Disclaimer:
This short story, which I’ve basically written to “try out” a story line, is a
work of science fiction. I will therefore advise you that, unlike the “Da Vinci
Code”, the “science” in this story is ... fiction (except that the Smith
brothers really did play roles in the invention and development of the
stump-jump plough). Oh, and non-Australians might want to brush up on their
Australiana / Australian geography ...
Review panels are
grim: they’re meant to be, I suppose - presumably to impress the uninvolved -
“the public”, the media sharks, and whoever assesses the panel members’ next
promotion. They seem to work so hard to create a sense of “Hey, we’re being
hard and genuine about all this! We’re being offended on your behalf - trust
us.” Imagine big, perfect, toothy smile. So “the public” gets to sleep easier,
comforted that the next incident where 3 cents of their money could be lost or
wasted will be prevented (although possibly through spending 4 cents), the
media sharks get to sell lots more media, and the panel members get promoted.
Happiness all round
- oh, but wait! There’s the sacrificial lamb - me. What I, and the other
sacrificial lambs, get to feel is … well, not cared about by anyone at all.
Well, for the sake of the record, what we feel is: a sense of doom. It’s like,
but a fair bit worse than, the sort of feeling you get as a kid when you first
genuinely realise that your parents know you’ve been lying, and your whole world,
and existence in it, is about to end.
“Wait here, please.
You’ll be called soon”, and the usher pointed disdainfully to a plain bench –
well, he probably thought it plain: I thought it comfortable, even though I had
now been spending some months recovering from the trip from hell. Just over a
year it had taken – more than that off my life, and now the vid-shows were full
of people screaming for blood. Well, not literally – it’s just how it seemed to
me, with my shattered nerves.
Ah, Admiral the
Usher was back: “Captain, you have been called now.”
And I squared my
shoulders and marched briskly through the imposing panelled doors, from a cold,
draughty corridor to a colder hall with a flotilla of iceberg officials lined
across the end wall, so very far, far away.
I knew – or,
rather, I knew of, some of the
people: the chair was a woman with a tough reputation: Margaret Cready, an
elegant woman who wore her sari with obvious pride and dignity. A couple of
colleagues of mine in the past had been grilled by Commodore, later Admiral,
Cready, and they hadn’t enjoyed the experience. Two of the other senior members
I knew to be careful of were a politician, Senator Fielding, who was quickly
climbing the political ladder despite being elected late in life, and the
Secretary of the Department of Space, Tom Harey, a man who was said hadn’t
smiled since the Green Hilde disaster
fifteen years earlier, and had only returned to work after several years with
his people on their ancestral homes round the North American Great Lakes.
A clerk was
standing in front of the panel, waiting for me. As I approached he indicated
the wood-walled box I should go to, and then took me through the formalities of
being sworn in, and giving my name and rank “for the record”.
Then I could sit,
and turn to the panel, feeling like a walnut facing the children who were about
to roast it.
“Captain Burke”
Admiral Cready began, “I’m sure you’re aware of the purpose of this inquiry,
but I must state it for the record. We’re here to examine the voyage of the Greenspan, with a view to determining
what lessons can be learned, both to prevent future tragedies and to determine
whether there are other ways we can improve our work in space.”
She looked over her
half-moon glasses at me, and informed me severely “Although you may feel
otherwise, this is not a witch hunt.
You’re here as the best witness to advise us, and are expected to simply tell
us the truth.”
Senator Fielding, a
man with a bulldog’s build, thick, compressed neck, and the wall he had run
into still there for a face, shifted and frowned at that, but the Admiral was
continuing.
“We will assess
your, and other information, and make our recommendations to the Board, who
will in turn make their recommendations
to Parliament, at which stage the process will become officially public – and
unofficially politically.”
Was
that a joke? It seemed to me it was, and it was as
surprising as bucket of cold water.
“Understood,
Captain?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. I’ll hand
over to Earl at this stage.”
One of the panel
members towards the end of the panel, a young man who looked a bit like a half
forward flank, tall and young and thin and quick and keen – probably would be
quite good, he looked like some of the Irish imports from a couple of centuries
ago – he was red haired enough to be Irish, leaned forward and began.
“Captain, after
provisioning, you went to Port Kiewa before beginning your assigned journey.
Would you please explain why.”
There was no
question mark there – it was an order, not a request.
“While we were in
port, there were some complaints about meals – and I had noticed myself that we
were running out of coffee and other basics such as soap at times. I’d spoken
to the head of logistics, and been assured that the system would work well in
space, but wasn’t prepared to take a chance on that. I decided on a short trip
to Planet Tangambalanga, through known and well developed space, to test the
management of provisions.”
Admiral Cready
interrupted here. “Captain, what were the specific concerns you had in relation
to the provisioning? Were you worried that people were going to starve?”
Was
she kidding? Did she have any space time?
“No ma’am, it’s a
morale issue. If my crew have the perception – no, a better way to put that
would be if my crew formed an opinion
that things they perceived as luxuries were in short supply, then they would be
more likely to see other matters as problematic, and ...”
“Whinge?” supplied
Senator Fielding.
“Yes, sir.” Looking
back at the Admiral, I continued.
“It’s something
which goes back to the extended trips of nuclear powered submarines a couple of
centuries or so ago, and the management theories which started developing at
that time about simultaneous good and bad indicators.”
“Thank you Captain,
I am aware of where this comes from.”
Ouch
– didn’t want to make that mistake
again.
She continued: “Please
continue, Earl.”
“Yes ma’am.
Captain, what was the outcome of your diversionary voyage?”
Uh
oh – time to start pushing back here.
“Sir, the voyage
was, in my opinion, part of the essential preparations I had to make – it was
hardly a diversion.” I only thought the word frivolous …
I was surprised
when Tom Harey interjected: “That’s understood, Captain. Please continue with
your assessment.”
“Yes, sir. On the
voyage to Planet Tangambalanga the morale and ... luxuries situation was
unsatisfactory, so when we were in Port Kiewa I ... reviewed the situation with
the senior staff of the Logistics Department.”
“A little like this
hearing, perhaps, Captain?” Cready asked.
Maybe
I hadn’t completely cooked my goose with her, after all – not yet, at any rate.
“Yes, ma’am,
somewhat like this.”
“And the results of
that hearing?”
“The Manager
Logistics was having some personal problems, and-“
“Those problems
being, Captain?” Cready’s voice was silkier than ever. Damn – I’ve made another mistake there: don’t gloss!
“His wife was ill
shore-side.”
“Thank you. In
response to this, you ...?”
“I had him
transferred to that shore station, ma’am, and found a replacement from within
that Department.”
“Who functioned adequately
throughout the rest of the voyage and subsequent events?”
“Yes, ma’am. In
fact, I have made a commendation regarding his performance.”
Senator Fielding
leaned forward: “Captain, do you have an opinion about the competence of the
man ...” he paused as looked at his notes, “Warrant Officer Wills, who you
replaced?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
I paused. Ah well,
I was cooked anyway.
“I consider that
Warrant Officer Wills is an extremely competent person, and should be considered
for exactly such a position again, but not when his wife is gravely ill – which
is an opin-“
“Thank you,
Captain”, Fielding interrupted. He smiled – at least, I think that was what the
wrinkles and crevasses on his face rearranged themselves into, and added “We
ask the questions.”
One of the other
panel members spoke up here, a thin, dark woman with, I could see, an intensity
in her eyes that could fry your brains at twenty paces, if she chose to use it.
“Senator, I’m
interested in what the Captain has to say on such matters.”
Tom replied to her
“We all are, Grace”. He glanced at the Senator, and continued “We’ll be giving
the Captain a chance to speak freely later, but we want to get through the
preliminaries quickly.”
Ah
– so I’m off the hook over Wills. He’d sounded grateful when I’d given him the
chance to be with his wife, so I hadn’t thought there would be any complaints –
and everyone else seemed to have been happy with the change.
The next half hour
was fairly routine – number of crew and their training, provisioning, mission
planning – the sort of stuff I went through several times each trip anyway. It
was towards the end of that time, though, that I started to get a hint of how
things were going to go. It was Grace, with her gypsy looks – she even had a
tattoo that looked of Romani origin - and fiery eyes, who asked the question.
“Captain, at that
stage of mission’s planning, what allowances were made for personal
relationships and issues between the crew?”
Uh
oh. Time to make a decision here: career or truth, perhaps?
I’d not really had
time to think about this properly since the end of the mission – I’d been
focused on the bureaucracies associated with ending any mission, plus the extra
requirements that this trip had led to, and had not even had time to heal
myself – or even rest. As I contemplated the question, I felt a surge of anger
and frustration.
What
the hell – if I’m going to get anything out of this, time to be honest and tell
things as they are. Maybe that’ll lead to some good out of this whole
shemozzle.
“Ma’am, in
accordance with the Department’s Policy manual, no specific provisions were
made. Informal intimate relationships between crew members are officially
tolerated, but not encouraged, and unofficially are discouraged.”
Senator Fielding
growled again “And the purpose of this position is?”
“Sir, the reason is
to try to prevent tension, discord, disharmony – anything which could prevent
the crew working as a seamless unit.”
Admiral Cready
added “Particularly under pressure situations?”
“Yes ma’am, particularly under pressure situations.”
One of the other
panel members, an older bespectacled man in a cardigan and vest, spoke.
“And did that
policy work?”
Admiral Cready
interrupted before I could reply.
“Graham, we’ll get
to that in due course. Perhaps we could continue with the preliminaries?”
Graham nodded his
assent, and smiled easily.
The next hour also
continued fairly easily – the questions, although largely straightforward, came
too quickly to do anything other than think of what had happened. Maybe they’d
planned it that way, to keep me off balance so they could slip in the odd
question and get an off the cuff answer. But they didn’t do that.
Instead, we went
over and public-recorded the trip after the training run to Planet Tangambalanga,
from Port Wodonga, the final provisioning run along the Oodnadatta
System to planet Bogong and the “joys” of the Carrum Carrum Company, then the
first legs of the journey, along the convoluted Cabramatta Navigation Route
from Port Wodonga through the Geriwerd System to Port Eurobodalla, then along
the Narromine Arm, past the Barrenjoey System to our final staging post, Port
Caboolture, and finally through the Tanami Belt to our target, the Wollemi
System, where we were charged with refining the initial explorations, including
finding a place for an initial base, to be called Station Mawson.
The mission had
gone well enough, except for the usual sort of hassles and problems, until we
came into the Wollemi System, and it’s Bunglegumbie Barrier.
That’s when I had
to start trying to explain the science of it all.
“Sir,” – I was
answering the bulldo-Senator Fielding – “the main drive basically uses gravity
waves. We have a device which is usually described as a gravity paddle: the Smith
drive. It is described as being akin to a paddle that is always in water: to
get the boat to move, you turn the blade of the paddle across the wave when the
water molecules are going the way you want to, and then when the water
molecules are going the reverse way, you line the blade with the motion of the
molecules to minimise the drag.”
Graham, glancing at
the Senator, commented here “All done with no physical effort, of course – no
servo motors turning carefully shaped pieces of plastic, Bob.”
The Senator looked
quizzically, though quite mildly, over his spectacles at Graham. What was going on here? One moment there was
lots of pressure, the next it seemed that everyone was having an old times get
together.
Grace piped up
here: “And you, in effect, angle the blades if you want to travel at an angle
to the gravity waves?”
“That is correct,
ma’am” I replied. I AM going to have to
be careful here: they either know their stuff, or have been very well briefed.
Senator Fielding
piped up here: “OK, so you have these gravity waves washing back and forth.
What stops you washing back and forth, even if you do have your switching
paddle?”
Or
not.
“Senator, we
actually have three drives. We have old thrusters for close manoeuvring and
getting an initial direction established; a pulse drive to build up enough
momentum to avoid the problem you are referring to – and help us start skipping
from one wave ahead to the next, and the Smith drive itself.”
Without
looking up, Secretary Harey added “By the way, Captain, before he entered
politics, the Senator did some work on how to establish the transition from
pulse drive to Smith drive.”
Shit. This was partly his baby that
was on trial. Shit. Shit shit shittedy shit. OK, so maybe be a bit bold here.
“Did
I pass on that explanation, Senator?”
“We’ll
know in due course, after our deliberations.”
Shit! Stop getting too familiar – they
know each other, you’re not part of that.
“Of
course, Senator.”
“Don’t
worry, Captain. This enquiry is not related to the technical aspects of the
design, although we do have to ask the questions for the sake of the public
record. And on that note, on the Smith drive – actually, does anyone know how
that name came about?”
He
was looking at the other panel members, who were looking equally lost. Well,
well, well, they weren’t so all-knowing after all.
“Senator,
the name came from the Smith brothers, Richard and Clarence, who were South
Australians who invented the stump jump plough a few centuries ago, in the late
1800s. The early visualisations of how the science worked tried to take the
analogy of lifting over the waves when they were going in reverse, rather than
the current explanation.”
Admiral
Cready spoke: “That sounds a reasonable explanation to me; why was it changed?”
“Madam
Chair, it failed to allow people to think of the problems of establishing
enough momentum, which was found to be necessary.”
“There’s
question marks over the current explanation, too, aren’t there, Captain?” This
was from the half forward flanker: what was his name? Earl.
“Yes,
sir. Since we’re talking about, effectively, minor variations to a reasonably
constant force, there is a question mark about whether the analogy actually
fits appropriately.”
Cready
was speaking again. “Alright, then. I think we have established well enough
that the Captain has a more than adequate understanding of the technology he
was placed in charge of. Time to move on, I think?”
At
the nods of her colleagues, she looked at Graham. They are well prepared.
Captain,
would you please explain – in your own words - what went wrong with the Smith
drive?”
“Sir,
the problem wasn’t so much in the Smith drive, as in the fact that we had three
Smith drives. If we had one, it would have moved the immediate locality of the
drive only, and anything else that was attached to it would slowly but
inevitably have been dragged off the drive. By having three, we could – well,
the theory was we could create a small zone that was locked together, and would
travel as a single unit.”
Grace
asked “And the control was ...?”
“Largely
reliant on good old fashioned, simple momentum. By building up speed slowly, we
had enough time for the control systems to respond to and correct any drift in
the force being developed by the three drives, and once we reached a high
enough speed, it would take a very significant force to change the momentum
enough to damage the connecting envelope.”
“Which
happened.”
“Yes,
Madam Chair, that happened.”
I
was lost to my thoughts for a few moments, and was brought back out of it by
Admiral Cready.
“Captain,
we are aware you have lost one of your wives and others dear to you: do you
want a short break?”
I
shook my head.
“Aaron”
interjected Secretary Harey, “I’m sorry but we need a spoken response.”
He addressed me by my name? Maybe I do
have allies, of a sort, in here.
I
faced the Admiral directly “Thank you Madam Chair, I will continue.”
“Very
well then. Would you please explain how the structural failure happened, and
what the implications of it were?”
I
drew a big breath: this was the biggie.
“We
have been mapping gravity waves in a detailed way for almost a century, now,
and have noticed that there are variations – often attributed to the effects of
black holes, worms, variations in the density of dark matter, and the like.
There does appear to be, however, an area of what is usually described as
turbulence, a bit like the pattern of waves around an isolated island, around
the Wollemi system.”
“The
Bunglegumbie Barrier.” It was Earl speaking, looking almost as if he was lost
in horror – why?
“Yes,
sir, the Bunglegumbie Barrier. All the other variations we had seen were
dynamic, but this one was static: in the seventy years since it was first
mapped, it hasn’t changed. We’ve mapped it, plotted it, sent remotes through
it. Nothing shifted.”
“Until
you went there.” That was the
Senator.
“Yes,
Senator. As we entered into the Barrier, it changed.”
I
had to pause. I was going to give a rational, cold, unemotional accounting of a
time of desperate panic and fear, when some crew were paralysed and incapable
of comprehending this fundamental change, others were responding creatively and
almost superhumanly quickly, and most simply had to watch and wait for their
fate, since they weren’t directly connected with moving and navigating the
ship.
They’d
taught us at the Space Academy how to cope with people screaming and almost
deranged with fear; they hadn’t taught us to handle the quiet “no, oh no” of an
elderly purser watching his wife of several decades undergoing an excruciating death
just a few untouchable centimetres away. It was the depth of agony behind that
“no, oh no” which had almost unhinged me – and that was right at the start of
the troubles, and without the tragedy unfolding me round Merran and Sally.
“Captain?”
“Sorry
Madam Chair. Yes, as we entered the Barrier, the pattern changed – rapidly, and
powerfully. I could try extending the analogy of paddles to say the wave
pattern bounced off our paddles, but it was much more dramatic, incoherent and
fundamental than that.”
Grace
asked quietly “And the effect of that?”
“Ma’am,
the effect was to tear off one of the three drives, including that part of the
ship, twist the other two so that they were almost at right angles, and send
what was left tumbling through the Barrier.”
After
a pause Secretary Harey asked “Captain, what was your technical assessment at
that time?”
“And,
Captain” added the Admiral, “perhaps you would be so good as to tell us how you
came to the opinion you did.”
I
nodded at each as they spoke, and replied as calmly as I could.
“My
immediate assessment was based on my own observations: the vibrations, noise,
the visual aspects all conveyed that we had a major incident. I wasn’t too far
from a relay station, so was able to order an emergency shut down and damage
control report. Purser Clark, who had just lost his wife in the incident, was
of significant assistance in helping me access the relay point.”
Clark,
the one who had sighed “No, oh no” as his reason for life over the last few
decades died …
“In
what way?” This from the one they called Grace.
“I’m
sorry, Ma’am?”
“In
what way did Purser Clark help you get to the relay station?”
“Yes,
Ma’am. Initially he held me steady as the centrifugal force threw us all round,
and then he calmed and diverted those people who were attempting to approach me
directly regarding the situation.”
What a bloody mealy mouthed way to put
that – they were screaming and hanging off me, till the gentle man, as much of
a noble gentleman as his English ancestors ever were, had cajoled and in some
cases forced them off me. He had been telling them things like “Yes, I know –
my wife’s on the other side of the doors as well, so can we let the Captain get
to the station and do his job.” He knew full well she was dead, but his apparent
calm had given me the break I needed.
Senator
Fielding had mumbled something.
“Yes,
Senator?” asked Admiral Cready.
“Sorry,
ma’am.”
“Senator
– as you have made an audible remark, I will have that remark on the record!”
“Very
well! I don’t bloody know why there should be so many people strolling the
decks!”
He continued, looking straight at me “Did you
often allow such wilfulness in your crew, Captain.”
I
cut the Admiral off and used what was close to my deck command voice for the
first time.
“Senator!
I ran the ship as a ship – not a
prison. Lock people to their cells when they’re off duty and you may as well
start shooting them – when you are on long
passages. ... Sir.”
The
Admiral was looking intently at me. Bugger
- did I say “bloody” out loud in that rant where I had thought it? Maybe she’s
pissed at me interrupting her.
The
Senator was looking like a thundercloud in a pressure cooker – screw him!
I
nodded at the Admiral, and said “My pardon, ma’am.”
She
nodded and replied “Continue ... please.”
I
drew my breath.
“I
could get clear communications from around half the ship.”
Grace
interrupted here, and in her quiet, interested voice asked “Although you had
lost only around a third of the vessel, I believe?”
It
was a wonderful interjection – you could see all the clouds of steam, tension
and anger easing off in the background of her calm.
“Yes
ma’am. We later found out that the twist had cut some of our communication
links.”
“But
at that time?” Graham asked.
“We
relied on our training, and followed the procedures we had set for
communication problems.”
Graham
responded “So you didn’t have to do too much innovating at that initial stage?”
“It
just wasn’t appropriate, sir. One of the things I’ve trained my crew in is allowing others to do their job – not
getting impatient, or trying too much to be helpful, staying as calm as
possible no matter how stressed you are.”
I
had gone way beyond the service’s trainings on this.
“Is
this where the yoga came in handy,
son?” spat our Fielding.
“Yes,
it is.” Sir. He got the barb of the
omitted respect.
Grace
again counterpointed Fielding by commenting “Did Purser Clark have that same
training, Captain?”
Startled
by a memory, I replied “Ah, why yes, ma’am. He did.”
“Captain?”
enquired the Admiral.
“I was just ... ah, recalling a comment Joe-er,
Purser Clark had made on that.”
“Which
was?” I could almost see her mind spinning behind her eyes and planning to spit
roast me the way she had the Senator, so decided I had better come clean on the
memory.
“When
I thanked Purser Joe Clark for his assistance in getting to the relay station,
he made a comment that I had helped him to help me. At the time ... at the time
I didn’t properly understand what he was referring to – I thought he was just being
polite.”
“Are
you sure it was about the yoga?” This was the half-forward flanker speaking. What was his name again? … Earl.
“Yes,
sir, I am.” And dared him to challenge me with my silence.
Secretary
Harey interrupted here “Getting back to the point!”
I
was surprised when Grace responded “The interactions between the crew are exactly
the point, Secretary – which is why the President requested me to be here. I
presume you will allow me to do my job to the President’s satisfaction?”
Shit! There were some high powered
people here.
Admiral
Cready spoke here.
“I’m
sure we will all ensure that, in the steps of the good example set by
the Captain, we all allow each of us to do our jobs – which, at
the present time, is still the rather mundane task of recording the initial
responses to these tragic events. This is, after all, the time when most
casualties occurred.”
She was right there – I hadn’t allowed
myself the luxury of thinking on that, and at that time I didn’t know about
Sally and Merran, and we’d lost surprisingly few more on the trip back home.
And I still couldn’t have that luxury of thought – I was still the bait on a
hook.
The
Senator harrumphed.
Admiral
Cready raised her closest eyebrow at him. “Yes, Senator? Anything you want to
get out in the open where it can be dealt with?”
“I
don’t see any need for this ... carry on!”
“Not
the way it was in your day, Senator?” asked Graham.
“No!
I don’t hold with this slackness – and with, with wives! God! Two of them.”
Mentally
I bristled, but Graham and Grace had the Senator’s measure.
Graham
was first, with the force of a nobility that would take no nonsense.
“Senator,
I remind you, we are here to do a public service, a public duty, and we – each
and every one of us – has taken an oath, an oath that I consider sacred, to put
their public duty ahead of their personal wants, needs or desires. That,
Senator, applies as much to you as it does to this young man!”
Grace
continued nicely, I thought.
“True,
Graham, and I’m sure the Senator’s adherence to a religious path not followed
by everyone will be kept a private matter, and not allowed to interfere with
the matters of this hearing. After all, polyamory has been legal for over a
century now, and I myself have a husband and two wives.”
“Ahem.”
The Admiral continued, drily, “Now that all parties have exchanged views, and,
in so doing, got them onto this public record,” - Fielding and Grace looked a
little taken aback at that, although Graham simply continued to glare at the
Senator – “we will continue.”
She
looked at me.
“Please
continue, Captain. I believe we were discussing communication?”
“Yes
ma’am. We used our protocols to establish as many independent and multiple
lines of communication as we could.”
“How
did you keep track of this?”
Earl
– it would be.
“I
improvised a manual record on the walls beside the station.”
At
a nod from the Admiral, I continued.
“After
around 20 minutes I had firm communication to around 60% of the ship, with unreliable
communication to around another 5%. We knew we had lost 18 of the ship’s
company, with 12 injured to the point of being incapacitated, 31 were active,
and 19 were missing.”
“You’re
very specific on your figures, Captain.”
“Madam Chair, yes, I am.” And I would till the day I died – I could have listed their names as
well, starting with Jim Clark’s wife Mary.
“Very
well. Your figures check against my information, so please continue.”
Grace
glanced at the Admiral, who gave a slight nod with her impeccable grace.
“Captain,
were you aware of what had happened to Merran and Sally at that time?”
God this was gut busting.
Feeling
as though I shouldn’t be able to speak at all, with my heart heaving its way
back up through my neck, I replied:
“No,
ma’am, I didn’t know anything.”
“Did
it cross your mind to try and find out?”
“Certainly
it is a matter that crossed my mind, but I had, as we have just been reminded “
with a nod towards Graham “I had taken an oath, and there were enough people
clearly injured or dead right where I was: I had higher priorities.”
It
hurt me to say that anything, or anyone, was more important than Merran, or
Sally, but I had many more lives in my hands.
“Very
noble of you.”
“Senator!”
That came from the Admiral, Graham and
Grace.
With
hands up in mock humility, he replied “I apologise and, if it pleases the
Captain, request that my interjection be struck from the record ...?”
Oh shit. Ask the worm if it wants to
risk having a bite back. Not
bloody likely – it would only lead to worse for me later, when all the
“deliberations” were going on. So ...I nodded, silently.
The
Admiral snapped “The record stands!”, and glared at the Senator.
“I
was merely trying to establish whether the Captain had ... been able to perform his duties despite what
must have been most distressing circumstances – personally.”
The
Admiral, still locked on the Senator, growled quietly out the side of her mouth
at me “I’ll refer that enquiry to the Captain.”
Go ma’am!
“Yes,
I was able to perform as I had been trained.”
The
Senator started to speak, but subsided under the combined glare from the
Admiral and an eyeball challenge from me.
Still
locked on to the Senator – I’d hate to
have her as a missile locked on to me – she made an aside.
“You
know, where I come from, yoga is a noble and respected tradition of many
thousands of years lineage.”
The
Senator looked shocked: he had made a major miscalculation on that point … what
others, he was clearly wondering.
Did I have an ally – or was she
honestly just trying to do her duty, without any bias or unfairness?
She
spoke again, still locked onto the Senator: “Earl.”
Earl
coughed, and I continued without his prompting.
“Ten
minutes after baseline communication was established, we knew that most of the
life support systems on those sections of the ship we could communicate with
were stable, for the time being at least. Our navigation systems were giving us
strange readings, and from the visual appearance-“
The
Senator interrupted. “I’m interested in that, Captain. What do you mean when
you refer to visual clues?”
I
stared straight into his wrinkles, and replied “Sir, whereas previously we had
been able to look clearly along a 60m corridor and see from one end to the
other, now we see the floor twisting up and lost sight of that at around 20m.”
Bin-GGOOO!!!
I could see that had hit home.
The
Admiral commented, almost apologetically here, “Captain, to ensure as much
objectivity as possible, a number of our members have been deliberately kept in
the dark as to quite a few details.”
Thanks. Oh well, I guess they had to
do this properly.
I
nodded, drew a breath, and continued.
“At
this point I detailed two main work parties, apart from ship ops – which
included life support - and damage control. One was check for signs of life in
sections we hadn’t got to, the other was to try and sort out where we were.”
Without
looking up from his note taking (why,
when there were record transcribers floating about the place?), Secretary Harey
asked “Captain, perhaps you would be good enough to explain why you either did
not or could not use the remotes?”
“Certainly
Secretary. When we launch a remote, or one of our manned vehicles, there is a
slight loss of air, which I was not prepared to risk, and there would have been
some localised load which could potentially have overloaded the remaining structure
past failure.”
“Even
if it meant people died who could have been saved by such means?”
I
looked directly at him – he had raised his head for that question, and replied
“Yes sir. This is case of sacrificing the few having to save the many.”
Admiral
Cready looked at me with her unflinching stare “Even if it meant sacrificing
your wife, Captain.”
Screw her too.
“Yes,
Admiral.”
“When
did you find out she was dead?”
“About
two hours after I had detailed off the work parties.”
“Did
you know she was in a location where she could have been saved if the means the
Secretary had suggested had been feasible?”
“Yes,
Admiral. The search party’s deputy started the report by advising that knocking
had been heard initially in that section of the ship, and ... and ... when they
accessed that section’s viewing system, the ... someone had taped the notes
they wrote in front of one of the lenses.”
“Alright
Captain. We will take a recess for lunch-“
“I’m
alright, Ma’am.” I wasn’t, but I felt I had to say I was. The problem was, how
could I – how could anyone – prove that I would
have done “the right thing” if I had known that one of my wives, of only a few
years, not a lifetime as with Jim Clark, was just inches away, and dying. I
would be cursed with the whispers forever: the bets that if I had known I would
have risked opening a door for a few seconds to make a rescue. And I would
never even know who was doing the whispering, let alone ever be able to silence
them. And there were the other whispers, too, that I hadn’t bothered to save
her because my other wife was alive, or – even worse – that I had concocted the
whole thing to get rid of one wife so I could be with another.
Being
poly had been legal for decades now, but some people were still as small minded
as ever – and being up late and watching the late night trash talk shows cover
these rumours (as “in depth exposés” lasting almost a full minute) was not a
good move for me.
Grace
came to the rescue again here.
“Captain,
you may well be alright, but my backside and my stomach are both voting for a
break.”
Even
the Senator did his rearrange-wrinkles trick that I took for a smile at that.
The
Admiral was at her crispest. “Two hours, ladies and gentlemen.”
At
that, the pseudo-admiral slammed open the door (did those officious sods listen
through the doors?), and went through the “all rise ... you may now leave for
two hours, be returned and ready to proceed by 1500 hours” routine. Screw you too.
As
they all filed out, Earl had started to move towards me, until the Admiral
discreetly waved him back. OK, so that was it: isolation all the way.
I
didn’t feel up to eating – it would only have come out faster than I threw it
down anyway, so I walked for a while through the gardens around the Space Admiralty
building, until I found a quiet bench where I could sit down and pretend to
meditate.
Well,
it wasn’t much of a meditation, reliving those desperate few hours.
In
deep space, on a long trip, there is little sensation of speed or movement: the
travel has few indicators, few of the tags of consciousness we apply to
journeys. It had been routine – not peaceful: there is too much for any large
command to be peaceful, too many reports, too much thinking about training, too
much management of details and personalities and minutiae. And all that was
thrown out with the first deep rumble, a rumble heard through the structure
itself, not the air in the ship.
Then
the tumbling began ...
There
is a joke about not being killed by a fall, which says that, rather than the
fall, you are killed by the sudden stop at the end of it. Well, it was a bit
macabre, but the joke had a foundation of truth – a truth that had led,
centuries ago, to the development of the humble seat belt, and now, led to
people – people, and anything not adequately secured, being thrown with
incredible force into each other, and into anything fixed.
As
I’d hit ceiling, wall, floor and ceiling again, in quick succession, it was
only luck that stopped me hitting another person, or an object with a sharp
edge – and that was when the screaming had started.
I
was fortunate that the training they’d given us back at the academy had helped
me deal with that trauma, and with recovering from the nausea of being inside a
tumble dryer for a few minutes, but, even so, it was a few minutes before I
could start functioning.
The
first thing I’d seen was Purser Clark’s terrified face as he pounded and wept
against a door. I was metres away, but even I could hear the sound of escaping
air on the other side. He clearly wanted to open it, but he was clearly not
going to do so. I’d barked at him “Purser! Away from that door!”
He
obeyed – he’d even said “Yes, sir”, and then, when I’d looked at him
quizzically, he’d explained “My wife is – was ... in there, sir.”
I’d
felt sick, and thought of my own wives – where were they? Were they safe?
Goddess – there was no way of telling, and I clearly had duties to do.
By
now, some smoke had appeared, and I could see some electrical fires. I started
moving towards the extinguishers, and was pushed out of the way by others who
saw to the small flames. Fire and ships has been a dangerous combination for
millennia: it was more so now.
And
then I realised the deck ... the deck was twisted. Some of the crew about me
were breaking down now, but most were tending to their duties. Those who had no
immediate duty tended to those who were terrified, or overwhelmed about loved
ones.
We
all knew we were on our own: there was no trite overt panic because of that –
we all knew the details of what had happened on ships like the Green Hilde before we were even allowed
to sign up. But preparing for catastrophe and the end of your own life was one
thing: facing it for real, not for practice, was another.
I
saw someone start to open a door, and yelled “No – there may be a leak!” And so
it was, triggered by a reflex reaction from countless hours of training, that
we started the recovery I’d just been talking about in such a glibly efficient
fashion.
He
found me lost in those times, the Admiral Usher, just before we had to go back
in. He was gentle as he coughed in the background – he’d clearly moved from in
front to be behind me, giving me some space to, in his mind, regain my
composure. Damn him! Damn all of them –
and their pity! Oh shit – let’s just get it over with.
Still,
it was nice to feel some respect was being paid by this morsel to the Great
Ones of the Review Board. Mind, that didn’t make the long march from door to
far end any easier.
I
resumed my seat, was reminded that I was still under oath, and we resumed.
The
rest of that day largely covered the technical details – the working out which
sections to isolate or shut down, the discovery that we could only use around
10% pulse drive or we would waver and drift off course, even starting to tumble
again on one terrifying press of a button. Still, after a few hours, we had
worked out how to control this mangled, twisted wreck as best we could.
Then
it was time to start covering how we decided what to do with our precious,
hard-won control. We’d all been through countless disaster scenarios during our
training – Apollo 13, the Green Hilde, the Mouse, even Genesis 3, we’d
covered them all. Now we had to use it all for real, and we found none of it quite
fitted.
It
was mainly Earl who led me through the questions – Earl, and sometimes
Secretary Harey. We considered all out options, and found that the only one
that had any sort of viability was to creep towards the Killicararee Beacon, and
hope someone would hear our weakened distress signal.
Earl
had just asked about our oxygen supply when he was interrupted by the Admiral.
“Thank
you, Earl, we will begin with that tomorrow. Captain, thank you, you have
assisted us most admirably.” And to the smiles of all but the Senator – and who
knew what his wrinkles were trying to do, it was time to be guided by Admiral
the Usher, a bit like a gentle tug, back to the door, and out into the wide,
uncaring world.
Time
to drift aimlessly – I eventually went home, but that was more habit than
purpose. I cooked, but barely ate. I was still just going through the motions –
Merran was not at home: she was visiting Sally’s family. She’d left a message
on the vid-phone, but I ignored it – and she knew the pain I was going through,
and that it was best to leave me alone just now.
I
had some pain to finish processing – not just about Sally, about all of them,
beginning with Mary. I had this nightly routine worked out fairly well now – I
could flog myself through all the people, all the aspects of the disaster, and
all the issues afterwards, before my coffee had quite finished cooling itself
to space-cold … then it was time to go to bed, take the one carefully
administered sleeping tablet the healing machine would let me have in 24 hours,
and pray for oblivion.
It
came – the pill worked it’s Lethe
like magic, but then I had to wake the next day, and face my nightmares with
eyes wide open.
I
was met in the hall by Admiral the Usher, who showed me straight in. After the
preliminaries about being on oath still,
This
time the older man, Graham, led the questioning.
“Captain,
we had asked you about oxygen supplies, but proceedings were held over. perhaps
you would be so kind as to inform us as to the situation regarding your ship’s
oxygen?”
“Yes
sir. We originally had four oxygen generation plants, and seven purification
systems – two biologic, and five chemical back up systems. After the accident,
we had lost around 70% of our stored oxygen, three generators and all but one
chemical and one biologic purifiers.”
“So
you were in a desperate situation.”
“Yes
sir, we were.” Understatement of the
Universe …
“How
did the crew handle that?”
Before
I could answer, the door opened, and Admiral Cready gestured for silence. I
waited, and listened to the approaching footsteps, and then watched Admiral the
Usher as he passed a message to the real Admiral. After a few moments reading,
she glanced at the panel members, and spoke.
“Senator,
I am called away for an hour. As the next most senior person, please temporarily assume the position of
chair. I will resume that role upon my return.”
She
smiled, and continued “I trust the
enquiry will be in good order upon my return.”
As
the shuffling of feet and the sinking of my stomach suggested, that may not be
the case. Hell – worst possible choice!
Was that why she on the panel … to keep the Senator out of a role where he
could tip the balance … his way?
After
a brief settling period, Graham prompted me.
“Captain?”
Oh
hell, may as well be hung for a … what was the saying? Hung for a ninny as much
as a …?
“Captain?”
I
drew a breath, and straightened.
“Sir,
responses were varied. The majority of the crew-“ I glared at the Senator, who
shuffled his creases into an expression of surprise – damn him! He knew what I was going to say!-“were calm and measured
in their responses, and their questions. Around one third were visibly upset at
our predicament, and a small group were extremely distressed.”
“Only
a few people were ... extremely ... distressed?”
The
Senator managed to sound as if he was gargling his gavel.
“Yes,
sir, that is correct.”
Give
the bugger nothing to go on. He folded his hands calmly, and looked steadily at
me.
Graham
rescued us all.
“Captain,
are these figures based on your on-the-spot assessment immediately after the
accident?”
“No,
sir.” I almost smirked at the
Senator’s expression. “They are not. They are based on a survey that my Third
Officer, Stenton Wills, performed at D+3.”
“D+3?”
From Grace, that one.
“Yes,
ma’am. We started our own calendar system after the accident, based on how long
we had survived.”
“Did
you maintain an official calendar system as well?”
“Only
in official records, ma’am. ... I judged it an effective tool to contribute
towards improved morale.”
She
cut off the bulldog with: “Thank you, Captain. Please continue, Graham.”
“Captain,
what other measures did you use with respect to crew morale?”
Do I introduce the meditation now?
“You
may combine that with the oxygen situation, if it is convenient, Captain.”
Damn – did Graham read my mind?
Then
I launched into 40 minutes of the most intense explanation and scrutiny of my
life since my return.
We’d
had a few people who could teach yoga, and we knew that resting would reduce
consumption of oxygen. Given that, and our dire situation, we had put two and
two together, and come up with eighteen. We would use yoga, meditation and hypnosis,
anything that we could, to get anyone who wasn’t doing something essential, to go
as close into a state of suspended animation as they could. We did everything
to help – adjust temperatures where we could, dimmer lighting – where it wasn’t
already dim, or totally gone.
Where
it got controversial, was when it became compulsory. That’s where the Senator
fired up again.
“Captain,
I understand our training covers ethics, and free will?”
“Yes
sir, the Academy makes it a key part throughout the course.”
“All
six years?”
“Yes,
sir, all six years.”
Shit. I know what’s coming.
But
I didn’t.
“Captain,
are you aware that some of the ... survivors ... of your methods, perhaps not
only those who were forcibly tranquilised”- damn,
that was it-“have experienced very considerable problems since their
return?”
“Sir,
all of us-“
“No!” he roared, veins bulging. “No! Don’t give me that! Answer my question, damn you!”
Shit.
“Sir,
yes, I am aware that some of the crew-“ damn
you, they’re crew, not survivors!-“ have, subsequent to our return, had
problems – considerable problems, including-“
“Suicide”,
the Senator finished for me.
“Yes.”
“Sir!”
Grace
stepped in, at this point.
“Captain,
I believe you had a suicide while you were still returning?”
I
nodded and opened my mouth to speak.
“Thank
you, we’ll come to that later. What I am interested in, as someone with a human
relationships consult speciality, is how the dynamics of this situation were
managed? How did you come to the conclusion that forcible tranquilising was
needed?”
She
smiled, as she asked this, so I knew I had an ally there, and addressed my
remarks directly to her – bypassing the chair, and protocol.
“Ma’am,
initially we used counselling, and made the semi-animation – which is a term we
invented for it – optional. But by the time we’d been travelling two weeks, we
knew we were going to be struggling to have enough air to make it, unless some
... random piece of fortune happened. I couldn’t do that, ma’am, I couldn’t
trust the lives of a few dozen souls to ... chance.”
“So,
you took a command decision?” asked Secretary Harey.
“Yes,
sir, I did.”
“Did
you take any advice before making that decision, Captain?”, prompted Graham.
“Yes,
sir, of course I did.”
Grace
glanced at Earl, who had been silent in today’s proceedings, who responded with
his question – were they all planned that accurately?
“Captain,
what sort of advice did you take?”
Then
it was another 20 minutes of grilling about the advice – the psychological
implications, the medical risks, the attempts to put numbers on different
aspects, and all delivered while we tried to stay as calm as possible, so we
wouldn’t use up more oxygen. I didn’t tell the panel, but I’d wondered, during
that session, whether we would keep our humanity more by not taking this step
and dying, but I couldn’t make that decision for others. In fact, I’d taken
oaths, when I joined the service, to respect Life. I took that as meaning we
had to try, using all reasonable means, to survive. And I had decided that this
drastic step was reasonable.
The
implementation had been as hard as the decision. We formed a small crew which
virtually had to ambush each of the people selected. Then we had to deal with
the ruckus afterwards ...
As
the grilling fought its way towards a close, and hopefully lunch or some sort
of break, Grace dropped her bombshells.
“Thank
you, Captain. I’m sure this enquiry is well on the way to being as traumatic,
given the closeness to the actual events, as what happened off planet. However,
I wish it put on record that I note your motivation is clearly one of concern
for the people in your crew.”
She
turned to face the Senator, and continued.
“Senator,
I know your niece’s suicide just before this enquiry is a tragedy. I still
consider it sufficient reason for you to more properly not be on this Board,
and I trust your professionalism will not allow it to sway your conduct,
perceptions or decisions in this matter.”
While
the bulldog alternated between red and purple, I looked more closely – of
course! There was a family resemblance to Mary, one of the women I had ordered
tranquilised. Oh shit.
The
bulldog harrumphed, and then ordered a halt in proceedings for lunch.
It
was a hell of a lunch break.
On
the one hand, I had all the ethical questions about the Senator’s involvement –
the mongrel had dared to question my
ethics? Also sitting on that hand was the guilt I was still feeling about all
that had happened.
Then,
on the other hand, had been Grace’s praise. That was unheard of in these
enquiries. Was I being too hard on myself?
When
we resumed, under Admiral Cready’s steady eye, both I and the bulldog, and
clearly a few others, had been doing quite some contemplation over lunch. In
fact, the Admiral referred to it.
“Well,
I trust we have all had the
opportunity, during the break in proceedings, to adequately reflect on the
matters of this enquiry.”
Her
stern stare traversed us all, slowly, and she continued.
“The
purposes of this enquiry, ladies and gentlemen, are exactly as I set out at the
beginning of proceedings. No more”- with a glare at the Senator –“and no less”,
directed towards Grace, who responded with a Mona Lisa impression.
She
turned to me,
“Captain,
whilst we need to establish the facts of events, I remind you of my statement
to you at the beginning of your involvement in these proceedings: this is not a witch hunt, and you’re here as the
best witness to advise us, and are expected to simply tell us the truth.”
I
felt like a primary school teacher who had been told off by the terrifying,
larger than life school principal ... Still, at least the bulldog looked a
little the same.
That
afternoon’s questions were led by Earl, who explored the details of the
techniques we had used, the experiments we’d undertaken to improve matters, and
then he started on the problems we’d had.
Some
of those were pretty much what would be expected – people confined in a small
... receptacle, for far, far longer than expected, and under more threat of
death and stress than usual.
Some
events came with the territory of what had happened: crew members who
eventually succumbed. That was a problem: we were too desperate for air to risk
ejecting the bodies into space, but if we let them decompose, that would place
insufferable burdens on our air as well. In the end, we had to make a few
modifications, use a little more of our carefully husbanded power supply, and
cool the bodies without freezing them. It didn’t leave a very pleasant
discovery for those who eventually did rescue us, but it was part of what we
had to do to keep ourselves alive.
And
now we were up to the next thing.
Graham
resumed the questioning.
“Captain,
we now reach the events of the day your system would refer to as D+52.”
“Yes
sir.”
Grace
commented “Almost two months under incredible stress.”
As
they all leaned forward, even the Admiral, Graham asked the question.
“Captain,
what happened with regard to Third Mate Wills?”
I
thought I’d had a fair amount of practice at dealing with sensitive, personal
matters by now, but no, there was still room for that knife of sensitivity to
be twisted a little more.
The
Senator harrumphed, and was silenced by a look from Grace.
“Captain”,
prompted the Admiral.
“We
were ... all suffering from the stress. We’d done everything we could to make
the conditions as bearable as we could. We were massaging the semi-animated
...”
I
trailed off as thoughts took over.
They
were patient, this time – even the bulldog. Eventually, it was a shuffle from
Admiral the Usher that restored my focus.
“The
one aspect I hadn’t thought of, under these trying circumstances – and I think
I should have – was that people would somehow find love. I know such things
happen in times of war, but we were not talking, not moving, I didn’t see that
two people could, in their silent stillness, find each other.
“Nevertheless,
that’s what did happen. A purser, by the name of George Williams, and an
engineer by the name of Sarah Doje.
“This
wouldn’t have been a problem, even so, until purser Williams died. After a
fairly long period of relative calm, we suddenly had Doje hysterical. She knew
we sedated people – she’d been one of the people trusted enough to do that ...
task.”
Might
as well hand myself again – I’d already done so enough times in this enquiry,
Grace’s good graces notwithstanding.
“Admiral,
panel members, I consider that I froze. I can use all the excuses in the book
about the situation, but the facts remain that I was in charge, I had the
responsibility, and I didn’t act quickly enough.
“While
I prevaricated, Doje opened an air lock and ejected herself into space.”
I
was silent for a few more moments.
“The
strain that her act put on the ship started shifting everything again – we
could see the structure bending, and hear the air escaping. The only way to
isolate the air loss was through an emergency shield, but ...”
Graham
finished for me “but there were people on the other side’”
I
nodded.
The
Admiral prompted me: “Captain?”
“Yes
sir, there were people on the other side.”
Grace
spoke this time.
“And
your surviving wife ...?”
“Was
on the same side as myself. She survived.”
“And
how was this taken?” enquired Grace
“I
faced some ...”
The
Admiral spoke: “Captain, do you need a moment?”
No,
I would never “take a moment” – I’d already been on a slow dawdle through hell.
I’d keep this going, now.
“No,
ma’am. I faced some pretty fierce criticism from those people who had lost loved
ones on the other side of the shield.”
Pretty
fierce criticism? I’d almost been torn to pieces by an angry mob! The worst had
not been Wills’ partner, a man who had been as supportive as Wills himself, but
the mob had used Wills as a torch for their flame. How dare I kill someone’s
love and save my own! How dare I put them all through hell, and then fail to
deliver them into the Promised Land.
The
questions brought some of this out, and then Grace, perceptive Grace, commented
“Captain, you were dammed if you did, and dammed if you didn’t, weren’t you?”
“Yes,
ma’am, that’s about the size of it.”
The
Senator and Graham wanted to know about restoring order – re-establishing the
discipline of a well run ship, the bulldog put it. I bit my tongue, and talked
them through the talking to the mob, the cajoling, and then the use of orders
and hierarchy to return us all to a semblance of calm.
But
then we had to face up to what Doje had done. It was a grim faced officer who
gave me the figures.
There
were two dozen of us left now. And we had air enough for less than half a dozen
for a few days, but were still at least two weeks from our target.
It
had been time for a decision or three ...
I
could give up and cuddle Merran and ignore what was left of my ship and her
crew, or I could let everyone spend time with loved ones and make the most of
what was left ... or I could find another way.
I
chose the latter. I can still recall my words ...
“Well,
we’ve made a good show of things until now. In fact, we’ve done miracles that
make the good folks aboard the Mouse
look weak. Haven’t we?”
There
were a few nods.
“I
won’t mention the Green Hilde”-
although I just had, of course, and their debauched, undisciplined excesses had
left everyone in the space service deeply, deeply ashamed: there’d been nothing like
that since the Batavia -“but I’d like
you to think of those who are going to come after us.”
No
nods now, just attention.
“We
know there is a problem with the Barrier and the gravity drive in the Barrier.
Others knowing that is going to save lives.”
That
hit home to a few eyes.
“But
more importantly, what we’ve found about semi-animation has the potential to
save even more lives.”
A
few shook their heads.
“I
know it’s been tough. It’s been tough for all of us,“-looking at Merran-“even
those who haven’t lost everyone.”
To
drive the point home, I looked at a few of the other couples.
“The
thing is, without what we’ve done, we would have all died weeks ago – for a
fact.”
I
was getting them now.
“So
... we have no chance now of doing anything other than leaving a legacy. That
won’t be a legacy like that of the Green
Hilde, but it could be something that could go way beyond that of the Mouse. Centuries from now, the Aurora could be the example being held
up for others at the Academy.
“There’s
not much left to do, mind you. We need to make some more records, get some more
of these methods down, and then you can spend what time is left you as you
wish.
“What’s
your choice?”
Of
course, I’d been working on pushing them into a corner – but I was still
pleased, pleased and proud, that most responded so well. The Admiral’s Mary had
been one of those who chose to indulge themselves. I’d had a hunch that they
could regret doing so, but so long as they weren’t harming anyone else, or
using up too much of our precious air, I had no reason to object – and I saw
little point in being the ultimate tyrant in insisting on military discipline
right till the end.
Two
others had wanted to die then and there: we’d compromised, though, and sedated
them, so they wouldn’t feel the final struggle for air. I’d just had enough of
life and death decisions, and didn’t want anyone else’s death on my conscience.
One had thanked me afterwards, the other had been committed.
Because
then, when we were beyond hope, a miracle happened. An off path ship, lost and
worried, and looking through a viewer had noticed, of all things, the effect of
the air from Doje’s suicide of a viewpoint. So the act that had condemned us to
death, eventually led to our salvation.
Telling
this to the panel, of course, took much longer than it does to tell it now.
Graham led the questioning, but it was Grace’s insight that brought out the
human tragedy, the horror, and the trauma that still lived with every breath I
took.
But
it was the Admiral who best summed it up for me:
“Well,
Captain, you’ve been on a slow dawdle through hell, but we’re pleased to have
you back.”
Pleased to have you back.
I
might have a career still – if ever I healed enough to go off planet again.
And
thus it was over. Time to go home. But, no, one more jab to come.
As I stood and
began turning to leave, Senator Fielding spoke.
“So, although this
Burke found himself without his Wills, the journey still didn’t turn out so
well, did it Captain?” Making a half barking noise probably supposed to be a laugh,
he continued: “See? I do know some of my Aussie history. You were one of our
colonies at the time, you know.”
You
jerk. I looked at my hands, and, feeling a surge of
pride at the dark skin and the tens of thousands of years of history it
represented – and, hell, the early space surveyors, many Aussie, had even used our
names! Well, cop this, Senator.
I turned back, saw
the shocked look from Graham, who shared my colour, though he was obviously
from another continent, Admiral Cready and Grace – even Secretary Harey was
looking somewhat aghast, no maybe just bemused, and spoke.
“Actually Senator, my people were on the “other side”.
Burke and Wills did what we would consider your
equivalent of starving to death in supermarket aisle number nine.”
And with that, I
finished turning, and marched, head up, back straight, proud and strong and
knowing I was capable, away from that tragedy, into the rest of my life.
Copyright © Kayleen White, 2016 (where this date is different to the year of publication, it is because I did the post some time ago and then used the scheduling feature to delay publication) I take these photographs and undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary or artistic merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit and due financial recompense, of course :)
