. The fact that the Earthmen are outrunning a ship-of-the-line
like the
Hanyek
is most disturbing.”

“We’ve been tracking them all this time. We have not lost
them.”

“That is the issue, Commander. The
Colobus
is like a boil on our ass—one that hasn’t gotten
worse, or gone away, either. It just festers.”

Grinek lunged, and Vorjos blocked him. Again and again. The
hack was getting slightly better, but Grinek knew his own body had grown tired
and he was weary from dealing with this organic embodiment of stupidity.

“Tell them I don’t work miracles. I can’t make the
Hanyek
go faster.”

“One councilman called the mission a ‘futile, high-speed
pursuit.’ ”

“We will get the
Colobus
and the information on it. Then the councilman can decide for himself if the
pursuit was ‘futile.’ ”

Vorjos stopped, put up his hand and caught his breath.
Grinek took some satisfaction that the stuffed suit was wearing out. “That is
another issue, Commander. This information about the comet. What I’ve been told
by the Ruling Council suggests they have grown skeptical of the science behind
this mission. It’s only a logical conclusion after they’ve waited so long
without updates.”

“I assure you it’s the truth.”

“Well, this information doesn’t seem to fit with the
narrative we’ve built for ourselves.”

“Who? What narrative?”

“The narrative of Kotara, Grinek. The narrative of our
culture. That we were chosen to have dominion over our planet, and that we
alone…are special. We are not related to Nydens, or Bauxens…and certainly not
Earthmen
.”
 
Vorjos spit in revulsion. “What do the
writings say? ‘Kotarans are the beings meant to toil on the land, under
Bar’Hail, close in kin to Fox’Lo, and nourished by Gri’Nelda.’ ”

Grinek could not believe what he was hearing. Was the
political officer putting his own religious views in front of the Council’s? Or
worse…did he represent the Council’s views? He feinted, let Vorjos try and hit
him. Another miss. Grinek landed a vicious blow against the man’s kidney.

“The Council is not worried just because they fear being
related to Earthmen. They fear their beliefs will be invalidated, their belief
that Kotarans were formed by Bar’Hail. The Council is full of closet
ghin
—simply following the latest
religious fads.” Grinek put down his hands, only for a moment, and realized it
might look like he was forfeiting. He moved them back up, but told himself
there was nothing he wanted more than to end this fight and send a complaint
back to Kotara immediately.

“When the Nydens made first contact with us sixteen emperors
ago, that was bad enough for the Kotaran ‘narrative.’ Yet we survived. Our race
will survive no matter what we discover out there in deep space.”

Vorjos was grimacing in pain from the kidney blow, but
straightened his back and put his hands in the air. “I know you don’t believe
in the gods, Grinek. But most have always believed in them. We know this now
because of the Unbanning. The old ways of the old Emperors have been determined
to be incorrect—it is now fine to express the truth, that there is a sky
god, and a ground god, and a sea god, and they all shape our lives. I’m
surprised you have resisted this truth so long. But you are a military man. You
are not focused on studying history or the ways of our ancestors. Your only
purpose is to kill blindly. Like a glorified grunt.”

Grinek charged at Vorjos, letting out a scream that
attracted the attention of all in the room. His clawed fingers found Vorjos’
neck and he squeezed. But Vorjos was ready for him. Eyes locked on Grinek’s,
snarling along with the Commander, Vorjos brought his tail around and wrapped
it once around Grinek’s right arm. The arm that had been struck with a hatchet
years ago, in the Grisholdan campaign. As the tail grew taught, squeezing the
muscle there, Grinek’s snarl turned to a grimace and then a scream of pain. His
grip slackened. And as Grinek’s scream reached a deafening pitch, Vorjos
unwrapped his tail and got out from the grip of Grinek, finding just enough
time to kick the area near Grinek’s calves. At his genitals.