It is not easy for me to tell the story of the USS Horizon’s fateful encounter with the Robot Planet Skyron. So bizarre was the experience that even many of my closest colleagues continue to doubt its validity, but I can assure you that there has to this date been nothing else that has weighed as heavily upon me. Like the Venus expedition, it cost the lives of friends. However, it was only when I returned from the Robot Planet that I understood what Captain Fleming meant when he told me of the burden that came with command. The life of every crewman truly is in his or her Captain’s hands, and when we finally made our escape, each lost life was a life I had lost. I felt them all, but none more than that of Ian Pym. I have always thought of myself as an explorer, a starseeker, but after what we saw on that world, I was ready to leave it all behind.
We did not set out searching for the Robot Planet. In fact, there was no reason to believe that our mission would be anything more than a routine science expedition. An electromagnetic disturbance in the Andromeda Sector had caught the attention of a few of the Institute’s scientists. As our Science Officer Nadine Harrington was highly regarded in her field, it fell to us to investigate the phenomenon. It was to be the last of a series of nineteen missions that had seen us in space for nearly six straight months. I had already made plans for Rana and I at a private resort in Napa Valley. Many of my crewmen had made similar arrangements. Each of us had his or her mind on something other than the mission. In retrospect, disaster was inevitable.
We made a quick stop at A-7, the final outpost on the way to the Andromeda Sector, to retrieve Chief of Security Solomon. During a mission to Mars a month earlier he had lost his hand to friendly fire and had to have a replacement surgically attached. It was good to have him back, but there was something about that new hand that disturbed me. The further we got from home, the more often it needed to be repaired.
More disturbing was the behavior of my XO. As detailed in my previous transmission, Peter Rothman had no desire to serve on any ship as anything less than a Captain, and he was becoming increasingly confident in his ability to do so. He had challenged my authority on several occasions recently, and while his professionalism prevented him from doing anything but grumbling, I began to worry about the effect that his small rebellions would have on the rest of the crew.
As we approached the Andromeda Sector, I ordered the helmsman, Ensign Gomez, to ready the ship’s full-body sensors. My orders were to travel directly into the disturbance, in accordance with Nadine’s recommendations. The electromagnetism had been weakening consistently for forty-eight hours. Only a four-hundred percent or more increase in intensity could do any measurable damage to our ship. Rothman, however, believed that I was creating an unnecessary risk by dogmatically following those orders, and recommended – almost demanded – that we request a Kaled probe be sent from the A-7 satellite. It would take more than a day reach us, I said, and we didn’t have time for delays.
Rothman didn’t relent. He said he was placing the ship’s safety first. I said that I was just following the Institute’s orders. That sent him over the edge. He accused me of using the chain of command as an excuse for ignoring his input, and said that my reputation as a “loose cannon” flew in the face of my sudden adherence to protocol.
He was right. I had always believed, as Captain Fleming believed, that when in space the Captain’s discretion overrides all regulations. A Captain is the law, and any challenge to that law threatens the entire enterprise. I had on more than one occasion let that belief drive me to actions that others would consider rash and foolish. I had openly flaunted regulations and patted myself on the back when I turned out to be right. It was more than habit – it was a joyous ritual. So why then was I so reluctant to defy orders this time?
It was because of Rothman. I didn’t want him to be right.
I called up Nadine, putting the two secret lovers face to face and even enjoying it a little bit when she backed me up. Then all of that pleasure went away and I was left empty. I went to see Dr. Pym for a conversation to boost my spirits, but he wasn’t having any of it. I could tell that he had been drinking. There was something going on inside him. He was in pain. Real pain. I confided to Rana later my suspicion that he had begun to draw parallels between this mission and our last mission on the Boundless – that fateful trip to Venus.
Soon I would understand. As we neared the heart of the disturbance and began our scans, I too began to feel unease creep over me. I tried to block it out, tried to ignore it, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that at any moment something could – and would – go horribly wrong.
I was right. Nadine burst onto the bridge, breathing heavily and with panic in her eyes. She informed me that she had analyzed the disturbance and discovered something that none of us had suspected. This seemingly natural phenomenon had a definite point of origin at its center – a planet. Worse, it was being controlled.
Suddenly the energy levels surged. I felt panic swell inside me. I ordered a full reverse, hoping that we could escape this trap before it was fully sprung, but it was too late. Before we could react, it was over. There was a surge. Ensign Gomez’s console exploded, killing him. Auxiliary power kicked on. We were dead in the water.
I made my way to sickbay to check on the wounded. Dr. Pym was already at work, but it was obvious that he wasn’t himself. He seemed lost, stumbling from patient to patient. Not wanting to give him the chance to do more harm than good, I pulled him aside, leaving Dearborn in charge. When I got him into the next room, I chided him for his inebriation. He lashed out. “Damn it, Joseph, stop yelling at me!
Joseph.
I was stunned. I tried to tell him that I knew what he was feeling, that I had lost Captain Fleming just as he had, but he wouldn’t even let me get the words out. “You know nothing! I knew Joseph Fleming for twenty years! We worked together! We traveled together! We played cards and got drunk together! And I watched him die. I was the best man at his wedding and a pallbearer at his funeral. You didn’t go through that. You went through nothing like that. All I wanted was to go away, but then you called me back. You said you needed me on this ship, couldn’t do it without me, and I said, you’re my friend, why not? And then you take us here. To this unexplored corner of the universe. Well, the last time I went to an unexplored corner of the universe, I saw my best friend die.”
And for the first time since I had become Captain of a starship, I felt truly and utterly helpless. No matter what I did, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t break through the wall that this old friend of mine had built around his soul.
Captain Fleming could have. Captain Fleming would have found a way to speak to Pym, but I couldn’t. I went to Rana and told her. She looked at me with sympathy and then said, “There will come a point, Robert, when you will have to stop asking yourself what Joseph Fleming would do, and decide what you will do.”
She was right, of course.
But I didn’t have time to think about that then. Rothman called me to the bridge, and when I arrived, I was informed that the distance between the planet and the Horizon was decreasing rapidly. We weren’t moving. The planet was. Forrest hadn’t made any substantial progress getting the engines back up. There was no hope of escape. We had no choice but to prepare for the landing.
What happened next… what happened next was the most horrifying experience of my life.
