8
Captain Chrysta Logan
She was captain of the Burton again. It was a miracle, plain and simple.
The Ildiran Solar Navy had found the battered ship in the middle of open space and offered to take all the Burton colonists to a nearby planet. Strangest of all, these aliens knew how to speak Standard English.
Dario Ramirez had panicked upon seeing the swarm of spectacular alien ships surrounding them. He liked to talk, though, and complain to anyone who would listen; he riled up already-angry people and hadn’t thought much beyond that. He didn’t have the mettle to handle the constant flow of decisions a generation-ship captain had to make.
After little more than two days on the bridge attempting to deal with the thousand things that routinely went wrong—especially aboard the decrepit old Burton—he was overwhelmed. And that was just in a normal day’s work.
When the alien warliners arrived, Ramirez simply could not handle the emergency.
The Ildirans were confused and unsettled to learn about the mutiny, that the official captain was “unavailable.” To these aliens, questioning a commander was anathema.
A group of former mutineers had freed Chrysta Logan from the brig, having decided that she was the only one equipped to lead them through such a delicate time. Though the alien war-liners frightened them, they understood that the Ildirans could be their salvation, and they didn’t want a short-sighted rabble rouser like Ramirez to screw things up.
Listening to the ugly, dissatisfied complaints, Ramirez had seen the way the wind was blowing, and graciously returned control to Captain Logan after the “brief misunderstanding,” on the condition that she grant amnesty to the mutineers and not press charges against him personally or seek any form or retaliation.
Sitting in the brig, Chrysta had been in no position to be picky. Given another few days, Ramirez would have ejected her from an airlock. She accepted the deal. It was a miracle, plain and simple.
They had rushed her to the Burton’s bridge, where she tried to grasp the situation, which was unlike any crisis she had imagined. Chrysta bluffed her way through, refusing to let the unsettled crew see any crack in her confidence.
Seated in the command chair again, Chrysta chose her words carefully when she responded to the Ildiran warship commander. Too many questions. She volunteered little information about the Burton, but remained attuned to the alien reactions, waiting to respond until she learned more.
“You are the generation ship Burton, launched from Earth long ago,” said the alien commander. “We have been searching for you for five years. We offer our assistance.”
“We could very much use your help,” she said. “You found us just in time.”
Everyone on the bridge was jittery—partly from the Solar Navy ships, partly due to anxiety that their safety now depended on the very captain they had overthrown. She glared at them, but did not address the mutiny. They seemed meek, intimidated, afraid of what she would do.
But Chrysta had given her word—no retribution. Instead, she would lead them; she was brave and strong when facing the unexpected aliens. She didn’t know how the Ildirans knew so much about the generation ships, but they seemed friendly, sincere. They even looked mostly human.
“And what is it that you want from us?” Chrysta leaned for-ward, staring at the image of the alien commander.
“To help you. We have rescued the other ten generation ships and also visited your Earth. We had nearly given up hope of finding you.”
The Burton was in such bad shape that she would accept their assistance regardless of whether she understood their reasons. The colonists didn’t have much to lose, and now Chrysta owed the Ildirans her life.
Because the generation ship had been so severely damaged in the recent ion storm, even the Ildiran warliners were limited as to how far they could take the blocky old vessel. The aliens towed the Burton across space to the nearest star system with a habitable planet. Dobro.
It was a pleasant world of wide open skies, dry grasslands, and a moderate climate. Centuries ago, the Ildirans had established a small settlement there, a “splinter colony,” but their population was concentrated in a single primary town. On Dobro, there would be plenty of room for the human colonists to establish a new home … at last.
Chrysta Logan cleaned herself up and changed into her best, though still threadbare, captain’s uniform. She relaxed on the bridge, watching as the warliners delivered them to their new star system.
Still on their best behavior, her crew was quick to respond to her every command, hoping she would forget, or forgive, their previous rash actions. But her memory wasn’t that short, and Chrysta reminded them with pointed comments whenever she could.
She sat back, crossed one leg over the other, and smiled as the continents and cloudy skies of Dobro filled their field of view. “Always support your captain,” she reminded them. “Nobody aboard this ship is better qualified to solve problems. We’re certainly lucky the Ildirans came along when they did, aren’t we?” The crew remained intent on their stations.
Dario Ramirez was quick to agree. “Whatever you say, Captain!” He remained at a post per her promise, though his rank had been much reduced and his respect stripped down almost to nothing. Over the past day, he had volunteered whenever he could, making supportive comments; she thought he was simpering. “I’m sure we’re all glad for a chance to start over on Dobro—a new beginning, a clean slate.”
“No doubt, Mr. Ramirez.” She wondered if he heard the sarcasm.
Ildiran cutters ferried eager passengers to the Dobro space-port, while the Burton’s own shuttles and cargo transports were loaded with colony supplies and made ready for departure.
First, however, Chrysta wanted to meet the head of the Ildiran colony on Dobro.
She stepped away from the landed shuttle after making sure her red headband, her best uniform, and the smile on her face were ready. The man who came forward to meet her was tall and slender; he had long ivory hair, some of which was bound in colorful ties, while other clumps blew free in the breezes. His voice was quiet, his words well considered. His facial features were arresting and extremely attractive in an exotic sort of way. At the center of his forehead, a tattoo showed a circle with a central dot. A status insignia perhaps? When he glided forward, his movements were smooth, almost pantherlike. “Captain Chrysta Logan, I am the Dobro Designate.”
She clasped his hand, shaking it briefly; he held onto it longer than was necessary. She felt a brief electric shock and wondered if these Ildirans controlled a form of telepathy or emotional magnetism. “What’s a Designate?” she asked.
“I am one of the Mage-Imperator’s sons, and I am assigned to lead this splinter colony. The welfare of every person on Dobro is in my hands. Including your people, now.”
She finally released her grasp. “Everyone aboard the Burton is in your debt, Designate. Especially me, because I am responsible for them. Let me be clear, you’re offering us the opportunity to found our own settlement here, to live side-by-side with you?”
“Yes, Captain Logan. Dobro is large and empty—too empty. We have room for many more colonists.” He smiled, showing off his white teeth. “You humans intrigue me.”
“We can learn much from each other, Designate. And with all those wide open spaces, you could well do with an infusion of human colonists. We’ll work together.”
“I look forward to it,” said the Dobro Designate. “It will be an interesting experiment.”
Dario Ramirez came down on the fifth shuttle, while cargo units detached and dropped from the Burton to land in the grassy plains outside the main Dobro settlement. All the people he had once roused to violence now worked together to unload the equipment and structures, including the modular dwelling units that had been in storage for so many years.
Like a puppy dog, Ramirez hurried up to Chrysta. “I’ll go organize the setup of our prefabs and lay out the village street grid. It’s all colony basics, Captain. We’ve been ready to go as soon as we found the right planet.” He ran off, calling over his right shoulder. “Don’t worry about a thing. You can count on me, Captain.”
She watched him go, cold and annoyed. When he was out of earshot, she muttered, “If you think I’ll actually trust you again, Mr. Ramirez, you are sadly mistaken.”