Planets Falling

by James G. Scotson

  "Not dead. Then where am I?"

  A whisper answered. "I don't know. But it is so very exciting, don’t you agree?"

  Grey opened his eyes and felt his mass again. His arms and legs were leaden stumps. Chattering birds, genuine sunlight, and the smell of something like apple blossoms surrounded him. This was the chatter of a living world, not a deck on a spaceship. He was facing a hulking boulder; his legs and arms were bent uncomfortably underneath his torso. He groaned and sat upright. He had the distinct impression that he was not alone.

  Voices and dust engulfed him and then there they were. Three humanoid figures with unbelievably long arms and legs were standing before him. The sounds they made were complex and complete gibberish. But somehow Grey understood them.

  "Follow us," the tallest, lankiest one beckoned.

  "This is the most realistic and painful drug-induced dream of my life," he muttered. Grey followed them down a well-worn path. If they understood him, they weren’t responding.

  The path opened into a meadow. Warm wind tickled his face. Pungent wood smoke lingered in the boughs of trees - trees that were familiar to him. This was home. But quite different. It seemed younger, pristine, unchallenged. At the center of the meadow a chasm yawned. He recognized it as one of the millions of magma pipes that littered his childhood world - the ones he used to explore during his glorious boyhood. He expected Verat's bleached hair to poke out, face smiling with that youthful mouth. He waited for young Verat to say one of those many outrageous things. Always laughing, no matter how horrible things were at home for the poor boy.

  Long, spidery fingers grasped his shoulder. "Go in. You know where to go."

  He stood in the chamber waiting for his vision to adjust. Liquid dripped, echoing deeply into the veins of the planet. His surroundings resolved; he was standing in the very same antechamber that he’d decorated with fake bones and ceramic trinkets. The walls glowed with luminescent paint. Glyphs drawn in childish hand adorned the ceiling. Across the room was a small hole. He did not recall this diminutive passageway from his past.

  Beyond the hole flickered a light, perhaps a candle. The same confounding alien language wafted out. He stooped and peeked. Before him was a voluminous cavern bathed in the warmth of thousands of green candles. The flames flickered, producing no smoke. A dozen of the humanoids were gathered around a glittering stone slab. On the rock was the supine, motionless figure of a small one, a child of their kind. This was a funerary scene, Grey realized. Strangely, the beings were laughing, celebrating. They grew quiet and one of figures adorned in a simple turquoise robe spoke. "Friends, the journey has begun. Let us praise the stars and the moon; the ground beneath us is prepared to receive this young one. She’s now with those departed we’ve loved and missed. Travel swiftly and safely little one."

  A voice behind Grey startled him. "So, what do you think? These people before you, as well as the humans, naurons, zenats, xyn, and dozens of other thinking species in the galaxy who you haven’t met, have a stunning commonality. Drink in the theatre, my son. It’s a drama occurring everywhere – every bit as profound as a birth. We see it in our dreams and dismiss it outright."

  Grey turned to see his father - not as he was when he died but as a young boy, the same age Grey and Verat were when Grey discovered this underground space. He continued. "Have you wondered why the vast majority of intelligent beings believe in an afterlife? Why do so many of us embrace a religion, searching for answers beyond our intellect? Is it a delusion, seeking solace about an inevitable end? No. It’s because we can all feel it. Deep within us. Our very living tissue is an affront to the laws of the universe. Life flies in the face of decay - against entropy as the physicists call it. Life's existence pierces a tiny hole in the tapestry of space-time and opens a door to - " He stopped.

  "Where dad?" Grey was woozy.

  "Where indeed?" And his father vanished.

  The cave melted and Grey tumbled again, weightless in a timeless sea of color. The scent of Verat's infernal tea permeated his universe, as if it was the only smell that ever graced existence. Grey approached a shiny, aquamarine globe, growing larger, engulfing him. Old earth, the forbidden fruit of humanity, loomed large. Gravity tugged again, but this time he floated above a wooden structure. A strange symbol was painted on the side. Horses snorted nearby and a tendril of wood smoke twirled around him. Dogs barked in the distance. This time the voices were familiar - humans, singing. He knew that he was in his time now and ghosts were everywhere, living, rejoicing, celebrating life.

  "Grey, wake the hell up." Verat was holding a steaming cup of tea and blowing the vapor into Grey's slackened face. Grey's face contorted and brought forth a staccato of gasping coughs. Pain was pulsing in his chest.

  Grey mustered all his strength. "Verat, I don't know what's worse, the smell of that tea or your breath. How long have I been out?"

  "About a week. Glad to see you too."

  "Fen?"

  "Fine."

  "Nine?"

  "Still glowing."

  "I feel like crap. It would’ve been nice at the very least to have a dream while I was unconcious."

  "Just be happy you’re alive. Somebody tried to kill you and Fen."

  Chapter 22 – Investigation

  Fromer questioned everyone on the Platform during the week that Fen and Grey were bobbing in and out of semi-consciousness. Of all the investigations he undertook in his many years, motives were always clear. Here, he could find no one on the Platform that had a reason to kill Fen or Grey. He suspected that the attempt was linked to Fen's arrival and the planned trip to Nine. But most of the technical staff held a vague notion of these events. Those who did know the full details were eager to learn more about Nine and had no reason to hamper the planned expedition.

  Not long after the burn on the deck occurred and Fen and Grey were dragged out - miraculously alive - Gorian found a chunk of foreign code in HM's security register. It was encoded to set off a defabrication cycle when Grey's communication badge entered any of the environmental chambers. The code was unsophisticated and easy to detect. The real trick was for someone to get past the layers of security to alter HM's programming. Fromer did not tell Gorian, but he suspected that this was initiated by actions high in the Institute hierarchy. Someone powerful did not want the Fuersts to reach the planet - to see the place that their beloved father and brother had adopted and perhaps loved.

  To ensure that the HM interface would not hiccup again and in the process kill Grey, Fen, or one of the Platform's staff, Fromer enlisted Gorian to watch HM's status continually and swore her to secrecy. Gorian was more than eager to assist and remained silent. Within a few hours she generated a set of clandestine algorithms in HM's data ports that alerted her to any suspicious behavior. Fromer watched Gorian work with amazement. She both worried and amused him. She was tightly wound, but so very happy about it.

  Fromer struggled with his next steps. How should he report this back to the Council? He and his hybrid kind held a unique place in the galaxy. They were agents of the Institute- however, their dual allegiance to humans and zenats gave them a freedom to act more autonomously than many of their peers.

  His assignments were typically given by decree of the Institute security council, with a specific goal: Stop the bad guys. Keep these two colonies from destroying each other. Babysit a bakery. How he met these goals were left to his wisened devices. Resources were never limited. The Institute provided all the funds, travel, and weapons needed. Here on the Platform, the game changed. His so-called superiors may have been responsible. If so, he must step lightly, lest he find himself being crisped in an ecology deck or blown out into open space. In some ways, the lack of control and uncertainty was compelling. Life may actually end for him.

  Dying was a novelty to Fromer. He had no familial bonds and avoided attachment. Thus, he never confronted death in a closely personal way. Hybrids were genetically predisposed for longevity - he had no expiration date. During the o
ccasional coup or feud, he found himself in combat, which theoretically threatened an end to his existence. But he disposed of challengers handily. He recalled fighting Mup - practicing- in the domed arena during his boyhood. Mup was more cunning but Fromer was quicker. As Mup raised his lancet to strike, Fromer flipped backwards while simultaneously whipping his pole under Mup's legs. Time after time Mup tried to counter this move. But he could never step back quick enough to avoid Fromer's attack. Fromer eventually agreed to abandon the move so that Mup would keep sparring with him. Fromer smiled slyly at the memory.

  He always kept that move in reserve- just in case. He would do the same with the knowledge that someone hacked into the HM interface. The Institute and the Platform staff would learn of an unfortunate experimental accident with no mortalities, nothing more. In the meantime, he hoped that the trap Gorian set would capture its prey.

  Chapter 23 – Departure

  With Grey and Fen mending, the date for the expedition was set - departure in 48 hours. Melat had much to do to prepare. The intergalactic vessel needed to be prepped. The Raven was a glorious machine - coal black, shimmering in the starlight. Its cargo bay held a small shuttle that was used to travel from orbit to the planet. The bottom of the Raven was lined with small alloy plugs used to generate a quantum field that made space-time fizz like Fromer's tonic water. Aft, the vessel held the most modern ion thrusters available. Melat suited up and checked every inch of the hull from space. Not a hint of scarring or pitting was visible. Perfect, like Fromer's engineered skin.

  After Melat had locked back in and stripped off her suit, she surveyed the pilot station. In front of the chamber was a view screen that could be used to maneuver the ship manually. A seat sat in the center of the room with pedals and a steering column. Here the resemblance to a shuttle cockpit sharply diverged. The remainder of the room was empty. No buttons, levers, keyboards, screens, or seats were visible. She sat in the command chair and the room darkened. A net of green light engulfed her head and spine - each strand within the web was attached to a location on the walls, floor, and ceiling. Her eyes closed and she began traveling through each beam, thinking, feeling, even tasting the commands she was sending to the Raven's interface. Where she ended and the Raven began was no longer clear. She thought, thrusters port, and the port thrusters gently fired. Check quantum pulse. Engage life support. For hours her mind drifted through the complex arteries of the ship. She drifted in serene contentment. At last, her journey ended. She reluctantly thought, end systems check. And life again weighed her down.

  Melat's next task was the least interesting yet most critical - navigation. She settled in her office and began tracing the route from the Platform to Nine. She had help. For hundreds of years, pilots littered space with buoys, similar to those used to navigate ships in waterways on old earth.

  A buoy was impossible to explain in ordinary three-dimensional terms. The best explanation was that a length of cable was left on one side of a drop and then threaded along the path of the traveling vessel; the other end poked out at the destination. Although the cabling only extended several thousand kilometers in real space, it wound thousands of light years through infraspace - the 'in between' place that pilots navigated. This not only aided navigation but also allowed for messages traveling at the slow pace of light to tranverse the galaxy in moments along the cables. The job of a pilot was to follow these lines through infraspace if possible, or to chart new areas if necessary.

  The navigation route to Nine was well established. However, this did not mean that the job was easy or without peril. Any change in space along the route like a supernova or a wandering comet may lead to a quick death or possibly a prolonged stranding. It was Melat’s responsibility to check the charts and the status of the buoys to ensure safe passage. She often imagined that she descended from the steamboat navigators of the 19th century Mississippi River on old earth. The river always changed with flood waters and droughts; it was an organic, living thing, requiring constant vigilance and commanding respect. Space-time was a similar beast and a considerable opponent. It also was a friend and companion that bred fondness and familiarity.

  A raspy voice startled her. "Mel, how are you progressing?" She knew it was Fromer before he spoke - the glow in the room always betrayed his presence.

  "Peachy. The Raven’s looking good and the route’s hazard free. We can begin loading cargo soon. Who all is traveling to Nine with us?"

  "Grey and his uncle, Verat, Iggy, four of my crew, Gorian, you, and me."

  "Why are we bringing security? I thought the only danger on the planet was a slip on a slimy rock? Or sweating to death?"

  "Never hurts to be cautious."

  "As for cargo?"

  "Gorian has designed several drones to release on the surface. They will fly the planet and upload data to the satellite network. Survival gear - in case we get stranded."

  "Are you questioning my piloting skills? My ship doesn’t lose its way," Melat half joked.

  "Standard procedure, Mel. Goodness, I never expected you to be touchy. We also will be bringing the standard survey gear, probably five crates. Finally, there will be another cargo container that only I can access. I would appreciate you not asking me about it."

  "What's in it? It’s my ship Fromer. I need to know everything. Otherwise, we’re not going anywhere."

  "Thank you for not asking, Mel. I swear you to secrecy then. Weapons."

  Melat bristled. "You’ve got to be kidding me. Why on earth would you bring weapons? There’s no evidence of piracy out here. So, there’s no risk en route. What’s on that planet that requires guns and bombs?"

  "I am more concerned about who might be on the ship. I have evidence that the defabrication on deck 34 was not accidental. Someone tampered with HM's programming. I have said enough already."

  "You expect me to put us in space, shuttling from one dimension to another, with a potential killer on board? I thought you were intelligent and more importantly, wise. This blows that theory out the airlock."

  "My reasoning is sound, I promise. Nothing will happen to us. As long as I am the only one with access to the container all will be well. How long will the drop take?"

  Melat engulfed Fromer in silence. She stared out her window into sparsely starred space. "Fromer, what do you want from all this?"

  Fromer was puzzled. "This mission? I want the crew to be safe and gather all the necessary information to unravel the puzzle on Nine."

  "No, I mean your life here. Our life here."

  "Well, I do not want to be here, although recent events make my job more intriguing."

  "Beyond that, Fromer. You’ve spent your entire life doing the bidding of others. Have you ever considered yourself? You’re like a slave to the Institute. They made you and you follow their orders like a good soldier. You have such potential." She paused, considering how to structure her next words. "I care about you Fromer. You and I are the same in so many ways. We have no history, no blood to tie us to the past."

  Fromer shrugged. "You are wrong Mel. You do have a family, ancestors, heritage. You have a choice whether to embrace or reject them. I have no one, no choice. I do not belong in any category- I am a piece of sophisticated machinery nothing else."

  Melat stepped behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened, unable to respond. The only physical contact he’d experienced was by holding Darce's hand so many years ago and later when a fist or foot contacted him during combat - a rarity. Mel held on; Fromer's muscles finally relaxed. For the first time in his life he sobbed- a single tear glowing green in the starlit room.

  She whispered in his tiny ear, "No more worries. Neither of us has to follow orders again. We’ll take the ship tonight. Imagine us, alone, in the galaxy. We can travel anywhere and enjoy our lives together."

  He considered for an eternity. "No, we cannot."

  Chapter 24 – The Raven

  The Raven was fully loaded. Ionized gas trickled from her thrusters. The quantum
drive thrummed below the feet of the passengers. Melat sat in the green light of the command, a needle inserted in a vein on her hand, drugs coursing through her. In the mid compartment, Fromer, Grey and the remainder of the crew were seated - cramped but fairly comfortable. No one felt calm before a drop. The horror stories of chilling death were palpable and all too true.

  But they took solace in Melat's experience and confidence. They knew that her body was in the forward compartment under heavy sedation. However, they also understood that her mind was quite active, surrounding them in every technical system of the ship. The Raven was not entirely mechanical now; it had a biological presence, perhaps a soul.

  A pleasant voice began counting down. "Three minutes before drop. Please be seated and remain calm. All systems nominal." They knew that somewhere in all that circuitry it was Melat reassuring them. The quantum drive thudded loudly. Again, this was normal. As Melat reorganized space-time at the first buoy, it sounded as if the universe itself was protesting. "One minute until drop." The cabin lights dimmed as most of the Raven's power was diverted to the drives. The drop was beginning. At this juncture, there was no turning back. If the drives stopped, a portion of the ship would slide elsewhere, leaving twisted metal, cargo, guns, and bodies floating in space, split in half and light-years apart.

  The drop executed. Dandelion seeds drifted lazily in the breeze.

  The passengers felt the unsettling sensation in the dark cabin. Not the flop of the stomach one felt while suddenly dropping in a lift. Rather, their entire bodies were twisted - warm dough about to be placed in a hot oven. The feeling was normal - they all were seasoned travelers of course. As they adjusted to the stretching, a new, unusual feeling assualted them. First, it occurred to each of them that they had experienced this exact moment before - strong deja vu. Then their bodies stretched beyond what was physically possible. Dull pain emanated from the marrow of their bones and screamed at their brains to stop. A moment later, the drives stopped humming. The lights resumed. And the pain vanished.