Undercurrents
Commissioner Gerald Simmonds strode down the hall toward his Alphan ‘Guest Quarters’, a feeling of frustration overwhelming him. He’d not felt this helpless for longer than he could remember. He sneered at the words ‘Guest Quarters’ beside his door before he opened it and entered the darkened interior. ‘Guest’ had suddenly become permanent, thanks to Koenig and his stubborn closed mindedness, his so called concern for the base, for Alpha and her people. TOO much concern as far as Simmonds was concerned. So much concern that Koenig wasn’t willing to take a risk. Koenig refused to see that without taking a risk or two, there would BE no base for him to be concerned about.
Simmonds had been incensed by Commander John Koenig’s decision not to attempt a return to Earth immediately after Breakaway. Simmonds had tried everything he could to change the Commander’s mind, but it had done no good. His threats were hollow ones. Koenig knew it. Bergman knew it. The Main Mission Command staff knew it. Reluctantly, Gerald Simmonds knew it too. His authority over Koenig, and all of Alpha, had been severed at the same time the Earth’s gravitational hold on the moon had been severed. He was a man without a job, a purpose, just as the moon was a satellite without a planet.
And try as he might, the former Commissioner could not get these Alphan people to come to their senses – about their chances of survival in space, and about John Koenig, the man they believed would lead them to some as yet uncharted ‘Promised Land’; a modern day Moses. Hardly. Koenig was nothing more than a charismatic figurehead who had shown enough foresight to step in and take complete and total control of a bunch of easily lead scientists before panic, and common sense, could set in.
Oh, there were a few who would side with him against Koenig. Men and women who – for one reason or another – had gotten on Koenig’s bad side during the nearly two months since Breakaway. They would gladly side with Commissioner Gerald Simmonds should he truly want to make a stand, but Gerald Simmonds had not reached his position of Commissioner by backing the wrong team – even if it was his own. It was too late to do anything about it now. The moon, and Alpha, were long since past any hope of returning home. The Eagle transport ships simply did not have the range needed.
They were all fools. Blindly following Koenig, believing him to be right. They would soon learn differently, but it was all ready too late. He was stuck on this miserable waste dump for the rest of his life. But he would not give up. It was the one thing – the hope of returning home to Earth – that made his life on Alpha bearable.
* * * * * * * * * *
Suddenly there was light and true hope again. Simmonds could see it, could see his way off Alpha and back to Earth. Oh yes, he would play along with the civility routine toward these Caldorians, so long as they could be of use to him. And they could be of immeasurable use.
Once again Koenig was showing what a fool he was. Allowing these aliens to repair their ship, to re-program the sleep chamber for someone -- a human -- to replace their lost crew member. Leading them to believe they would actually be welcomed on Earth now, so soon after Breakaway. The Earth would have enough problems of its own. There would be no time to welcome alien beings who arrived with gifts of friendship. Even seventy five years from now, when they were actually to reach Earth there would be a cool welcome for their alien visitors. But the human passenger they brought, that was another matter entirely. Yes, Simmonds knew the truth and knew a way to be certain he was the passenger the Caldorians took back to Earth.
More than once Koenig claimed his actions were for the good of Alpha. And that was what would be his downfall. Oh, Simmonds was very aware of the rapidly developing relationship between Koenig and Helena Russell. He’d never had much regard for the doctor and was not above using her new importance to Koenig to his own advantage if it came to that, but he did not really want to bother with the woman. No, he would hit Koenig where it would do the most good, would cause the most harm. He would endanger the good of the base.
Simmonds was aware of the beginnings of undercurrents of dissatisfaction with Koenig rippling through the base. The early blindness was clearing the reality seeping through. He would like to stay around to see what happened, watch as Koenig was brought down, but he could not risk it. He could not lose his only chance – ever – of returning to Earth. His plan would work. If Koenig was willing to risk the entire base, all three hundred some lives against him, just to prove who was in control, then Koenig was a bigger fool than Simmonds had always believed.
Smiling, Gerald Simmonds stopped just outside the Maintenance Section of the base. Beyond was the Power Station and the converter he would use to make Koenig see reason – Gerald Simmonds’ reason. And the door between him and that converter was guarded by only two men. Checking his stun gun, Simmonds felt the assurance of success settle over him. Let Koenig have the damned base. None would survive long enough to really care. And he, Commissioner Gerald Simmonds, was going home.
Firing the stun gun in quick succession, the guards dropped to the floor. Simmonds entered the correct security access code into the commlock he’d stolen from Koenig and slipped quietly through the door as it easily parted before him. Simmonds smiled. He could feel the fresh air of Earth all ready.
Amanda Russell
April 26, 1988