On the Twilit Planet Below by darthfingon

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On the Twilit Planet Below

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The Captain pressed his hand against the glass and spoke clearly. "Captain Tadhâtel for Admiral Usilawjê."

To his left, a white light blinked in recognition and a robotic, female voice replied. "Welcome, Captain Tadhâtel. Please wait inside the door. The Admiral will be with you shortly."

The door slid open. Tadhâtel stepped inside. He had been inside the Admiral's personal quarters only once, at the beginning of the voyage, when he had come to inform her that the Kojelâ's maiden launch had run perfectly. The Tower of Justice's new flagship, larger and more magnificent than anything yet built, had pulled away from the docking station as flawlessly as if the crew had flown such a behemoth a thousand times before. Admiral Usilawjê had stayed in her quarters throughout. An admiral had greater things to do than oversee the steering of a ship.

This was one of the reasons why Tadhâtel had never minded working under the Admiral. Unlike other officers, who would have chafed at the perceived insult of holding the rank of Captain and still being second in command aboard their own ships, Tadhâtel felt no such restriction. Admiral Usilawjê trusted him entirely with the handling of the Kojelâ, as she had with the Timbâcha previously and the Palâkôdh before that. They had an understanding. Just as Tadhâtel would never presume to counsel her in the ruling of the fleet, so would she defer to his judgement in the governing of the ship. His reports to her and formal requests for permission were protocol only. Never once in their ninety-two year history together had she gainsaid his order.

From the corner of his eye, Tadhâtel saw one of the room's inner doors slide open as Admiral Usilawjê appeared. Even seen in periphery, she was unmistakable with her perfect posture and glassy-smooth cap of black hair, shaved from the ears down as per regulation for flag officers. There was no need for Tadhâtel to embarrass himself by looking to see who it was. He kept his gaze steadily forward until she spoke.

"Ah, Captain. Good. I'm assuming this is no social call and you've come to bring me some news."

Tadhâtel turned to give her a respectful nod of the head. "Yes, Admiral. We've fallen into orbit around the planet. Our research team has already begun analysis on the final data packets from the probes, and thus far have encountered nothing out of the ordinary. Everything is running smoothly. We are ready to go ahead with the prisoner transfer."

"Three days ahead of schedule," Usilawjê replied with a hint of a smile.

"Yes. I am pleased to report that the Kojelâ has surpassed all of our expectations. Your flagship is truly a wonder of modern technology, Admiral: the best of the best."

"Indeed, Captain. And you should be proud to be at the helm of a ship such as this. A career-making ship. A few years on the Kojelâ will practically guarantee you a promotion."

Captain Tadhâtel, already looking forward to hearing himself referred to as Commodore Tadhâtel, had come to the same conclusion. But to have such reassurance come from Admiral Usilawjê herself sent a shiver of pride down his spine. "Thank you, Admiral, for your most generous vote of confidence."

"Not confidence," she replied. "Common sense. You are a talented man, Captain, and an asset to the Tower of Justice Fleet. I am certain that any recommendation I make to the Grand Admiral on your behalf will be received favourably. But that is a conversation for another day. Today, we concentrate on the prisoners. You say the transfer pods are prepared?"

Tadhâtel forced himself to swallow the grin that threatened to spill across his lips at the Admiral's praise. "Everything is ready. I will be piloting Venê 1 myself to lead the transfer crew, and Lieutenant Askalôdh is rounding in Venê 12. The prisoners are being brought up from Silent Deck as we speak. Pods should be launching within the hour."

"Good," the Admiral said, nodding. She opened her mouth just a little, inhaling a quick, hissing breath, as if there were something more she wanted to say. "I think..." she added after a pause, "I will come up with you to Launch Deck. It's been years since I last watched a transfer, and I'd like to observe Kojelâ's first."

"Of course," said Tadhâtel. He kept his voice even, burying his surprise. Admiral Usilawjê had never before been on deck for one of his transfers. Though, he told himself, he could understand her curiosity. Procedures had changed in the almost three hundred years since she had been a captain. Things went much more smoothly now that they kept the prisoners unconscious throughout.

She followed his lead as they made their way through the officers' residence corridor and then up the stairs to Launch Deck. As always, Tadhâtel shook away the momentary feeling of light-headedness that came with the shift in artificial gravity. It was a minor annoyance, but an annoyance all the same, that ships as advanced as the Kojelâ still suffered from inconsistencies in the gravity between decks. He pushed the complaint to the back of his mind. At least the Kojelâ was a vast improvement over the situation on the Palâkôdh, where an entire shipment of prisoners had nearly died due to a malfunction of the gravity regulator engines.

Across the Launch Deck, rows upon rows of gurneys stood in line before the pod doors. Each held a prisoner waiting to be processed: one-hundred-forty-four in total. All of them lay serenely asleep. In the unnatural, bluish light of the ship, they looked more dead than alive.

"Admiral. Captain." Lieutenant Askalôdh snapped to attention in front of them; at his back, a dozen more officers did the same.

"At ease," said Admiral Usilawjê. "I've come to observe the transfer, not drill you. My presence is out of curiosity only. Continue as you were."

"Yes, Admiral." Askalôdh gave a jerky, uncertain salute before looking to Tadhâtel. "Medical asked me to remind you that we have a little under forty hours on these new tranquilliser packs. Once those are removed and the prisoners placed, we may have as little as two hours before they begin to awaken. However, if we stay on schedule, time should not be a problem."

"And the final checklists have been completed?" Tadhâtel asked.

Askalôdh nodded. "We're waiting on your orders."

"Load the pods."

The transfer had run smoothly numerous times before under Tadhâtel's command, and there was no reason to believe that anything out of the ordinary should happen on the new ship. He stood back and watched, with Admiral Usilawjê at his side, as Askalôdh and his team pushed one gurney after another through the pod doors and harnessed the prisoners in place for their short flight down to the waiting planet below. Twelve went into each pod.

The Admiral snickered in his ear, and he turned his head enough to see that she was smiling. "Look," she said, gesturing with her chin toward the pods. Her voice had taken on a low, conversational quality that Tadhâtel rarely heard. "Did you notice that someone - Lieutenant Askalôdh, I'd guess - has arranged the prisoners by colour?"

He had not noticed, but Admiral Usilawjê's observance was true. Now that he looked more closely, he saw that every gurney in line for Venê 12 held a golden-haired prisoner, while the lines for Venê 4 through Venê 11 comprised only those with dark hair. "I apologise, Admiral," he said. "Normally I discourage this sort of foolishness."

She dismissed the apology with a wave of her hand. "Don't. It's harmless fun. If the crew members are otherwise performing their jobs adequately, I see no problem in allowing them to indulge in the occasional bout of creativity."

Forcing a tight smile, Tadhâtel let the matter drop. 'Creativity' had no place on the Tower of Justice flagship. These men and women were paid to follow orders and behave in a respectful, respectable manner, not arrange prisoners into patterns. Creativity inspired free thinking, free thinking led to questions, and questions brought nothing but disobedience. And disobedience...

He watched the loading of the prisoners with a barely contained sneer. Free thinkers, all of them. He could still recognise the faces of a few of the more notorious individuals despite their unkempt appearance, with hair grown long and wild from their years in prison. The one at the end of the line for Venê 4 had been a minor politician years ago, and had been reckless enough to publicly criticise the Tower of Law. Two from the end in line for Venê 6 had been a Tower of Faith employee who had left his post and convinced thirteen others to leave with him; they had been caught trying to steal a small ship in order to flee to a neighbouring planet, where word had it they planned to grow their cult. Three of those thirteen were somewhere in the pod lines. And there was a woman on a gurney to the Admiral's left, a former singer whose music had grown too dangerously rebellious. Her arrest, trial, and conviction had been a top-level news item for nearly a year. Her participation in this prisoner transfer had made the Kojelâ's launch all the more interesting to common citizens.

The rest of the prisoners were the usual artists, anarchists, and disbelievers that acted as disruptive pebbles within the smoothly turning gears of society. The ones who questioned the Towers and made nuisances of themselves. They would be better off in their new home.

When the last of the pods had been loaded, Askalôdh signalled all-clear and Tadhâtel took leave of the Admiral. Venê 1 was much the same as any other pod he had flown in his career: the cramped pilot's seat allowed only enough range of motion for him to work the controls, and the tiny viewing window let him see nothing but what lay directly ahead. He switched on his navigation computer and watched the bright screen flicker to life. He had always preferred the older style of pods, the ones he had first learned to fly, with their fully manual controls and lack of coddling, computerised systems. In the new ones, built within the last fifty or so years, there was nothing to do but start the engines and then sit back and monitor the pod's progress on the navigation screen.

"Engines on standby," he ordered. One by one, little lights on his console representing each of the other eleven pods blinked on. "Initiating launch." Above the row of lights, green numbers began the countdown. The hum of engines behind him rose to a high-pitched whine. And then, with a gentle thrust, the Kojelâ ejected Venê 1. Tadhâtel felt his body fill with the weightlessness of space, and nodded to himself in appreciation of the smooth transition. Every time he had flown a pod on the Palâkôdh, it had seemed as if the ship were trying to break his neck with the jerky force of the launch.

The pod's engines blazed into action to steer it away from the Kojelâ. On the navigation screen, eleven small dots followed suit and fell into formation behind Venê 1.

"All clear," came Lieutenant Askalôdh's voice, fuzzy and distant over the radio. "Venê 12 in place."

"Keep to course," said Tadhâtel. The computers would let the pods do nothing else, rendering the order redundant, but it was protocol. "Estimated touch-down in thirteen hours, twenty-four minutes."

~

The atmospheric sensor's reading was good, matching that of the data probes. Satisfied, Tadhâtel climbed down out of the pod. He removed his helmet, and for the first time in nearly a year breathed fresh air. Thick with humidity, it tasted of green, growing things and pristine wilderness. It almost choked his lungs. He had grown too accustomed to the dry and static ship with its recycled, reconditioned, artificial environment.

All around, the other eleven pilots climbed down from their pods, removed their helmets, and gathered around Tadhâtel at Venê 1. There, they began the labour of unloading the prisoners. They started with Venê 1 and worked their way down to Venê 12, until one-hundred-forty-four bodies lay peacefully sleeping on the grass. All were left naked, with their prison-long hair fanning about their heads. Most were smiling. What they dreamed of, in their drugged and unknowing minds, Tadhâtel could not even guess.

"What do you think happens to them?"

He looked to his left; Lieutenant Askalôdh had come up silently to stand beside him, staring down at the nearest pair of prisoners, a black-haired man and woman.

"Now they begin their new lives," Tadhâtel answered.

"I know, but... what happens to them? What do they do? We abandon them here with no clothing, no food, no memories. Their minds have been erased of everything save the basic necessities of speech and rudimentary survival skills. What do they do, once we've gone?"

"If they live, if they're not killed by animals and don't die of exposure, I suppose they go on to build a new society. That's why we sent them here. That's why they agreed to come."

Askalôdh frowned at the pair on the grass, and a hint of something passed over his face: worry or pity or fear. "Has anyone ever returned to one of these prison colony planets to see what happens and how they survive? If they survive?"

"No," said Tadhâtel. "Whatever happens after we leave is none of our concern. They chose to take this chance, Lieutenant. Every single one of them gambled on a new life here rather than remaining imprisoned. They knew what they were doing. It was their choice, and their fate is now in their own hands."

Askalôdh had more to say; Tadhâtel could see it plainly in the tightening muscles of his face and his tense jaw. But he held it back. "At least this is a fair place to be left. Better than the last one."

"Yes," Tadhâtel agreed. Before them, a vast, clear lake stretched toward the horizon, and in the east, a black mountain range loomed against the starry sky. Great forests spanned well into the north, meeting lush plains; Tadhâtel had seen them as the pods approached landing. "I think they will do well here. There is fresh water in abundance, and a forest full of fruit and game. It is a fine home. Now come," he added. "With their tranquilliser packs removed, they'll begin to wake soon. We need to leave."

He returned to Venê 1 and Askalôdh to Venê 12. It would be an easy flight back to the Kojelâ; returning was always quicker than setting out, without the added weight and worry of his prisoner cargo. He switched on the navigation computer once again, started his engines, and gave the order for departure. Twelve pods shuddered into the air. They found their formation, and streaked off in a blaze of light toward the void of space and their waiting ship.

On the twilit planet below, a golden-haired man awoke and gazed up at the stars.