Alexander Kazantsev - The Destruction of Faena

The little Faetian stood solemnly before the Faetesses as he undertook this new mission.

After a moment’s thought, he added:

“However, everything will depend on whether the Faetians of Quest agree to abandon the bountiful and flourishing Terr and undergo fresh hardships and perils to rescue us.”

“I shall implore them!” cried Ala Veg.

“No one will risk losing happiness,” said Nega Luton. “There’s no sense in Brat Lua being chief. No one will fly to the station, no one will ferry us to the surface of Mar.”

“Not everybody there is as soft-hearted as the gentle Sister of Health,” said Lada Lua.

Nega Luton bristled with indignation. How dare this insignificant roundhead talk about her like that? But she pulled herself up at once. Lada was now the wife of the new station chief, so Nega Luton controlled herself.

“It’s just that I’m worried about us all,” she muttered through her teeth in self-justification.

“It’s nearly time for the electromagnetic communications session,” announced Ala Veg.

She left the common cabin and made for the observatory.

When she sat down at the control panel, she saw in front of her the silvery bullet with the sharp brown prickles. She picked it up gingerly by the blunt end and threw it into the rubbish chute through which it would end up in space.

The signal lamp lit up, indicating a call.

“Poor Toni Fae! He thinks he’s called Deimo for the last time,” said Ala Veg aloud, although there was no one near her.

Brat Lua walked into the observatory and announced:

“Mrak Luton has just informed us over the intercom that he has agreed to relinquish his post as station chief in return for the dinner he didn’t have time to finish.”

“Even his own greedy stomach’s against him,” replied Ala Veg.

“As the new chief, I shall have to take part in the session with the Faetians of Quest on Terr.”

“Allow me to open the session, Brat Lua. I’ll try to put it as convincingly as possible.”

“The first word is yours,” agreed the new chief.

The signal lamp began winking on the control panel.

Ala Veg switched the apparatus on.

Stooping and breathing heavily. Dm Sat lowered himself into the armchair before the control panel. His wrinkled face with its bushy white beard had sagged noticeably, his eyes were deeply sunken, but watched with their former close and sad attention. He asked Toni Fae, for the benefit of those who had come back from the forest, to re-run the recording of the last communications session. Ala Veg’s chesty voice was heard in the cabin once again.

“Quest! Quest! Quest! Faetians of Terr! Your brothers and sisters, abandoned on an artificial speck of dust amid the stars, are crying out to you for help. Around us is the cold and infinite emptiness of space. We have no solid ground under our feet, we are feeding on the produce of the greenhouse, which is being destroyed by endless showers of particles discharged by the explosion of Faena. We shall not survive here unless you come to our rescue. Quest! Quest! Quest! Faetians of Quest! Remember that you are of the same flesh and blood as those who gave life to you and to us! Fly to us in your ship, which we consider ours also. Fly to us in the name of the love which shall forever be the beginning of the future and everlasting life. The Faetians must not perish! Help us in the name of Reason, whose heritage we must preserve. Quest! Quest! Quest!”

Ala Veg’s voice fell silent.

The Faetians exchanged glances. Um Sat glanced inquiringly at Ave Mar and Gor Terr.

Gor Terr went up to Toni Fae and rested his enormous hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“My friend Toni Fae,” he said, as if his decision was the only one that mattered. “The appeal by our brothers and sisters from Deimo will r-remain bitter and unanswered, and it will break our hearts. I think we ought not to maintain electromagnetic communications with space any more.”

“What?” cried Mada, outraged. “Turn our backs on our own people when they’re in trouble?”

“We can’t help them,” Gor Terr tried to say as gently as possible. “If we flew to the station, we would just be parasites, using up all their food and oxygen.”

“But they’re hoping Quest will put them down on the surface of Mar,” protested Toni Fae.

“Alas!” continued Gor Terr gloomily. “That’s as impossible as our r-resettlement on Deimo. We could fly as far as the space station, but the ship hasn’t got enough fuel for a braked landing on Mar.”

With a column of figures written on a plastic tablet, Gor Terr convincingly demonstrated the impossibility of flying to the Faetians on Station Dei mo.

Ave Mar, Toni Fae and Mada understood everything perfectly. Only Um Sat, apparently, could not wait until the engineer had finished. He took a turn for the worse and had to be put to bed in the control cabin this time. Mada fussed about him, trying to bring him round.

Water was needed. There wasn’t any, since the reserve supply had been used up. More would have to be fetched up from below.

When he had brought some water, Gor Terr began insisting that they should all move into the house, which was now ready.

“The forest air is more likely to cure the Elder,” he affirmed.

It was decided that Toni should stay behind at the communications apparatus. At the next session, he could inform the Faetians on Deimo that they could not possibly be reached on Quest.

Toni Fae was brooding silently. Mada feared for him. She carefully locked up the dispensary so that he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on an ampoule of stupefying gas and she made Ave Mar collect up all the poisoned bullets.

Sadly, as if saying goodbye to their ship forever, the astronauts climbed down the vertical ladder leading out of the lower airlock.

Um Sat, whom they wanted to carry refused to be helped and actually went down the ladder himself with Mada supporting him.

The path that the Faetians took as they carried the various gear from the ship turned slippery. Gor Terr nearly fell down.

“Don’t stray off the tr-rack,” he warned anxiously.

The building with its sloping roof appeared among the trees.

In his time, Ave Mar, accustomed to the round buildings of Danjab, would have thought the house ugly, but the change from a round rocket to a rectangular structure now seemed right. He even sighed with relief; they had a refuge for long cycles of their forthcoming life.

Suddenly, a tawny shadow darted across the window.

Ave Mar gripped Gor Terr by the arm. He too had noticed something suspicious and he headed determinedly for the house. The door had not yet been made.

On the threshold, Gor Terr collided with an enormous Faetoid with bared fangs. He charged at it, unaware that this was Dzin showing her teeth in the semblance of a smile. He grabbed the uninvited guest by the paw and nimbly threw her over his shoulder so that she landed on some tree-stumps nearby. She jumped up and fled howling into the forest.

In this way, an “attack” by Faetoids on the house was beaten off.

The Faetians went through the doorway.

Gor Terr screwed up his nose in distaste. There was an animal stench inside.

Mada opened the windows to air the place.

“Home at last,” she said with relief.

’Tarn afraid,” said Um Sat, “that for a long time the Faetians will have to prove that this is their home.”

“Just let those filthy beasts try to barge in again!” roared Gor Terr.

“I was afraid you were going to kill our uninvited guest,” confessed Ave Mar.

“I would have done so, if I hadn’t thought it was Dzin. We owe her so much.”