Oh, so many shadows. Shadows within shadows dancing. Was Plato’s cave ever really real?

[Hypnogaja \\ Looking Glass]

C4

In a strange twist of fate, Denton Ripley read Nostromo’s orders before the message ever reached the Nostromo, and Ellen – and he’d never felt more helpless in his life.

The order, decoded as Special Order 937, had been intercepted by his COMMs team, and the message had been directed to the ore processing tug Nostromo that was currently en route from Thedus to Sparta. The Company had just activated a distress beacon on LV-426, a planet near the tugs current projected course, but after reading through the dispatch Ripley now knew that the tug’s crew – explicitly deemed expendable in the instructions sent to the tug’s Science Officer – was being sent to collect specimens of the organism. 

And with that knowledge now in hand, Denton Ripley was confronting the single most devastating decision he’d ever faced.

He knew how the organism gestated, and how it would spread inside the confines of a ship, so if the Nostromo’s crew was considered expendable the immediate reason was that the crew would used as incubators. His daughter Ellen’s fate, in other words, had been dictated in that message. She had been deemed expendable when he had refused to submit to the Co-Dominium, so he too had, in effect, sealed her fate.

But after reading the orders he knew the tug had also being redirected to take an Earth return trajectory, so the tug would not carry the organism to Sparta. That meant the Company planned on releasing the organism in the caverns currently housing Earth’s surviving population – and he was duty-bound to protect those lives, to prevent the deaths of the remaining population within the United States.

But even so the final, and the most devastating blow of all – was the psychic scar that would result from abandoning his daughter to the fates. For though he now possessed the means to use the Tall White’s FTL drive to jump directly to this planet, this LV-426, he could not alter the effects of relativistic time travel. He could jump to the planet in minutes, yet years would transpire before his arrival in real time. Whatever rescue mission he could mount would arrive years too late to prevent transmission of the organism, while at the same time his sworn duty was to protect the remaining citizens of the United States, and on the Earth. So, simply put, he knew the outcome of any utilitarian calculus meant he would have to remain in Earth orbit, but deep in his gut he wanted to ignore that most obvious conclusion and try to save his daughter.

Yet he knew he couldn’t. The physics of relativity prevented any other outcome.

And if the laws of physics prevented action, the implicit laws behind the oath he had sworn also prevented any other course of action.

So he had been fighting with himself for hours, trying to see a way clear of his dilemma, but he always arrived at the same conclusion. The “right” decision. Even if it was the wrong decision, personally.

But once the decision had been made he also had to decide whether to tell Judy, his wife, about the Special Order – and the most likely outcomes of its implementation. If he told her the whole truth then she too would be haunted by his choice for the rest of her life; as it was now, only he had to shoulder this particular burden on his own. Was such deception the humane choice, or was deception ever truly allowed in marriage…?

And in his gut he knew the answer to that question, too.

He’d have to tell her.

The blue light on his COMMs panel started blinking, and the blue light meant that the Lars Jansen avatar had something important to tell him. Ripley leaned forward and swiped the reply button on his screen and the usual ghostly swirl began to take shape onscreen – as Jansen’s form slowly consolidated and took shape in there – and Denton drummed his fingers on the duraplast desktop while he waited for this extra little bit of melodrama to play out.

“Admiral? I’m sorry, but you look distraught. Are you concerned about your daughter?”

“I am, yes.”

“I understand. This is called a Double Bind, is it not?”

“Yes. But I was thinking Catch-22 might be more appropriate.”

The avatar paused while it retrieved the necessary information, then ‘Lars’ spoke again. “The reference directs to a novel by Joseph Heller, an anti-war novel from the 1960s?”

“That’s the one. What’s on your mind, Lars?”

“Two items, Admiral. The most pressing is an indication that the Spartan fleet is mobilizing. As they are utilizing sub-light travel between multiple Jump Points we should expect their arrival within six weeks.”

“Noted.”

“Shall I pass this information on to Admiral Davis?”

“No. We’ll have all the captains over to discuss the implications and work up a plan of action. What’s the other item?”

“Do you recall the directed energy weapon deployed inside the Sun during our initial departure from Earth?”

“Yes, of course,” Ripley sighed, remembering that it was on that day that the real Lars Jansen had passed away, drowning in his own vomit.

“I have found strong indications that this weapon has been deployed on at least two other occasions in this system, and both times involving the Earth.”

“What?” Ripley snarled, sitting up abruptly in his chair. “What were the impacts?”

“The first use I have detected was in 2030, and the impact was quite simple. The weapon was deployed directly under the Cascadia subduction zone, triggering the eruptions of Mounts Baker, Rainier, St Helens, Hood, and Shasta. These eruptions…”

“…triggered the first impacts of the current Ice Age,” Ripley sighed.

“Exactly so, yes. The weapon was deployed again, and from the evidence I have uncovered it would appear to have happened almost immediately after our combined fleets left the solar system…”

“And that triggered additional eruptions, I take it?”

“Yes, Admiral, along the ring of fire in both the Southwest and Northwest Pacific.”

Ripley shook his head. “So, as soon as the Hyperion Battle Group departed for the Mintaka system, and our battle group was out of the way, too.”

“Yes, Admiral. When the Earth would be defenseless.”

“So,” Ripley said, thinking out loud, “there were three events in total. One at Earth almost a hundred years ago, then the hit on our Sun, then again on Earth, and this one right after our departure. Lars, did anyone on Earth have the capability to do this a hundred years ago?”

“Without a deeper understanding of the weapon, Admiral, such conjecture is meaningless.”

Ripley nodded. “Okay. First things first. Who benefitted most as a result of the first deployment?”

“Private space launching entities, primarily the Weyland Group, as it was then known, as well as SpaceX and Blue Origin.”

“Anyone else?”

“The BAPists cult would have to be seen as the prime beneficiaries over the long term.”

“Lars, can you find any evidence that there were BAPists within the Weyland interests a hundred years ago?”

“There is both direct and indirect evidence to support that conclusion.”

“Does it appear that interests within the original Weyland Group made efforts to conceal such associations?”

“Yes, Admiral. That is what I meant by indirect evidence.”

“So. Indirect evidence versus guilt by association. That’s not firm enough, Lars. I need something that ties the BAPists to the use of this weapon…”

“Records from the period in question, from the era before the first eruptions, is limited by accessibility issues, Admiral. It is possible that more records could be within the caverns below, but that is unknown.”

“So, it’s time to go down and initiate contact. God…I hate to imagine what those poor souls have been through.”

“Yessir. I have been able to locate multiple possible access points, Admiral. Survivors in North America have deployed ingenious elevator-like air processing ducts, so as the depth of the ice increases the air ducts increase in height.” Lars put several images on screen. “There also appear to be structures near these ducts used by, I assume, maintenance teams. It would seem logical that our ground teams approach the survivors through these access portals.” More images appeared, and Ripley studied them one by one, then he scrolled through them a few times before speaking.

“When these survivors went underground…is there…damn, how do we approach them, Lars? If they were forced underground by the BAPists, wouldn’t they consider anyone trying to contact them to be hostile, too?”

“I can only speculate, Admiral.”

Ripley steepled his fingers on his chest as he leaned back in his chair. “Any evidence these different cavern groups are communicating with one another?”

“Of course!” Lars shouted. “How did I miss that. Look at this image, Admiral…”

“That’s a radio antenna, Lars,” Ripley said as new images flooded his screen. “Actually, no, this image here shows a rather complex antenna farm. Short-wave and long-wave antennas here, and I see both UHF and ULF antennas here, early twentieth-century stuff, but…”

“Admiral, I have no information on ULF…”

“Look under submarine communication protocols…”

“The only files I can access are incomplete, Admiral, and in any event, our fleet no longer monitors these frequencies as there are no longer any working submarines.”

Ripley leaned forward and flipped a switch on his desktop panel. “COMMs? Ripley here.”

“Aye, sir?”

“Pull up what you can on early 21^st century radio protocols, including UHF and ULF frequencies, and start scanning for signals on those bands. Record whatever you pick up. Center your efforts around Kentucky, New Mexico, and South Dakota.”

“Aye, sir. Uh, Admiral, we could deploy a geo-synchronous buoy to monitor these regions while we’re over other parts of the planet.”

“Okay, COMMs, but let’s not advertise what we’re up to. Launch stealth satellites when you can.”

“Aye, sir.”

“Why stealth satellites, Admiral?” Lars asked.

“No reason to let Antarctic Traffic Control know what we’re up to.”

“Wouldn’t they be scanning for such traffic too, Admiral?”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure why they would be now, but see if you can identify any likely satellites, Lars. It’ll look like an orbiting antenna farm.”

“Admiral, there are currently more than nineteen thousand objects remaining in orbit.”

“Good. That ought to keep you busy for a few minutes.”

“I have identified two possible satellites so far, sir.”

“Lars, you are an incorrigible showoff; you know that, right?”

+++++

Neal Davis from Enterprise and Dean Farrell from Stavridis studied the images on the wall mounted monitor for several minutes, then they turned to Ripley.

“You’re sure ATC is monitoring them?” Davis said.

And Ripley nodded. “Continuously. We identified two originally, but then we backtracked, looking for similar satellites over other known cave systems on the Eurasian landmass. Once we located the satellites we were able to locate isolated pockets of survivors in France, Germany, Russia, and China. As more data came in we pinpointed more facilities in Israel and South Africa, then several in the Himalayas. In all we now have identified fourteen large cavern systems that are currently exhibiting extensive signs of life.”

Farrell shook his head and looked away. “Dear God,” he mumbled as he walked to the viewport. “I wonder how many people made it inside?”

Admiral Davis looked at Ripley, trying to gauge his mood. “How do you want to handle this, Denton?” Though technically both one star flag officers, Denton was the senior officer and therefore ranked Davis, but they’d been friends for yours.

“Technically, our primary obligation is to the survivors in caves located in US territory, but that won’t suffice in the current situation. Cast aside our moral duties for a moment and consider that the next Einstein might be residing in Chinese cave, or a German…hell, it doesn’t matter where…”

“What matters is who we choose to take with us,” Farrell sighed.

“Exactly,” Ripley added.

“But we can’t just swoop down and take all the smart people,” Davis said. “Believe it or not, if this planet ur-Pak has identified is indeed viable, we’ll need armies of builders, not…”

“Point taken,” Farrell nodded, “but how are these groups of survivors going to take it when we come in and decide to take their most able people?”

“We’ve also got to keep in mind that we have about five weeks to pull this off,” Ripley added. “We have no real intel on the Co-Dominium’s ships or the state of their weaponry, and I’d hate to get sucker-punched by them…”

“That’s simple enough,” Davis sighed. “Agamemnon and Stavridis are the smallest ships we have, but that also have the Maser. We’ve completed two on Enterprise and the Connie is about a week away from completing their first…”

“Enterprise can’t stay behind, Neal,” Ripley stated matter of factly. “She can carry more survivors than any other ship in the fleet, and if the survivors run into a hostile environment on this new world…”

“Constellation can handle anything that comes up,” Davis countered.

“You have an air wing. You have troop transports to carry colonists down to the surface. Connie has two little shuttles, so…you were saying?”

Davis looked away, nodding. “Two ships against an armada? Denton, there’s no way you’ll make it out of earth orbit…”

Farrell looked at Ripley, his shoulders sagging: “That weapon? The particle beam they fired into Earth and the Sun? Could that be used against us?”

Denton nodded. “Dean, until we know who has that weapon, or even where it’s located, none of us is safe. My guess is they’ll try to deploy it against us, because in theory it will blow right through our Langston Fields. If they take us out and we fail to destroy the weapon, I’m not sure moving any colonies not sanctioned by this Co-Dominium will ever be safe.”

“Has ur-Pak communicated this information to his people?”

Ripley nodded. “Yeah, but once again relativity will be working against us. By the time his message reaches their home worlds this will ancient history to you and me.” Ripley looked at his two best friends and shrugged. “This is going to be our fight, and ours alone. Neal? I want you to get together with your sociologists and physicists and work out a good means of contacting the survivors down there, then work out how to distribute those people amongst the fleet.”

“Right,” Davis nodded.

“Dean? I want you to fly a CAP,” referring to the concept of a Combat Air Patrol as first deployed over US Navy carriers, “ and probably out around Venus. You’ll be in a good position to see their fleet as individual ships Jump into the system.”

“What about you, Denton?” Davis asked. “You have a plan?”

“Oh hell, Neal, you know me. I always have a plan, but first things first. I want to go down and see these caves, maybe talk to their leaders…”

The rest of the fleet’s captains arrived and there were more discussions about the logistics of moving survivors up to the waiting ships, but Dean Farrell excused himself and returned to Stavridis, and a few minutes later the OOD informed Ripley that Stavridis had departed for Venus and he grinned knowingly. It was just like Farrell to think the problem through and arrive at the most sound conclusion. The fleet was vulnerable now, so he would move to protect it.

He watched the men and women of his fleet mingle and talk, and he noted the blue light on his desktop was still illuminated so at least he knew Lars was listening in, then he switched feeds and watched Stavridis powering away from the fleet before he turned to Judy. 

Now she too was worried to death about Ellen, but there was nothing he could do but be there for her. Still, her first reaction had been bitter: “We should have never left her with Stanton,” was her first reaction, but then again Judy was pregnant again and this wasn’t a mistake either would likely repeat.

“Are you going to go down to the surface?” she asked.

“I’m thinking about it.” Denton said, just as Admiral Davis walked over.

“It’s an unnecessary risk, Denton,” she said, looking from her husband to Davis. “In fact, no flag officer should go down there – because we have no idea what kind of diseases we might run into after those people have been in caves.”

“What do you recommend?” Davis asked.

“Send some medics with a company of Marines, and maybe one of the diplomats. Let them go make contact, but don’t allow any of them on our ships until we know we can handle the medical issues.”

Denton looked at Davis and nodded. “Makes sense. What do you think, Neal?”

“I concur.”

Judy nodded. “Each cave could present different pathogens, so just because one’s clear doesn’t mean they all will be.”

“What about genetic adaptation?” Davis asked. “Like…mutations?”

“They probably haven’t been down there long enough,” Judy said, looking away as she imagined the horrifying conditions the survivors were dealing with. “God, I can’t imagine what they’ve been through. The sanitation issues alone must be overwhelming.”

“Well,” Davis sighed, “we should know soon enough. Denton? You have diplomats onboard, right?”

“Singular. One gal from the State Department. Betsy Hollister. You want me to send for her?”

“Yup. She can go back to Enterprise with me. You want me to take a Middie?”

“Let me think about that for a minute.”

The lighting in the conference room went from white to red, and as alarms started going off all over the ship Ripley dove for his desk and hit the flashing red light.

“Ripley here. Sit-Rep?”

“Several objects just jumped in-system, Admiral. No IFF, and well, there’s no identification at all?”

“Did they come in through the Alderson Point?”

“No, sir. They appear to be FTL equipped ships, Admiral, and they appear to be – uh, wait one…”

And in the next instant his screen flickered and went dark, then all power throughout the ship went dark. Agamemnon’s 1G acceleration stopped and zero gravity conditions returned; Ripley felt himself floating free of the deck and not knowing what else else to do he pulled himself over to the viewport, instinctively wanting to see what was happening…

“What the hell is that?” Ripley heard someone say as he held out his hands to stop his flight across the conference room. 

“What do you see? Where?” Ripley asked.

“There, sir…”

Ripley looked down towards deep space and his eyes squinted. “What is that?” he whispered a moment later.

About all Ripley was sure of was that the blue sphere didn’t belong to the Tall Whites or the Co-Dominium. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but after fifteen years in space he’d never seen anything like it. Anywhere.

But a moment later he was pretty sure the sphere was coming closer. 

Then the red, battery powered lights flickered and came on; Ripley’s desktop rebooted and lights started flashing, demanding his immediate attention so he pushed off and floated back to his chair.

Then the usual computer generated warning came through the intercom: “Acceleration warning! All personnel prepare for 1G acceleration!”

“Everybody grab a seat,” Judy Ripley shouted, “now!”

Gravity returned as the engines flared and came online. Normal lighting returned. A million alarms were still sounding throughout the ship.

“Admiral, COMMs here. We have an incoming message. I’m not sure, but it seems to be coming from the first object.”

“Judy? Neal? Gather round, would you? Okay COMMs, put it through.”

His screen flickered and stabilized, and a moment later a middle aged man appeared. Dressed in a top coat as if he was cold, the man was wearing odd little eyeglasses and Ripley was certain he’d seen the man before.

“Hello there,” the man said genially. “What branch of the service are you in?”

“Excuse me?” Ripley said. The man grinned and once again Ripley knew he’d seen the man before returned.

“Are you Army, sir, or Navy?” the man said.

“Admiral Denton Ripley, sir. United States Naval Space Force.”

“Navy! Excellent! So, you’re an Annapolis man?”

“Yessir?”

“Excellent! Perhaps we can share a few wild tales while we’re here.”

“Excuse me, sir, but could I know your name?”

“Me?” the man said with a playful shrug. “Oh, why the hell not? My name is Roosevelt. Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Now, what the devil are you doing here?”

(c)2023 adrian leverkuhn | abw | fiction, every word of it

[The Alan Parsons Project \\ To One in Paradise]