Beyond the Sun

by Bryan Thomas Schmidt

  Ann sobbed inside the undru, holding her son, looking at her husband, his now dead eyes staring unblinkingly back at her. She forced herself to burrow deeper into the beast, retching with the stench and hot closeness and blood. She was up behind the ribcage now, and she pressed against the lungs and heart of the beast. She found the windpipe and tore it free, letting a bit more air into the cramped space. The scupps were eating behind her, she could hear them everywhere.

  Nearly blinded by the darkness and the gore, her sense of hearing was heightened as never before. As she listened, the sound changed. The scupps were doing something different now. They were scraping against each other, shell on shell, rhythmically, hypnotically. The sounds of chewing stopped, changed to an odd vibrating hiss. The sound was frightening, but not as menacing as the chewing. She slid back down to Edward’s body, or what was left of it, and peered out.

  The scupps were changing. The little discs were now completely unfurled, and were more oblong than round, one side rough and shell-like, the other raw and unprotected. I must remember this and tell the others. When they are like this we can find a way to defeat them. As she watched, the scupps rubbed over and under each other, hissing, until two of them rubbed raw sides over each other and stopped, fastened together, with only the rough outsides exposed. Then others paired off, and more, until the ground was covered with very small versions of the large scupp shells, with only seams to show that what had once been two creatures was now one.

  The scupp shells burrowed back into the earth, hiding themselves once more from view, as the cycle began anew.

  Ann crawled carefully from the body of the undru. Its hide had protected her, but Edward had saved her. He was little more than a skeleton now, though his face had largely escaped the predations. He looked at peace to Ann. In fact, he looked strong.

  She looked up at the cliff caves, and saw people pouring out of them, running to meet her, now that the scupps were no longer a threat. She sat, grateful that her journey was at an end, nursing her son, waiting for them to come. The thought that life had come from so much death was soothing to her, and she rocked her son in her arms and crooned to him as she nursed.

  Nathaniel was the first of the people to reach her.

  “My god. What happened to Edward? How did you make it? We couldn’t quite see what was happening here. I wish we could have come to help you. We had no way to get past the scupps.” He knelt beside her, concern on his face. The others examined the body of her husband, and that of the undru that had to die for her to live. The other undru was still alive, and trying to get up out of the crouch, but was hampered by the yoke and the dead weight of its companion. Two of the men removed the yoke and helped the undru to its feet, then loaded Edward’s body carefully onto it, to take back to the cliffs for burial.

  “Edward was very brave. In the end, when it mattered. He might have made it, if only he’d left me behind and run for it. But he stayed. He was strong for me. I was too weak. I wouldn’t have survived on my own.”

  The others exchanged glances at this, probably wondering how to compare this new description of Edward with the way they had previously viewed him. Let them never know how he was during the journey. I will never shame his memory. His sacrifice is enough, his penance completed.

  “We used the undru hide as protection. In future, we should all have hides with us to use as a shield, so we are never caught like that again. I saw how the scupps mate. They are vulnerable and soft on one side, just before they join together into new scupp shells. We can use that to our advantage. This planet can still be a good home for us, for our children.”

  “This is my son,” she held him up for everyone to see. The first child born on Respite. The hope of the future. The source of her strength. “His name is Edward.”

  Not everyone who comes to a colony is seeking a new life. Some come with other motives. Josaiah Parker is one of those, and, in this case, his zealous enthusiasm brings dire consequences for himself and those who’ve followed him. Set in the universe of her Philip K. Dick Award nominated military science fiction series “Theirs Not To Reason Why,” Jean Johnson’s story packs a punch.

  PARKER’S PARADISE

  JEAN JOHNSON

  June 13, 2417 Terran Standard

  josaiah Emmanuel Bartholomew Parker should have been a side-show barker. Instead, he was the charismatic head of the Parker’s Paradise Colonial Expedition, and was even now conducting a very spirited bidding auction on who would get to have the right to be one of the first one hundred colonists to step foot on their impending new homeworld, on a site “. . . specially selected to be the single most beautiful view of our glorious new home!”

  Sarah Draper, first officer of the refurbished, second-hand Terran United Planets Colony Ship Sluggo’s Motorboat, didn’t believe a word of it. Oh, he sounded sincere, and if a psi had scanned him for truth-telling, he probably would be judged as believing every single word. Sarah . . . didn’t.

  She shifted at her post, leaning against the upper balcony railing, a laser rifle cradled in her arms, a projectile rifle and a stunner clipped into their holders on the railing. Bored, she glanced to the side, where her partner, Gunner Greg Cueto, stood on the other side of the balcony on the upper level. Tall, lean and dark, hair twisted in spiky short columns, Cueto slouched with his rifle set on a swiveling pivot attached to the railing. The muzzle pointed up . . . but his forefinger and thumb were lined up with Josaiah Parker’s head, and she could hear faint “Pkeww!” noises over the headsets linking the two of them.

  Technically, there should have been six gunners on duty on the upper balcony, but Parker had insisted otherwise, citing it “wasn’t necessary.”

  Nothing in this rapidly collated colonial expedition felt right to her. The permits were garnered far too fast. We haven’t spent enough time in orbit. There’s not enough infrared readings to indicate a decent amount of foliage at the selected landing site, compared with the original charts. We haven’t sent down more than five probes to cover an area five thousand kilometers wide—cheapskate—so we don’t fully know what’s down there. And the Captain is far too easily bribed.

  I honestly don’t think the survey scouts are done with their drone-analyses of all potential hazards on this planet. And the planet’s too heavy to safely land the ship and take off again. Not without a ready source of water nearby, but Parker wants us to land away from that lake and river. Yes, yes, the proposed landing site is both large and flat and low-vegetation enough to fit the Motorboat, but we’ll run out of hose trying to reach water if we’re not very careful.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t the pilot, so she couldn’t tell Parker to stuff it. Landing a CS was not like landing an orbital shuttle, something she could do. Colony Ships, based on V’Dan designs, had the capacity to descend through an atmosphere and touch down with minimum impact on a surface. They were huge, though, with great engines that shivered and thrummed through the deckplates despite layers of insulation and shielding.

  Orbital shuttles ranged from a dozen meters to a hundred in size, but a typical Colony Ship was over a kilometer long, a third of that wide, and half again as high. The Motorboat was no exception. It was designed to serve as the intial base while the colonists worked on digging in and building their new homes, but could lift off—with enough hydrofuel—and retreat if a planet turned out to be too dangerous despite previous surveillance attempts.

  On M-class worlds, ones with breathable atmospheres and habitable temperature ranges, the ship could be opened up directly and construction materials for housing and the like disembarked through the great cargo ramps lining the lowest decks. On worlds without breathable atmospheres, construction usually began at extendable airlock gantries so they could start building the initial ring-like foundation chambers for the colony’s first dome.

  Parker’s Paradise was an M-class world with slightly warmer than average temperatures, a very breathable atmosphere with a slightly higher than average oxygen ratio, and—accor
ding to the reports Parker had shown everyone repeatedly—virtually no viruses, bacteria, or other assorted pathogens that were considered invasively compatible with the biology of the three most heavyworld-adaptable species: Humans, the felinoid Solaricans, and the chitonous, multi-legged, spider-like K’Katta.

  “—Do I hear ten thousand and five credits! Ten thousand and five—ten and twenty! Do I hear ten and thirty, ten and thirty—ten thousand and twenty credits from Lord Frrrasten, our noble Solarican backer! Going once . . . ?”

  Noble backer, my asteroid belt, Sarah snorted.

  *

  She wasn’t the only one amused by that lie. Frrrasten was as dark-furred as the Human woman was dark-skinned, but unlike the ship’s first officer, he had a dark heart to match. He knew who and what he was, a hunter-killer, a throwback to the ancient days. Part of him longed for the days when the strong took whatever they wanted from the weak by claws and by teeth. These days, one had to amass power through boardroom deals and bribes. By restling with laws, not with beasts. Gathering money, not goods.

  He wasn’t the most powerful at the boardroom deal; the Alliance was but one corner, one pocket of the Solarican empire. Elsewhere, he would have to follow the rules more carefully, but a fresh start on a new world, with all of a firstworlder’s rights…land, and property, and power. A chance to ensure there weren’t stupid restrictive laws. How do these Humans say it? Big fish in a very little pond. A gamble, but worth the odds.

  “Going twice . . . ?”

  His ears twitched at Parker’s words. How he wanted to slash out the idiot’s throat. He knew cons; he ran them as just another claw in hand, one of many such weapons to scratch for opportunities, tear down barriers, and climb for power.

  “. . . Did I mention these were for the first Firstworlder step? Yes, that’s right, folks, I am selling my land rights to be the very first person on this planet as your colonial settlement leader, and will be instead choosing a patch of land after everyone else in this settlement has selected theirs. So…do I hear more than ten thousand and twenty credits?”

  “Fifty thousand credits!” “—No, sixty!” “Seventy-five!” The bidding shot up hard and high once more in a babble of voices.

  Lord Frrasten flattened his ears in annoyance, but let it drive up as people gambled their life savings on being the very first settler. He watched Joseph Parker smirk at the sound of all that desperation. There were a few others who were willing to gamble huge fortunes on making little dynastic empires for themselves and their cublings here on Parker’s perfect new world . . . but none could match his wealth, or the gamble he was about to take with it.

  First Footfall for the average settler meant gaining a large chunk of primary real-estate. But First Footfall for the settlement leader…that meant claiming the primary chunk of real-estate for the capital city, which would be built on the low plateau beyond the Motorboat’s landing-ramps. That would be worth spending up to half of his own fortune in grabbing for that much power. Let the grass-eaters bleat for their share of the meadow. I will take the mountain.

  He drew in a breath to speak. The ship’s intercom whistled loudly, cutting through the bidding. It took a few moments for the rest to quiet down and listen, but that didn’t stop Captain Sluggovisk from speaking over them.

  “Attention, all hands. The Motorboat will be reaching the surface in three minutes. Post-landing procedures will be strictly followed, including a twenty-minute surveillance check by drone sweeps. If all goes well, the ramp will descend in time to greet the dawn…in a dramatic and glorious welcome-home to all the new colonists of Parker’s Paradise.”

  The last was recited in a dry voice. Milo Sluggovisk was just as cynical as his first officer, however bribable. Frrrasten had gotten his personal entourage onto the ship without any security checks, thanks to the Captain’s avaricious nature, though none of them were in this group of one hundred thanks to the luck of the lottery draw.

  “Two minutes forty-seconds to touchdown. That is all.”

  “One quarrrter milllionnn crrredits,” Frasten stated, cutting off the next round of bidding. His offer beat the last number by a cool seventy thousand. The awkward silence that followed made him purse his lips forward in a Solarican-style smile. He would have grinned Human style, baring his teeth, but knew that these Humans would assume it was a feral expression—he felt like a hunter jumping down on its prey, but he didn’t want these furless sentients to realize it just yet. The planet and its laws will be reshaped into a hunter’s paradise . . . not a stupid grass-eater’s.

  “Well, then, it seems we have our new First Footfall leader!” Parker stated, smiling warmly. Bombastically. “Let us bow our heads in prayer during the landing, shall we?”

  Frrrasten flicked his ears carefully upright, rather than letting them flatten. He was not one to pray to any gods, false or true. But Humans could read ear-posture, too, for all their own were stupidly immobile. First chance to make it an “accident” . . . you stupid, furless, grass-tongued, would-be Seer . . .

  *

  “Feel like you’re armed for bear?” Greg murmured half over his headset, half to her directly as their erstwhile “leader” began a prayer session.

  “Only if it’s a Parker’s Paradise bear,” Sarah shot back. “Wish we had more though.”

  “Paranoid much?” he asked, though her lanky shipmate didn’t say it with any heat. He, too, didn’t like this setup.

  “Something about this doesn’t feel right,” she murmured, mindful of the passing of time. Down below, the Solarican won the bid.

  “Heh, think you’re turning into a precog?” Greg quipped.

  “If I am, it’s only a Rank 1 or 2. But better—ack!” The ship jolted. Staggering, she braced one hand against the railing; the floor had canted just enough to feel it in her inner ear. Touchdown wasn’t completely smooth, it seemed; no doubt the soil underneath the landing struts had shifted under their weight. After a moment, the ship leveled itself. “Damned shakk-poor choice for a landing site.”

  “Let’s hope the local fauna are friendly,” Greg pointed out, slipping on a headset with eye-wires as well as earbuds and voice pickups. “I don’t like how far we’ll have to run the hoses.”

  Sarah donned hers as well. Hefting the laser rifle she grunted. “You don’t like it?”

  He eyed her. “Do you really expect that much trouble?”

  “What do you think?” Sarah stared down at the civilians on the main deck. Only Lord Frrrasten looked bored; the rest looked like they had swallowed everything Parker was spewing.

  “. . . To the God or Goddess whom many of us believe in, to the whims of Fate and the Stars for the rest, and the determinism and determination which have brought all of us together here on this hallowed, heavenly sphere, this blessed new world, this new home, full of hopes and dreams, angelic wishes and . . .”

  Nothing but bilgewater being poured over shaved ice, if you ask me. With our luck, this really will be a peaceful landing, and Parker’s Paradise will be turned into a religious nut farm as more of the “faithful” flock forward and pass their hard-earned credits on to the nuttiest of the lot. Too bad, Parker; I’m not one of your faithful. I have a job to do. And I’ll do it with or without you.

  “First Officer Draper, reporting in. What’s the look of things out there?” she asked, adjusting her headset.

  “Lots of large biomasses moving about,” the bridge tech, Ned Chan-Trask, informed her. His voice was a soothing baritone in her ears, if slightly dry. She could hear the beeps and clicks and faint murmurs of the others manning the bridge in the background. “Still not sure how such big beasts can get around on such a heavy-gravitied world. Which reminds me, don’t forget there’ll be a distinct drop in any projectile fire once it clears the counter-gravity we’re generating in the ceiling weaves.”

  “Any patterns to their movements?” Sarah asked, seeing a blob of transparent colors through her view of the hull. “Numbers?”

  “About thirt
y or so, most of ’em scattered. A few are in groups or three or four,” Ned added in her ears. “It’s warm outside, close to thirty celsius, so the thermal scans aren’t giving us much more than that. Lux magnification shows movement, but not shape; they’re using the rocks and what looks like half-dried vegetation for cover. Can’t say if they’re hostile or not, yet.”

  “How’s the rest of the ‘congregation’ reacting to Big P’s flowery speech?”

  “Like converts who’ve seen the Devil, and are now at a two-for-one Save Your Souls special at Sunday Mass, eyes glued to the screens and hands clasped in prayer.”

  “Charming,” she muttered, staring at the as-yet unopened doors. “All this new-paradise-planet shakk is unnerving me. Have we extended the shield pylons yet?”

  The link fell silent as he put her on hold for a few moments, then he came back. “Pylons are out, but the shields are off, as per our contract with Preacher Parker down there.”

  “Idiot preacher. We’re ready when you are.”

  “Understood. Operations out,” Ned replied, ending the connection.

  “Keep your eyes open,” Sarah warned her partner. With Parker’s stupid trust in his own drivel, there weren’t many weapons present at this “momentous occasion” of claiming the planet for settlement. In fact, he actually used those words, right after she thought them. Thankfully, the ship’s intercom whistled again, interrupting Parker’s long-winded speech. He hastily brought it to a close just in time for Captain Sluggovisk’s next words.