Mission to a New World

Chapter 1: The Mission

Summary: An X-rated science fiction story. Debbie and Brian are two explorers from Earth sent to an alien planet to recover a crashed surveillance satellite. On the surface live the Longtons, a humanoid, pre-industrial revolution culture where the women are subservient to the males. Debbie soon discovers why the women willingly allow themselves to be subservient, and in the end she wants to stay (M/F, F/M, exh, size, bond).

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Warning: The following story is fiction, and the acts depicted in the story should remain fiction. It is intended for the entertainment of mature adults only. Be advised explicit sex is contained within and should not be read by minors.

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"Come in Ms. Kitlras," Captain Rileymen offers. "Have a seat. We have much to discuss, and I think you will find it most interesting."

His office looks better furnished than my apartment. A couch sits along one wall, a desk in front of the other. Large paintings hang on the wall; all display scenes of ships and seas. An end table has one of those antique sailing ships in a bottle. It is strange to see such luxury so far out in space, but then Captain Rileymen had many years to collect it. He is a graying old man now, approaching retirement, but I think he must have once been a young ensign on the seas of earth in the infancy of planetary space travel.

"Debbie," I introduce myself, attempting to sound confident when we shake hands. "Please, call me Debbie. I'm a civilian scientist you know; not an officer."

"Then Debbie it is," The Captain agrees. "I know you're a scientist, but I must say that you don't look like a scientist."

I am not sure if I should take this as a compliment or an insult. I suppose he expected some preppy, stern old lady with her hair tied tight in a bow at the top of her head. Instead, I am a young woman, 34-years of age, short in stature, with brunette hair that comes half way down my back.

He motions to the two chairs sitting in front of his desk. They look like they are made from finely lacquered wood. So does his desk, although I figure both must only be plastic simulations. Even a person of Captain Rileymen's esteem could not gather the resources to get real wood this far into space.

"Now Debbie, do you know why you are here?" He asks me. I notice he properly waits for me to sit first. He is the perfect gentleman, nurtured in the romantic traditions.

"No one told me anything, but I think I know." I answer. "I suspect it has something to do with the lost satellite."

"Excellent deductive capability," He speaks a thought. "You are correct, but that is only the beginning."

He fumbles with something in his desk and then hands over an orange colored file. "This explains the mission, provided you care to accept it."

I take it with interest. Orange means Secret. Higher than Classified but lower than Top Secret, it sits in the middle of the echelon of classified information. My security clearance allows me to read Secret, but I seldom get the opportunity. On those rare occasions when I do, it is like candy to my eyes. I feel an urge to look inside.

"You'll have plenty of time to go through the file later," He speaks before I get the chance. "You can take it with you. For now, let me explain."

I let him, of course, and lay the folder on my lap unopened.

"As you already suspect, we lost a satellite," He dumps his big arms on his desk. "Two days ago we lost contact with Spy-3. No warning signs. No messages. It simply stopped transmitting."

He is right. I already know this. As a research scientist, it is my job to study the images radioed back from the three surveillance satellites orbiting the planet. The pictures from Spy-3 stopped in mid-frame two days ago, just like he said.

"What you don't know is that it dropped into the atmosphere," He continues. "The Engineers don't know why, but they theorize one of its maneuvering thrusters stuck in the open position. It lost orbital velocity, which caused it to lose altitude, and it fell into the atmosphere. We just located the spot where it crashed. You have the details in your hand."

I never could be patient. I undo the clasp of the envelope and pull out the lap-screen computer when he pauses. When I touch it, a keyboard appears on the display. I have been around classified information enough to know this is where I am supposed to enter my personal identification code and password.

"Most of the satellite burned up in the atmosphere," Captain Rileymen speaks uninterrupted as I page through the file. "But it looks like the most dangerous segment survived - at least partially. The nuclear reactor core landed largely intact but heavily damaged. The first set of pictures show it resting at the bottom of a crater, but later images show it moved. We do not know where it was moved to, but we assume it was to one of the surrounding Longton villages. Naturally, we are concerned about its plutonium fuel causing injury to anyone who might choose to investigate. We also have concern about its advanced technology creating a danger to the pre-industrial culture living on the surface. The Longtons are an inherently curious people, and we expect they will eventually want to investigate it."

The "Longtons" that he talks about are an alien civilization that inhabits the planet. I know a lot about them because it is my job to study them. It is the reason I live in deep space and the reason I analyze satellite imagery.

"I would say there's a near certain chance they will try to open the container," I tell Rileymen, assuming he wants my expert opinion on the subject. "They are an inherently curious culture, much like Humans of about 300 AD. However, even more dangerous, they are a religiously fragmented community. There's danger they might discover the satellite and treat it as sign of a deity; a God..."

Rileymen puts up his hand to stop me in mid-sentence. "That's not why I called you into my office."

I sit before him confused.

He explains. "Our mission is to research on a non-interference basis. That is why we use spy satellites. Some say this is wrong. It is an evasion of privacy, even dishonest, but it allows us to look down upon the planet without interfering with the natural order of things. The crash, however, presents a problem. It creates a potential for interference, and we need to take action against it."

I look at him confused. I agree with everything he says, but who am I to do anything about it?

"We plan to organize an expedition down to the planet's surface," I think Rileymen reads my mind. "The plan is to land at night in the central desert, away from any substantial Longton population. The expedition will then travel first by vehicle and later by foot into the Longton village closest to the crash site. You will pose as visiting travelers from a far off land. The mission is to interface with the Longton culture, discover as much as you can about the crash, and then take whatever steps are necessary to prevent any damage."

I notice he uses the word "you" - as in "me" or "myself." Me, Debbie Kitlras. At first I think he makes an inadvertent slip of the tongue, but from the way he looks at me I can tell he has not.

"You don't mean?" I look at him in disbelief. "Not me! I can't possibly go on such an expedition!"

"Why not?" He questions simply. "I'm told you are the most qualified expert in the lab. You selected the Longtons for your master's thesis. You've worked at the analysis lab for two years. They tell me you are better than anyone else at speaking their language."

"Well, yes but..." I start to say. What he says is true, but...

"I am even told," Rileymen interrupts. "That you criticized the past expeditions. You voiced objections to the director about your training of the Military teams. You said it would be more valuable if a civilian research scientist was included in any future expedition."

I feel embarrassed. "That's true, but I didn't mean myself," I explain. "I said it in a moment of desperation." Two previous expeditions traveled down to the planet's surface, but that was years ago. The teams consisted of Military professionals with months of preparation. "I am just a civilian scientist."

"This is your chance to put your money where your mouth is," He continues as though he does not hear me. "We need to remove the satellite, and we need to remove it as soon as possible. The longer it sits on the surface, the more danger it could potentially create. There is no time to gather a Military team together and do months of training. We need someone down on the planet's surface in a week; if not sooner."

A buzzer rings on his desk. It interrupts his speech.

"I said not to be disturbed!" He practically yells into the phone. I feel sorry for whoever might be on the other end, but then he nods and calms back down again.

"I need to go for a few minutes," Captain Rileymen apologizes. "I'm very sorry, but something's come up that demands my immediate attention. Why don't you stay here and read through the rest of the file. I think you will find it very interesting."

He rises before I can object. He leaves me alone in his office. I am left sitting in confusion and disbelief.

The news overloads me. The information is too much to process at one time. It is too shocking; too much out of the ordinary of my every day life. I am accustomed to obediently go to my job each day on the research station Crion, located on the dark side of the moon by the same name. At night I walk a few feet outside the lab to return to my quaint cabin to study and do my exercises. I have been on Crion for three months now, orbiting the Longton planet and secretly conducting my research. It is the same monotonous existence day after day after day, and now this.

It is not at all what I expected when I received the call to fly up to the Starship Cruiser Atlantis and meet with the Captain. I suspected he sought my advice on the lost satellite, but not to go down to the surface and pick it up myself. I need time to think.

I look through the rest of the secret folder and find it is worse than Rileymen lets on. One page shows an overhead picture of the crash site, no doubt taken from one of the two remaining satellites. I see a streak of burnt forest with a crater at one end. I think I even see a few Longtons looking down inside from the rim. Obviously, the plutonium remains safely intact inside the reactor. If it leaked out, the Longtons would already be dead. I can't help but think they soon will be. I know from my own studies that they will eventually crack open the reactor.

The next page shows the location of the crash site on a planetary map. It is near the central desert, which is good news. The Longtons do not dare venture into the central desert, so an expedition can easily make a landing close to the crash site. They will not have far to walk.

Another page is a written assessment of the situation. It speaks of the Longtons as a curious people who will almost certainly want to investigate the contents of the crater. If the reactor's plutonium core isn't open already, the assessment predicts it soon will be. I have to agree. Then it talks about the religious factions and mentions the same thing I told the Captain about the Longtons possible attempt to worship the satellite as a religious deity. I agree with everything it says. I could have written it myself, and maybe I even did write parts of it. Some of the sentences look as though they might have been pasted directly out of earlier reports.

The Longtons first came to my attention back at the University. According to the most popularly accepted theory, they descended from the same ancient seed as humans, planted by an unknown and very advanced civilization some 1 million years ago. This means they greatly resemble Homo sapiens in appearance. Their bodies enclose the same basic structure: The same double arms and legs, the same two eyes, two ears, and a single nose. Everything of importance looks the same, but only in general terms. As with any two humanoid species separated by a hundred light years distance and million years of evolution, subtle differences exist.

The two most noticeable differences exist in the facial area. The first is a flattened Longton nose that makes it look as though they have all just been punched squarely in the face. The second is hair just above the nose. It is a single eyebrow that goes straight across the forehead. Another difference derives from height. The Longtons live on a planet with 80% the gravity of Earth. This makes them grow taller. The average Longton male is about 20% taller than the average human male, although this only occurs with the males. For some reason, Longton females tend to be slightly shorter than human females. No one has yet been able to explain why.

More important differences are cultural, which is the reason for my research. My job is to study how a civilization totally foreign to Humans can live, communicate, interact, and do the thousand other things we take for granted every day. I often think my job is no different than the National Geographic researches who first went to study the ancient stone-age tribes of the jungles of Magascascar in the 19th century. My only advantage is technology. While they wore cameras around their necks, I rely on cameras that look down from orbiting satellites.

I also listen. Several years ago - back when I was still in graduate school - humans made two high-risk expeditions down to the planet's surface. A group of three young men received plastic surgery and several months of specialized training on the Longton culture and scientific research methods. All three were military men, specially selected because they were quick to learn and strong enough to defend themselves in case they got into trouble. They landed on the planet's surface, traveled to a distant Longton village, and posed as fellow Longton men traveling from a far-off land. Although unable to speak the Longton language, they made face-to-face contact and were able to communicate on a limited basis. The expedition taught us things we never could have learned solely from satellite imagery.

Lucky for me, the expedition also planted microphones. While on the surface, they buried miniature microphones under the soil to listen to the Longton conversations in the hope of deciphering the language. It is these microphones that got me my job, and most of them remain operating to this very day. I've always had a gift for languages, and the language of the Longtons is no different. Called Longtonese, I first assisted and then later became its foremost expert. I now translate the language for others.

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"Sorry about the interruption," Captain Rileymen walks back into the room. He walks in quickly, as though he is in a hurry. He appears out of breath.

"As I was saying, we need to send an emergency expedition down to the surface," He talks fast from behind his desk. "Your purpose will be to find the satellite's reactive core and dispose of it. This may be done by burial or by returning with the core. You are given leeway to decide for yourself once you reach the surface and study the landing site. We know the core is fundamentally safe because we witnessed Longtons in close proximity. They physically moved it with no ill effects. The reason we chose you for this mission is obvious. We have no time to train someone new, and you speak Longtonese fluently."

I accept this, but his conclusion is wrong. "Not fluently," I correct. "And I only translate it. I have never spoken it to a live Longton before."

"At least you speak it better than anyone else," He proposes.

I nod my head. We both know this to be true.

"In any case, it will be sufficient to conduct the mission. You will pose as Longtons from a distant land. You are on a quest for knowledge. This should give you sufficient cover to make up for any language deficiencies."

I nod again. It is the same cover used by the previous expeditions. I realize if the previous expeditions made it without speaking any Longtonese, I should have no problem.

"The choice on whether or not to accept the mission is yours." Captain Rileymen offers me with his hands. "I need not disguise the dangers involved. This is especially true for you. You, being a woman."

I suddenly remember. The thought rushes into my head like a bolt of lightening. I should have realized it the moment he first suggested I go down to the surface, but I guess I suffered from information overload. It is the one thing about the Longtons that disgusts me.

"As you know," The Captain tells me what I already know. "The Longton culture is still very primitive when it comes to relation between the sexes. As I am sure you are aware from your studies, men are in charge and the women are essentially the equivalent of servants."

I know this very well. In fact, I know it exceedingly well, and it is the one thing I vehemently dislike about the Longtons. Captain Rileymen's use of the word "servant" is actually too kind. "Slave" would be a lot more accurate. Although not physically abused - at least not as far as we can determine - Longton women are treated more like property than real people. It is the ultimate male chauvinistic society.

I try to push this aside. By inherent definition - as I have to continuously remind myself - alien cultures are supposed to be different. Most of the time it comes from the way they look or the way they act. For the Longtons, it happens to concern the relation between the sexes. A colleague once told me that a visitor might be equally disgusted with Humans of the 17th or 18th centuries if they witnessed the subjugation of African Negroes. I must continually remind myself of this as I study the Longtons, and now I remind myself again.

"I understand sir," I try to act like his explanation is no surprise. "I will have to play the part of a female servant."

The Captain nods. This seems to please him.

"Then you are also aware," He goes on. "You will need to blend in with the alien culture. This means, of course, you will have to dress like them."

I momentarily forgot about this as well, but now it comes rushing back to me.

"You look as though this greatly disturbs you," The Captain notices before I can recover.

"No, not really," I almost choke on my own words. "I mean it does, a little, I guess, but I know all about it. After all, I see them every day on the satellite images," I let out a nervous laugh. "I guess I've just become so accustomed to the way the Longtons dress that I forgot about it for a moment."

"I hope it does not disturb you," He emphasizes. "Because it can't! If you are going to blend in with their culture, you need to dress like them."

"Of course," I agree with fake confidence, remembering the clothing of the Longton women - or more specifically, the lack thereof. I realize this is even truer in the southern desert region where the satellite crashed.

The planet of Longton is hot. It experiences temperatures a lot warmer than Earth. It is so warm that plants and animals only exist at the poles. The entire equatorial region is one big, massive, desert; a thousand times bigger than the Sierra. As the sea covers two-thirds the surface of Earth, so a desert covers three-quarters of the planet Longton. The Longtons live north of this desert, north of 50 degrees latitude, in what would be roughly equivalent to Northern Canada or Siberia on Earth. But even here, the heat remains. The Longton climate at the Arctic Circle is roughly equivalent to the equator on Earth.

People who live in a warm climate naturally wear little clothing. It is true on Earth, and it is true on Longton. And it is especially true of the women, given their subservient cultural position. The women, in fact, walk around in the bare minimal of clothing. This is one of the reasons why I got the job to study them to begin with. The sparsely clad women keep distracting the men from doing their jobs.