Project Columbus: Omnibus

by J. C. Rainier

The fugitive was the subject of many rumors since he murdered Luis Serrano and terrorized his family nearly two months earlier. Some among the village whispered of the failure of Project Columbus to weed out criminal elements from the passenger lists. A few dared to accuse the research staff of loading prisoners onto the colony ships to provide brute labor for the colony, a suggestion that made Haruka scoff whenever she heard it. But mostly, talk of Lon Carney was of speculated sightings in the jungle surrounding the village. Only one confirmed sighting had been made; Doctor Petrovsky had seen Carney flee the colony after a brazen daylight raid of the village supplies. His gamble had paid off, and the renegade’s take included food, ammunition, and a pair of hatchets.

  Haruka sat upright and folded her legs. Her eyes wandered to the hill, where she could make out villagers winding their way up the hill to Camp Eight like ants returning to their home. Near the top of that hill was the longhouse that the villagers had dubbed the “Palm Palace”. Two guards took shifts patrolling the Palace and village perimeter as a deterrent to Lon Carney. She grimaced when she thought of all the labor that those two colonists would have contributed to building the settlement if Seth Leight hadn’t been forced to assign them to their current detail.

  He’s just as likely to surprise the guard as he is to get caught.

  She reached into her pocket and retrieved the tags that had belonged to Mancini and Evans. Her fingers traced the edges of the flat metal tabs. Seeing Mancini’s name brought back memories of her murdered friend.

  Haruka closed her eyes and called to mind a particular memory of the mess hall at the Laramie complex, weeks before the launch of the sleeper ships. Mancini had fashioned a chunk of bread into a crude facsimile of Colonel Dayton’s facial hair, and was standing on his chair, barking ridiculous orders at anyone passing by as he mimicked the officer’s thick accent. Haruka remembered the laughter that he got from their table companions, as well as the confused or shocked looks from certain officers who just “didn’t get it”, as Marco would later say.

  She opened her eyes and glanced at the other tag bearing the fake moniker that Agent Evans had adopted. The smile waned quickly from her face, and anger welled within her. She clenched the tag in her fist until it bit into her flesh.

  Marco never got the chance for justice, she thought. I denied him that when I didn’t pull the trigger. Now the best I can do is hope that someone has the blind luck to stumble across Carney and bring him in somehow.

  She began to doubt her ability to serve justice at all. As the leader of Camp Eight, she was ultimately responsible for dealing with Lon Carney, and through her shared failure with Leight, Carney had managed to strike a new wave of fear and speculation in the colony.

  Why couldn’t he have just gotten himself eaten by a jaguar?

  Haruka clamored to her feet and raised her arm to throw the tag in frustration. Something kept her from following through. She stopped and thought for a moment about what she was doing, and she had a realization as to why she wanted so passionately to see Carney dead.

  It’s because Marco never got justice. She sank to her knees and brushed her fingertips over the letters in his name. He’s been dead for more than two months. Evans, too. There’s nothing I can do about any of that. Evans was never held accountable for what she did. How can I even think to lead these people if I can’t give the Serranos the justice they deserve?

  Haruka shook her head and placed the dog tags back in her pocket, then made her way down the side ladder to the sands. She walked toward the hill, passing a group of fishermen on the way. They looked at her and whispered amongst themselves as she passed. She could feel their eyes judging her. Their whispers made goose bumps rise on her blotchy, discolored arms. Ignoring them, she marched over the last dune and along the freshly worn path leading up to Camp Eight.

  As the trail wound its way around the base of a shorter hill, Haruka encountered few other colonists going about their duties. Mostly she saw children and the teenagers that had been assigned to look after them. The path picked up around the side of the hill, on which Camp Eight was built, and then started to climb more sharply. Haruka had to stop and rest for a few minutes, as her legs didn’t have the stamina to make it all the way up without a break.

  At last she came to the longhouse. The gaps in the salt palm logs had been sealed with brown clay. The roof of woven palm fronds, while proven to stay dry in the rain, had a tendency to rustle in a gentle breeze such as the one that blew as Haruka approached the open maw of the doorway; the double woven frond curtain that could be stretched and anchored across the threshold had been tied back. Several male voices echoed from inside the hall, overpowering the sound of the roof and nearby trees.

  Haruka took a deep breath, and stepped inside. She was knocked back as the smell of body odor assaulted her nostrils. To her right, along one wall, a few young children gathered in a circle around Charlotte. The young science teacher was clad in dingy jeans and frayed t-shirt. Her curled brown hair bobbed as she gesticulated and spoke to the children as she delivered her lesson. Haruka nodded as she stepped past, receiving a short nod from the teacher. At the far end of the longhouse, Troy met with Airman Jenkins and Will Vandemark. As she approached, she could hear their discussion about the recent find of a wrecked pod in the jungle.

  “So if you really think you need to go back, then you need to think carefully about what you haul back to the village,” Troy snorted at Will. “I mean, the soaps are probably useful. The scissors too. I can’t see much else from there being too useful. At least not right now.”

  Will smoothed out the peach fuzz that adorned his upper lip, a gesture that made Haruka stifle a laugh. “As sweet as this ‘stache looks, it’s really itchy. I’m sure I’m not the only guy here who would like to shave. And poor Jenkins here can’t grow a beard right. He looks like someone attacked him with duct tape.”

  “Hey!” Jenkins protested.

  “Alright, boys,” Haruka said sweetly as she stepped between them. “What’s this all about?”

  Troy shook his head and shrugged. “Will found a pod out in the jungle full of grooming and cleaning supplies. I’d love a good wash, Captain, and our clothes need to be scrubbed out good, but some of the stuff in there just isn’t worth our time.”

  “Come on, you I can carry back a couple cans of shaving cream and a few razors along with everything else,” Will cut in. “Just give me a chance.”

  “No way. I’d rather you drag back a little more detergent or a few more pairs of scissors.”

  “Where was the pod found?” Haruka asked, almost interrupting her top civil engineer.

  “Five miles north and a mile inland,” Troy grumbled.

  North. The direction that Lon Carney ran off, according to the doctor.

  “How much does a bath mean to you, Troy?”

  “It’d be nice, but I can live without it.”

  “Good to hear,” she nodded, “because you’re not going back out there at all, Will.”

  “What?” he groaned. “Why not? I can leave at first light tomorrow and be back for supper.”

  “Because I want you to concentrate your efforts to the south,” she replied.

  And because I don’t want Carney to find you and get the jump on you just because you can’t stand an itchy lip.

  “Last I checked, Troy made me Lead Scout,” Will retorted as he folded his arms across his chest. “So I can go out whichever way I want. I just thought I’d give old man Bryant here a shot at letting me know what he wanted from the pod first before I went out.”

  Haruka turned to face Will directly. She did not hesitate to look him in the eyes and glare, though he was a couple inches taller than her. “And the last time I checked, Lead Scout was still a staff position and reported to me. Go south, young man, unless you want to spend the next month splitting logs for Troy.”

  Will growled and stormed out of the Palm Palace without a word, though the grumbling did startle the children and disrupt Charlotte’s les
son. Charlotte rolled her eyes and shook her head before resuming her classroom duty.

  “Skip your breakfast this morning?” Troy grinned.

  “Nope. Just making an executive decision.”

  “And applying your charismatic personal touch at the same time.”

  Haruka checked to make sure that Airman Jenkins had not wandered away. Impishly, she grinned, and barely loud enough for the two men to hear said, “No, if it was personal touch I’d tell you to stop gawking already and ask Charlotte on a date. It’s allowed, you know, since you’re both single and attracted to each other.”

  She lingered just long enough to watch his jaw slack and a single unintelligible syllable to escape his mouth. She turned away, and a little louder added, “Don’t try to deny it, either.”

  Calvin McLaughlin

  30 May 2058 (Earth calendar)

  24 March, Year of Landing, 13:21 (Demeter calendar)

  Michael

  Cal placed the palm of his hand on the cold aluminum door of a closed sleeper berth. Though gravity pulled his feet to the ground for the first time since Earth, its grasp was not very strong, and he found that he had trouble walking without tripping over his own feet. Alexis was faring better, although not by much. The grace that she seemed to exude all the time disappeared in the slowly increasing gravity. Michael shuddered hard, and Alexis lost her balance. She pitched forward into Cal’s arms, and both of them fell slowly to the deck. His arms fell around her waist, and he did not hesitate to use the opportunity for a light hug. She craned her neck up to look at him.

  “Gee, it’s almost like you planned that there, mister.”

  “I take what I can get.”

  He staggered to his feet and helped her up. A vibration began to build in the deck plates of the pod, and a low hum echoed in the hallway.

  “We don’t have much time left,” he said, glancing at the two open sleeper berths on opposite walls.

  Her bright green eyes flashed at him vibrantly, and she smiled at him. “Did you get to ask Colonel Dayton?”

  “I did.”

  “And?” she asked, her voice full of hope. Cal pursed his lips and shook his head. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. “Why not?”

  He sighed and took her hand. “He says that he needs the bridge stations for his crew. There aren’t any spares up there, and he wants us strapped in just in case something goes south.”

  Like it did on Raphael.

  “Can we at least sit in the pod’s cockpit thing?”

  “I asked that too. Same story. I’m sorry, but we need to be strapped into our berths for landing.”

  Her head dropped as she avoided his gaze. Her lower lip curled into a pout. “I understand, I guess.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t for nothing,” he said as he stroked her soft hand. “Dayton’s giving us a little treat when we land.”

  “Yeah? What’s that?”

  “He’s letting us be the first civilians to walk off of the ship. Right behind him, in fact.”

  She snapped her head up in an instant, and the disappointment had washed from her face. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she smiled again. “Really?”

  “Really. He’s promised. And he did it in front of Hunter, so we’ve got someone who will hold back the masses for us if we need it.”

  Alexis giggled joyfully and threw her arms around his neck, causing them to tumble back onto the deck plating. She then grabbed the front of his flight suit, catching him by surprise, and drew him into a kiss. When she let go, his head fell back onto the floor with a thud.

  “Wow. Excited much?”

  She bit her lower lip and nodded. “I think we’ve been cooped up in here too long. Don’t you?”

  “Forty four years? Nah. I could do a few more in this bucket.”

  “Liar. You know that you’d knock down Dayton in a heartbeat to be the first one off the ship.”

  Cal chuckled. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  You’re completely right. After all the nightmares and suffering, there’s nothing more that I want than to get off this ship. Well, almost nothing more.

  The low rumble began to crescendo, and Cal could feel the rattling through every bone in his body. Over the din, he heard Colonel Dayton’s voice over the general address system.

  “This is Colonel Dayton to all passengers. We’re entering the planet’s atmosphere. For your own safety, remain in your berths with your restraints on until you are cleared by a member of the crew. All crew to ESAARC position one. Com flash when ready.”

  “It’s time,” he said, staring deep into her eyes. She pushed off of the deck, but he drew her close and held her tight. “Just a few more minutes, and then we’ll be out of there and walking off this ship. Together.”

  “Not if you squeeze me to death first,” she gasped.

  “Sorry.”

  He let her go, and she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before clamoring into her berth and strapping in. He followed suit and glanced back at her. She wore a warm, gentle smile as she looked across the hallway at him. He lingered as long as he could before shutting the door, waiting until he could no longer see her face.

  His thoughts drifted to his friends on the bridge. Cal knew they would have their hands full keeping the half-kilometer-plus long ship under control for its descent. Everything was at stake, and Cal was thankful that none of it rested on his shoulders. He couldn’t imagine the pressure that Cameron, Vince, or Hunter were under at that very moment.

  Keep us safe, guys. Bring us home.

  1st Lt Darius Owens

  30 May 2058 (Earth calendar)

  24 March, Year of Landing, 13:32 (Demeter calendar)

  Gabriel

  Tight straps across his chest kept Darius firmly planted in front of the console as the vibrations in his seat grew. His screen streamed with information about the network systems on board Gabriel. He kept his eyes glued to one router in particular that was located between the upper and lower galleries just outside of pod nine. Chatter from the crew filled the earpiece of his headset as the roar of entry drowned out the voices on the bridge.

  Good. Looks like the backup router kicked in. Darius puffed out a short sigh and let himself relax ever so slightly, turning his attention to the conversation being held over the ship’s com system.

  “Doctor Kimura, final status of the passengers, please,” Eriksen barked.

  “The biostasis system is offline. All passengers are accounted for and awake, Colonel.”

  “Understood. Report to Sergeant Marks in the crew pod right away.”

  “Yes sir.”

  And there it is. He just says yes, and goes to face his arrest. The sleeper ship was still aloft, so there would be no place for Doctor Kimura to hide. Yet Darius did not know if, faced with similar circumstances, he could accept his fate with such composure. He shook his head and tried not to think about it.

  “How are we holding up, Captain Quinn?” asked Eriksen.

  “Hull’s heating up, but we’re still looking good. The reactor readings have barely budged.”

  Gabriel shuddered and rocked, and Darius had the sudden sensation of free fall. Despite the roar of atmospheric entry, he could have sworn he heard a collective yelp of surprise from the bridge crew. His breathing became shallow and his mind started to race. A few moments later, the ship felt as if it was floating again, and the panic subsided with a few deep breaths. His heart continued to pound in his chest like a hammer, and his fingers tingled. Darius carefully tapped commands into his terminal, running another diagnostic on the network.

  Keep focused. Keep focused.

  “Sorry Colonel, I wasn’t expecting that,” Lieutenant Schneider explained.

  “Just keep us in the air.”

  The inky black of space gave way quickly to a deep blue shimmer and the curvature of the planet Demeter. The seconds ticked past, and the dark blue in turn abdicated in favor of ever lighter shades of blue sky.

  “Three minutes to landing, sir.�
��

  “Have you made the adjustments I asked for, Schneider?”

  “Yes sir. South side of the river, like you asked.”

  “South side, sir?” Darius blurted.

  “That’s right, Lieutenant.”

  “But sir, we had agreed to meet Colonel Dayton on the north side.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  What the hell?

  Darius pressed on. “So why are we landing to the south?”

  “Mind your station, Mr. Owens.”

  “Sir, has something happened?”

  “I said mind your station,” the commander snapped back. “That’s an order.”

  A message popped onto the diagnostic screen in front of Darius.

  XCS-02 ENG QUINN: Just wait until we’re on the ground.

  No, I need to know. What’s so important to him that he has to break his promise?

  “Sir, I need to know why we are going off mission. Is there something we need to be aware of?”

  Shivers ran down his spine, and he had the sensation he was the target of someone’s stare. Darius looked over his shoulder at the command chair. Eriksen had turned it to face Darius, and he leaned over as far as his harness would allow. His streaked red hair and beard seemed to glow like fire, and his eyes could burn holes through Darius. His jaw clenched, ground, and unclenched several times.

  “Clear this channel or I’ll have you relieved, Owens. Final warning.”

  Darius stared incredulously as Colonel Eriksen turned his chair and went back to barking orders through the com. Something was amiss, but he couldn’t risk drawing further ire from his CO.

  Is there something wrong with the landing site?

  He turned back to his terminal and abandoned the network diagnostics. He quickly called up images of the landing site, as well as 3D projections of the terrain that had been made by a probe from Michael. Darius pored over every detail he could think of as to why it would be necessary to have a different landing site. The terrain on both sides of the river was similar, and there was plenty of space to land both ships on either side.