Short Stories & Book Excerpts by Ty Power

Chapter Two

It took the two hoppers a matter of only minutes to rendezvous with Exodus III. Both were landed in the central portside housings. Then all twelve members of the Hades team met on the bridge to discuss operations. Gender assigned duties to enable the cruiser to get under way, although each person had undergone intensive training and knew their tasks instinctively. The cruiser had been meticulously maintained over the years since the first landing on Hex Major, and so only rudimentary checks and the compulsory systems plotting was necessary.

Gender paced the bridge, near the oval table around which the others sat. Both excited and worried, he tried not to let either show. A great responsibility had been set squarely upon his shoulders, and he was determined to prove himself to Vion San Tully. Merely a scientific exploratory expedition, it was not without its dangers. He was thankful to the Governor for offering this opportunity to go in his place. Gender turned back to face the table.

"Has anyone given thought to the situation regarding our radiation‑sick passengers?"

Tarkin slowly tapped a forefinger nail on the table surface, clearly annoying Tiah, seated on his right. "As I see it," spoke the latter, "there is not an issue." The small, red‑haired zoologist stood, her face, as always, a dark cloud. "We cannot risk leaving them on the surface. Everyone knows the logic of that. Now that Exodus III is no longer in continuous use, this unfortunate minority has the run of half the ship. It is as much as anyone has been able to do... until now. Though they have never set foot on Hex Major, they are as much a part of it as each one of us. They deserve to be a part of every giant step we make. Why should they not share in the glory, be prominently present in history; instead of miserable wretches, ignored by humanity because their presence reminds us of a short period in a bygone age we would much rather forget." Abruptly, she sat again, as if signalling an end to the discussion.

Gender waited for someone to speak. He preferred to test the atmosphere by merely watching and listening. There was an awkward silence before, finally, somebody spoke.

"I agree," Yira said simply, with an ever ready smile.

"So do I, for what it is worth," agreed Sevion, the tall bearded agriculturalist."

"Do you not think they ought to be offered the choice?" put in Bral, a thin, mousy‑haired human biologist. Everyone turned to examine the expression on Bral's face, but the little man met no one's gaze, staring at the grains on the genuine Earth oak conference table.

"No," Gender answered him.

There was no hurt intended by the utterance of this abrupt one‑word dismissal. The others accepted the statement. They realised that, though it was only fair to discuss the situation, the outcome was academic.

"I will explain to you what you already know. I, personally, have no sympathy for those afflicted few. Originally, the five hundred or so people affected by high levels of radiation on Earth were given what they knew and accepted as a temporary life‑line. It was a choice of either that or remaining behind on Earth to perish much sooner. It was unfortunate, as it is now, that they had to be completely segregated. But entirely necessary. Within their boundaries, the future and length of sufferance depended on the decisions made. Most died during the first few years of the Exodus. Of the others, a minority chose to make a family life for themselves. It is perhaps debatable whether to create further generations was proper or humane. As their life‑span has greatly reduced, only a hand full now remain. However, although they have no further contact with dangerous levels of radiation, for further generations – those off‑spring of the afflicted – the ailments are progressively more severe. Perhaps not necessarily visibly, in the way we would expect; perhaps not even mentally ‑ I am not entirely sure there; you would need to refer to the medical expertise of Bral and others of his Spoke ‑ but certainly internally. Organs fail and cells deteriorate before their time. Therefore, mixing of any kind is impossible. I am sorry to say, it is a case of being cruel to a few to be kind to many."

There was a long silence. The others had never heard Gender make speeches before. They understood the logic of his words, however, though none of them even knew any of the radiation‑sick. Their interests were always looked after by others, hopping to and from Hex Major on a rota basis. That would very soon change, as their needs would have to be catered for on the journey. Slowly, one by one it seemed, all heads turned to Bral. He moved his head in an almost imperceptible nod.

"Good," said Gender. "It is well that everyone's opinions are out in the open. Thoughts aired now prevent confusion in the future." The dark‑haired man sucked in a lung full of reconditioned air. "Now that all preconditioning and systems analysis checks have been completed, I suggest we get our journey under way immediately."

"Should we not all rest fully first?" enquired Bayli.

"No," stated Gender, in the same way as before. "We will all have more than sufficient opportunity to rest and sleep once we are under way. I suggest we make preparations for immediate departure."

Bayli, one of two Citadel security guards on the trip – a muscular man with hair so short and fine that he actually combed it with a face flannel – shrugged his acceptance.

By mutual consent the eleven seated members of the team stood and filed out of the small room which adjoined the bridge. Except for Gender, Dere was the last to leave. He had sat in silence throughout the short conference, simply listening to comments, studying reactions, and storing away mental notes for later addition to the Citadel banks of knowledge. Gender felt as if he, personally, were on trial. He felt more likely to make a mistake or wrong decision with Dere scrutinising his every movement. It put him on edge almost to the point of paranoia. He began to think of Dere as a usurper just waiting for an excuse to call him incompetent. Gender determined to give the man no justification.

Before he, too, left the room, Dere looked Gender in the eye, as he had for the majority of the conference, and smiled.

Gender did not quite know how to receive the gesture.
 

                                                                                * * *

Basilim decided to remain, as did the vast majority of the spectators. Governor Vion San Tully retired from the celebrations immediately after his speech. He was escorted to the lift platform, where he descended to the depths of the Citadel for much needed and deserved rest and recuperation.

The aid which had asked them all to stay for the festivities – a rake‑like blond man, called Mulk – made an announcement. "I would invite individual storytellers from each Spoke, to relay tales of personal success, tragedy or heartache, in what will hopefully become a traditional annual event to bond the people of Hex Major together through the testing years to come."

Basilim was wildly amused at the reaction to Mulk's words. There was a complete and unnerving silence. It seemed everyone was waiting for someone to get the bandwagon rolling, to offer themselves for display. It was obvious that the first speaker would be all important. If he did not capture the spectators' imaginations, the tradition would end before it was even established.

The silence spanned an eternity. Time froze, as if awaiting a significant event to give it cause to recommence. The only noise came from the sharp gusts of autumn wind which whispered its secrets to the gathered crowds.

Mulk allowed the silence to last, but when no one came forward, he finally sighed then chuckled into the microphones. "And we had thought to make the storytelling an on‑going event. Very well; I will begin with a tale of my own. This is a true account of events which took place at the time of the third Exodus from Earth, handed down through generations of forefathers.

"He was called Seigmond, a tall, strapping man, muscular but gentle in nature, with hard eyes and cool manner. He was employed as a security guard for an underground refrigeration plant. At that time of evolutionary over‑population, it was not uncommon for structures to be erected below ground level. However, all portals were on the surface; it was impossible to move across town from building to building, because no inter‑connecting roads or passageways existed. It was perhaps this lack of foresight which allowed so many people to die. The town was Greenwich in London, which we all know from our studies was situated in a small country called England. Cube Frozen Foods (CFF) was close to the River Thames. For a reason never quite known to him, the workforce operated at varying split shifts during the day. Incidentally, Earth days contained twenty‑four hours, rather than our own twenty‑nine. Thus, he was often summoned at odd hours, at short notice, to patrol the premises behind locked doors.

"So it was that Seigmond was called to work a twelve hour shift which commenced at three o'clock on a Thursday morning. I am sure you are all aware that on Earth they divided and named the days in groups of seven? He arrived and the workforce left. There was never very much to do in his official capacity, but in that time of common violence, theft and damage to property, it was considered prudent to employ a trustworthy and reliable security guard, if only to contact a law enforcement agency in the event of trouble. There was no trouble on this particular Thursday; at least not internally to CFF. He completed his initial rounds of the freezer plants, and returned gratefully to the adjoining heated offices. He spent much of his free time reading, but this, coupled with the odd working hours he kept, made him weary. At some point he must have closed his eyes and slipped peacefully into oblivion.

"He woke as the vibrations were beginning to subside. By nature he was not normally a heavy sleeper; that explained why he was shocked into awareness. In one movement, his eyes snapped open and he leapt to his feet, causing his chair to be thrust back across the floor. Plaster and the dust from crumbling bricks rained from the ceiling. There was a distant low rumbling, more felt than heard, that was just now settling. Somehow, he knew instinctively what had happened.

“They had done it; they had finally done it. After all these years of living on the brink, a government – or even a few of them – had deemed it necessary to wring its hands of civilised life and drop the bomb. It was armageddon!

"But of course Seigmond was wrong. As we all know, it was the Aggressors' unprovoked attack. However, the result was much the same: death, devastation and radiation. He 

possessed food for perhaps three weeks, so he knew it would be foolhardy to attempt to leave immediately. There was warmth and protection, and the air conditioning, if used sparingly, would last the distance. There was no choice but to sit down to the agonizing wait. Agonizing, because he had no idea how his wife and young daughter fared, and no way of finding out. For all he knew, he could be needed by them; they could be injured. Or worse.

"Try as he might to exorcise the situation from his mind, it simply refused to let go. Seigmond used the time to twice more read his book, and he also discovered some frozen food plant manuals. But nothing registered. It might as well have been in a foreign language. All track of time was soon lost; he could have been self‑imprisoned down there for weeks or months. His wrist watch continued to operate, but there was no date on the face, so blocks of twelve hours came and went without meaning. All he knew for sure was that his self‑appointed three weeks had expired, because his standard food supply was fully depleted, and he had taken to moving small carcases out of a frozen store and eating the meat uncooked, once it had defrosted at room temperature. Hunger overcame any feeling of possible disgust. When he could bare the anguish of the wait no longer, he made the decision to venture outside. 

"Seigmond wrapped himself heavily in cloth, ensuring no bare skin showed, and salvaged a pair of goggles and a nose‑ and mouth‑covering air filter. This would protect his eyes, nose and mouth from potentially hazardous dust particles. But it would not offer protection of any kind if the radiation levels were still dangerously high. He resembled an operative about to enter a nuclear plant.

"In a way that was exactly what he was doing.

"However, it was clear that the very worst was in the past. It was obvious to Seigmond that prolonged exposure to the after effects of a nuclear holocaust – even though not of mankind's own making – would mean certain death. But it was not his intention to be around that long. He would follow the other survivors, all heading in the same direction: the site of the nearest of the three prototype space cruisers. There he intended to be reunited with Nadia and Olga, his wife and daughter, and they would dispense with the now ruined Earth, to begin a new life among the stars. He had it all worked out. In his head it sounded so clear cut and romantic. Fate, though, was not to be so kind.

"Seigmond joined the seemingly endless queue of people patiently waiting to register themselves as refugees. Shuffling forward a little at a time, he eventually reached an official of some kind, seated behind a computer terminal. In detached tones, the official recorded his details, then pointed to a large hanger where many individuals milled about uselessly. Literally, lost sheep. Seigmond joined the others in pacing up and down expectantly. He sought Nadia and Olga. They were nowhere to be seen.

"However, he did meet Delmont, a life‑long friend. Excepting the obvious shock induced by the situation, Delmont was content in that he had all his family with him. Seigmond relayed his story to his friend, and finished by explaining that he had to find his own family. Of course, Delmont understood. 'I would come with you, but I cannot risk being separated from my family again. Do not be too long.' Were the roles reversed Seigmond would have acted similarly.

"Delmont could only guess that Seigmond would try home first; as he did not immediately return, it was obvious they could not be found. Time passed all too quickly, and very soon Exodus III, christened with only a slap of paint which would burn off anyway in the atmosphere, made ready to leave. Seigmond had still not returned. Delmont was intensely concerned, but himself refused to abandon his family, even for a moment. He tried to have the embarkation delayed, but the officials responsible for the cruiser, although sympathetic, refused to prolong the danger for the sake of one, or even three people. After all, they had no idea if another Aggressor attack was imminent.

"Then Exodus III was leaving, and it was too late. Although a great distance apart, there was no opportunity for him to travel on either of the other two cruisers, as both had already left to rendezvous in Earth orbit. Delmont and his family were, of course, desperately sad. But he knew his friend well. Seigmond was irrevocably emotionally tied to his wife and daughter. If he had not found Nadia and Olga, he would certainly not have wished to leave until he had; if he had discovered them dead, then Delmont was sure his friend would have chosen to remain behind to perish alongside his loved ones. Seigmond had lost. But he had also won."

It was some considerable time before Basilim realised that the story had ended. There was complete silence, except for the chill autumn wind which continued to hum eerily across the spectators' galleries. Basilim felt another chill; this one ran up her spine and tingled in the back of her head. She felt melancholy; it was not an altogether unpleasant sensation. Mulk induced a similar thrall in everyone with the tale. It was almost the effect of mass hypnosis. Basilim underwent a vision of Seigmond arriving at the site of Exodus III with his wife and daughter, only to find that their sanctuary and only hope of survival had left without them. They would die in only a short time. Basilim understood Mulk's final remark about Seigmond having lost but won. He had lost by missing the boat, so to speak, but also won his greatest victory by proving himself a loving and compassionate human being. In simple terms, he cared more for the welfare of his family than himself. The thought made Basilim feel momentarily warm inside; it put her in the right frame of mind, so that she was relaxed and at peace with the world. A good human story often made a warm glow inside her.

Basilim was startled from a sense of lethargy by a spontaneous round of applause and general adulation. Enthusiastically, she joined in.

Mulk grinned broadly. He waved away the cheers and waited until the clamour died down. "I appreciate your enthusiasm," he chuckled. "I have but one story. Is there anyone here today who will share their own?" He stood back from the microphones, awaiting a reaction. There was an uneasy silence in which the spectators glanced at each other, as if daring someone else to volunteer first. Then, slowly, cautiously, the hands began to rise.

Overhead, the skies had turned decidedly overcast. But nobody appeared to notice, engrossed as they were in the celebratory proceedings of the first ever Major Day.

                                                                               * * *

When you are about to die it is said that your whole life flashes before you. This was not the case with the white‑haired adolescent; for Flux time stood still, as if awaiting some momentous occasion: his untimely demise.

Flux had practically resigned himself to his fate when he sensed a second movement, only a split second after the first. There was a quick squeal, followed by a thud and the sound of scurrying. He heard some ground twigs snap, and the sound of close‑growing branches and foliage being brushed aside. There was a distant and now faint squabbling and scrabbling. Holding his breath, he strained his hearing for the slightest hint of a noise. He could sense nothing, but it did not necessarily follow that there was nothing present. If Flux had unknowingly stumbled in to a community of creatures' habitual homes, there could even now be several predatory beasts waiting in the darkness, judging when and where to attack. Flux decided to take a chance. In as fluid a movement as he could manage, he climbed to his feet and pushed between the closely interlocking roots and branches.

The fading afternoon light stabbed painfully at his sensitive pink eyes. This sudden blindness made him panic momentarily. He could clearly hear the frantic flurrying now he was outside the soundproofing of the tree's foliage, and felt vulnerable to anything that might spring out at any moment from under cover of the tree. Swallowing the feeling of foreboding, Flux reached through the foliage with one arm and felt around for his protective dark lenses. He was relieved when he found them quickly; they made him feel significantly more secure. Unfortunately, that security brought with it the reality of the situation. The danger was evident. Flux wanted to turn and flee, but he was rooted to the spot, transfixed and fascinated by the display he was currently witnessing. 

Two animals were fighting in a dizzying blur of motion. To Flux's untrained eye they appeared to be mammals. One was the size of a small Earth cat of the type that had become domesticated whilst generally retaining its independence. He had seen many varieties in the Holo‑Zoo. The other creature was slightly larger and possessed the advantage of an armoured hide. The smaller animal, although only fur‑covered, fought voraciously and looked to have the upper hand. Apart from the established identifications and distinctions, Flux could distinguish little else, as neither creature paused sufficient enough for his eyes to record a more detailed description. Flux stood frozen with fear and curiosity, nervously awaiting the outcome, and wondering which victory, if any, would benefit him the most. He hoped with fervour that both would be far too exhausted or injured to pay him any attention. Truthfully, he knew it was too much to expect. How could any living thing miss, or indeed ignore, an alien creature where it stood only a few metres away? No, when the immediacy of their own dispute was resolved, at least one of them would be turning its full attention to Flux.

He regained some of the feeling lost with his initial shock, and decided it might be prudent not to run. Maybe they would tire of him and move away.

Then the tide of the battle turned.

The ferociousness of the smaller animal had little effect now on its foe's armoured hide, although it opened a number of cuts on the head. However, as if it could have done so at any time and was merely going through the motions, if rolled out of striking range and paused. Then, as the armoured animal leaped to attack, the smaller, fur‑covered creature secreted a liquid into its face. Rather than spitting, it snorted a spray from the nasal cavities.

The victim halted in mid‑attack, stunned by the unexpected. Then it simply fell to the ground, screeching hideously and writhing in obvious agony until, finally, it lay motionless. The small animal watched it for a moment, presumably ensuring that it had indeed expired. Apparently satisfied, it turned its attention to Flux.

Flux stiffened involuntarily.

This was the moment of truth. Would the creature attack and kill him? He had no defence against such an assault, as he knew the moment he wielded his knife it would be all over. He now knew the speed with which the creature could move. Or, worse, would it leave him incapacitated, to die an agonisingly slow death?

A tingling sensation beneath the scalp evolved into a fully‑fledged creeping trepidation, which threatened to overwhelm him. He tried to keep it locked up inside of himself; the last thing he wished to do right now was broadcast his fear outwardly. The animal just sat watching him, probably deciding whether to class the adolescent human as prey or predator; to show fear now could be disastrous and prove to be his downfall.

To dispel his fear Flux focused his mind and, more prominently, his sight on obtaining a more detailed description of this the first known sighting of an alien creature native, presumably, to Hex Major. The sudden purpose he gave himself evaporated his immediate and illogical malaise, leaving only the initial tingling somewhere in his brain.

The creature was indeed covered in a short fur. The feet were large and wide‑spread, as if the mammal were heavier than it looked, or perhaps they aided balance in unstable terrain. There were three hooked toes on the front two feet, and four on each of the rear two. The back legs were thick and looked powerful. A thirty centimetre tail lay at such an odd angle that Flux guessed it was prehensile. Its face was thin and pointed, like an isosceles triangle, the ears wide and short and situated on the sides rather than the top. The eyes were large and deep‑set, amber in colour, with slitted pupils. Its torso was thin but not bony, and the back was slightly arched. Flux's eyes were drawn back to its nose, the source of its deadly toxin. The snout was long, but the nose itself wide and squat, not unlike that of an Earth pig.

In the few moments it took Flux to concentrate his mind to extinguish his irrational fears, the animal did not once move position. It did not even blink; instead, the eyes flicked back into a hooded recess and out again, all in a nano‑second. For some reason Flux found this mildly unsettling.

Deciding to test its reactions, Flux took a few steps backwards. Instantly, the creature moved forward, keeping the distance between them constant. When Flux moved forward, the animal took two small steps backwards. It was obviously extremely curious.

It was then that Flux noticed the fading light. It was early evening and he still had over an hour's walking for the return journey to the Rim. He had to return now, otherwise he was likely to be missed by his guardians, or by Basilim who would want to know how Flux had spent his time whilst the revelries were happening at the Citadel.

He started by walking slowly backwards, and then gradually picked up his pace. The watching animal stood and began to trot after him, maintaining the gap between them at all times. It was awkward, not to mention disorientating, travelling in reverse. As the animal made no move to harm him, Flux decided to chance turning his back.

Had it not earned at least some trust?

Well, that question was debatable. In a situation such as this he could only make one mistake. There was no second chance. But was this not what Flux had longed for all of his young life? To break away from monotony and conformity? He ventured beyond the wall seeking danger and excitement, a break from a mundane existence. Now he had found all of that, or it had found him; he could either reject it or ride with the wind, so to speak. He opted for the latter.

With the alien creature scrutinising his every movement, Flux removed the compass from his utility belt to check his course. Altering his bearing, he turned and walked forwards at a quickened pace. A glance over one shoulder every ten steps saw his curious friend following with scampering, stealthy footsteps, its arched back kept low. Its rusty‑red colouring was in complete contrast to the greens, browns and greys of the surrounding setting. Perhaps it had strayed far from its natural habitat. Or maybe there was no need for camouflage protection. In retrospect, Flux now remembered that the armoured animal had been a deep shade of green. Camouflage and armour‑plating had still not prevented its early death. It reminded him just how dangerous this little animal could be. It demanded much respect.

Flux increased the obligatory glance over one shoulder to every six or eight steps. With a painful crick in his neck, Flux reached the Rim... and halted, suddenly annoyed with himself. He had concentrated so much attention on his xenological find that he was left with little opportunity for consideration on how he would cross back over the wall.

He turned his attention to the animal which sat a short distance away, licking its nose with an impossibly long tongue. "Well, my friend," he said, "what happens now?"

The animal looked up at the wall as if seeing it for the first time. It took a couple of steps back, stopped, then stepped back once more.

"So, you are wise as well as dangerous. Be wary of human beings, my friend. When they are not harming each other, they are finding other things to harm. I hope I am not representative of the whole."

He walked along the wall until he found his discarded helium canister and the balloon which had carried him across the Rim. With no gauge mounted on the cylinder, it was impossible to accurately estimate how much gas remained, though he sincerely doubted it was sufficient for his requirements. He checked his belt pouches. A steel rope cable would be useless hanging on an electrified barrier. Nothing else he carried was even remotely useful in getting him over a thirty metre high wall. The canister was his only hope. Why, oh, why had he not 'borrowed' a larger or additional one? But whilst thinking himself prepared, he had little experience in such matters.

For the second time in his life – and both within the space of one day – he gambled with his very existence for the sake of his own immediate safety.

Carefully, he rearranged the tape on the plastic sheeting to reinforce the strength of the makeshift balloon. Then he stood back and dubiously inspected his handiwork. If he was in any way religious, he would have recited all the prayers he knew right now. As he was not, he settled for old‑fashioned superstition.

"Wish me luck," he called as he removed his dark lenses.

The moment he did so, his now unprotected eyes were assaulted by a searing pain which stabbed at his eyes and burned inside his skull. Flux released a piercing scream.

Clutching his head, he dropped to his knees. Visibly stunned, the animal jumped back, its ears flicking with uncertainty. Instantaneously, the pain relented. It took several moments to lessen and finally subside. His vision cleared and the erratic breathing settled, though he still felt his heart thumping wildly with shock against his chest.

The light from the sun was not responsible for his discomfort this time; it was late in the day and the brightness of the sun had waned sufficiently for him to remove his dark lenses without suffering any uneasiness. He wondered if his brief bout of excruciating agony was anything to do with the animal which even now sat watching him curiously. The letting of pain coincided precisely with its shocked leap backwards, and even the tingling in his mind vanished. But was its reaction not proof it was just as surprised at this turn of events as Flux? He did not know what to believe any more; in a place about which he knew little, anything was possible, at least theoretically. Whatever, Flux was no fool; he collected his fallen lenses and pushed them back on to his nose.

Better safe...

He returned to the canister and, gripping the straps of the balloon, turned the release tap. It seemed that he had to wait even longer this time. He began to fear the helium would expire before he even got off the ground. Then, agonisingly slowly, it finally deigned to lift him into the air. Flux glanced down to see the watching animal's head tilting steadily upwards, following every metre of his progress. His success so far caused him to relax a little. Perhaps he was being a little over‑cautious. The top of the wall was now within reach.

However, as Flux floated above the top of the Rim, the sound of escaping gas abruptly changed tone, and Flux realised with terror that the gas had expired. With a single cough the release of helium simply stopped.

There was no time to scream, but his face was a mask of stark terror as he plummeted towards the top of the Rim, and a live voltage which was certain death.

                                                                                * * *

The Exodus III was set on its course with no further delay.

The Slingshot Drive, improved vastly since the days of the forced evacuation of Earth, significantly aided its progress. Now, for the first time since finding a new home on Hex Major, the human race headed for its first physical investigation of a planet in the Hex System.

The Hex System actually comprised three solar systems which were so close together compared, with Earth's much more wide‑spread but single Milky Way, that it was easier to regard the three as one: a tri-solar system. Hex Major, though possessing a slightly larger diameter and mass, circled a smaller sun. However, it also benefited from the light and heat of a second star further away, whose appearance from Major was lost in the brightness of its neighbour. The third sun, aside from being a considerable distance, was small and practically dead, and so of little significance to Hex Major. Aside from Hex Major itself, there were five other planets in the galaxy. There had been little opportunity for the study of neighbouring worlds since the colonisation of Major, but of the studies necessary to ensure the future stability of their relatively new home, the human race learned some rudimentary facts.

The closest planet, in space terms, was Hades, so named because of its central proximity to the fiery hell of three suns. At any one time, one half was subjected to intense heat and radiation, through which no known form of life could possibly survive – even Earth insects whose natural habitat had been the scorching‑hot sands of the desert.

The intention of this expedition was to set down on the opposite half. They had positive evidence that the unexposed half of Hades cooled rapidly, and to such an extent that with the proper protection, they could endure the discomfort, albeit for a limited period. The heavy heat and radiation suits, and breathing apparatus as protection against an anticipated lack of oxygen and a possible fatal mixture of toxic gases, would be required for every step of the way. But this was known from the outset and could not dampen any member of the team's high spirits, at least initially. No matter how inhospitable, it was another world and the first time any of them had been off planet, apart from the necessary hopper jumps from the surface to Exodus III. At the time of the mass Exodus, not even any Earth-born people had set foot on Mars, its closest neighbouring planet – only Earth's single satellite, the Moon.

Gender lay in his quarters staring at a holo‑image of the Hex System, just below the ceiling. Fingering a button beside his bunk, he watched with interest as the planets began to circle their suns, their Sidereal Periods naturally in relation to their proximity. There was still so much that was unknown about the Hex System, their home.

It seemed rather unsystematic to Gender to be visiting another world when so little was known about their own beyond the Rim. No doubt, the wall would move steadily outwards as the population increased; which was fine, provided there was no encroaching on the land and whatever may be living off of it. Gender was determined the exploration of Hades would be for study and classification only; there would be no alterations and certainly no destruction.

Although this was the first of the five remaining planets to be investigated, albeit superficially, Gender sincerely hoped to view the others. Man had to colonise other worlds, if only to secure his long‑term future. But if Gender could in any way affect the situation, he would make absolutely certain no feet were trodden on. The attack on Earth by the mysterious Aggressors proved incontrovertibly that alien species did exist. If the party did find life, intelligent or otherwise, it was no confirmation of future binding ties to, upon introduction, drive them out of their homes, or into extinction. There had been more than enough of that on Earth with the Red Indians, Aborigines, Eskimos, and countless other unique minority cultures.

The holo‑image vanished as Gender draped a hand over his bunk and depressed the button. Unable to focus his mind formally any more, he allowed his clouded thoughts to wander freely. The team's assignment and its importance was foremost in all their minds. Each member, selected for their individual expertise, had long since made all the necessary preparations for the landing. They checked, rechecked, and checked again the utilities required: the protective suits, radiation counters, professional utensils, and air‑tight, lead‑lined sample containers for rocks, minerals and stools, if any. There were also air‑ and gas‑fed transparent tanks for plant life and fungus samples. Micro fibre‑optic vidi‑cameras and their corresponding mini‑monitors were dismantled and reassembled. They even constructed a rostra to take their turns in cleaning the bridge, control panels, and other active areas of the ship.

However, after all of these duties were completed, there was a huge chasm of seemingly infinite spare time remaining to fill. Idle contemplation was not enough. Despite the size of Exodus III, the twelve people were getting increasingly in each other's way. The endless waiting made everyone irritable and short‑tempered. Most embraced seclusion in their private quarters, if only to avoid conflict. It was an unfortunate state of affairs which Gender knew required serious consideration. He had to find a way to bring together the team, because if they were allowed to drift apart at this crucial moment, it would surely affect their performance together when they reached Hades.

Only half of the three month journey was complete, which was a mere fraction of the old rocket fuel travelling times, and even Gender was driven to distraction with boredom. Perhaps he was becoming paranoid, too, because it seemed that Dere, San Tully's appointed 'Watcher', appeared everywhere at inconsistent times, only to sit and write in a book. It was probably just his own personal diary log of the trip, purely for the sake of prosperity, but Gender could not help feeling – or was it imagining? – that Dere was making unfavourable reports on his conduct.

His piercing blues eyes itched with weariness, though he slept more than enough lately. There was little else to do. The discomfort rubbed from them, he moved one hand down to his chin and rubbed absently at it, quite suddenly deep in thought. It abruptly occurred to him what had been troubling him for so long. Since the beginning of the journey he had been niggled by something hidden just out of reach. Now he realised what was being seriously overlooked. It was the afflicted unfortunates who through generations were prisoners aboard the Exodus III.

Those people with radiation sickness, as always, were generally neglected or even forgotten. Gender was as guilty as anyone else of ignoring an existing and permanently topical problem, which would obviously not go away in a hurry. In his position he had not needed to concern himself with the rudimentary requirements of this minority. Although they lived practically independent of close outside involvement, and now possessed the run of nearly half of the Exodus III, Gender could not help but feel guilty for not thinking of their welfare earlier. Under no obligation, it was only fair to inform them of the team's intentions, and perhaps even to listen to their opinions, thoughts and dreams.

Decided now, he closed his eyes and relaxed. He would visit them – or at least some of them – tomorrow. He glanced across the room at the clock embedded neatly flush with his private workstation. That was in six hours, space time. Harking to ancient tradition, the lighting system aboard Exodus III automatically dimmed to coincide with the hours of darkness on Hex Major, which was so similar to Earth in that respect. The change was very slight but immediately noticeable.

After only a few moments he opened his eyes. It was no good, he just could not sleep. Especially now when his mind was awash with what he would say to these people, and how they might react to his words. Leaving the bunk, he splashed his face with recycled wash water and climbed into a one‑piece jump suit, the quickest and most comfortable item of clothing to hand. No other personnel were seen on the journey from his quarters to the sector of the ship assigned to the radiation afflicted. This meant that the individuals of the team were still keeping very much to themselves. He would need to alter that situation soon.

The nearest access to the segregated areas was to the aft of the ship. It was one of only three places where two‑way vision and conversation was possible. Gender wondered if anyone would be there, and if so whether they would wish to speak with him at all. There was no logical reason why they should. But Gender had made up his mind to do this; if there was no success at the aft access point, he would simply move on to the next. Suddenly, if belatedly, he was in a determined mind. It was necessary to steel himself; if he charged in unthinking, it could spell disaster for future relations.

When he reached the access point, he could see no one through the reinforced glass. Gender sat down nearby and pondered his next move. This may require a little consideration; if he simply moved on to the other points, he might also find these vacant. He was still wondering what to do when he heard a voice.

"So, your conscience finally caught up with you."

Startled, Gender looked up to see a lone man standing just beyond the partition. He was middle‑aged, tall with a shock of brown curly hair. But the most surprising thing about the man was that he appeared so normal. Gender expected a person with radiation sickness to be deformed, hairless, or at least afflicted with a visible skin disease. This man looked perfectly healthy.

"Surprised? Looks can be very deceiving." The man smiled without humour. "If it makes you any more comfortable, I am really very ill, you know."

Gender stood up and approached the glass. "I have come to tell you of our journey."

The man shrugged. "You have wasted your rest time. We know already that we travel to Hades. We, too, are curious, more so, segregated as we are. It is beyond none of us to recognise a flurry of increased activity as the preparations for a significant journey."

Gender felt deflated, not to mention a little foolish. He was under the illusion that he would be doing these people an immense favour by relaying information such as the place of their destination. He should have realised they would ask the operatives making the preparations prior to the embarkation. He would have to make amends for his misconceptions, if he was to gain the confidence of this man.

As if reading Gender's thoughts, the man said, "Is it a little disconcerting to discover that we are just like you but for one small thing? We, too, have keen minds and far‑reaching ambitions."

All of these deprecating questions had a ring of truth to them which made it impossible to take offence. "I did not know what to think before I arrived here," Gender answered, "but I prefer to wait and make up my own mind."

There was a single nod of acceptance in reply to this.

"Of course, you resent your... captivity." It was a statement rather than a question.

The man was idly brushing his curls with one hand; he paused to grimace at Gender's last word. "You would believe so, would you not? It would be logical. However, I personally do not. It is the only safe course of action to protect Exodus III survivors of the human race. Given similar circumstances, I feel I would do the same. No, I am not resentful of segregation. Only seclusion."

"I plan to change that arrangement. What is your name, sir?"

"Reed." He raised a hand to forestall Gender's next words. "No need to tell me anything about yourself, Gender. I know everything there is to know."

Gender could not disguise his surprise, but he covered it quickly. No doubt, more information gained from questioning the departure preparation operatives. "I see you have me at a disadvantage, Reed."

"Small comfort. It is we who are disadvantaged. Now you are here, will you do something about it? Or did you simply come to satisfy your own curiosity?"

Gender ignored the condescending attitude. It was understandable. "You can rely on my support and positive action."

There was an uneasy pause before Reed said, "Well, had you not better put your... words into action?"

The man's underlying sarcasm and lack of faith was not lost on the Hades team's unofficial leader. "No," he answered, then raised a hand to forestall the obvious protests. "I would have you answer many detailed questions. A man should know his subject before he decides which changes to implement for the best."

                                                                                * * *

The waning sun was now obscured by dark clouds. The autumn wind began to bite with more vigour, and those Major Day spectators at the Citadel galleries with heavy outer clothing pulled them close. It was difficult to ignore the chill now; it was causing many individuals to become restless.

To Basilim, time had stood still this day. She and the rest of the rapt audience had heard many stories, most passed down through generations. A large percentage were variations on a theme, but tales which everyone could relate to. In Basilim's opinion, Major Day had already established itself as an on‑going annual event. The day's events had certainly had her entranced, and judging by the captive audience – no one had left – everybody else too. But although, like a winter night, the hours seemed to freeze, in fact the daylight passed generally unnoticed.

Mulk, the aid, reappeared at the microphone to close the proceedings. He applauded the storytellers and the patience and conduct of the spectators. 

"I am greatly pleased and encouraged by what I have witnessed today. Whether the stories are happy or otherwise, sharing our joy and heartbreak but once every four seasons bodes well for the future of our community."