Dark History
by Anthony Lukas
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Table of Contents parts: 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
Adams dropped into her desk chair with a sigh. She was exhausted, yet there was so much to review from today and to prepare for tomorrow. Damn the Ambassador, inviting New Worlders aboard the ship, her ship, without consulting her. She took a small square device from her pocket.
“Well?” she asked.
“You will have to be more specific,” a voice said.
“Your report, Pal, what have you learned about these people?”
“Technically very advanced,” said the captain’s personal and confidential AI device. “The landing party was being scanned the entire time, the shuttle was also subject to intense scanning. Its propulsion and weapons systems were especially probed. I believe they monitored all our communications.”
Adams tried to think if she had communicated anything secret or embarrassing and could think of nothing, thank goodness. She would have to alert all teams to watch what they said on communicators.
“What did they learn from all this scanning?”
“I cannot say. I do not know if they broke our encryptions. Nor what information they were able to glean from the shuttle. The ships that surround us have also been attempting to scan our systems. I believe the ship’s shields have prevented any successful probes. So far.”
She would have to discuss that with Sirius. “So far?”
“They are very persistent.”
“These people make me uneasy,” said Adams.
“So you have said.”
“First contacts should be a cause of celebration, a reuniting of lost peoples. But there’s something about this planet... Has Wells checked in?
“Briefly. She and Scarpino have talked to O’Rourke about their status and concerning an apparently minor incident.”
“O’Rourke told me. Have you been monitoring their communications?”
“Of course.”
“Any fall-out over that little tiff?”
“’Tiff?’”
“Yes, tiff. An argument, a scuffle, a—”
“I am aware what the word means. My vocabulary exceeds yours by a factor of ten, and that is just in your language. In other—”
“All right, all right. I was just making a joke,” sighed Adams.
“Oh? Really?” asked Pal.
“Stop it. So, anything in the official or unofficial channels?”
“No. Although, frankly, there seems to be little distinction between official and unofficial. Incidentally, Wells has sent a short report about certain of her observations that she finds disquieting.”
Adams leaned back in her chair. “Tell me about it,” and listened to Pal do just that.
* * *
“Have you noticed the official state flag and the banners that have been raised to mark your arrival?” Azura had asked.
“Of course,” said Wells. “It has a field of stars and something that I take to be your planet.”
“Stars, yes; planet, no. I am sure you have noted this planet’s lone moon,” said Azura.
“Of course,” said Scarpino. “Though its not really much of a moon. Kinda like Demos, around Mars. Pretty small.”
“Not in the mind of the Founders. The mythology is that the moon was captured by the gravity of New Earth. Brought to heel by the power of this planet, so to speak.”
“It wasn’t?”
“Oh no, it’s complete nonsense. Comparison of the geology of New Earth and the moon is conclusive that the moon spun off from New Earth when the planet was forming billions of years ago. Just as Old Earth’s moon did.”
“Why the denial of the science?”
Azura shrugged. “I don’t really know. People just want to believe it. The myth has grown to somewhat bizarre proportions in my opinion. Its stylized image on the flag, banners, in the government seal. So much seems invested in this myth. So much of the Founders’ identity. This planet’s capturing of this moon is seen as a metaphor for the destiny of these people.”
* * *
The clipper had brought a full load of New Earthers aboard the Liberty, and the ambassador had given them free run of the ship. They had crowded into Engineering, studying and recording; computer systems were also of deep interest. Adams was leery of any questions regarding weapons systems but very few actually came.
She escorted the Prime Minister and staff about the ship, fed them and chatted. The ambassador allowed some to remain aboard for the night, to experience the experience. The politicos returned on the clipper.
Adams again sank into a chair behind her desk and groaned when the door chime sounded. “Come in.” But it was O’Rourke, and he had a bottle of his Irish whiskey and two glasses. Adams perked up: “Welcome, friend.”
O’Rourke sat, filled the glasses, handed one to Adams and said, “Slainte.” They clinked glasses and sipped.
Adams sighed, “Much better.”
“How it go today?”
“Fine, fine,” she sighed. “They just seem to want to know everything, like kids in a candy store.”
“Are they as forthcoming with our questions?”
“Yeah, they don’t seem to be holding anything back. Nothing but co-operation with our crew planetside either.”
“But...” said O’Rourke.
“There is not a ‘but,’ I guess. Still...”
“I see you’ve read all of Wells’ report. I was kind of leery of these folks already, but this moon business. They’re sounding a little off their nut.”
Adams just shrugged wearily.
* * *
And again some weeks the later, the chime sounded, O’Rourke and bottle entered, glasses were filled and, “Much better,” said Adams.
“You know what you need? A trip to the country.” To Adams’ raised eyebrow he said, “Scarpino and Wells have arranged with one of their handlers to take a trip into the foothills to see some of the towns there. We should go.”
“We still have these — what do they call themselves — ‘Founders’ aboard, and some more are coming up tomorrow.”
“Sirius can handle it. Come on, fresh mountain air, and they do brew some fine ale.”
Adams rubbed her eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
“Think positive thoughts,” said O’Rourke, draining his glass and left.
After O’Rourke was gone, Adams became restless and left her cabin with no particular destination in mind. She wandered through Engineering, some of the recreation areas, the science labs, just listening and trying to feel the ship. When she wandered onto the bridge and just sat in her command chair, asked a few perfunctory questions, Sirius gave her an inquisitive look, but she waved him off and, after a few more minutes, departed.
She headed again to her quarters but stopped in the corridor and just listened.
“Are you alright?” she softly asked her ship.
“Sir?” asked a crewman behind her whom she hadn’t seen.
“Nothing, sailor, just talking to myself. A prerogative of rank.”
“Yes, sir,” he said as she moved off. Great, Adams thought, that’ll be all over the ship by dinner time.
Back in her quarters, Adams asked: “Anything, Pal?”
“You will have to be more specific,” said Pal.
Adams sighed. “Anything new regarding our visitors regarding a threat assessment?”
“Nothing overt. They continue to probe our systems, but still no attempt to alter programs in any way. And they have allowed our planetside teams full access to their computer systems as well, including defensive ones. All of their personnel who have come aboard have conducted themselves well.”
“Oh yeah, they are polite as hell,” muttered Adams.
“Do you regard such civility as suspicious?”
“No, no,” sighed Adams, waving the thought away, “they just make me uneasy.”
“You have been working with these people non-stop for several weeks. Perhaps you could use a break. The trip with O’Rourke could be beneficial in that regard.”
“Oh you heard that, did you?”
“I hear everything.”
“Yeah. Wish you could read minds, tell me if these people are as they seem or something else.” She shook her head. “Where does this feeling come from?”
“Do you want me to answer that question?”
“No, it was rhetorical... Wait, do you have an answer?”
“No.”
“Thanks.”
“However, there is a theory that might be applicable.”
“Go for it.”
“For what do you want me to go? Please be more specific.”
“Stop it,” said Adams. “What is this theory?”
“Genetic memory. It posits that some events or series of events of a traumatic nature can become encoded in a population’s genetic makeup resulting in not specific memories but rather a shadow memory, a vague emotional response.”
“Really?”
“Just a theory and, as in most such theories, there is no objective evidence.”
“Ah, I see,” Adams sighed. “Well, thanks for the input.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“No, no, I’m just tired.”
“You should go with O’Rourke tomorrow. I am sure you will enjoy it.”
* * *
And she did. They journeyed into the foothills through a long valley of tidy farms and small towns, up into high hills. They were sitting outside on the terrace of a tavern, looking at a view that extended seemingly forever through air that was crystal clear. Adams noticed a lack of any appreciable amount of pollution on the planet. These people kept a tidy world, she had to give them that.
Now, she, Yeats, Smyth, O’Rourke and Wells sat at a small outside table in the early evening. O’Rourke was saying, “You brew a fine ale, that’s for sure,” holding his glass up.
“That alone should bring you back into the fold.” Smyth beamed. He had been reluctant to take them out of the city but, now, after a few ales, he was all smiles.
Adams was smiling in spite of herself. Looking out at the surrounding hills and valley she felt relaxed for the first time in days. They do make a fine ale here, she thought.
There was a group singing off in a corner of the terrace. “Some traditional songs, Yeats said.
The group started another tune, one of the woman singing with a lovely clear voice. A verse singing of nature, of the animals of this world. A lovely melody, thought Adams, words invoking a bucolic world. Something about a stag running free in the forest, and golden meadows. But Adams then noticed Wells had a strange look on her face.
“You all right?” asked Adams.
Wells was concentrating, ‘I’ve heard this one before.”
Adams listened to the singer’s lyrics invoke the sun and a verse ending something about ‘this world belongs to me,” A little corny, thought Adams, sipping her beer.
The singer continued but the beat and volume increased as she sang, finishing with the line “worlds belong to me’ as almost a shout. There were cheers and applause from many on the terrace which Smyth joined but Yeats just looked embarrassed.
During the ride back to the capital, Wells was occupied with her comm linked to the Liberty’s historical banks. “What the hell is it?’ she kept muttering.
“Are you all right?” asked O’Rourke.
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just that that song is bugging me.”
Some time later just as Adams was again taking in the view of the Liberty as the shuttle approached, Wells said “Nazis.”
“What?” asked O’Rourke.
“Nazis. That song was associated with the Nazi movement.”
“What’s a Nazi?” asked O’Rourke.
Adams interrupted as Wells started to explain. “Tell him later. What are you saying?”
“That song, it was somehow associated with the Nazis’ rise to power on 20th-century Earth. It may be a folk tune, an anthem, a musical theme... something like that. Near as I can tell, they’ve altered the wording. The original was ‘The future belongs to me.’ Now it’s been changed to ‘The worlds belong to me.” Wells shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s significant, Captain, but it is interesting from a historical perspective.”
What’s bothering her? thought Adams. What had Pal called it: a genetic memory? Had it made her uneasy with these people? Was it an unconscious ancient memory of the unspeakable evils of the Nazis? Had such a memory unfairly colored her reaction to these Founders?
Still, there was their treatment of the Laters and that song. But maybe it was just a song.
* * *
Copyright © 2022 by Anthony Lukas
