by PJ Strebor
"Aye, Captain Bradman," Lieutenant Bettina McMurphy replied.
"Good."
Once the image had stabilized, the planet of Delos came clearly into focus. From an outside perspective it took on the appearance of an elegant green world with thick swirls of white clouds rolling serenely across its surface. Beneath its soft exterior dwelt a savage jungle environment that had resisted the Athenian Republic's best efforts to tame it for three hundred years. For one observing the world for the first time it gave no hint to its heartbreaking past.
Delos stood as a pungently clear reminder to every member of the League of Allied Worlds as to the necessity of establishing and maintaining the strict, twenty-year-old quarantine regulations. Despite the constant patrols by warships of the Coalition League Navy, idiots who had somehow been granted Master's certificates still chose to run the blockade.
One ‘Line Runner’ had tested their luck by venturing into the QZ and been stupid enough to get infected. To add to their monumental blunder they chose to land on Delos before the plague took them. This proved to be a tragic turn of events for the fifty-seven hundred colonists who were once again trying to make a home for themselves on the ferocious planet. By the time the colonists recognized the truth, the ‘Runners’ were dying and the colonists were infected. Since that terrible time Delos had been a quarantined world and one that even the stupidest of fortune seekers avoided. Another testament to unbridled greed.
Headhunters, on the other hand, were capable of anything.
"Contact on the surface, captain."
Only McMurphy knew Bradman well enough to detect his inner tenseness.
"I have a ship on the surface, captain." The tactical officer spoke without looking up, his eyes remaining locked onto his readouts. "Minimal power emissions. The core appears to be cold. Registration and configuration comply with Athenian standards." He paused for several seconds to consider his summation. "The closest approximation I could make would be that she is a Turgo class freighter."
"Helm, take us into a geosynchronous orbit above the site."
As the Helm Officer confirmed his orders Bradman gave his Operations Officer a curious look. McMurphy shook her head, confirming what the captain already suspected. There had been no reports of a missing or overdue Athenian-registered vessel in months. Most certainly not in this area.
"Can you get a name?"
"No captain," the T/O said, "but I have a registration number. Transferring to the operations officer."
McMurphy examined the records. The information scrolled across her screen but it made no sense. Then it hit her.
“Damn. She's an independent, captain. Details in a moment."
Bradman stifled a curse. He knew that all Independent Traders were crewed by families. When one such vessel was lost, on most occasions it meant the annihilation of an entire bloodline.
McMurphy continue to examine her readings until she saw it. She gasped.
Bradman narrowed his eyes.
"She's the Bellinda, sir."
“The Bellinda? Hmm.”
"She was reported missing, presumed lost. Six years ago whilst en route to Iberia."
It had been in all the net news broadcasts at the time.
"The last inspection of this planet was three years ago. Correct?"
"Yes, captain."
Bradman looked at her as if they had just discovered their own Flying Dutchman.
"What's her condition?" he asked the T/O.
"She's heavily damaged captain. I suppose that's to be expected though. Freighters aren’t designed for planetary insertion."
So, the mystery deepened. An Athenian freighter, missing for six years, suddenly reappearing like a ghost ship on the planet’s surface.
"She's been down there a while captain," the T/O continued. "From the oxidization on the hull I would estimate somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-six months."
Bradman lowered his voice. "What do think, Betty?"
As the boat's Operations Officer, McMurphy was expected to have all of the answers all of the time. However this one had her stumped and it must have shown on her face.
"I suppose we could send a couple of cans down to the surface and try to recover her logs." She felt doubtful that the captain would approve such provocative action. Bradman confirmed her opinion with a tight, dark smirk.
"Captain?"
Bradman's attention swung back to the Tactical Station.
"Lieutenant?"
The T/O cleared his throat. "Captain, I am detecting a life sign on the planet’s surface."
The unique nature of the plague insinuated itself into the ecosystem of any planet it came in contact with, but had the singular characteristic of being fatal only to human beings. As such there were probably billions of life forms on the planet. It took a moment longer for Bradman to understand the full import of what his tactical officer had said.
"Human?" The incredulity in his voice surprised McMurphy.
"Aye, captain."
"You've double checked?"
"Triple checked, sir. And I've just run a diagnostic on the software. It's in perfect working order."
McMurphy did not need to look around the bridge to know that every eye had just risen from their stations.
"I detect no other vessels on the surface or in orbit captain. Therefore it would be logical to assume that the … life sign was aboard the freighter when she crashed."
Bradman paused for a moment. "Are you suggesting, lieutenant, that someone has survived on a plague planet for two years?"
The T/O’s back straightened. "At the moment captain, I am working with very limited input. However, until I obtain data to the contrary, the only rational explanation I can conclude is that there is a human being alive on the planet Delos, and that said human has probably been down there since Bellinda crashed on that world. Sir."
Rational? Rational! This had to be some kind of mistake. No one, but no one survived on a plague planet for longer than forty-two days. Yet in this instance two plus two did not add up to what it should be. Alive, for two years.
"How many life signs," he asked.
"The readings are fuzzy captain due to the inversion layer but I am reasonably certain that there is only one."
"Do you have a location?"
"Again captain it is hard to pin down. Hmm, I would estimate that the subject is within one to two clicks of the crash site."
"Captain?"
Bradman managed a weak smile. "D-O, I'm open to suggestions."
With an effort she returned her captain's gesture.
"Only one recommendation. We need to send a shore party down there to investigate."
"Are you volunteering?"
McMurphy shrugged, more in the negative than the positive.
"I don't blame you. This is a job for the eggheads at Mylor to figure out. There is no way in hell that I'm going to order one of my people to go strolling around on a plague planet. That is well and bloody truly above the call of duty."
"I suppose we could send down a couple of cans," McMurphy suggested. "Of course they would be of limited use without supervision."
"You want me to ask for volunteers?" the captain said, with a sardonic grin.
The sound of a cleared throat caused him to swing his chair around until his gaze fell onto the Auxiliary Operations Officer.
"I'll go sir," Ensign Ellen Gabreski said.
Although only on her second patrol, the ensign had so far exhibited all of the requisite qualities of a recent academy graduate. She still had stars in her eyes and words like duty, honor and Republic ringing in her ears. She wanted adventure, she wanted to make a name for herself, she wanted - one day in the distant future - to sit in the captain’s chair. McMurphy remembered Bradman being the same way when he was her age. Still, volunteering to go wandering around on a plague world showed a whole lot of moxie.
"If you go down there, ensign, it will mean
forty-five days in the tank, when you get back."
"I’m aware of the quarantine regulations, sir. But if someone has survived on a plague planet for two years…" She let the suggestion hang in the air between them for a long moment. "Wouldn't you say it's worth the risk to find out, sir?"
A possible antidote for the plague. Yes, McMurphy thought, she not only had guts but also made an extremely good point.
"Very well Ensign you have a go. Full quarantine procedures and no unnecessary chances. Understood!"
"Aye captain." The faintest hint of a smile touched her lips.
CHAPTER 7
Time: 12th April, 311 (ASC).
Position: Planet Delos. Athenian controlled space. Tunguska Fault.
The nightmare returned. Images overlapped, tumbling faster and faster. Horror. Pain. Violation. Kania tearing at Bellinda. Delos.
Nathan lurched upright in bed, his breath catching. He peeled the light sheet from his clammy skin. A shudder ran down his body. He groaned and licked his dry lips. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bunk, he supported his head in trembling hands.
“Damn you,” he shouted. “Leave me alone.” The returning echo was his only response. Nathan laughed and shook his head. “That’s right, Telford, damn a deity you don’t believe in. Brilliant.”
Wiping sleep from his eyes Nathan sauntered into the adjacent ship’s galley, poking around for leftovers. A piece of lizard jerky tested his teeth but he got it down. “Time to hunt, Telford, unless you want to eat this shit again today.”
I wonder if I’ve gone a little batty in the last two years? He shrugged. “Only if I start answering my own questions.”
His old flight suit had seen better days but with no alternative, he slipped the threadbare garment on and slung his pack and weapons webbing across his shoulder. Nathan strolled along the ship’s central corridor pausing to stare through the space left by the blown-out hatch and into the vacant quarters. The room had not changed in the last two years but he could not bear to sleep in his family’s old quarters.
Nathan arrived at the first barred hatch. He undogged it and slid ten levels down the service ladder until he reached the lowest deck. Sun streamed into the dim corridor after he opened the hatch. He tentatively scanned the landscape. Seeing no danger, he stepped over the coaming and stood for a few moments allowing his eyes to adjust to the early morning glare. Through the broad hull-breach he took in the clear blue sky.
The deck plates remained solidly unmoving as he walked through the superstructure until he stood outside the hull. The surrounding jungle greeted him as it did every day. A thick, green façade within which death awaited the unwary in a thousand ugly ways. The hot spot between his shoulder blades that always warned of danger remained quiet. Without you I wouldn’t have lasted two years on this world. Thank you, Prep.
At the south-end of the crash site, water cascaded from a hidden aquifer. Leaving his weapons and pack hanging from a branch, he stepped under the waterfall. At this time of the morning the bitterly cold water stung his skin through his clothing. Having washed away a troubled night’s sleep he stepped from under the flow and wiped his face. Within minutes the steadily climbing sun would dry his clothes until his sweat soaked them again. Nathan secured his weapons and hung the pack from his left shoulder.
He followed the overgrown four-kilometer depression that marked Bellinda’s crash path. He stopped, as he did every day, at the large rock-encased mound. He hacked at the ever-encroaching vegetation with his machete. Standing back to admire his handy work he noticed for the first time that a flower grew here and there. A lump grew in his throat and he swallowed it.
Nathan left the graveyard and followed an animal track into the jungle. He found the small watering hole he had discovered a month ago. Keeping his movements to a minimum he waited noiselessly, as a good hunter did.
Another few minutes rewarded his stealthy patience. The marsupial he sought was small but mighty tasty. Come on, you timid little shit. At the short rise leading to the water it stopped. Its sharp ears flattened, the keen nose quivered. Nathan nocked an arrow onto his bowstring, salivating in anticipation. Assured of its safety the little animal skittered forward. A few meters from the water-hole it stopped, trembled with fear and scurried into the safety of the undergrowth before he could raise his bow. “Damn,” he hissed. Then he heard it.
Nathan recognized the high engine whine, muffled by distance but growing steadily. A chill ran down his sweaty back.
Breaking from cover he sprinted toward the growing sound. There was only one safe place they could land. If he got there in time he could occupy the high ground and set his ambush. Nathan burst from the undergrowth into the clearing and skidded to a halt as a hot knot of coal burned between his shoulders. Prep was warning him. Experience had taught him what this threat represented. A pair of chameleon leopards crouched nearby. They were not visible to the naked eye but he could sense their presence, one to his right, one to his left. I don’t have time for this.
“I’m just passing through, old one,” he yelled. Nathan's raised voice tested the big cat’s concentration. They could remain stealthy for short periods, usually when startled or preparing to attack. Homing in on the first movement of long grass, he plucked pebbles from a pouch and threw them at the invisible beast. One pebble struck the cat and he materialized through a shimmering haze. A big male, three hundred kilos of looming death. “Take it easy, old cat.” The female would be poised to attack from the opposite direction. Nathan nocked an arrow and aimed along the shaft at the small clump of depressed grass. When the female leopard materialized the male roared his warning.
“Go on old cat, get going.” Over his shoulder the big male emitted a final snarl as it padded away. He had come to know this couple over the years. They had avoided confrontation as long as they all respected one another’s territory. The female snarled as she slinked away.
He ran on. Ten minutes later he reached Bellinda. While he caught his breath the steadily growing whine from the invader’s landing boat reached a deafening pitch. The craft landed on the flat outcrop two hundred meters from Bellinda’s busted hull. He dried his sweaty fingers on a section of his pants not soaked in sweat.
A lone figure emerged from the landing boat and inspected the enormous broken ship. He wore a v-suit overlaid with light-weight, black armor. The black helmet reminded Nathan of something from years ago.
The suited figure examined the surrounding jungle before scanning the vista of the ship’s crash path. If he did not start paying attention to this perilous environment he would be dead before Nathan could put an arrow into him. Or perhaps I should just nick him? Let him find out what it’s like to die of the Derwent Plague. This would have the added benefit of torturing him with the knowledge that he had only forty-two days to live before the plague started to eat him alive.
“But what if he’s not a Pruessen?” Nathan whispered.
Suit-man strolled along the crash path as if he were going for a walk through a city park. Not far from the funeral mound he stopped before the great fallen tree trunk. Nathan could not see his face through the tinted visor. The range was a little long but Nathan nocked an arrow and checked the wind. He aimed at the soft opening at the back of the enemy’s neck. Something about the damn black helmet told him to hold the shot, so he sheathed the arrow and dashed down the hill.
Nathan’s back flared a warning. From the edge of the clearing an enormous green shape disturbed the undergrowth. The snake made a beeline for suit-man. He continued sprinting down the embankment as the enormous snake slithered into position to attack the stranger. Finally, the dimwit noticed the threat and spun around as the snake coiled to strike. Suit-man grappled for his sidearm, took a panicked backward step, tripped over an exposed root and staggered heavily to the ground.
Suit-man pushed against his heels until the fallen tree blocked his way. Hampered by his thick, cumbersome gloves he continued to grope for his sid
earm. The snake’s fangs extended, each the length of a man’s hand, loaded with a toxin that killed with slow excruciating pain. It struck, the fangs glanced off suit-man’s forearm armor. That had to hurt. Again, suit-man tried for his pistol and the snake’s fangs skimmed off the armor. Its black slit-eyes followed the line of the armor. The armored sections like the chest, head, arms and legs were protected. However, the soft gaps between the armor were vulnerable. Nathan shook his head. Smart snake; big ugly smart snake. It’ll kill suit-man now.
The viper extended itself to three meters in height, its body straining tautly to strike.
Nathan drew back the bowstring, aimed and fired. The long wooden shaft ripped through the back of the viper’s head, exiting through its right eye. White brain matter hung in stringy lumps from the tip of the arrow. The serpent swayed back and forth before collapsing to the ground, twitching spasmodically in its death throes.
Why did I do that? Something about the black helmet. I still can’t remember…
Nathan shook his head dismissively. If I’ve made a mistake I’ll correct it now. Striding down the hill he jumped onto the fallen tree trunk. Suit-man remained frozen on the ground.
Walking around the prone figure he stood before suit-man. The stranger began to rise but paused when Nathan tensed.
Go on, reach for your sidearm.
Suit-man rested on his knees, making certain to keep his hands clear of this sidearm. His helmet turned to face Nathan for tense seconds. Nathan followed his slow movements as he adjusted his helmet’s controls. The sudden loss of opacity made suit ‘man’ squint.
Shock constricted Nathan’s throat and he cleared it noisily.
“You’re a girl,” he blurted.
“Last time I checked,” she said, sporting a sly grin. Her voice, coming through the helmet speaker, sounded comfortable, friendly.
“Pruessens don’t carry girls on their ships,” Nathan said.
“Not since the end of the war they haven’t.”
Nathan felt no threat from her.
“I’m Ensign Ellen Gabreski,” she said, offering her hand. “Monitor Corps. We were patrolling the area and discovered your ship.”