Jon Messenger: Burden of Sisyphus

Finally alone in the lift, Vance stretched his arms wide and relaxed, as the elevator took him the rest of the way up through the ship’s numerous floors.

After catching another set of lifts and walking nearly the length of the ship, Vance found himself before an open door leading into the rear of a tiered classroom. At a podium at the bottom of the steppes, gesturing wildly toward a holographic projection of a battle, a Pilgrim officer taught historical battle scenarios to a group of enthralled, young pilots. Slipping into the room unnoticed, Vance sat in the rear and listened.

“When the newly formed Alliance first faced off against the Terran Empire’s Fleet, the crew of those Alliance ships weren’t much older than the faces I see in this audience,” the audience said. “They were inexperienced but brave. They fought valiantly against an aggressive, dangerous enemy.”

The instructor removed his glasses and set them gently on the podium. “Don’t smile. They were summarily wiped out by the superior Terran Fleet.”

Stepping away from the podium, the Pilgrim ran a hand through his thinning gray hair. He smiled gingerly at the captive audience, his face breaking into a spiderweb of wrinkles. “My concern is that I see the same youthful bravado in your pilots and crewmen. You have the urge to prove yourself. You want your name to go down in history. The problem is, there’s no place for attitudes like those among the crew of this ship. In this atmosphere, you either work as a team, or you die alone and forgotten.”

He stopped pacing and stared at the defiant faces of the pilots and crewmen. “How many of you think that the war between the Alliance and the Empire is over? Give me a show of hands.”

Seeing no one move, he continued, “Good. The Taisa Accord, signed nearly 150 years ago, was just a mutual agreement between both sides to end open hostilities. The key word is open hostilities. Under the radar of the populace of both the Alliance and the Empire, there’s still a war being fought. Outposts are being built in enemy territory. Platoons of infantry are facing off in bloody battles which history will never record. Notes of condolence are being sent to families who’ll never know how their loved one died.

“The fighting between the Alliance and the Empire will never truly end until one or the other is completely destroyed. The Goliath has been tasked to uphold the illusion of peace throughout the Alliance. That’s what the citizens of the Alliance want-to be told and lulled into believing that an uneasy truce still exists. To reach that goal, we’ve been outfitted with not only a superior array of weapons, but this ship has been integrated with a Halo system. Our mission will always be to hunt down and destroy any Terran elements that try to establish a foothold in Alliance space.”

Vance frowned at the mention of the Halo system. Its installation in the ship was still a sore spot for him.

“Welcome to the world of covert operations, Ladies and Gentlemen. No matter how good you were in your old job, no one will ever congratulate you on a job well done. If you do well, no one should know you did anything at all. If you don’t do a good job, you’ll be dead. It’s the job you signed up for.”

He returned to his podium and retrieved his glasses. “Are there any questions? No? Then good luck to you all. This concludes your welcome brief.”

All the audience members standing in unison braced in a firm salute, which the instructor brusquely returned. Vance waited until the room cleared, and the officer was collecting his paperwork, before he stood and walked down the stairs.

“I don’t remember ever looking that scared when I left one of your briefs, Sir.” He cleared the last step and stood before the Pilgrim instructor.

The Pilgrim turned with a broad smile. “Believe me, Michael, you were always that scared around me.”

Vance snapped to attention and saluted. “Captain Young, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Sir.”

The captain dismissed the formalities with a flippant wave of his hand. “I make the new recruits do that, because it reminds them we’re a military at war. I served with your father too long to have you stand at attention in front of me.” He motioned Vance to sit and pulled over his own chair. “Speaking of which, how is your father?”

“Yes, Sir, our mission went exceptionally well. Thank you for your concern.”

The captain rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with a little small talk? I’ve known your family for years. You were away on your mission for only two weeks. My relationship with your family takes seniority.”

“Last I talked to him,” Vance conceded, “he was doing quite well.”

“How long ago was that?”

Vance shifted uneasily. Though his father was one of the commanding generals in charge of the Alliance Infantry, father and son didn’t always see eye to eye. “Is it OK if we talk about something other than my father?”

“Fine. How’s your love life these days?”

Vance laughed. “No, believe me. I’d really prefer we didn’t start getting into my love life.” He knocked his boot against the chair leg, jarring caked red sand from the tread.

“Someone will have to clean that up, you know.” Captain Young pointed at the growing pile of dirt under the lip of Vance’s seat.

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you’d quit sending us to dustbowls on our missions. I’m still not entirely sure why the Terrans continue picking such horrid places on which to establish outposts. Whatever happened to outposts on tropical islands full of bikini-clad women?”

“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have any problem keeping my finest soldiers in boots. Well, next-to-finest soldiers. Your group is still the best.” He paused. “I assume they are.”

Vance reached under his robe and retrieved a data disk earmarked as Terran property. “We haven’t failed you yet, Sir. We’re still the best in the Alliance.”

Captain Young carried the disk to her personal computer console on the podium. He slid in the disk and waited for Alliance technology to decode the complex Terran encryption.

After less than a minute, a flood of data poured across the monitor. His eyes flicked back and forth across the screen, trying to take in the information. Hands tapping on the screen, he scrolled through file after file of Terran plans and operations. In the bottom right corner of the screen, a red light flashed persistently.

“Anything of importance?” Vance asked, feeling awkward at being ignored while the captain ran through the data.

He grunted in confirmation. “Quite a bit, actually.” He mechanically chewed his nails. “Unfortunately, there isn’t much I can share with you until High Council sees this.”

Vance nodded. It would be weeks or more before he and his men saw any results from their mission. “Sir, if it’s going to be awhile until we get anything out of the disk, and, I’m guessing, before our next mission, I’d like to request leave for me and my men. We’re a little tired and could use the downtime.”

Captain Young smiled, wrinkles extending from the corners of his eyes. “Let me guess-somewhere tropical with bikini-clad women?”

“Something like that.” Vance laughed.

“I think you and your men have earned a break. We’re stopping at Fatutu IV for resupply and refueling. It doesn’t have a lot in the way of bikini-clad women, but it offers a great stretch of beach. It’ll be a bit of a trip to get there, but your men will manage. When we’re done here, I’ll get the paperwork together to put all of you on leave once we arrive.” He turned away from the screen, his steely gray eyes on Vance. “Are you taking leave with them?”