Captain Walker (Chapter 5)

Captain’s Log: 8662.195.  What is in store for us?  We are going to a planet that we know very little about.  Should I send a security detail first?  Should we even go?  End Entry

CONTACT VALIDATED

Chapter 5

         Mot sits surrounded by silence in the Out Room (a small chamber off the main lab) checking and rechecking his figures.  “These ‘things’ from planet Earth must come – they have too!” he whispers while slowly shaking his head.  He then looks up as Dorn walks through the Out Room opening and carrying a basket over-flowing with a multi-colored leafy vegetable called Squall.

         Mot’s mind controlling concern over ‘the things’ not making contact with him is reflected heavy in his large dark eyes as he speaks to his son of other things. “I hope you were nice to them.”

         “Why should I be nice to the Squall-Gatherers?  None of the other scientists are ever nice to them.”

         The boy’s father looks hard at his son and with a tinge of anger in his voice he councils, “Son, you are lucky.  If you had to crawl around on your hands and knees most of the time you would know how they must feel.”

         Dorn shrugs his thin shoulders as he places the basket on the small stone table.  Then with much concern reflected in his voice and in an attempt to change the subject of his father’s conversation he says, “Father, you must eat.  You have hardly touched your Squall ever since the Governors’ visit.”

         “I am not very hungry,” the boy’s father explains.  He then forces a weak smile, “But if it will make you feel better I will try to eat – a little.”

         Mot reaches into the basket then freezes, his head cocked to one side and listening hard.  Then without the slightest warning he jumps to his feet, knocking the basket of Squall to the floor and runs for the lab.  And as he shoots through the wall opening he looks back to his son and screams, “Don’t you hear it?  Come-on Dorn!”

         The young scientist spring from his sitting place and follows his father into the lab as the constant ringing of a high pitched bell suddenly fills both rooms.

         Mot stops short of the Antenna Signal Receiver panel, looks at the flashing amber light and whispers, “It must be them – it has to be them!”  Then in a pattern he has visualized a million times Mot begins throwing switches, turning dials and spinning wheels.  He then steps back as a light brown piece of parchment slowly flows from the device.  He turns toward his son and smiles; “This MUST be it, Dorn!”

         Mot snatches the parchment out of mid-air when it drops from the mechanism, he then turns, skips and jumps his way to the Translator.

         Dorn stands to one side, his mouth hanging open at the sight that is taking place in his father’s lab, then Mot carefully inserts the parchment through a wide slot and turns a large dial from Stand-by to Translate.

         A nervous trembling deep within his muscles has Mot on edge as he slowly backs away from the massive mechanism when it begins to buzz, bang and pop. 

         Lights flash and wheels spin and Mot and his son stand motionless and silent, their eyes glued on the reader bar on the left side of the Translator, and they wait silently for an indication that the machine has finished.

         Slowly a second slip of parchment begins to appear at a slot on the side of the Translator.  Both scientists, their dark eyes glued on the message as it moves through the opening, stand hardly breathing and watch.

         With long bonny fingers and trembling hands Mot reaches forward, grabs the parchment and pulls it from the slot.  Then slowly, hesitantly, he turns it over and for an eternity, he stares.  Without a word, his breaths coming in short spurts Mot moves to his sitting place.

         “Is it a message from the ‘Things’ from planet Earth?” Dorn asks, his voice uncertain, quivering and hopeful, and at the same time concern for the way his father is acting.

         “My father was right!” Mot whispers.  He then looks at his son, produces an enormous smile and yells.  “My father was right . . . he WAS right!”  He then hands the parchment to Dorn and says, “Read the message, Son – read it!”

         Dorn takes the parchment, smiles and with an overwhelming pride at being given the distinct honor of being the first to read the translated message from the things from a planet called, Earth, he stands tall, clears his throat, and begins.  “Your message received 8662.200.  Father, what is – 8662.200?”

         “I have no idea.  Possibly some sort of way of recording the passing of time – or possibly a location,” answers Mot.  He then flicks his fingers at his son and instructs, “Continue.”

         Dorn is silent for a brief moment, then proceeds, “Lets see . . . Message Received . . . Oh yeah!  ‘Will be in your air space as your sun makes its ninety-third pass around your planet’.”

         “Sun, air space, ninety-third, planet – these things from a planet called Earth sure do talk funny,” comments Dorn as he shakes his head and hands the transcript back to his father.  “What do all these strange words mean, father?”

         Mot takes the parchment from his son, then says, “I am not sure exactly what they mean.  But I am sure we will find out.”  He then stands walks to the opening and after turning back to his son Mot asks, “Well, are you coming?  I am starving – let’s eat!”

         Both suns are hidden behind a horizon as Mot and Dorn begin talking about all the things they want to show the ‘things’ from planet Earth when all at once Mot stops, his mouth full of green/blue Squall.  He looks at Dorn and in a panic he spits out, “The Pails . . . the Pails!  Oh No!  I completely forgot about the Pails!”

         Dorn also displays some concern, “Right!  The Pails will kill the ‘things’! What are we going to do, Father?”

         “I don’t know – let me think!”

         After a short silence Mot snaps to his feet so fast he again knocks the basket of squall to the floor, “I must speak with The Great Posh.  Possibly he can help or knows what to do.” 

         Mot runs from the Out Room, into the lab, grabs the parchment and out the opening so fast Dorn has no chance to utter a single word.  Mot’s son then stands at the opening and whispers, “Neither Posh nor any of the Governors will help you father.  We are scientists.”

Back on Scorpio

         “Brad?  Were you able to find anything on that Lazier Attack?”

         “Captain, I’ve searched every millimeter of tape, file, note, message and statement from this darn computer and there is absolutely nothing – not one word concerning a lazier attack.”

         “Any suggestions?” Tom asks.

         Brad slowly shakes his head as he yawns deep and with his balled-up fists he rubs his eyes.  He then freezes, thinks for a minute, and as a smile grows on his face, and while slowly lowering his fists from his eyes, he whispers, “Wait just one darn minute here – of course!”  He jumps to his feet and with Tom close behind Brad quickly walk across the Bridge and to the Operations Robot standing motionless in a corner and powered down. 

         The ship’s Chief Engineer carefully searches first up one side and down the other.  He turns his head to Tom, smiles and as he reaches for a small security door just below the robot’s emergency power pack, he says, “Here it is!”

         With a small transfer disk in his hand and waving it in the air, Brad runs back to his station.  He slips the disc into a slot near the computer panel and says, “Just possibly there will be something here.”  He goes on to explain that the ship’s computers recycle every fifty or so years.  The process takes one-fifth of a second and during that time-laps the robots are programmed to record all ship status information.  “And Captain, a lazier strike similar to what took place on Tag-Two would take less than a fifth of a second.”

         “WOW!” Brad exclaims at the very first panel display.  “There you go Captain!”

         With Tom and most of the crew watching Brad scrolls the visual panel from one side to the other when in the distance two Zorian Battle Cruisers come into view, their lazier cannons blazing away.

         Brad looks up at his Captain who is shaking his head and says, “Fifty years into our mission and well after we were all in the SLSC we came under attack by a War Patrol of Zoranian Battle Ships.”

         “Time’s right,” the Captain whispers.  He then looks at Brad and informs him as well as the rest of the crew of the transmission from Earth, a hundred years into their assignment.

         “Makes sense,” Brad says.  “The Zorans were at least a hundred years from perfecting the Magnadrive when we left Mars.  They probably knew we were in their space and possibly had an idea where.”  He looks back at Tom and ads, “Captain, if their shot had been just one millionth of a second sooner . . . Captain, they would have cut Scorpio in two!  Then none of us would be here.”

Meanwhile back on Shum.

         “There’s that fool Scientist.  I wonder what Grand Revelation he has in store for us this time,” whispers a Governor while standing on the Assembly steps and talking with a colleague.

         “I must speak with the Great Posh,” Mot yells as he runs up to a Pails guard at the entry way to the Grand Assembly.

         The guard just shakes its head and brings its lance to the ready.

         “You don’t understand, I must speak with the Great posh, it’s of grave importance.  Now please allow me to pass,” Mot begs.  But the Pails guard again shakes its head.

         Mot is desperate, he has to gain an audience with Posh and he is willing to do anything.  And placing his own life in jeopardy is not completely out of the question.

         He backs away from the Pails and has just about decided to charge headlong at the guard in an attempt to
gain entry when he hears a voice to his rear.

         “Scientist, if gaining entry is that important to you then by all means, enter.”

         Mot turns to see a young Governor standing behind him, his arms crossed and smiling.  He returns the smile and points at the Pails and is about to speak when the Governor says, “Go ahead, pass.  The guard will not harm you.”

         He looks back at the Pails guard, which has not changed its expression and cautiously takes a step toward the opening.  The guard doesn’t move.  He moves even closer and still the Pails doesn’t move nor does it even acknowledge his presence.  He then quietly slips past the guard and through the entryway then turns and in a whisper and while glancing up at the Pails he thanks the young Governor.

         Mot walks quickly into the Inner Room.  The assembly is out of session – the grand hall is empty.  He is standing near the center, looking around and for a clue as to where he should go next when a very young Governor appears at an opening leading to a small Out Room.

         “Can I help you, Scientist?” the young Governor asks with a touch of arrogance in his voice.

         Mot quickly walks through the grand hall and toward the young Governor; “I must speak with the Great Posh.”

         The Governor tells Mot to have a seat, the Great Posh is busy, but he may be done soon.  And Mot sits.

         The Grand Hall appears large when walking through it or addressing the Assembly of Governors.  But when sitting alone it is truly the largest structure Mot has ever seen, and even the slightest sound echoes from the chamber’s high dark ceiling and off the dark stone walls and around the large chamber for a long time.  Suddenly Mot feels so small and his mission so unimportant.

         Much time has passed and nothing has happened.  Mot is about to drop a pebble and count the waves of sound as it reverberates around the great room when the faint sound of a voice comes through a small Out Room opening.  The voice is not directed at him but is
coming from where Posh is holding some sort of a meeting. 

         He then stands and watches as a shadowy figure quickly moves along one side of the grand assembly chamber and toward a second small Out Room.  And Mot can not believe his eyes.  It is a dear friend and co-worker, Cord! 

         Cord is also a Scientist and works the lab at the base of the mountain from where his own lab sits.  His friend is very old, probably the oldest living Scientist on Shum and is respected by all the Scientists and possibly even a few of the Governors.

         “My friend Cord.  What are you doing here?”  Mot asks as he moves quickly toward the old one.

         “Mot?  Mot, I might ask you the same question.”  He then looks at the younger Scientist in a suspicious stare, “And, exactly what are you doing at your lab?  You are really causing quite a stir around here?”

         “I must speak with Posh,” Mot says, a sense of urgency in his voice.

         “About what?” Cord’s voice is more demanding an answer than asking for one.

         Mot looks around and when he is positive that no one can hear him he whispers, “Cord, I have made contact with the ‘things’ from a place called planet Earth.”

         Cord jumps back and sits hard, and then looks up into Mot’s smiling eyes and shakes his head; “You fool!  You stupid fool!  You have no idea what you have done!”

         Mot steps back, his dark eyes open wide and in shock then spits forth with a building anger of his own.  “Don’t know what I have done?  Don’t know what I have done?  Cord, I thought you of all the Scientists would see the importance of this news!”

         Cord stands, grabs Mot by the back of his arm and forces him toward a small Out Room.  “Scientist Mot there is something you must learn, now!”  He stops short of the Out Room entrance, points his old wrinkled finger at Mot’s stub of a nose and with an inner anger controlling his every word he snaps, “Then you, my friend, you be the judge of your actions!”