“Attention, all hands; preliminary surveys suggest it is safe to open the main landing bay. All hands, all colonists, prepare for First Landing. Remember the protocols, meioas. There are thirty-nine local lifeforms larger than your head within one quarter kilometer of the ship, and hundreds more that are head-sized down to insect level. Opening the bay doors in three . . . two . . . one . . .”
Sarah bent low over her rifle, peering through the sight as the doors opened.
*
Frrrasten squinted against the draft that whistled in the moment the far wall—in reality a huge door—cracked open and started swinging out and downward. Dust swirled in, sharp and tangy with unfamiliar smells. Not a bad set of smells, almost lemony, with a hint of pepper. He didn’t trust it. The more Parker insisted this world was peaceful, the more it seemed that way . . . the less the Solarican trusted it.
The Captain’s timing was impeccable, however. The dust had almost settled when a last bit whooshed up with the landing of the ramp on the ground. At the same moment, the local sun broke over the far horizon, blue-white and sharp when seen from space, but with a golden-red cast to it here on the ground. Off in the distance, a flock of something vaguely bird-shaped took wing, marking the sky with a half-dozen tiny, dark silhouettes.
If it weren’t for the desert-like appearance of the landing site, with its sparse, half-dessicated bushes and scrubby tufts of grass-analogs, it would have indeed looked like a slice of paradise. The rising sun dead ahead didn’t help with seeing details, but the moving shapes of the local fauna were visible. The felinoid noted how the different kinds were not only avoiding being too close to each other, but were eyeing each of the other kinds warily.
Some looked like lone hunter types. Others, the groups of three, were either herd beasts or pack hunters. He knew that curiosity, that sense of weighing the risks versus the potential rewards when in new territory. Frrrasten dropped his hand to the Terran-style projectile pistol strapped to his thigh.
“Sign here,” Josaiah Parker stated, his face grass-eater cheerful but his eyes hunter hard, “and the very first step is yours, meioa.”
Ears flicking, he lifted his other hand to the transaction pad. Pressing his thumb to the scanner square, he let the machine register his identity, authorizing the transfer of two hundred fifty thousand credits from the account he had linked to Parker’s database for this moment. Once it was done, he released the pad and stepped forward.
Frrrasten paused at the very edge of the ramp, milking the moment for his own brand of drama, then deliberately stepped onto the soil of Parker’s Paradise.
Nothing happened, other than a faint crunch from his boot striking the gritty soil.
He brought his other foot to land next to it, and a cheer spontaneously arose. His fellow colonists applauded. Lips pursed in a felinoid smirk, he turned, bowed more or less in Human fashion—wobbled and grunted from the strain of the extra gravity pulling down on all his bones—then the Solarican straightened again. Turning back to the rest of their newly claimed home, Frrrasten stepped forward.
He didn’t go far, but he did leave plenty of room along the edge of the broad metal ramp for the others to join him. Excited, his fellow colonists hurried down the ramp, not quite pushing, but eager to follow in his footsteps. Grass-eaters, assuming I’m their herder, and not their hunter.
Maybe I will herd them for a bit, before I, what do the Terrans say? Ah yes, fleece them alive. Sheep, that’s the type of grass-eater they are, more useful still alive than hanging in the larder. Eyes flicking over the colonists, he returned them repeatedly to the horizon, and the shapes lurking there. Some of them . . . were coming closer. But are these hunters, or are they also sheep?
*
“Sarah, three degrees off dead ahead, starboard,” Greg murmured over their linked headsets. “You see it?”
She nodded. “I do. There’s a single off to the side—three hundred forty-ish degrees—that looks twice the size of it.”
Off to her left, at the edge of her peripheral vision, she saw him shift a bit. He peered through his scope, then chuckled. “Okay, that has gotta be a Parker’s Paradise bear. It’s big, it’s lumbering, and it’s furry.”
“If that’s a Parker’s bear, then those trio-of-things are Parker’s pups,” she shot back. “Parker’s dogs? Parker’s wolves?”
“Tell ya what. If they’re friendly, we’ll call ‘em Parker’s pups. If they’re unfriendly, Parker’s wolves,” he joked back.
“Wolves actually tended to leave people alone,” Sarah pointed out. Then grimaced. Parker had moved back as the colonists moved forward, and was now climbing up the access ladder to the second level. “Oh great, the bombastic bastard’s coming up here . . .”
Ned’s voice interrupted their banter. “Heads up, everyone; they’re getting close. Captain’s keeping the other bays closed, just in case.”
Both crewmembers fell silent. The odd trio of not-wolves moved closer, as did the not-a-bear. Even Joseph Parker noticed their approach, but then he now had the same fine vantage point for viewing the world beyond the doors as the first officer and her crewmate did. Grinning, he held up his hands. “See? See that, everybody? Even the local animals have come out of God’s green glory to welcome us to our new home!”
Sarah snorted. His “green glory” was more brown and sere at the moment. Still, the animals approached with what looked like equal parts curiosity and wariness, their eyes on the one sentient farther out than the rest, the Solarican who might or might not be a crimelord.
*
As the beast approached, its hide mottled to blend in with the dull vegetation, Frrrasten held himself very still. He kept one hand still on the grip of his pistol, ears picking up the sounds of Parker’s hired guards finally raising their stunner rifles. If they were my guards . . . they’d be whipped until they bled, he thought, sternly controlling the urge to flick his ears and lash his tail. Any sudden movement might spook the native creature coming to greet him.
If they’re grass-eaters and friendly, they might be tasty, and tameable, he thought, mind racing over the profit-making possibilities. New sources of edible protein are always a good market . . . particularly from a world where the local pathogens cannot infect us.
The bear stopped a couple yards from him, whuffed at the air, then slowly eased forward. No fool, the Solarican eased his weapon out of its holster. The not-a-dog’s companions moved a little closer. Parker muttered something about “. . . making friends with our new neighbors,” and Frrrasten lifted his free hand. He spread the claw-tipped digits slightly, letting the beast smell his version of fingers, but ready to withdraw it or attack in a warning slash.
An odd, almost musical whine rose up from the beast’s throat. Three tones, two of them aligned in harmony but one slightly off-set from the others. Behind it, the other two not-dogs lifted their heads, tripart jaws gaping slightly. The second one yipped, the third one whined—and the one in front of Frrrasten lunged faster than even the heavyworld-bred hunter could react, snapping its mouth around the outstretched limb with an audible snap.
Frrrasten hissed in pain-filled rage and whipped out his gun, firing it with a trio of bangs that echoed into the landing bay. The thug-guards fired their stunners in pzzzt-flashes of energy. Hunter-red filled his vision even as the beast whipped its head back reflexively, ripping off chunks of the Solarican’s hand that made him roar, one thought alone on his mind:
Death! DEATH to them ALL!
*
Blood fountained up and splattered out even as the retort of the gun echoed off the walls. Cursing under her breath, Sarah sighted on the animals beyond the range of those stunner rifles and pulled the trigger of her own weapon. It made no noise as the deep red light lanced outward. The laser scored smoking lines on tawny hides as several more beasts lunged their way, but it was hard to catch vital organs on creatures with utterly unknown biology.
The other beasts were very fast. Disturbingly so for the gravity. Wha
t had been a couple hundred meters were crossed with remarkable speed by the large, six-legged things. Screaming settlers bolted into the landing bay. The nearest trio, the Parker’s wolves, staggered but did not go down; it seemed they were just a little too large for the current stunner settings to handle.
Three thugs were slaughtered by almost casual claw-wipes while they tried to readjust their nozzle cones for a tighter, more intense beam. Another had his yell cut off when the not-a-bear slammed its spike-tipped tail through his chest. The Solarican, Frrrasten, had emptied his gun and was now tearing into one of the beasts with teeth and claws, showing just how far his species had not come from their earliest, most primitive days.
Sweating, Sarah gave up on the ineffective laser rifle—the damned felinoid was doing more damage than she was! Tossing it aside, she fumbled the projectile rifle into place. Two shotgun clips tumbled out of her pockets and off the upper balcony before she got one properly loaded, and then the BLAM of the shells being launched echoed loudly off the hard metal walls of the landing bay.
Most of her targets were the incoming beasts. Half were too slow; the ship’s shields, activated belatedly, pushed them out with a rippling shimmer that made her eyes twitch. The rest died on the rocky ground in front of the landing ramp, thanks to her and Greg. Turning her attention to the interior of the bay, she found the remainder finally knocked unconscious on the deck, along with several bleeding colonists.
Methodically, ruthlessly, the first officer used her vantage point to fire more long-range shotgun rounds into the stunned fauna, several rounds to ensure they stayed down. Shocked quiet followed, broken only by gasps and whimpers and sobs.
Parker, one of the few unharmed and unbloodied, stared down at the carnage. Sarah heard him swallow, glanced over in time to see him lick his lips…and dropped her jaw as he tried to sound jocular. Jocular, as if this bloody battle were nothing more than a jest!
“Well . . . I, uh, suppose . . . every Paradise has a serpent or two . . . ?” he offered, shrugging his unharmed, unbloodied body lightly.
Down on the main floor, with his limb tucked close to his body to staunch the bleeding and his pistol now empty of bullets, Frrrasten growled and picked up a rock. It was the only weapon in range that could reach the Human “Grraa sha-shenn svaa!” he spat in his native tongue, then hurled the rock at the stunned colonial leader. He snarled it in Terranglo, just to make sure eveyone got the point “Die, you lllllying filth!”
The chunk of stone smacked into Parker’s chest. It wasn’t the only one. A couple of the surviving mercenary Humans picked up rocks, too, and flung them with equally bloodied arms, shouting their own invective.
Joseph Parker flung up his hands in protest. “Here, now! I can hardly be blamed for this!—Ow! Hey! It’s the ship crew’s fault for not protecting us!”
Sarah’s jaw dropped. If she’d had a rock, she would have thrown it, too. “You paid us to do everything the exact way you wanted!”
“I did no such thing!” he lied. “If you had only followed my instructions properly—!”
Furious, she fished an energy-clip from her pocket and threw it at him. It thumped into his temple, making him stagger. With a roar, the other surviving colonists charged up the stairs. More rocks were flung, forcing the spluttering man back, even as medical personnel came out of the lower airlock, rushing to help the injured. Parker retreated toward the upper airlock, only to backpedal as it hissed open, disgorging a clutch of equally angry colonists. They hadn’t been injured, but they had believed in his lies.
Rocks were now the least of his worries . . . and Sarah wasn’t even going to try to intervene, even if it technically was her duty as first officer to quell any possible violence against one of their passengers. Rot in a Parker’s Hell, you lying little sack of shakk!
*
Frrrasten wasn’t the only one who went after Parker, but he found himself pushed to one side as the crowd became a riot. It turned out to be a good thing, as he found himself confronted by a Human who had a Solarican medical kit. The pain in his badly torn hand was nothing compared to the rage of the crowd, however. Furious satisfaction filled his blood as he watched the would-be colonists attacking their so-called leader.
Somewhere in the scrum of punches and kicks on the upper level, someone found a cable and wrapped it around Parker’s throat. Someone else pushed him off the balcony edge, and both colonists held the ends. He dropped, struggled, and slowly strangled to death while more rocks and curses and bits of whatever were hurled at him.
A wicked thought curled the Solarican’s lips back from his teeth in a very un-Terran smile. “I know what to do with him!” he roared, catching the attention of a few. Parker was still twitching, barely alive. “Burn him alive!”
Ironic as it was, the idea caught like a flame set to dry tinder. The two crew officers on the upper deck didn’t stop them as shouts of agreement went up and bodies scattered, looking for the means to get rid of Josaiah Parker. Within minutes, the rioting colonists had hauled in bundles of his belongings for fuel, and ignited the hastily made pyre on the bottom deck. Others dropped the now unmoving body of their putative colonial founder to the deck, and more hands lifted him up, shook him like a rag, and tossed him onto the rising flames.
Burning him here was the best place; the landing bay was lined with metal and would not catch fire . . . and someone up on the bridge must have agreed, for the fire suppression systems did not go off, leaving the bay rife with the stench of burning meat, bone, and plexi objects.
The pyre for Josaiah Emmanuel Bartholomew Parker seemed to be a point of catharsis. The mob soon dispersed, save for those determined to make sure the body fully burned, occasionally throwing more rocks into the flames. The shields continued to hold a perimeter, despite the way the noise and the oddities had drawn in more predators. They fought among themselves in a few bloody contests as the Colony Ship’s shields held them off, but they didn’t go away.
The Motorboat might have a hard time getting the hoses run out to the nearest body of water, and might even have to try a risky relocation attempt on low fuel—which would be shorter and easier than trying to relaunch fully into space—but the shields were holding. The tempers of the would-be colonists were another matter.
Frrrasten was still alive . . . and still had his First Footfall rights. With Parker’s death, all of Parker’s other duties fell to him. Hand throbbing, he drew in a breath, and roared for attention. Primatoid instincts triggered by that sound, the Humans froze and glanced his way, their eyes filled with worry that it was another local beast trying to attack..
“Ennnough!” he snapped, seizing their full attention. “Finish burrrning the body, and start taking carre of the wounnnded!” Frrrasten ordered. “Lllike it or nnot, we arre settled on this worrld. I will lead you nnow. No false prrrromises! Parkerrr’s World is nnnot a Paradise . . . but is ourrs!”
*
Holy shakk, they’re obeying him, Sarah thought, blinking at the subdued obedience. Well. Criminal lord or not, at least he knows how to lead. Activating her headset, she contacted the bridge. “Draper to Chan-Trask, everything seems to be calming down out here. What’s the status inside?”
“Lucky you,” Ned replied, his voice terse. “Three decks still have rioting. They’re making crude effigies of Parker, and are pelting them with whatever they can throw while being dragged around on a rope—ah, stand by . . .”
The intercom whistled loudly. “All hands, this is Captain Sluggovisk. If you wish to burn your effigies of Parker, you will do so outside this vessel. You may do so within the protection of the ship shields, but you will not set fire to your effigies while still on board. Anyone who does so from this point forward will be shoved outside the shields and left to die. Parker was a lying bastard who deserved it, but this ship is the only thing protecting you from those monsters. Do not damage it. Captain out.”
Movement at the edge of her vision made Sarah snatch up her rifle. The shields were holding,
but more of the local beasts were on their way. Demonic beasts, not angelic creatures. Making sure the gun was turned on, she braced herself against the railing and went back to standing ready to fire on anything that pushed its way through the ship’s shields.
It was highly unlikely; those shields were designed to fend off ship-to-ship missiles. But at this point, the first officer of the Motorboat wasn’t going to take any chances. This planet would be settled. There were too few uninhabited M-class worlds out there not to settle it, high gravity and nightmarish wildlife not withstanding.
I do wonder what they’ll say about this whole mess, when the future students of this world have to learn about its Founding Day . . .
An example of people with the kind of motivation many of us might expect would lead to colonization, this story first appeared in issue 5 of Orson Scott Card’s Intergalactic Medicine Show alongside the debut story sale of fellow contributor Jamie Todd Rubin. Just as the Pilgrims fled persecution for the New World, so too did Samuel Yoder and his Amish family and community. But what happens when those who reject and fail to understand their traditions threaten their way of life?
RUMSPRINGA
JASON SANFORD
Te English arrived at the farm shortly before supper, their ship buzzing my draft horses and baling combine and kicking a cloud of hay dust into the dry air. Even though I wasn’t impressed with the ship’s acrobatics, my younger brother Sol, who’d been wrapping the hay bundles with twine, stared at the English with excitement. Knowing I wouldn’t get any more work out of him, I stopped the horses. The socket in the back of my head itched in resonance to our new visitors, which I took to be a particularly bad sign.
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