Dilemma Above Bruehel

The Ionian Eagle had been in orbit above the bright green planet for almost 6 hours now and the drives were halfway charged. The captain of the ship, one Zoor Verkissi, waxed his mustache in the spacious graysteel bathroom, the harsh white lights contrasting against his black officer’s blouse. He brushed some fuzz from the tassels of his pauldrons and sighed. Two weeks he’d been on Bruehel; it felt like two years. He saw the nightstand photo of his wife through the mirror and shed a tear. He used to worry, when adrift through space on long, high OPSEC missions that even he knew very little about, about his wife home on Earth, keeping tea warm and ready in case today was the day he returned. These days, unfortunately, tragically, he no longer had those worries.

The elevator, slow and rumbling and rusty, carried him to the bridge. Yoseph saluted him.

“Good morning, Captain,” he said, rigidly at attention.

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Captain Verkissi replied. “How are we looking this morning?”

“No sign of any resistance from the planet, not that they could really do anything about us anyway. We’ve spent most of the morning fighting off the crew from the cargo hold, curious bastards. Otherwise we’re stable.”

“Only natural to be curious,” Zoor replied. “Can’t say I’d be any different.”

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant said, returning to his post near the window. The two men poked away on their tablets for a while. Zoor finished his tea and looked out the viewport. He still couldn’t believe that he was looking at the Bruehel (although back home it was still nameless, sometimes called “the Lost World”, or poetically “Pompeii”). It was greener than he had imagined it to be and he wasn’t sure why. The trope, overused by media for hundreds of years by this point, imagined dead societies as desert ruins, wastelands where great empires once stood. They rarely considered the fact that societies sprung up where food could grow and where people could walk around outside with radsuits or suncreams or giant heavy coats. Good weather and lush green vistas, like those here on Bruehel, were where great empires rose and fell.

No great empire remained on Bruehel. As far as wider society was concerned it didn’t even exist. But Zoor knew differently, because here outside the astroglass screen was the thing itself. As a young boy he’d been obsessed with adventure, with running off and finding treasure and glory in far away lands. He’d seen all the movies, spent time in the VR Conquistador experiences. His father had taken him to Egypt, once, and showed him the tombs and what remained of the Pyramids.

But this was a real adventure. It was his adventure. He had discovered Bruehel. He’d stepped foot on it, too. He’d held its fertile soil between his fingers and let it stain his hands a darker shade of brown. He’d toured its capital, not grand but proud and clean and orderly. He’d met its people; they were cold towards him, quiet when he entered the room even though he understood none of their language.

Yoseph was quiet, too.

“You sure everything is alright today, Lieutenant?” Zoor asked. “You haven’t spoken much.”

“Frankly, Captain, no. Things aren’t alright. But my job is to serve the ship and I’m going to keep my reservations to myself.”

“No, you aren’t,” Zoor said. “Tell me what’s got you. I trust you.”

“As you wish, Captain. I just think-”

“Also, enough of the formalities. Just give it to me straight.”

“Understood,” Yoseph said, setting down his tablet and swiveling his chair toward Zoor. “As I was saying, I just think we’re making a big mistake here. A really big mistake.”

“How so? Like ending up here?”

“Well no, although I suppose that was a mistake too. An accident, really, not a mistake.”

“Then what?”

“Taking all of the artifacts back.” Zoor considered this for a moment. He went for another sip of tea before realizing that his mug was empty.

“Why?”

“I just think nothing good can come from this. Nothing good for us and nothing good for the Bruehelmen.”

“I can think of ways this would be good for us. Imagine the prestige, our little accident putting us in the forefront of all the decision makers’ minds. The money we could make; you could write a book, give talks to the conglomerates and to universities. This is good for us.”

“I respectfully disagree,” Yoseph said. “Do you understand the treasure that we are bringing back with us?”

“If I’m being honest, no.” Zoor answered, looking out at the planet once more. He watched the wispy clouds traipse across the biggest continent.

“Exactly,” said Yoseph. “Neither do I. Neither do our Imperial handlers. Do you really think they are just going to let us go out and freely live our lives? Do you think they are even going to let this be public? We won’t become heroes; we’ll become prisoners.” Zoor considered this for a moment, coughing and fixing his gaze out the window.

“Your point is well taken. What, then, do you propose we do?” Yoseph remained silent for a moment. He rose from his chair and walked closer to the glass.

“Well?” Zoor asked, reclining on one arm.

“I don’t know, sir,” Yoseph replied. Zoor approached him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yoseph, you are an officer. It’s your job to make decisions. To take action.” Yoseph took a breath in and stood tall.

“I think we should abandon the mission.”

“Not possible, lieutenant. Even if we did, the beacon on the ship would eventually sell us out. Hell, for all we know there are ships coming to rescue us right now,” Zoor said.

“Forgive me for saying this, but then we should scupper the ship. Send the whole thing into their sun. We could go native - head back down to the planet and start new lives.”

“Are you suggesting that we desert, lieutenant?”

“I said my piece,” Yoseph replied. “Besides, captain, on a personal level, I know you’ve been hurting. I know you’ve been looking for a fresh start. This right here is opportunity knocking. A true fresh start, away from war and government and everything that has caused those gray speckles in your hair. It’s a simple life down there on Bruehel.”

Zoor saw the emotion on his face and the sympathy in Yoseph’s eyes. He was not just a fellow officer, after all. There was a reason that Zoor had lobbied for him to be on the Ionian Eagle in the first place.

While Zoor and Yoseph stood together on the bridge, a call rang in from the cabin.

“The dignitary would like to speak to you, Captain,” Petty Officer Belaski said.

“Send him up, and make sure his translator is calibrated,” he replied.

The dignitary, a tall man of about forty with thick, coiffed hair ducked as he exited the elevator.

“Good morning, gentlemen, whatever that means up here,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Call me Van Vliet, if you must call me anything.”

“Welcome to our ship, Van Vliet. How can we serve you?”

“I don’t know if you remember this, but we briefly met in the ruins the other day. I led the team of workers who prepared the artifacts for transport.”

“Yes, how could I forget! My apologies for not recognizing you.”

“Oh it is no worry at all, Captain, I know you must be exhausted from the last couple of weeks,” the dignitary said. “I just wanted to formally meet the man who is finally bringing us back into the fold.”

“Well it is very nice to formally meet you, Van Vliet,” Zoor said, shaking his hand.

“I must apologize for how some of my people treated you,” Van Vliet replied. “You must understand that dated stories of the War have left a great, eh, scar on our people’s memory.”

“You should hear some of the crazy ideas that the rest of humankind has about you,” Zoor said. “We had all heard rumors that you had fled to a planet with alien technologies. Most didn’t believe it, but in the back of their minds many people thought you’d reappear with weapons beyond our comprehension and destroy us.” Van Vliet cackled and slapped the captain on the back.

“Oh, Captain, if only,” he said. “That would make many of the revanchists on our planet very very happy. Reclaim the outer colonies, glass the American continents. Oh yes, they would love that.” Van Vliet, too, looked out the captain’s window at his planet. “No, the plucky band of refugees who came here, bless them, did not have the expertise to harness any of the alien tech. In fact, as I’m sure you noticed, we lost a lot of advanced Earth technologies, too. We are a humble people.”

“Yes, I met with Nasim, the head librarian the other day. He gave a very detailed account of your history.”

“Ah yes, Nasim. What a man, huh? What a… storyteller.”

“He did not want to tell us much at first. I must thank your consortium for intervening with him, and really many others too.”

“Yes, we have a good relationship with the Library. We are their biggest donor, after all. They are always happy to do us a favor,” Van Vliet said.

“Well thank you, and thank you for helping source the artifacts. I know that you all had to pull a lot of strings.”

“Oh it was no trouble at all, I promise you! While technically the government controls access to the artifacts the Consortium has spent years building up our own collection. We were able to use our admittedly meager stockpile to make sure that your government would be very, very impressed. You will show them these, yes?”

“Of course,” Zoor answered. He watched Van Vliet as he paced the front of the bridge; he was spindly and moved in awkward jerks. “To be frank, I know that the investment is very important. Don’t worry - I am confident that we can set up a technology sharing agreement. They will be very grateful for these artifacts.” Zoor looked over at Yoseph who was staring daggers at the dignitary.

“Lieutenant, did you have something to say?”

“Yes, sir, I do. Permission to speak?” The Captain and the Lieutenant shared a look. Without speaking, the Captain told Yoseph “Keep your mouth shut.”

“Granted, Lieutenant.”

“How dare you, Van Vliet, sell out your people like that,” the lieutenant said.

“I’m sorry? Who are you again?”

“I am Lieutenant Yoseph Willi, and I’ll say it again: how DARE you sell out your people like this?”

“Lieutenant!” That’s enough!” the Captain shouted.

“No, no, it’s ok,” Van Vliet said. “I do not want to fight. He is concerned for my people, which is admirable, but with the righteous anger of a child who does not like his bedtime. He does not understand, Captain, I will teach him.”

“Teach me what, exactly? How the consortium only cares about making money? Please teach me. You know damn well that the outside world will steal your artifacts and then nuke your planet. You know damn well that the score from the old War was never truly settled, the atrocities both sides committed engraved in memory. You would sell out your entire civilization just so you and your friends could make a dollar.”

“Have you ever considered, Lieeeutenant, that you do not speak for me and my people? How dare you, first of all. Do you not realize that this ship is vital to the survival of our civilization, not its destruction?”

“Stop lying,” the Lieutenant said. “You are a liar and you know that you are lying.”

“Do you realize that we have lost our immunity to some diseases, Lieutenant? Mutated strains of Yellow Fever kill thousands of people each year and it’s only getting worse. Viruses and bacteria are mutating and we do not have the, say, pharmaceutical industry to develop cures. These diseases no longer exist for you and your people, Lieutenant.” The Captain and the Lieutenant stood in silence.

“And let’s not forget the food insecurity our people face. We have people starving on the farms. Kids wander into the capital malnourished and hungry with empty eyes. Banditry is commonplace. We are killing ourselves, Lieutenant – we do not need you to do it for us.”

“And you honestly think this will save you? How would you even know what our society is really like, anyway?” The dignitary laughed and his wide smile showed teeth.

“Do you really think you’re the first outsider to stumble across this place?”

“Are you suggesting that we aren’t?” the Captain interjected.

“I’m not suggesting, Captain, I’m telling you. An Outer Colony scout vessel landed here a number of years ago. They filled us in, mostly. Those cowards also chose to stay and not report back. To not ‘disturb’ our culture, our people. They ‘sympathized’ with us as fellow outsiders who escaped Imperial control and ‘wouldn’t let us’ share their oh so horrible fate. Captain, if I may be so bold, I have no plans to miss another chance. Please consider the plight of my people.” The dignitary turned back toward the elevator, his golden studded boots clanging against the rusty metal car. He descended back to the cabin. Zoor dismissed Yoseph – he needed time to think.

The Captain stared at the green orb once more. It seemed like fate; a navigational error sent them off course only to discover the hidden jewel of the galaxy. He thought about all of the years that led up to this, the sacrifices he made, the sacrifices Dina had made at home, too. The times he was passed over for promotion, the times he had to claw and fight for even the meagerest wins. This ship, small and rusty and obsolete, but his. He accepted his trials with grace. He took his postings on the chin, no matter how backwater each base was. His lonely patrols, searching for nothing and finding nothing, going through the motions.

And here he was, his treasure locked tightly away in the cargo hold. He was a real adventurer, now. He had done it. He smiled just thinking about it.

The drives were 80% charged and the Captain began crying, his tears staining his immaculate uniform. He had achieved everything, and yet his next choice meant doom no matter what. He could warp back to Earth with the ancient technology, potentially advancing the human race onward in its inexhaustible quest to populate the galaxy. This would come, most likely, with his imprisonment (or worse). His ship would no longer be his. His treasure would be stripped apart on twenty secret bases. The men and women under his command would lose their freedoms, too.

Or he could stay. He could disappoint the dignitary and remain, just another “coward”, as he called them. The locals would probably suffer. They might even take it out on him and his men. His grand adventure lost to time as he and his men and his ship were torn to bits. Or maybe they would be thankful that he did not give up their hiding spot. Maybe they all could start over.

With drives nearing 95% charge the klaxons sounded and red lights filled the hallways - there was an emergency. Everyone on deck to the escape pods, no exceptions. The crew fought and fussed but the Captain, uniform immaculate, mustache waxed, stood tall in the doorway. He was the last man to his pod. He shared it with a young, scared ensign.

As they fell to the planet, Zoor Verkissi watched out his right porthole as the Ionian Eagle began its collision course with the system’s sun. It was yellow like Earth’s. Out his left porthole, to his horror, Imperial warships appeared, their warp drives popping into system with brilliant blue flashes of light, their courses aimed straight for Bruehel.