Exiled to the Stars

by Zellmann, William

  She shook her head. "Ronald Creding, Junior," she said with an impish grin. "Twenty-two years old and already an old woman!" She dodged as he grabbed for her. Both broke into laughter before they remembered where they were and muffled themselves.

  Elaine looked at the underbrush surrounding their boulder. "Maybe we had better get underway," she said nervously.

  "Yeah," he agreed. "There's no telling what kind of nasties we've called." They hastily gathered up the remains of their lunch and reboarded the canoe.

  At first, the banks of the river had been the same as those near the colony, with thorn trees lining both sides. As the day progressed, though, the thorn trees thinned, and the banks lowered, revealing a line of mountains in the distance. The trees were now replaced by thick underbrush the humans found much more threatening than the thorn trees. The thorn trees were not only a known threat, but they were very efficient at keeping the ground beneath their branches clear except for the colorful flowers they themselves produced as bait. In a thorn tree forest, there would be no underbrush to conceal other predators.

  Of course, the colony's only botanist was sure there was no such thing as a thorn tree forest. They would quickly exhaust the food supply. Predators, plant or animal, do not form herds, on Earth nor, the botanist was convinced, on Crashlanding.

  As the sun approached the horizon, they pulled into the shore carefully, Ron scanning the bank for possible threats. The bank here was relatively open; the nearest thorn tree was at least ten meters away. Still, the trees weren't the only threat; his laser tracked back and forth as he examined the ground before placing his feet. Several meters from the river, a five-meter circle of sand unsullied by vegetation marked a sandworm burrow. He nodded to himself in satisfaction. The presence of a sandworm guaranteed there would be no other threats beneath the sand.

  The "worms" more closely resembled Earthly millipedes, with several hundred stubby legs, adapted for digging. They could tunnel nearly as fast as a man could walk, they grew to as much as ten meters in length, and they were definitely predators. The clear sand was a trap, the Crashlanding equivalent of a spider's web. The colonists theorized that vibration told the sand worm of its prey's struggling progress across the soft sand. When the prey got bogged down or reached the center of the circle, the worm would suddenly erupt from below, coiling about the prey and paralyzing it with a bite from its venom-laden jaws. It would then drag the helpless prey to its den beneath the sand for a leisurely meal.

  Though only paralyzing the native life, the venom sent earth-descended creatures into convulsions and death within seconds. Of course, any sandworm that tried to eat an Earth animal died in minutes. Still, the colonists had to guard their livestock carefully.

  But like every other land-bound Crashlanding life form, the sandworm needed air to breathe. To ventilate its burrow, the sandworm opened small tunnels to the surface beyond the sand trap. It took Ron only moments to locate the nearest one. He cracked a thumb-sized fire grenade and dropped it down the hole. Once cracked, the outer casing of the grenade dissolved into a highly incendiary, heavier-than-air gas. After six seconds, the grenade's explosive ignited, and a wall of fire turned the worm's maze of tunnels and dens into an underground inferno.

  There was a deep whoof sound, and spears of flame erupted from a dozen tunnel entrances surrounding the sand trap.

  Except for the fact that the sand was so loose and porous, a sandworm trap was an ideal campsite. The sandworm would have eaten any other burrowing predators, and few native predators were stupid enough to try stepping into a sand trap that, even without the worm, would bog them down like Earthly quicksand.

  So, Ron returned to the boat and got a can of stabilizer. Sprayed onto the sand, it would give it the consistency of plascrete, and would support several hundred pounds per square inch. It would degrade after a few days, and the sand would return to its normal consistency. Ron sprayed a narrow zigzag trail into the circle of sand, and then a three-meter circle in its center. He dug a small fire pit in the very center before spraying it to complete the solid camp site. They brought their inflatable tent, sleeping bags, and food from the boat. They had not wanted to pause in their journey to hunt, so the ship had provided them with tasty and nutritious food in vacuum packaging. In only a few minutes, they had a safe, comfortable haven for the night.

  Since talking was risky and impractical in the canoe, this was their first opportunity to compare notes. They sat up far into the night, discussing their observations and just chatting.

  "Daddy says that Messer Montero is talking about retiring again," Elaine said.

  Ron laughed. "Cesar Montero has been talking about retiring since before we were born."

  Elaine nodded, but she wasn't smiling. "I know, but Daddy says this time he really means it. Daddy says he's been hanging on in hopes that someone better than Doug Ryles would take over leadership of the Council, but he has decided that isn't going to happen."

  Ron grimaced. "I don't like Ryles, and I don't trust him. All you have to do is look at the collection of bullies and dimwits he's collected. Vic Tablana has been a bully since we started school."

  Elaine nodded. "I know. He asked me out a few times. It sounded more like a threat than an invitation. He looked surprised when I turned him down; like he thought he was entitled to date me if he wanted." She shuddered. "He scares me. All of Ryles' men do."

  Ron nodded, frowning. "Me, too. All of Ryles's speeches about needing a 'strong' leader. And somehow all the leaders of the militia are his bully boys, now."

  Elaine's frown was as deep as Ron's. "Yeah, I know. Awhile back, Daddy made me write a paper on governments from 1930 to 2030. He wanted me to see how bad people could take over."

  Ron shook his head. "That was a bad time. I only had the regular history classes, but it seemed that a lot of bad guys got power at that time. Then the UN got turned into EarthGov, and stopped that problem, at least. It created a whole bunch of new ones, of course, but it did solve that one!"

  Elaine looked doubtful. "I don't know. There were a lot of people around the world that opposed EarthGov. I had to do a lot of research, and I got interested. In the early years, it seemed EarthGov wasn't much better than the people it wanted to replace. They had to invade America!"

  Ron snorted. "Now you sound like my mom. She got real mad when I was studying that in History. She said her dad's grandfather was in it, and there was no civil war, just resistance when the Blue helmets came. But the comp's curriculum program says it wasn't an invasion. It was an intervention to stop a civil war."

  Elaine shrugged. "Maybe, but if EarthGov was so popular, how come they had to send troops to all the NorAm and West Euro countries? No," she continued, "I had to dig past the general curriculum for my paper, and it looked to me like some kind of conspiracy by a bunch of the smaller countries. Did you know the UN Security Council didn't even get a chance to vote on the Amalgamation?" She shrugged again. "Anyway, it doesn't matter now. We're out of EarthGov, and I don't think I want to see what life was like under Hitler, or Stalin, or the Jongs, or the Al-Sabahs. And a lot of what I'm seeing Messer Ryles doing looks like a familiar pattern. So far, Messer Montero has managed to outsmart Messer Ryles. But if he retires…" Her voice trailed off and she looked glum.

  Ron sought desperately for a comforting reply, but he found the prospect of life under Douglas Ryles as depressing as she did.

  They resumed their trek shortly after dawn the next morning.

  By the end of the third day, Ron was beginning to wonder if they would have anything to report besides a three mile-per-hour current and underbrush-covered banks, relieved only by the occasional thorn tree. Oh, occasionally Ron would catch a glimpse of a stinger waiting for a passing fish as they drifted silently on the current, and once he was certain he'd seen a wolf lizard. He'd also caught glimpses of some creatures he'd thought were new, but he knew they would be gone before the canoe could reach the shore.

  For the most part, though, there
was only the boring sameness of thick underbrush in dull shades of brown, green and red. There were few of the brightly-colored growths his mother called "flowers." The colonists had decided that most Crashlanding plant life depended on means other than insects for their equivalent of pollination. Many grew disgusting-looking and foul-smelling fruit that, while repelling humans, apparently attracted the local animals. The colonists theorized that the animals and birds ate the seed-filled fruit, and spread the seeds with their feces.

  Whatever the method, it appeared that little of Crashlanding's plant life produced brightly-colored blooms. The few blossoms that existed appeared to human eyes to be far less than beautiful. Bilious yellows mixed with dull reds and vomitous shades of green and blue. The local wildlife seemed to like it, though.

  By the the fifth day, both of them were very bored, and heartily sick of the whole project. While Ron steered, Elaine threw a line over the side to try her hand at fishing. She used the body of a small creature that seemed a combination lizard and crustacean that had dropped into the boat from an overhanging branch that morning as bait. Within minutes, she made a catch.

  The 'fish' resembled no such creature on Earth. It was about 20 cems long, slightly larger than her hand. Instead of scales, it had a slimy brown skin, studded with spikes. Its tail spread horizontally rather than vertically. Its eyes were huge, as were its wide jaws, lined with vicious, knife-like teeth. The jaws were opening and snapping shut in a relentless search for a victim, even as the things that resembled gills struggled to breathe. The ventral fins were apparently in the process of evolving into clumsy feet. Elaine threw it to the bottom of the canoe, holding it down with a moccasined foot while its struggles slowly weakened and ceased.

  Once she was certain it was dead, Elaine picked it up and examined it closely. Planetborns could actually eat some of the local life, and fresh meat would be a welcome relief from the packaged rations the ship had provided, if they could eat it without poisoning themselves. She smelled it, frowned, and dropped it back into the canoe. By the time they stopped for the night, she had caught three more of the ugly creatures.

  She debated trying for another, but a sudden roiling of the river's surface and a glimpse of what seemed to be a very large dorsal fin convinced her that four would be enough for dinner. If they could eat them.

  It was near sunset before they found a cut in the riverbank that would permit easy grounding. By the time Ron steered for the cut, Elaine was already unlimbering the sprayer. She began spraying even before the canoe's prow touched bottom. She watched, fascinated, as the riotous vegetation wilted and died. Some vines actually seemed to draw back from the poisonous spray.

  While Ron used the motor to hold the canoe against the bank, Elaine sprayed an ever-increasing semicircle of death. Finally the semicircle extended two meters, and, carrying the sprayer and its tank, she stepped ashore. She extended the bow line, and stood on it to anchor it while Ron struggled to hurry over the baggage occupying the center of the canoe.

  But Elaine wasn't watching Ron. Her eyes constantly patrolled the underbrush surrounding their landing spot, the shoulder laser braced for instant use if necessary.

  Ron reached the shore and signaled Elaine to step off the bow line. She did so, without interrupting her watchfulness. Ron moved a few steps from the river to a point where the ground felt firm and dry. He fired a piton into the ground, and clipped the canoe's bow line to it.

  This was their fifth night, and they had developed a smooth, efficient routine. The canoe secure, Ron relieved Elaine of the sprayer. Under Elaine's watchful eye, he paced and began adding to the sprayed semicircle, increasing its diameter until it reached about six meters. He carried the sprayer back to the canoe. He returned it to its place, and picked up a smaller tank and a handful of pointed shafts some 30 cems long.

  He sprayed the fire retardant on the still-living vegetation bordering the dead zone, and placed the alarm spikes around the semicircle at two-meter intervals.

  Finished, he returned to the canoe, and tapped Elaine's shoulder to let her know the preparations were complete. Elaine nodded and followed Ron in reboarding the canoe.

  Finally, Elaine used her laser to ignite the dead weeds and vines that had been crackling under their feet.

  Crashlanding's vegetation is highly flammable, especially if dead. The weeds at the water's edge smoldered for a moment, and then sudden flames spread up the bank so quickly Elaine imagined she could almost hear a 'whoosh'. Almost as suddenly as they had spread, the flames reached the retardant Ron had spread, and began to die. The large cloud of black smoke that arose was barely visible against the darkening sky.

  The flames died quickly, and they were in the center of a six-meter semicircle of black ash bordering the river.

  The light was fading quickly now, and they hurried as Ron gathered a shovel and Elaine a broom they had made of sticks. While Ron placed more alarm spikes along the riverbank and dug a fire pit in the center of the semicircle two meters up the bank, Elaine swept the black ash from their camping area.

  They had already decided that it wouldn't rain that night, so they didn't bother erecting the tent. Ron dropped several fire pellets in their fire pit and ignited them, while Elaine brought the stove, their rations, and her fish from the canoe.

  Technically, the fire pellets were classed as 'emergency supplies', intended for use if they lost use of the stove somehow, but Ron and Elaine agreed that there was something very comforting about an open fire, an almost visceral pleasure. They'd had a campfire every night.

  Ron used his knife to cut a small sample from the 'fish'. Beneath the skin, the flesh was a sickly pale yellow, but Ron raised it to his nose. There was no detectable odor. He licked it, but there was no telltale burning sensation on his tongue.

  Elaine, watching carefully, sighed. "I wish we'd let momma loan us that poison detector they designed.'

  Ron shrugged. "It's the only one the colony has, and besides, it would have taken up too much room in the canoe. Besides, we don't have to eat any local life. We could just stick to our rations." With a determined glance at Elaine, he popped the sample into his mouth. The texture was somewhat rubbery, and it certainly didn't taste as good as the Earth-descended fish from Gouge Lake, but it seemed edible.

  He chewed thoroughly, to make certain he detected none of the bitter taste of the poisonous native creatures, and then swallowed.

  They waited, Elaine's gaze steady and solemn. When five minutes had passed with no detectable reaction from Ron's body, they both relaxed. Finally, Elaine grinned. There was another Crashlanding creature the Planetborn could safely consume.

  Ron snapped some pictures with his tablet, so they would be able to identify them in the future, and then began setting up the stove. Elaine began skinning and cleaning the 'fish'. Darkness had fallen, and they had unconsciously moved closer to the fire. Finishing with the stove, Ron turned. Elaine was using her bolo to sever the head of the next 'fish', and suddenly the bobbling motion of her breasts transfixed Ron.

  He froze. Elaine Renko had been his best friend since he could remember. Born only weeks apart, they had been among the first Planetborns, and had both endured the poking and prodding of the science staff since birth. The Renkos and the Credings had been friends since before either of them had been born, and they had been constant companions. Together they had snatched sweets, fleeing and laughing. They had gotten sick on beer. They had tried, with little success, to find ways to avoid the computer's classes, and when they were nine, Ron's mother had caught them playing 'doctor'.

  But now, suddenly, he was seeing her through totally new eyes. This wasn't just his friend Elaine, but a surprisingly attractive young woman. Suddenly the cap of tightly-wound ringlets of her hair was remarkably attractive, and somehow the campfire turned her green-tinged brown skin to gold.

  She turned toward him, half smiling, and their eyes met. After a long moment, her eyes widened and she drew a deep, surprised breath as she suddenly bec
ame aware of a new tension between them.

  Another long moment, and she licked her full lips, swallowed loudly, and shook her head. Her eyes dropped. "No," she said quietly. Then stronger, "No, Ron. Sam…" her voice trailed off.

  Usama Bin Taren, universally called 'Sam', had been seeing Elaine recently. They'd gone to several dances and Bingo nights together, and by colony standards, they were 'dating'. In a similar way, Ron was 'dating' Soledad Contreras. Still, the sudden flash of realization stunned him.

  Ron frowned for a moment, then shook his head sharply. "Yeah. Sam." He struggled to regain his composure, to find a way to lower the sudden tension. "Hey," he suddenly said in a forced, cheerful tone, "What's taking so long? I'm starving over here!"

  Elaine's answering grin was composed of equal parts nervousness and relief. Ron's sudden interest was a shock. Oh, yes, her parents seemed to assume that she and Ron would eventually marry, but she'd always thought that was silly. Ron was, well, Ron. Oh, yes, back when she was first hit by puberty, she'd been convinced she'd marry him someday. But for the last several years she'd known that Ron liked slim, graceful, almond-eyed Asian girls, not a tall, gawky, kinky-haired whatever-she-was.

  As Cesar had long ago predicted, racial lines among the colonists were becoming increasingly blurred, especially among the Planetborn. Even to those whose parents had been the most bigoted, their friends' indifference, and even disdain, tended to counteract their parents' indoctrination. To the Earthborns, as nationality identification had faded under EarthGov, racial identity had grown. EarthGov tried to fight this trend, and while they were somewhat successful among the urban elites, they were far less so among the poor, especially the rural poor.

  But the ship had been crammed with a racial mixture. EarthGov refused to consider race a factor in dorm assignment. Of course, the slum areas where colonists were 'recruited' by sweeps were usually racially homogenous. This was why the Deck 6 'Drone' dorms contained mostly Asians. The Deck 5 dorms, however, had been filled with 'Undesirables', those EarthGov considered a threat to good order. Since these were often 'recruited' individually, and since western divisions tended to be more racially diverse, the deck 5 dorms had been wildly polyglot. So, the children on Deck 5 had mixed freely. The children on the Deck 6, though, had not.