The Clock

The soft ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner was the only sound in the room. To Daniel O'Terra, who sat sprawled in a huge leather covered armchair, the clock was a link to a peaceful, happy past, full of family gatherings, home cooked food and real wood burning in a fireplace. A past that, unfortunately, was not his. The silent, unhurried swing of the old clock's pendulum soothed his tattered nerves, and he gazed through half-lidded eyes as the hands neared eleven. The soft melodious chimes began, and a warning light in the computer terminal flashed from blue to green. Ignoring it, Daniel sank into a deep reverie. The clock began to chime the hour.

Almost he could feel her soft presence in the room. Two years and more now she was gone. Gone also was the racking pain of loss, leaving only the sweet, sad memory of warmth and shared dreams. The clock, whose chimes rang out the hour, had been one of those dreams. Ten thousand hectares of prime mountain and forest lands on the frontier world of Amity had been another. To a slum child growing up under the docks of the space port in the ancient city of Dublin, the forests and lakes of Amity's mountains seemed like paradise. Daniel remembered the day he and Kari has filed their claim on the homestead. They had flown up the windy river, past Kit Peak to the south slopes of a yet unnamed mountain range where their land was located. Landing the flitter on a mountain lake, they selected a dramatic rock outcrop, which jutted out into the water, for a dock. Further up on the shore, they found a natural clearing and began to stake out a house. The foundations had been laid before Daniel had to return to duty.

The clock came later, after Daniel had received the terrible news that Kari had been killed in a Ralnai raid. She had spoken often of a grandfather clock to stand across the room from the real wood burning fireplace in their dream home. They had planned to have a replica made, but at Kari's death the house was yet unfinished and Daniel was left with little interest in anything except the brand new Huston class frigate he had been assigned to command.

Then one evening he found himself walking alone through the two-hundred year old streets of the city of Diana. His ship, the Saratin, was in the docks on Hiemdal for engine replacement and he and his crew had been given shore leave. Hoping to surprise an old friend, Captain O'Terra hitched a ride on a courier boat headed for the nearby planet of Isis. Unfortunately, the friend had been transferred just days ago. Thus it was that Captain Daniel found himself wandering aimlessly through the oldest section of the Rep-Com capitol city.

The fog coming in off the bay and the chill damp of the air reminded him of bad old days, growing up in the streets of Dublin, running errands or pimping for starship crew men, anything to stay alive one more day. The surrounding buildings made the impression of Ireland stronger. Daniel had wandered into a historic district. The buildings that lined the narrow, twisty street were all built in an imitation Edwardian style. The cobble stone street and imitation gas lamps, shining through the fog, left him with a most peculiar feeling. Stopping at a small antique shop, he peered through the tiny panes of glass at the treasures displayed within. He glanced quickly over the items displayed in the shop window and on a sudden whim, entered the tiny shop. A bell tinkled -- an old woman sat in a rocking chair near the rear of the store waiting for a samovar full of tea to boil. Her hair was white as snow and floated about her head in a loose style which did not at all match the floor length black dress which was of a cut not seen in four hundred years. She looked up and smiled. He saw that although her once beautiful face was seamed with wrinkles, her eyes held a twinkle and her smile was as natural as a grandmother's.

The real reason the Captain had entered the store stood even further back in the room, directly against the rear wall. It was a most magnificent grandfather clock -- fully eight feet tall, its case carved of some reddish wood, which had darkened with age. The great brass pendulum swung slowly and above the face a sun and moon were made to appear in the appropriate times.

"It's over four hundred years old," the old woman said in a soft voice, as the tall Irishman stood before the clock.

Even as she spoke, the clock began to chime and at that moment long suppressed emotions, memories and dreams began to surface. The hard driving starship captain, the tough slum kid, stood before the great clock, tears running down his cheeks. Respectful of his mood, the old woman waited until he was better under control of his emotions then bade him sit down. She served him a strange flavored local tea in a tiny china cup which, like everything else in the shop, was a refugee from some bygone age.

Sensing that the tall starshipman was not yet ready to talk, she pointed across the room to a portrait hanging on the wall amid the bric-a-brac, which although fully colored and very lifelike displayed none of the holographic effects usually associated with modern portraits. A portrait of a handsome man wearing the somewhat antiquated uniform of a merchant captain.

"That was my husband," she said, "captain of the Hanseatic Star, and a very successful man he was. And these", indicating three other photos, "are my sons. Harley and Edwin died as a result of the Dreenoi incursion and Harold lives on Lanko where he works as an agricultural engineer."

Thus began a conversation which lasted far into the night. She told him of her sons and grandsons, their lives, loves and, in some cases, deaths. He told her of Kari and the dreams they had shared. She told him of the happy family times she and her husband had shared throughout her long life.

Thus they spent the evening speaking of things dear to their hearts and sharing experiences. And so it came to pass that when Captain Daniel O'Terra left

Isis the clock went with him, carefully packed away in the courier boat's cargo compartment. It had not come cheap. The price of the clock was almost the equivalent of four years wages, but Daniel didn't miss the money.

Even as the clock struck the last of eleven times, the panel light turned yellow. The Captain of the Saratin heaved himself out of his armchair and reached for his helmet. Pausing only long enough to place it over his head, he activated the force screen around the clock and stepped out into the corridor. The corridor lights flashed yellow three times as a siren howled through the ship. Closing the face plate, the Captain automatically activated the suit life support system.

Three times the lights blinked red as he stepped into the command bridge. Passing through the door, he felt the momentary rush of air as the hull was vented.

"We're almost on them, Sir", said his first officer as he rose from the command chair to make room for his Captain. The first officer of the Saratin, Hank Meridin, was one of those cheerful souls who always seem to find something good about even the worst of circumstances. He was, in all ways, the perfect counter balance to the morose and introspective Captain O'Terra. He was also one of the few married officers in the sixth fleet. Marriage, while not against regulations, was frowned on by Admiral Marquart as being a detriment to the type of lightning judgments necessary to command a starship in combat. But Captain Daniel O'Terra would have no other first officer. Married or not, Hank Meridin was one of the best, and if the command bridge should be hit or the Captain killed, the command would automatically revert to the first officer in the emergency command bridge. Upon his shoulders would rest the responsibility for the ship, and Captain Daniel wanted only the best for his ship.

Seating himself in the command pilot's chair, he began to check the conditions of his ship. The atmosphere indicator glowed a steady red indicating that the ship was now completely voided of air. The crew lights all glowed except for Hank's who had not yet made it back through the corridor to his battle station in the emergency command bridge. The marine lights were all dark, for the marines had been unshipped before they left Tarwathe Port. Everything else seemed to be in order, so the Captain focused the monitors on the rest of his little fleet.

He being senior captain had been given the temporary rank of commodore in order to command one other frigate, the "Northridge", and three destroyers, the "Murphy", "Palmer" and "Fredickson". This small fleet and a scout squadron were all that was available to patrol this sector, and now they rushed to intercept a Ralnai intruder. They weren't close enough yet to separate the blip into individual ships, but the three V speed seemed to indicate at least a heavy cruiser. Of course, it could be a Ralnai scout boat dawdling along to imitate a larger ship in order to draw them out and make them waste valuable Amcrys.

The last three times they went out, the bogy had turned out to be a scout boat who had turned on his superior acceleration and left them cursing. But, Daniel felt this one was real, and he signaled to his fleet to arm weapons. Armored shutters slid silently over the view ports, blocking out the star light. The ships began to roll and then simultaneously initiated end-over-end tumble.

The crews of the ships felt nothing, for the internal gravity fields held them securely in their places at exactly one G. The view screens were only programmed to show exterior views as they would appear if the ships were not tumbling.

The Ralnai intruder was still just a mysterious blob in the battle tank, even though the Terran Squadron moving at four V was rapidly overhauling the fleeing Ralnai. Why wait any longer, Captain Daniel, transmitted to all ships the command to fire Hex missiles. As one, five missiles leaped from tubes on five ships and faster than light, flickered toward the mysterious Ralnai intruder.

Aboard the Ralnai Heavy Cruiser, Gorrkaan Dirre (Dreaming Death) Kish-Norraal, Fleet Death Master, angrily swished his tail back and forth. It irked him to run, but his orders were to avoid combat until after he had successfully landed his marines on a Federation Colony. However, it looked like he would have no choice. The human squadron was rapidly overhauling him. The Death Master wasn't worried about the outcome of any fight for his ship was accompanied by two other Ralnai heavy cruisers, the Nylarr-iaakk (Dry Bones) and the Pnumm-Gaath (Evil Wind of Darkness).

Unfortunately, it was very difficult to avoid taking damage during a space battle and damage usually resulted in casualties to crew and marines. Also, hull damage could limit his ship's speed in atmosphere. Too late now, for as Kish-Norraal saw the dashed line track of the Hex missiles in the main battle tank he responded in kind, two missiles from each ship flickering out into the darkness. Just then the Gorrkaan Dirre shuddered and the command bridge lights dimmed for a second. Anxiously, the Ralnai stared at the tank until the computer analysis of the damage began to appear, projected in the peculiar Ralnai coniform letters, on the side of the battle tank. Minor damage only, one of the long range sensor antenna carried away and damage to the fleet coordination signal system. At this point, loss of the long range sensor antenna was of minimal concern, but loss of the fleet coordination signal system was somewhat more inconvenient. This meant that all orders to the computers of the two other ships would have to be relayed by vocal command, through the other Ralnai captains, slowing things down considerably.

Signaling independent action, the Death Master counseled his captains to conserve Hex missiles and apply full power to maneuver in order to close to splinter head range. They were now in normal space and within a few seconds the Federation fleet popped out also. Concentrate on the lead ship was the Ralnai Death Master's command.

Aboard the Saratin, Captain O'Terra quickly realized that the Ralnai prime target was his ship. Ordering the rest of the fleet to hang back and launch torpedoes, Daniel drove the Saratin at full acceleration directly for the Ralnai formation. The three Ralnai were visible now on the view plates; their triangular wings and long necks were plain to see. There was no doubt about it, they were all of the Burning Wind class. Captain Daniel knew he was thoroughly out-classed and hoped that by providing a target for the Ralnai the rest of his squadron might escape. As the range rapidly closed, the Ralnai lasers began to bite. Huge holes opened in the Serration's hull as the screens flared and went down. Laser batteries were shot out. Engine and power banks were burned beyond repair. The Serration's vector dropped to 2 V, and still the grim-faced Irishman came on. But now the Ralnai must begin to pay attention to the torpedoes that were homing on to their ships.

The Ralnai captains began to shift their fire to the oncoming torpedoes. A few more seconds would see the rash human inside splinter head range, then all would be over for that ship. But anti-matter pods have a slight range advantage over splinter heads, and as soon as the Saratin was within 15,000 miles of the three Ralnai, Captain Daniel fired his Amp. Upon the topside of the ship, the Amp turret popped up and spun. Five golden fire balls flashed out into the void to explode at predetermined points in bursts of anti-matter, each more than 2000 miles across. Directly into one of those lethal bursts flew the heavy cruiser Nylarr-iaakk. The cruiser's screens absorbed most of the energy but they flared and some of that lethal energy touched the hull, doing minor damage and penetrating the hull over the power banks.

In the power banks of the Ralnai cruiser, molten hull collapsed inward and fell upon the upper cyclonic accelerator of the number three power bank, burning the wiring and collapsing the friction field which served the cyclonic accelerator for bearings. For a fraction of a second, the afflicted accelerator vibrated in its mountings and then tearing loose, gyrated wildly across the smooth outer shell of the absorption screens, and hit the floor. The outer case cracked and the whole thing began to tear itself to pieces. Leaving a jagged hole in the compartment wall, one piece crashed into power bank number two and ricocheted off the lower force field generator jarring it slightly out of alignment so that the magnetic bottle collapsed. Emergency relays flashed and huge breakers began to jump apart, but it was too late. At that instant, a microscopic particle of Amcrys and a particle of anti-matter, moving at near light speed, collided in the center of the power bank even as the magnetic bottle disappeared.

The view screens on the other ships momentarily blanked out as the Nylar-iaakk blew up like a nova star. Defensive screens crackled and glowed as the energy wave, which was all that remained of the Ralnai cruiser, washed over the ships of both fleets.

Kish-Norraal screamed with rage. For a fleeting second, he cursed the void of space and the machines that stood between himself and that soft earth-thing.

How he wished to tear into the Human with tooth and claw. But then, years of training took over. Every second in combat was critical and power bank explosions were not that uncommon, although the odds against it happening were more than a hundred to one. The Ralnai commander forced himself back into a calm state of mind and methodically set the pattern for his splinter head bursts.

Aboard the Federation frigate, Saratin, Captain Daniel could spare no time rejoicing; his ship was in bad trouble. Three lasers had been shot out and one screen generator was out of action. The hull was full of holes and the computer readout indicated severe damage to both engine and power banks.

Signaling to his squadron, he ordered independent action, long range harassment. A Ralnai laser beam slashed through the command bridge, shattering the main tank and splattering Captain Daniel with plastic shards and molten metal. Pausing only long enough to wipe away the fragments of metal splattered across his face plate, Daniel stabbed frantically at the still glowing Amp fire control panel. Ralnai lasers punched through the flared screens and burned into the hull of the dying ship. Seconds crawled away as the computer tracked, computed and set fuses. The command bridge was a wreck. Only the hand panels on the command pilot's chair still functioned and Captain Daniel watched numbly as ship function lights winked out till only the Amp light and the crew lights still glowed. The tumbling hulk still held a living crew. But for how long?

Out on the hull, the Amp turret rose and spun. Blazing golden balls flashed out into the darkness.

The two Ralnai splinter head torpedoes fired at the Saratin were wasted on the drifting hulk. Seconds before the splinter heads arrived, the crew of the stricken frigate knew their ship had died. Lights flickered and went off, instruments failed and the internal gravity went down, leaving the crew men floating powerless in the darkness as the dead ship tumbled aimlessly through the void. The bursting splinter heads spread their warheads full of small metallic pellets in the path of the drifting ship. Six of these pellets struck the hulk, penetrating deep into the ship's vitals, destroying all in their path until stopped by the sheer mass of the ship.

Well aimed were the last shots of the Saratin, for the Gorkaan Dirre flew between two of the spreading golden bursts and directly into the heart of another. For a second, the Ralnai cruiser hung there in the midst of the golden fire as its screens flared and went down. Then suddenly it too was gone in a flash of light and a wave of energy that washed over the remaining vessels. The Federation crews went wild. Never in the history of space battles had one small frigate destroyed two Ralnai heavy cruisers. The Captain of the "Northridge", taking command, ordered full assault on the remaining Ralnai. The "Pnumm-Gaath" made a violent vector change and was attempting to pump hyper when a Hex missile from the "Murphy" detonated right on target and the last Ralnai joined its comrades in a nova-like flash.

As Grandfather paused, the old clock began to chime out the hour. The children turned to look at its scorched side or at the hologram over the fireplace where the wrecked Saratin tumbled forever through the glowing darkness. There, in the far corner of the room, stood Grandfather's trophy case filled with the momentoes of a lifetime of adventures, and behind on the patio, their conversation a comforting murmur, were the parents and other relatives who stood overlooking the lake.

One of Amity's two moons was rising over the Daniel Mountains, casting its magic silver glow over the pines. Grandfather stood up and took something out of the trophy case. It flashed and sparkled brightly in the fire light. It was a golden star, ruby centered and flashing with diamonds. "This," said Grandfather, "is the Nova of the Federation. Only one hundred and six were awarded during the whole twenty years of the Second Starwar and of those seventy-four were awarded posthumously."

Wide-eyed, the children gazed at the glowing star. Did you win that?" asked one of the younger boys.

"No, that was Captain Daniel's star. When the Saratin died, I came forward to confer with the Captain, but that last splinter head attack had killed him. Strangely enough, he was the only casualty that day. When the Northridge picked us up, we brought the Captain's body and his clock with us. We buried him in his battle armor up there on the ridge next to his wife. Later, when Grandma Meridin and I found out that Captain Daniel had made me his heir and had left me everything he owned, we built this house to Daniel's plan on his foundation. The clock has stood here since then, except for the time I had it with me when I commanded the battle cruiser, Daniel O'Terra."

Grandfather touched a hidden switch in the fireplace and the hologram above changed to an image of a Federation battle cruiser of the Stonewall Jackson class. It showed gleaming white against the blackness of space, the golden star of the Federation emblazoned on its back and the name Daniel O'Terra clearly visible on its side.

"Hank, are you finished with your stories? Dinner is ready." said Grandmother, stepping in from the kitchen.

"Whoopee, hurrah for the dinner," shouted the children as they tumbled over one another in their eagerness to get out to the long table set beneath the pines. One little boy lagged behind and looking up, full of innocence, asked, "But why did Captain Daniel have to die?"

Grandfather picked up the little fellow, and holding him on his arm, reached into the trophy case and brought forth a worn blue officer's cap crusted with gold braid and bearing the Stars of a Fleet Admiral. This he placed on his grandson's head.

"It seems that in order to maintain and preserve good things, some one must be willing to sacrifice those things so that others may enjoy them. Your father and mother, your aunts and uncles, are not wealthy and must work for their living, but we all have a good life here on an uncrowded world where the only limits on a man's success or personal development are those he imposes upon himself. Daniel O'Terra and I and many others fought and many died that we might live in freedom. For such a cause, Captain Daniel did not begrudge his life, and his dreams live on in this house and this family. Come, Thanksgiving dinner waits, and we have much to be thankful for."

The old clock stood silently ticking to itself for it was very old and full of memories.

The End