Captain Walker (Chapter 3)

Captain’s Log: 8459.220. By the grace of God and a whole bunch of luck we have made it. 299 years have passed and every member of the crew is in good health – and Doctor Kim sure is looking mighty fine. End Entry

First Contact

Chapter 3

         Captain Tom Walker rests his hands on the back of Rogers chair and watches as his communications expert continues his attempt to decode the message that continues to flood his equipment.

         “I don’t know, Captain,” Roger growls as he leans back, stretches his arms high and yawns long and deep. “I have seen just about every type code, language and symbol known to man but for the life of me I can’t seem to make the slightest headway with this one!”

         “Why don’t you give it a break, Rog? Possibly after some rest it will come to you.”

         “Yeah, maybe your right.” Then with his mind still deep in a quandary over his inability to break this code Roger rises to his feet and while mumbling to himself he slowly moves through a hatchway at the rear of the bridge.

         As Tom moves toward his Command and Control panel Brad motions to him. “Captain, I have the results of the systems check.”

         “Good news?” Tom asks as he quickly approaches Brad’s control terminal.

                   “I’ve seen better,” Scorpio’s Chief Engineer says, his eyes showing an unreadable degree of concern.

“Mother has a number of pot-marks along her starboard side. Nothing major there. But there’s a patched three-meter wide hole, probably from a meteor strike, in the starboard aft quarter-panel."

         Tom shows a building worry over first Rogers inability to break the code, and now this patched hole in Scorpio’s side and says, “Looks like our mechanical crew was right on the job – but, isn’t that the section where our back-up fuel supply is stored?”

         “Yes, it is. But it appears that none of the canisters were hit.”

         “We were very lucky!” Tom whispers and then asks about the Tag-alongs.

         Brad takes a deep breath then begins, “That is where we have a problem.” He then keys a few buttons to display pictures of the tags and continues. “The Agricultural Lab is fine. There appears to be some spoilage but with the food supply that remains we should be in good shape.” Scorpio’s Chief Engineer then looks up at his Captain and ads; “I can’t say the same about Tag-2.” He then looks back at his COM panels and continues, “Apparently some sort of collision or explosion has ripped the side of Tag-2 opened like a can of sardines.” Brad then activates an onboard camera as he works switches and dials; “Gismo should be
just about there.”

         Tom and Brad watch as the Rover-Cam scans down the side of Tag-1. Once past the lab, in the distance and silhouetted against a black background, an ominous sight begins to take shape.

         “Oh my God!” Tom whispers. “What the hell happened?”

         Brad adjusts the focus on the rover’s eye then boosts its magnification.

         “What the . . .!”

         A rip runs down the entire length of the cylindrical-shaped cargo tag while large pieces of the ship are missing near the aft end of the craft and torn and shredded materials, once the tags contents, hang from jagged metal around the opening.

         “Looks like an explosion from inside the ship,” Brad suggests.

         “I’m not so sure. Give me a closer look at the tear.”

         Both sets of eyes are glued on the screen as Brad maneuvers the tiny craft in toward Tag-2.

         “OK . . . now swing the camera up . . . to the upper edge of the opening – Hold it! There-stop! Look at that, Chief!”

         Brad’s heart almost stops as he and the Captain look at melted metal at the edge of the tear while black carbon streaks run the length of the gash.

         “That, my friend, is a lazier strike. Our tag has been fired upon,” Tom says, his eyes fixed on the irrefutable evidence of an attack.

         Tom looks at Rowan, who has eased his way to the rear of his Captain and who now stands stone-faced as he also looks at the damage to Tag-2.

         “Number-One, run a check of the ship’s log for the time we were in the SLSC. All three hundred years, if need be. But I must know how, and more important, exactly when we came under attack.”

         “Roger,” Rowan shouts as he runs across the bridge and to the Com-Panel.

         “Already checking!” Roger yells, who has returned to the bridge, his mind too confused over the unbreakable code to sleep, and who is also aware of the attack on Scorpio at one time in their past.

         Tom then moves to his ships communications consul, he throws a few switches and announces, “Listen up people – at some time during the past several hundred years we came under attack. Until we determine the exact time and reason – and by whom, we will assume Command-Alert Posture-1. Stay alert, people!”

On planet Shum

         “Scientist, the assembly will hear you now. But make it brief, we have important matters to attend to.”

         Mot nods then quickly walks through the opening, down a long wide corridor and to a massive statue
of their leader.

         The murmur of a hundred voices echoes around the Great Hall as Mot stops at an enormous stone table. As careful as possible he lays his parchment folders and the ancient slab on the table then stands, facing the massive body of Governors.

         “Praise be to Posh,” Mot begins as he turns and bows in the leaders general direction. “Governors, I bring you news of astonishing importance. When I was but a child, news came of life . . . “

         “Scientist, we have little time, come to the point of this interruption or leave these chambers, now,” spits one of the assembled Governors in a totally disgusted tone.

         Mot looks stone cold at the Governor that interrupted him, slams the parchment on the table and picks up the ancient slab. “This is the recorded account of a message received by my father when I was . . .”

         Again an interruption comes screaming to Mot’s ears and by the same Governor. “I am aware of this slab and of the foolishness and the lies your father tried to get we Governors to believe – I was a Governor then! Unless you can add credence to these lies I suggest you leave, now!”

         Mot is now furious with rage. He holds the slab high over head and yells . . . “They are here. Visitors from a far galaxy are here!”

         Total mayhem irrupts from within the great assembly walls. Governors throw articles of clothing, slam sticks, eating utensils and containers on the stone table and the sounds become deafening. “Lies . . . lies!” they scream. “Nothing but LIES!”

         In total disgust and uncontrolled anger, Mot is about to crash the ancient slab to the ground when The Great Posh stands. He holds his hands high, in an attempt to silence the assembly. But when his actions result in no reaction from his convention he brings a stone shaft down on the large table with such force that it shatters into a million pieces and a planet-shattering explosion crashes through the hall. And the assembly of Governors draws quiet and they sit.

         “Silence,” The Great Posh screams, “Silence!” There is a fire in his dark eyes as Posh points a long slender finger around the assembly and then sits. He then looks at Mot and says, “Scientist, what you are saying is impossible. Even the very young knows that life beyond our own planet does not exist.”

         “Oh, but we all have been taught incorrectly – life does exist, and I have proof.”

         Again a low murmur begins to rise from the assembly and The Great Posh jumps to his feet, points at the large body of Governors and shouts, “I commanded silence and silence I will have!”

         The Great Posh sits hard, looks at Mot and with a clearly irritated sound in his voice, he says, “What you are saying is impossible. But, if you are prepared to back these words of foolishness, I will listen.” He then directs Mot to return to his lab and await a team of Governors to check his story.

And back on Scorpio

         “Brad, send the rover back to that hole in Scorpio. I want to make sure it wasn’t made by the same lazier that hit Tag-2,” Tom instructs as he moves nervously from his com-panel.

         “I thought you went to your quarters,” Tom questions as he passes Roger answers, hard at work checking and rechecking historical data, trying to locate when the probe came under attack.

         “I did. But couldn’t sleep. I guess 300 years will hold me for the time being,” Roger whispers, a chuckle in his voice.

         “Anything yet?”

         “Nope! Not yet,” Rowan answers, “there is an awful lot of stuff to check.” Then as an after thought Rowan whispers, “It’s hard to believe that this much stuff went on while we were sleeping.”

         Tom is sitting, thumbing through a large pile of forms completed by the robots over the past 299 years when Doctor Kim approaches. “Your pushing the crew too hard, Captain.” Then when Captain Walker looks up at his Chief Medical Officer and with worry and concern in her eyes, she ads, “The crew needs time for full regeneration.”

         “But . . .”

         “No buts, Tom – Doctor’s orders.”

         The Captain opens his mouth when Kim places a finger to his lips and smiles while slowly shaking her head.

         The Captain closes his eyes and nods. “OK everyone, turn your checks over to the computer and head for your quarters. Doc says we need some rest.”

         Then before Roger rises from his chair Tom ads, “And, Rog, have the computer make a communications
check of Earth history. I wonder if she is still there.”

         “Thank You Captain,” whispers Doctor Kim as she hands each man two capsules. “Take these, they will help you sleep.”

And back on Shum

         “How did it go?” asks Dorn as his father bursts through the lab wall opening. “WOW, not very well, I see,”
whispers Dorn to himself when he looks at the expression on Mot’s face.

         “Those Governors are the biggest bunch of Odif-headed idiots I have ever had the displeasure to attempt to talk with,” Mot yells as he throws parchment and folders on his sitting place. “Not only did they not believe me – they had the audacity to question the work of my father!”

         Mot walks to the Long-range Signaling Device, checks its settings and nods. He then turns and stares at the Translator. “Dorn! Why have you not activated the Translator?”

         “Activate the Translator? I knew nothing about activating the Translator.” He then picks up the parchment to show his father.

         Mot pushes his son to one side as he quickly moves across the lab, lifts a cover over the activation switch and turns the massive machine on.

         “See father, there is nothing on the parchment about the Translator.”

         With his eyes glued on dials controlling the large machine, Mot, without looking, grabs the parchment from his son’s hands turns it over and hands it back to Dorn.

         “Oh! Well, you didn’t say to turn the parchment over!”

         Mot looks at his son with a growing disappointment and then says, “Son, I have much work to do. Members of the Governors Council are coming to check the validity of my testimony. You can either help or leave.”

         “I want to help. What can I do?” Dorn asks a deep hurt in his dark eyes at the way his father is treating him.

         “OK then, use that parchment and record the information as I read,” Mot instructs as he points toward a pile of unused parchment and a writing utensil.

         Dorn moves quickly to the things his father has pointed out and asks, “Why is the Translator so important?
The message has been sent into space.”

         Mot is busy checking fine-tuning and calibrating settings as he speaks. “The message being sent into space is a form of language that only we on Shum are able to understand – I know this from my studies of other languages on Shum and of the ancient slab. The Translator will modify our signal and change it into a form of language that others can easily translate.”

          Mot is reading calculations, measurements and equations when a voice comes from the lab opening, “So, this is what a science lab looks like.”

         “Governors – Governors, come in please!” Mot shouts as he runs across the lab to greet his guests; the great Posh is leading the way.

         Dorn, not accustomed to be in the presence of such great authority, lowers his eyes and backs into a corner.

         “Scientist, our time is yours. Show us the proof you have that makes you believe that visitors have entered our galaxy,” Posh says as he moves to a series of sitting places.

         Mot smiles then hurries to collect files, documents and – the ancient slab.

         “As so you may fully understand, I must begin at the beginning,” whispers Mot, his dark eyes taking on a questioning glance and with caution in his voice.

         “If you must begin at the beginning, then do so. You will not be interrupted,” slowly says The Great Posh as he looks over the Governors he has brought to the mountaintop lab.

         Mot walks to an opening in the wall, points to the field of antennas, their cupped heads directed to the heavens and humming with activity, and says, “When my father was young, he and his father invented the transmitting antenna.” He then walks back to the table at the front of the gathered Governors, and continues as he points toward the antenna field. “Those antennas have pushed signals of welcome into the heavens for many revolutions of our light-discs, and without a response. Much time had passed, and I was new to Science when a signal was received. Just a single signal, once and no more – and nothing before nor since.”

         With the Governor’s looking on Mot raises his finger toward the sky and says, “The signal came from out there.”

         One of the Governors, the one that led the display at the assembly, then asks, “How did your father know this was a signal from a living source? There is much noise in space, everyone, even the Squall-Gather’s know this?”

         “This is true,” Mot replies. He then picks up the ancient slab, displays it to the gathered Governors and continues. "Noise in space is a constant or wavering signal equal in high and low variations.” He then points to the marks in the slab and while running his fingers over the etchings, made so long ago, he says, “The signal received when I was a child does not follow the pattern of normal space noise. This signal is abundant with abnormal high and low variations; some beyond anything recorded before or since.

         Posh as well as the Governors is silent, their dark eyes fixed on the slab when the Great Posh asks, “I am convinced that what you are saying is unusual, but what makes you think this signal means we are to be receiving visitors from space?”

         Mot then points to the massive machine that takes up one entire wall and says, “For half of my life I have been working on this Translator. Not long ago I finally completed my work. We can now read the message in the marks on the slab.”

         “This is hard to believe,” says one of the Governors, “A machine that can read marks?”

         “It is all true,” says Mot, a pride in what he has been able to accomplish that shows all over his body. “Not only will this machine read the marks, it also gives the message’s origin.”

         “So, what does this message say?” asks Posh, a reluctance and half fear of the answer.

         Mot carefully lays the slab to one side, picks up a piece of parchment and after looking over the top of the page and at the Governors, he reads. “Greetings from Earth. We have received your signal. Men and women will travel to your Galaxy. We come in peace.”

         Mot lowers the parchment, looks at The Great Posh and ads, “And there is number indicating when the travelers left this Earth – The year of our Lord, 2210”

         “Earth, Lord, men, women, numbers. What do all these strange words mean?” asks Posh.

         “I am not sure. But I do know this. This vehicle from someplace called Earth, left their galaxy shortly after this message was received.”

         Mot then goes on to explain how, with the use of the Solar-Eye, he was able to locate a galaxy that probably contained this place called Earth. And with his knowledge of light and speed and time he was able to calculate an estimated arrival time for these visitors. “Governors, if these beings from a place called Earth are in fact on their way to our planet, and if my calculations are correct, they are in our heavens – now!”