Genellan: Planetfall

by Скотт Г. Джир

  The first recognizable sensation was the blast of heat rolling over the settlement, followed by the fragrance of burning wood. Sensations! Links to sanity; the hypnosis of terror was broken. Fenstermacher staggered to his feet and looked about. Shannon, eyes slit with ferocious intensity, had unslung his rifle and was poised to shoot. Chastain, great brown eyes surrounded with white, was crouched low, ready to spring. Shannon was shouting, but Fenstermacher was unable to distinguish any words, only an infernal buzzing. O'Toole stumbled in circles, wide-eyed and witless. Shannon grabbed the Marine by the elbow and slapped him. Confusion reigned. Fenstermacher realized that Shannon was shouting at him. Concentrating with all his might, he could hear Shannon's voice, a tinny whisper under a waterfall of ambient noise. It increased in volume and fullness.

  "— get back to the stockade!" Shannon shouted.

  Fenstermacher dumbly nodded, grateful to hear again. He turned toward the stockade and stumbled uphill. He halted as Buccari sprinted toward them.

  "W-What are we going to do?" Shannon asked.

  "Let me think!" she shouted. She held her hand over an ear, trying to hear.

  An acrid stench, like kerosene burning, assaulted Fenstermacher' s senses. Vivid tongues of flame danced above the treetops, and black billows tumbled into the sky. Wilson and MacArthur came running along the shore and joined the collection of haggard humans on the cove beach.

  "Sarge!" Buccari shouted. "Collect the women and children and get out of here. Take the horses, and get moving into the woods."

  "Mac," she continued, louder than necessary. "I want you to round up everyone else and report back here—with weapons! When Shannon's clear I want you and Chastain to come down the shore until you can see me or Chief Wilson. Wait for signals. Stay spread out and don't get closer than three hundred meters, unless I call you in. If you can't see us, don't do anything stupid. Fall back and try to stay alive."

  "Aye, aye, Lieutenant," MacArthur replied, but his eyes showed concern—concern for Buccari. She waved him away and turned to Wilson.

  "Gunner, you and I are the reception committee! Let's go." "Yeah, that's exactly what I was hoping we were going to do,"

  Wilson muttered, jaw tight. "Must be my friggin' lucky day."

  The clutch of frightened humans broke apart. Fenstermacher sprinted for the palisade gate, his fishing gear lying in the mud.

  * * *

  The spring thermals were weak. It had taken Brappa and Kibba two days to make the downwind trip. Full-fledged warriors, the proud young hunters had been selected to make the first contact of the year with the long-legs—a great honor. They were still far away when the engines of terror broke through the clouds. Brappa screamed warning signals and accelerated his glide. With a freshening wind carrying them southward, the cliff dwellers lifted high on firming updrafts. The scar gouged out of the forest by the alien vehicles was a carbonized gash on the shores of the lake. Everything within bowshot of the sinister black cylinders was cauterized into ash.

  Two long-legs stood on the verge of the destruction; Brappa recognized Short-one-who-leads and One-who-cooks. Two more long-legs, Brave-crazy-one and Giant-one, ran along the lake shore toward the landing site. All carried weapons. Brappa returned his scrutiny to the alien ships. An open entrance was visible in each vessel, and uniformed aliens—immense beings carrying weapons— were descending to the ground.

  "Bear people! The long-legs are in peril," Braan whistled. "Stalwart Kibba, return and inform Braan-our-leader of what we have seen. We will have war!"

  Kibba screamed and climbed for altitude, weariness in his wings eclipsed by his mission. Brappa soared over the troubled valley.

  * * *

  Buccari and Wilson rounded the charred trees. A thick smell of ash and smoldering wood permeated the smoky air; the ground was fused into crusty blackness. The alien vessels loomed high, easily the height of a lunar yard booster. Their massive engines had excavated prodigious craters over which the heavy craft were suspended, supported by articulating buttresses. Buccari looked back along the beach and saw MacArthur and Chastain in the distance. She turned to the konish landers. Three aliens dressed in burgundy suits approached, crawling on all fours.

  "Stay here, Gunner," Buccari ordered. "Keep MacArthur in sight. Take this." She handed Wilson her pistol and left the lakeshore. Heat from the hot cinders crept around the soles of her sandals. Forty paces from the approaching aliens she halted and held her ground; other kones were visible at the lander hatches. She searched for Hudson, to no avail, but she saw Et Silmarn in his distinctive gray suit; he stood erect in a hunched cluster of black-uniformed kones. She counted twenty.

  The three burgundy-uniformed kones crawled up and stopped ten paces from her. The leader lifted gauntleted hands from the ground and stood erect, towering disconcertingly. It removed its helmet and nodded, looking beyond her as if searching. Buccari nodded curtly. The other kones kept their helmets on. One of them, carrying a blaster, removed a black box from a commodious uniform pouch and placed it on the ground.

  The leader spoke loudly in his own language. After a short delay the disembodied translation came from the electronics box: "I greet you."

  Disgusted, Buccari looked down at the box as if it were dog offal. She did not need a talking box. Where was Kateos? Where was Hudson?

  "Et Silmarn!" Buccari yelled past the kones. "Where is Hudson?" The soldiers guarding the noblekone rose on their hind legs and adjusted their positions, blocking the noblekone from her sight.

  "Talk to me," said the uniformed kone, the monotonous, mechanical translation giving no hint of emotion or inflection. "Speak slowly."

  Buccari squared her shoulders and stared up at the hulking monster. "You have one of my people," she said. "Where is Hudson?"

  The kone listened as the box translated. Buccari was frustrated and angry, her fears completely forgotten. The shock of the tumultuous landing had passed, and her fury boiled at the thought of what had happened. There was no reason for them to land this close. Just a few meters closer and her people would have been crippled or killed.

  "Yes, we have Huhsawn," the box replied. "He—"

  "Where is he?" Buccari shouted, shouting over the kone's words. "If you have him with you, then bring him here! Now!" The translator emitted garbled noises.

  The kone spoke again, slowly and with more volume: "Please wait for me to finish speak—" Buccari's jaw jutted out. She gave the alien an iron glance, stomped over to the electronics box, and kicked it tumbling backwards. Her sandaled toes hurt like hell.

  "Hudson!" she shouted with bald rage. "Huhsawn!"

  The giant retreated a half step. A subaltern apprehensively sidled to the box and picked it up, checking for damage. It was apparently inoperative. The aliens talked among themselves. One departed, dogtrotting across the cinders. The alien in charge peered down at Buccari with a curious look on his face. She could smell his fear.

  The incongruity of size was comical. Buccari felt like a rabid mouse. There was no reason for the huge alien to fear her, and there was every reason for her to be standing in stark terror, but her anger was controlling the confrontation. Could she control her anger? She observed Et Silmarn and a smaller figure—Hudson! — coming her way, escorted by four black-uniforms.

  She watched them approach, feeling her intensity dampen. The compact formation stopped short of her position, and the subaltern moved briskly forward with another voice translator identical to the first one. He connected a coiled lead from the leader's helmet to the box and stood at his side, holding the box and watching Buccari carefully. The leader of the aliens put on his helmet.

  Hudson's mouth was twisted into a worried smile. Buccari waved, and Hudson hesitantly waved back or, more accurately, pointed skyward with a jabbing finger. Hudson's appearance mollified her anger. She was cooler, more objective, and surprised at her audacity. Boldness was working to her advantage.

  "Why did you land so close?" Buccari asked, retaining the initiative. "We
have had injuries." She heard the metallic voice of the translation box remanufacture her words. The alien leader listened carefully and spoke several sentences.

  "We apologize," the box announced. The alien spoke in short phrases. "We wanted to come down…on this side of the river. Once our landers were committed to land…we could not alter their trajectories…I am told that you and Huhsawn…are both ship pilots, so you must understand our plight. I am sorry…It must have been loud."

  The excuse was plausible. An orbital descent on a planet this dense would be a fuel-critical maneuver, particularly for the nonaerodynamic, vertical-thrust machines flown by the aliens. She was not happy about it, but she would concede the issue. She reminded herself that it was futile to fight the kones; that cooperation would be their best chance for survival. She struggled against mutinous instincts.

  "Why are Hudson and Et Silmarn being guarded?" she asked, speaking slowly. "Is Hudson not free to rejoin his kind? Where is Kateos?"

  "You are the one called Sharl," the box answered. "The research files…say good things about you…Is it true you are…a female of your species?"

  "I am the senior officer," she replied, anger welling. With effort she contained herself. "Yes! I am Sharl. Allow me to speak with Hudson."

  "Huhsawn will be brought forward," the box said. "Forgive the delay… but we desire to test this…translation computer without prejudice of knowledgeable assistance… It works well, yes?"

  "Given a chance," she responded sheepishly, her foot still smarting.

  The kone stared impassively. She could no longer smell its fear.

  "I am Colonel Longo. As official representative…of the governments of Kon and of the Northern Hegemony… I have beenordered to establish contact with your race… and to define the preliminary conditions for relationships."

  Relationships! That sounded encouraging.

  "I am Lieutenant Sharl Buccari," she responded formally, "of the Tellurian Legion Space Force. It is our wish to cooperate fully with your government."

  "Very well, Lieutenant Sharl." The kone turned away and talked to his subordinates; the sound was not processed by the translator. One subordinate loped over to Hudson's guards and returned with Hudson in tow. Her cooperation was being rewarded.

  "Hello, Nash!" she shouted, as soon as he was in easy voice range.

  "The fleet's back, Sharl—" Hudson responded, but the kone held up his hand and said something loud and curt. Hudson obviously understood.

  The fleet was back!

  Thunderstruck, she barely heard Longo' s admonition.

  "Again," Longo said. "I must ask that you speak one at a time and slowly… so the translator can operate effectively.. for my benefit." He looked at both of them. "Allow me to continue…Master Huhsawn, Lieutenant Sharl has expressed her desire…to fully cooperate with my government. That is also your desire. Yes?"

  Hudson shot back an answer in the alien tongue even as the box was asking the question."…Excellent Colonel," the box partially translated Hudson's words. "What is it that you wish us to do?"

  Colonel Longo stared angrily at Hudson. He turned to Buccari.

  "This location is not conducive to establishing relationship… that my government wishes to have with your race. Cold and remote.. I have been ordered to relocate all humans to Goldmine Station… where it will be much easier to communicate… Your race is hardy, but you will be more comfortable in a southern climate… and we have a domed facility that you may use… Huhsawn will attest to the comforts of our base."

  Buccari tried to think. The fleet was back! The fleet was back! That thought pounded through her consciousness. She forced herself back to the moment. She had to deal with the present— dreams would come later. She listened as Longo repeated himself. She knew the kones would ask them to relocate. It made sense—from the kones' point of view. She looked at Hudson, trying to gauge his expression. There was much unsaid.

  "When and how do we accomplish this relocation?" Buccari asked, trepidation growing strong within her breast. The fleet was back. Everything was different.

  "There are nineteen humans, is that not correct?"

  "Yes, nineteen, er—no! Twenty," answered Buccari. She looked at Hudson. "Lee had a baby girl." Longo tilted his head curiously.

  "Now! This day. We act on this day," Longo continued. "I have the means to lift your group… I have but to bring down another module… Of course, that will mean another very loud arrival… All can avoid danger by moving into the landers already on the ground… They are soundproof."

  The translator cranked out Longo' s words like assembly-line cookies, with no inflection or accent, no tone, no emotion, but the words were sinister—the spider talking to the fly. Buccari looked down at her ash-blackened feet and contemplated a simpler life. She desperately missed flying spaceships. Cheating death on a day-to-day basis as the pilot of a complex and powerful spacecraft was so much simpler than facing death even once with your feet planted firmly on the ground. Pain and death came slowly on the ground. She shook herself from her confused trance.

  "Colonel Longo," she said, her voice firm. "We will comply with your recommendation."

  Longo put his hands together and turned away, a look of satisfaction on his face. Buccari continued talking before he could give orders.

  "However," she said, a corner of her brain frantically formulating a plan, "your landing was of such violence.. that most of my people have fled. It will take several hours, if not days…to retrieve them. Is it possible to schedule another meeting at first light tomorrow morning? I will have everyone assembled at that time…or at least be able to give you a better estimate of exactly when we will be ready."

  Longo deliberated Buccari's request.

  Hudson spoke up quickly, in konish.

  "Most excellent Colonel," the box translated his words into Legion. "Et Silmarn will be of assistance in providing assurance to our people. He is well known and trusted. Would you not allow him to come with us?"

  Buccari nodded at Hudson's words. They had reseized the initiative.

  * * *

  Quinn felt the lander slip its moorings and accelerate laterally. She clutched her data pad, tightened her restraints, and suppressed her fears. The EPL was floating free in orbit, drifting alongside the greater bulk of the corvette. She shared the passenger compartment with Godonov and two Marines. It would not be long now.

  "Lander's clear," the EPL pilot reported.

  "Roger," Carmichael answered. "Reentry window in ten minutes. Let's look sharp. We may not have too many chances to get on the ground. You're cleared for retroburn."

  "Aye, Skipper," the pilot replied. "Checking good."

  "Commander Quinn," Carmichael transmitted, "Your pilot's got orders to return to the ship within five orbits. If you need more time, give me some warning. We're on a short leash. Good luck with your search."

  "I understand, Commander," she replied. "And thanks."

  * * *

  "I urge-ah caution," Et Silmarn said as they marched over the cinders. "Colonel Longo wishes your people to walk-ah onto his lander. Letting Huhsawn and me go is…gamble. Longo think it-ah make him look-ah honest. Is good gamble. Where I go without-ah compressor fuel?"

  Buccari glanced over her shoulder. Longo stood watching them.

  "Where's the fleet, Nash?" she asked. "In orbit? How many ships?"

  "Can't be sure, Sharl," Hudson replied. "Kateos says at least one corvette is in orbit. I tried to get a message out, but there's no way of knowing if it was received."

  They marched over the devastated ground. Her exultation at the fleet's return had dampened; the realities of their predicament were overwhelming.

  "Can't trust Longo," Buccari said. She set her jaw and stared straight ahead; but he fleet's return had changed the equation. Rescue was now a possibility.

  "Longo is up to something, Sharl," Hudson said. "He threw Dowornobb and Kateos in the brig and tried to prevent me from communicating. His sincerity needs a lot of
work."

  "Colonel Longo speak-ah for my government-ah," Et Silmarn said. "To my government-ah you are threat-ah. You will be attacked."

  "We didn't attack your planet!" Hudson almost shouted. "But-ah can you prove it-ah?" Et Silmarn asked.

  "No, of course not," Buccari said. "Not without time and the ability to communicate with our ships."

  "Not-ah matter," Et Silmarn said. "The governments of my planet-ah will not-ah wait-ah. They have taken vows to destroy all attackers."

  As they crossed the blackened land, Buccari juggled the implications of the noblekone' s warning. They rendezvoused with Wilson on the blasted and littered beach and moved faster, their withdrawal obscured by forest. MacArthur and Chastain were farther down the beach. Buccari started jogging, collecting the Marines on the run. Passing MacArthur, she was startled by the cracking wings of a cliff dweller taking flight from a nearby tree.

  "Tonto," MacArthur said, shaking Hudson's hand. "He's worried too."

  "The fleet's back, Mac," Buccari said, and her eyes welled with tears. No one noticed.

  Chapter 41. Confrontation

  Runacres stared at the quiescent status panels. Fleet radars were suppressed, and passive detectors revealed no alien signals— no radars, no lasers, no electromagnetic transmissions on any wavelength. Nothing, for weeks now. Runacres was anxious to get Quinn's lander down on the planet. Once he had his people back, then he could think about other options, like how hard to fight for the chance of winning a planet. How badly did the people of Earth need a new home? How desperately?

  "Admiral, Peregrine has activity on visual sensors," the tactical officer reported. They have confirmed objects eclipsing stars."