Excerpt from The Culling Dark by Bettyann Craddock, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Oh, that was a good one. Something in him felt a little elation though, at being patronized. If only he were sincere. His job would be so much easier if people would cooperate. He sneered, "How have you jeopardized the mission, Perez?"

"I exposed myself to injury. My teammates will suffer if I am unable to perform my duties, sir."

He almost laughed. They were words straight out of morning role call. Asking him what he thought the mission was would produce the same sort of dribble. "Perez, you were overheard in the mess hall saying that you didn't think TERRA was coming back soon, among other things. What do you have to say to that?"

Rogers looked up. He met Felipé's clear dark eyes, and his face grew red.

"Sir," said Felipé, still looking at Rogers, "It seems that way sometimes. Especially because of the darkness. Life seems hopeless."

Compassion moved in him unexpectedly. "That's true," he said, placated somewhat. It was true. The incessant darkness crew curtains over hope, the loss of light bringing claustrophobia, even suicidal thoughts. The few short hours of hazy dawn during summer months was never enough to ease the blackness. They all needed more light.

He said, "I don't prefer the dark myself. But to spread such talk, that in itself jeopardizes the mission." That was an honest statement. If they would all just believe that it was selfishness at the root of their behavior, and that he only had their best interest at heart, everything would go much smoother. It was impossible to lead selfish people.

"I did not think of it that way, sir, at the time I said it. It must have made the hearers feel very terrible. I was selfish. You try hard to lead us."

He blinked. "What? Say that again?"

"Selfish. I said I was selfish."

He couldn't believe his ears. He looked closely at Felipé. It was as if the man had read his very thoughts.

Felipé asked, "May I have that parade rest now, sir?"

He waved his hand at him, "At ease."

Felipé rested his eyes on the new flag. He looked at Mr. Stessel, then bowed his head and covered his face with his hands.

Stessel's mouth dropped. He turned around and looked at the flag himself.

This was really happening! By God I finally beat them, he thought. He looked at Rogers. Rogers was staring at Felipé. He waved to get his attention and mouthed a question to him, Are you getting all this? He jabbed toward the recorder.

Rogers nodded and turned his attention back to Felipé.

From between his fingers, Felipé could be heard choking. His voice muffled, he said, "I have made so many mistakes. I have been so selfish to everyone. Please, sir, I beg you to forgive me." He fell to one knee, sobbing loudly.

"Perez!" Stessel jumped to his feet, "There will be no emotional displays in this office!"

Felipé dropped his hands, sniffling, his face contorted with emotion, "Sorry. Would like me to go back to attention, sir?" His eye wandered gradually from Stessel's face to the flag and over it, studying it. He moaned.

Stessel turned around to gather his thoughts. He pretended to study the flag also, but his mind raced.

Paternal sympathy welled in him, waves of triumph also. He wanted to shout, to fall on his knees with Perez and hug him, kiss his mouth, weep with him for all the hardship it had taken to reach this climax. His flag had evoked passionate remorse in this man. Everyone looked up to Felipé. Everyone loved Felipé. If it did this to Perez, think about the rest of the camp! Triumphant tears came to his eyes, and his bottom lip trembled.

At last, at long last! Now there would be peace. Everyone about their business quietly, respectfully. Each knowing his place, expecting nothing. He could relax. Now he could be benevolent! And he would be. When TERRA returned, he would be praised, become a legend in the annals of space, an example for future generations at the academy. The recording of this meeting would be played back in classrooms throughout the solar system, children hanging on his words.

Copyright Bettyann Craddock 2000. All rights reserved.