Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

“Wait a minute! I have more questions I need answered.”

“There are no more questions for which you need answers, only questions to which you want answers.”

“What if I’m not ready to make the decision?”

“It is estimated that there is a ninety-three percent probability your decision will not change by any amount of additional information. Nor would additional information increase your survival probability. Therefore, it is necessary for you to decide.”

“And if I don’t decide?”

“Then our obligation to you is ended. If you refuse to decide, the decision will be made by a random procedure.”

“Meaning you’ll flip a coin to see if I live or die?”

“If I understand the reference—yes.”

Christ!

“Then I choose the planet. How long will it be before we—” Joe slipped into unconsciousness.

Lieutenant Bortor Nestor stopped at the office door of General Okan Akuyun, commander of all Narthani forces and civilians on the island of Caedellium. The young officer ran one hand over his uniform to check buttons and smooth wrinkles. Satisfied, he raised a hand to knock, gauged the appropriate firmness expected by General Akuyun, and executed three firm raps.

“Come in,” said a baritone voice.

Nestor opened the door and walked to attention in front of the general’s desk. On first impression, Okan Akuyun appeared stern and humorless—a carefully crafted facade. As a young officer, he determined that a serious demeanor served well in rising through the Narthani hierarchy. He was uncertain whether it had helped, but it was an ingrained part of his public persona.

“A message from Admiral Kalcan, General,” said the young officer, holding out a folded and sealed single sheet.

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Akuyun. He took the message, broke the seal, and his eyes scanned the sheet. “That’ll be all, Lieutenant. There’s no return message.”

Nestor slapped a right fist to his left shoulder, spun, and exited.

Akuyun read the sheet again, slower this time, absentmindedly running a hand from scalp to chin. Of average height and with a lean frame and face, he wore his hair cropped. Just noticeable were the patches of gray appropriate for his fifty-two years.

Although he was smooth shaven himself, many Narthani men sported mustaches, though nothing resembling a beard. No Narthani remembered that their distant nomadic ancestors had suffered facial fungal infections when they came roaring out of the harsh northern wastelands and mountains of the Melosian continent to capture more hospitable lands from weaker tribes. The beards, practical in their cold ancestral homelands, became breeding grounds for germs when the Narthani reached the warmer and more humid central latitudes. Shaving the beards solved the problem. Now, the Narthani considered beards a feature of lesser peoples; it was typical of their arrogance to ignore a history not fitting their self-image of inherent superiority.

Okan Akuyun rose and walked to his office window. In the glass, he saw two faint reflections: his own face, and the six-foot-square wall map hanging behind his desk. He knew every detail of the map. The Caedellium Archipelago consisted of one large island, two smaller islands to the northwest, and several islets off the main island’s coasts. That large island, Caedellium, measured five hundred by four hundred miles and was politically divided among twenty-one provinces ruled by clans steadfast in guarding their independence. A total island population estimated at 800,000 seemed to the Narthani ridiculously under-populated for the richness of the land.

Through the window glass and past the reflections, Akuyun surveyed parts of Preddi City, the original capitol of Preddi Province, and the main trading port for Caedellium. The city’s population of 35,000 was 9,000 more than when the Narthani first arrived and when the majority of the population were members of the Preddi Clan. Now, only 3,000 to 4,000 clansmen remained. The replacements were Narthani civilian settlers and tradesmen and their families, members of the military accompanied by a few families of the higher ranks, and slaves from conquered lands.

His eyes moved past the busy square and street in front of his headquarters and on to the main object of his attention: the harbor of Preddi City. He drew a deep breath, suppressing the excitement surging through him. Troop transports and cargo ships filled the harbor. A row of protective frigates anchored farther offshore, their sails furled, the closed gun ports for their single deck of 30-pounder cannon visible from his office. No larger escorts were deemed necessary because Caedellium had no warships and was not allied with any major power.

Akuyun’s mission was to bring the isolation of this resource-rich land to an end. He watched with satisfaction as the first two of the newly arrived troop transports disembarked lines of men down gangplanks to form units on the dock, their dark blue pants and maroon coats identifying them as Narthani infantry. Even from this distance and through his closed window, he could faintly hear officers shouting at their men, boots drumming against wood, the clanking of weapons against metal canteens. All of these sounds rose above the background of thousands of men whispering, cursing, grunting, complaining, and talking with the next men in line. Cannons, ammunition, tools, more settlers, slaves, general supplies, and the heavy cavalry’s horses waited offshore in cargo freighters.

He again perused Admiral Kalcan’s listing of the men and materials carried by the ships. His forces were now complete. He drew more deep breaths, satisfaction warming his face. Everything was in place for the next phase of the subjugation of Caedellium.

For Hetman Culich Keelan, hereditary leader of the Keelan Clan and Province, the morning brought no satisfaction. His forehead furrowed and his jaw clenched as he read the semaphore message. Another contingent of Narthani ships sailed toward Preddi City. A Keelan Clan fishing boat straying closer to the Preddi Province coast than advisable had made a good count of the number of Narthani ships before the fishermen beat a hasty retreat into safer waters.

The fishermen reported their sighting to the mayor of the port town of Dornfeld, the only Keelan town on the Gulf of Witlow, and opposite Preddi Province. Word of the new Narthani convoy reached Culich by riders from Dornfeld inland to the nearest semaphore station in Keelan Province, then on to Caernford. Dornfeld lay on the border with Gwillamer Province, an ally of Keelan, and along with the eastern province, Mittack, the three made up the Tri-Clan Alliance. The only semaphore lines connecting Gwillamer and Mittack to the rest of the island ran first to Caernford, then north and northeast to reach all of the other clans except the Seaborne, the clan inhabiting the smaller islands off the northwest Caedellium coast.

“Will there be an answer, Hetman?”

Culich’s eyes rose from the sheet. The semaphore messenger stood five feet away, waiting.

“Yes,” Culich mumbled, his gaze returning to the disheartening news, then raising to judge the height of the sun. If he got a message off to the other hetmen, most should receive it by sundown. Not that there was anything immediate they could do.

The semaphore flag towers stood an average of five miles apart, depending on the terrain, and were manned during daylight hours as long as signals were visible. The system had begun operating ten years earlier, and only in the last six months had it connected to the last mainland clan. Rearranging the large panels took time and limited the complexity of messages, but a short communication starting at any clan capitol, except the island province of Seaborne, could reach all of the other clans within ten daylight hours.