Origin Expedition

by Charles F Millhouse

  Shane stumbled and rolled over an embankment. He dropped his splinter rifle when his body hit the rock, he gasped.

  Colin skidded to a stop. He rushed back to his friend.

  “I’m sorry Colin I… I can’t go on,” Shane said. His face flushed white.

  Colin powered up his rifle. “Then we make our stand here.”

  “No – no,” Shane said. His voice riddled with concern. “You need to go, I’ll hold them off. You have to find your sister and you can’t do that dead.”

  “Right now, my concern is for you, my friend,” Colin said climbing up top of the embankment. He stared through the telescope lens. The approaching watcheyes whizzed about scanning and searching, relentless. They were no bigger than a bonnet from an old gas-driven automobile. Shaped like a decagon, flat and slim. A mighty propeller in the center of the craft kept it a loft and gave the watcheye its unmistakable sound that grew louder as they approached.

  Colin scooted down on his back. He eyed Shane and asked, “Can you shoot?”

  Shane nodded that he could and climbed up next to Colin once he retrieved his rifle.

  “I counted five watcheyes. Our best bet is to wait for them to fly over-head and shoot at their underbellies. Their defense plating is weakest there. Can you do it?”

  “Do you know how many people have successfully fought and won over a watcheye?” Shane asked.

  Colin’s eyes narrowed. He understood Shane’s point, but if he hoped to live another day he had to fight the approaching craft. If not for him, but to save his sister, wherever she might be. “If you’re afraid I’ll do it myself.”

  “Goddamn it, Colin I’m not afraid – I’m a realist. They will detect us before we can take aim.”

  “We don’t have much choice. We can’t attack them head on and we can’t run. Their weapons will get us for sure.”

  Shane gave Colin a narrowed stare and tightened his jaw as he raised his rifle up in preparation.

  Colin cringed. Shane and he had been through a lot and both had no trouble speaking their minds. He gave his friend a reassuring nod before the maddening sound of the watcheyes filled every corner of his thoughts; the terrifying sound resonated so loudly that he couldn’t even hear the sound of his splinter rifle power up. Small pebbles at his feet shook; if he didn’t know better he would have mistaken the vibration as an earthquake.

  Large shadows of the flying craft cast over them, seconds later the yellow skin of the first watcheye flew overhead. Nervous, Shane pointed his gun preparing to fire, but Colin motioned for him to wait.

  All five craft appeared. Colin waited for the right time to attack. The words of his grandfather resonated in his head over the buzzing sound. Trust in yourself – in the end that’s all you can do. Colin squared his shoulders, raised his splinter rifle toward the watcheye closest to him and fired.

  The plasma charge tore across the sky and hit the craft right in the propeller. The watcheye tumbled through the air, smashing into another craft that flew too close. They fell to the gray shell rock and exploded in a fiery mess.

  Shane fired his splinter gun, but the other watcheyes scattered and became more difficult targets to hit. Several of his shots missed and the crafts spun around locking target.

  Colin fired his weapon again hitting the watcheyes head on, causing little damage. “The armor plating is too strong in the front!”

  Shane stood between several crafts, drawing them toward him at eye level.

  “Shane, get down!”

  As the watcheyes fired their ordinance Shane dove for the cold hard ground. The missiles cut through the air and hit the ships opposite one another. The other watcheye scattered away from the explosion.

  One left, Colin thought. The heat from the burning drones singed the hair on his arms. He couldn’t see the final watcheye through the smoke. He gripped his rifle, listened for it and sprung to his feet. The watcheye flew only feet from him. His heart skipped a beat. He didn’t take time to think – but react. He pulled the trigger, but his splinter rifle misfired. Again, he tried to fire and again nothing happened. With no time to unsheathe his sword, Colin turned his rifle around to use it as a club. He charged at the watcheye. “Think you’ll kill this McGregor, do you?” he yelled. He swung wildly. Striking the craft one blow after another getting in several good hits and tearing a piece of the armor plating free before breaking the butt of his rifle clean off. Colin stood defenseless waiting for the stinger missiles to fire.

  Weapons fire from behind Colin cut into the craft’s torn armor plating. The watcheye flipped end over end and Colin dove for the ground, his bare knees skidding against the rock. He glanced up and saw Shane firing again. The ORACLE spun to the ground and smashed on the rock.

  Colin let out a roar and smiled at Shane beaming with excitement. They won, and the watcheyes hadn’t fired a shot. Elated he stood proudly, covered in dirt and soot from the smoke. He’d never fought a watcheye, those who had in the past, had failed. Destroying five seemed like a dream. A story he would tell his grandchildren one day. Colin heaved his chest. The pride swelled in him. It would be days before he came down from such a high.

  Back home and to the safety of their hidden encampment near the dry Loch, Oich, the victors swore themselves to silence. The last thing they wanted to do was allow their clan chieftain to learn of their battle. Both swore to Lord Langland that they would never jeopardize the safety of those in the camp.

  Too many other clans were discovered by the ORACLE system over the last few years. Their sects wiped out in a matter of minutes. Lord Langland understood Colin’s hatred toward the Orlander security forces. You’re a threat to this clan, Langland told him. Colin set out to prove the old man wrong. If it’d been known he and Shane did battle with the watcheyes, Langland would expel them both – or worse.

  Sworn to secrecy, Colin burst with excitement. He wanted to shout from the highest hilltop that he took the battle to the elite. He felt like he could single handily topple their decadent empire. Too many people over the last three hundred years had died so they might live in lavish splendor.

  Drawn up in his thoughts, Colin ignored the people in the camp staring at him and Shane. He knew he wasn't well liked, and he didn't care. Dirty children ran around under foot playing, yelling and screaming. Some carried sticks pretending them to be swords or held them like splinter rifles.

  “I’m the great Colin McGregor, fighting off the Orlanders,” one child yelled.

  “No, I am!” Another replied.

  Colin ignored what they were yelling. Why would any child want to be me, he thought.

  When Colin heard Shane’s wife, Lonnie, he snapped to attention.

  “Look at you, will ya!” Lonnie said in her shrill voice. She stood with her hands on her hips, her fingers tapping steadily. “Where have you been off to - ya come home looking like this?”

  Colin looked down. Dried blood caked his knees and smoke from the exploded watcheyes stained his kilt. For the first time he looked at the palm of his hands. Deep lines were cut into them; they were filled with so much dirt Colin couldn’t see the skin.

  “Both of you need a bath,” Lonnie said. Her deep green eyes sparkled. “But I’m not drawing it for you. You two can go find a bucket and go into the river in search of water and good luck to you.”

  “But Lonnie my dear–” Shane said, hands reaching out for her.

  “Don’t my dear me. I’m not your mother, and if your mother was here – God bless her – I know she would tell you the same thing.”

  Colin wanted to laugh, but he knew that would only rile Lonnie more and he didn’t want her wrath coming down on him – but it was too late.

  “And I don’t know what you’ve got cooking behind those steely eyes of yours Colin McGregor. I’m sure you had something to do with how you both look. If you’re going to get my Shane into trouble I don’t want, you coming around anymore. I don’t care if you are life-long friends… do you understand me?”

  Colin sh
ook his head and mustered out a, “Yes mum.”

  “Now the pair of ya go get a bath and I’ll have supper ready for the pair of you, when you return.”

  Colin immersed in the warm bath that he boiled himself though only enough to take the chill of the loch water. It’d been nearly a month since his last bath. His ripe odor became the conversation piece of the encampment; even Lionel the barb wrote songs about his stench that filled the evening dinner table with laughter. In the tight community everyone knew everyone, they relied on each other not only for protection but for sense that everything would be alright. Anytime the watcheyes could find them. Most of the other clans in Scotland were dead or on the run, some took refuge with Lord Langland against Colin’s better judgment.

  Food and fresh drinking water were difficult to come by. The clan had little of it and adding to the population only made providing for everyone that much harder. The depletion of wild game sent hunting parties further away from the camp than ever before and added to the risk of being detected by an Orlander security patrol. More and more the high-born sent forces out to hunt down and kill the rebels and hunting parties were the easiest targets.

  Sooner or later the clan would have to fight instead of hide, Colin knew that. Lord Langland refused to endanger his people even though he had admitted to Colin in private that it was much more likely that a confrontation could not be avoided.

  Colin dunked his head under the cooling water and scratched the rough whiskers on his face when he came up for air. His reddish hair hung down over his eyes. The water had turned a grey charcoal, but his russet skin looked clean.

  “You smell better already,” Shane joked while he sat in a tub next to him.

  Colin laughed and pulled his hair out of his face. His laugher turned a somber tone when he asked, “You think she’ll be… well that she will…”

  “Your sister is a survivor. You know that Colin. She knows when to speak and when to keep quiet. That’s what kept her alive in that breeder camp for a year.”

  “I should have never listened to Avery Lexor. He will pay for his promises – I give my word to all that’s holy that he will pay,” Colin said through clenched teeth. “I should have gone after her, I should have–”

  “Disobeyed Lord Langland? You remember what happened the last time you did that. He nearly exiled you,” Shane warned.

  “To the devil with him,” Colin said sharply – his voice carried.

  “Colin,” Shane said in a hushed breath.

  “Only you would be so bold to speak against our clan chieftain like that,” Darmon Hill made his presence known when he approached from behind.

  “Been spying on us long Darmon, or were you getting your jollies watching us take a bath?” Colin asked.

  Darmon Hill, a tall sickly man came to Langland’s camp more than a year ago from a clan destroyed by the Orlanders. It didn’t take long for the sable-skin man to win the ear of Lord Langland. Silver-tongued, Darmon used his influence and become appointed adjudicator, passing judgment and keeping law inside the village in the name of Lord Langland.

  Of all the extra people that took sanctuary in the Langland clan, Colin trusted Darmon the least. The moment he arrived he began to cement himself into the ruling body. Most of the encampment’s recent troubles, including the capture of Colin’s sister stemmed from Darmon’s involvement.

  “Lord Langland knows you left the camp McGregor, even after he ordered no one to leave except those going on the hunt.”

  “I know the order,” Colin replied snidely.

  Darmon leaned on the end of the bath tub. “Do you want to draw unwanted attention to our camp?”

  Colin stood. His lean defined form stretched out of the water exposing his endowment to the sniveling man. “Our clan is not your clan, dog. You are an outsider who has delusions of grandeur.”

  Darmon couldn’t take his eyes off Colin’s down below. “I… I speak for Lord Langland. He trusts me to govern his lands. I am his authority.”

  “I piss on your authority,” Colin said stepping out of the tub, his back to Darmon.

  Shane followed Colin’s lead and climbed out of his bath.

  Darmon took a step back when he found the two Highlanders looming before him. He broadened his shoulders and steadied his nerve. “Then perhaps you can tell Lord Langland that. He’s ordered for you to see him – in the morning.”

  Colin wrapped his kilt around his waist and strapped the wide belt tight against him. “Good. Maybe now we can lighten the air about you.” He turned his back on Darmon.

  “He’s gone,” Shane said with a smile that turned grim. “You know what you’re doing?”

  “No,” Colin replied. “But sooner or later I will have words with that man.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t end with your hands around his throat,” Shane said.

  Requiem – Tannador Explorer Ship.

  Deep space April 14, 2442

  Each great family had its own explorer ship. Their purpose, to obtain technology, wealth, minerals or whatever could increase the value of a family. Requiem, the newest of such vessels had the reputation of having a competent crew that logged in more deep space time than any other explorer vessel. A massive dome complex sitting atop an interline engine with the capabilities of creating its own wormhole and thus travelling over great distances in a matter of hours. The technology wasn’t without its problems. Without the correct calculations a ship could be lost so deep in space it might never return. Many of the original test ships ended up lost. A part of history and legend. It took many trials before the technology proved safe and deep exploration became standard.

  Charles Long stared at the framed painting of Johannes Kepler that hung over his desk in his dim and dirty office. His eyelids were heavy; the hum of the ship’s engines relaxed him. He reclined back in his chair. His large worn hands folded in front of his hardened face. Charles glanced at the ORACLE system near his workshops entrance. The flashing red light always on, always watching, it never allowed him to forget his high-born masters were always present.

  Choosing to ignore the watcheye, Charles returned his attention back to the portrait on the wall. He studied Kepler’s narrow cheek bones and thick furrowed goatee. A striking man. His thoughts turned to Vincent Abernathy, his work partner. Vincent loved the painting of Kepler. For no reason other than he enjoyed it.

  Vincent and Charles were long-time friends. The two studied together, grew together as archeologists and were lucky enough to be employed by the Tannador family. Together they uncovered lost treasures and mysteries from the planets they’d surveyed, along with a cache of questions.

  Teams of archaeologists were stationed on the Tannador flagship. Like every flagship in all the high-born fleets. Their mission: uncover anything that could advance a family in wealth, and by doing so in power. Charles had the privilege of leading up the science department on Requiem. A position he worked hard to achieve. Raising the status of the family Tannador well beyond all the others in the Union. Charles however didn’t rest on his laurels. He worked diligently to maintain the rank. Yet he’d been distracted as of late because of Vincent.

  Charles continued to rest in his chair. His brow tightened, worried. Vincent had not reported from his preliminary survey of the planet Kepler 369 in nearly two weeks. Charles feared something had gone wrong. What’s happened to you? Charles regretted not being the one to take the lead on the first appraisal of the planet, but Vincent reminded him it was his turn.

  Close, like brothers the two shared a friendly rivalry. Malice aside, they raced to be first to discover something no one had ever seen before. Their vocation for the Tannador family gave them the opportunity to do the work they loved. The investigation and recording of material from rare alien historical sights, even though deep down the two felt like grave robbers. However, the Tannadors, like all high-born were not interested in history – just wealth. The family with the most wealth, held the highest prestige.

  Once a planet�
��s heritage was categorized and loaded off world, Requiem continued to the next mission leaving the excavation of a culture’s history unfinished. Questions unanswered and frustration for leaving the answers uncovered.

  Charles shifted in his seat, took a deep breath to wake him and searched his desk for an uplink recorder, shifting some charts and folders to find it buried underneath. He fumbled with the small silver recorder until he turned it on. Vincent’s last report, the one sent before all communication stopped, played:

  Doctor Vincent Abernathy, March thirty-first, day fourteen on planet Kepler 369. I’d never come across a world so rich in vegetation; I’d only seen things like this in video feeds when the Earth was fertile – many, many centuries past. It’s like magic. The soil is rich, and the water is clear tasting – if you can understand my meaning. It’s like how paradise is described in mythology. I’m glad it was my turn to survey a planet.

  Charles smiled at the report, though he heard it many times in the last two weeks. He scanned ahead on the recording.

  Doctor Vincent Abernathy, April second, day sixteen on the planet Kepler 369 – the nights have gotten colder and longer. At first, I thought a season change was taking place, but the vegetation remains green and lush. The days are pleasant and relaxing. I’ve yet to find any signs of past civilizations on this planet. Despite the strange energy readings, I picked up from the shuttle in orbit, I can find no reason for them. Tomorrow I will investigate the mountains in the south. I might find some answers there. I’d hate to write this planet off, but if there is nothing here of value the reason for stopping is arguable.

  A deep paused followed and then the tone in Vincent’s voice changed.

  I know this is impossible… but I have this underlying feeling of aggression that has made its self-more present by each passing day here. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear that I’m being watched.