by B. V. Larson
“Here’s the good news,” Turov said, “we’re going to make planetfall soon. There’s no question of that. There’s no sign of pursuit, either. The enemy fleet—if they even have one—isn’t intercepting us. What we’re here to do now is decide where on this Garden of Eden we’re going to land.”
Adjunct Toro, a woman who’d never liked me since we’d first laid eyes on one another, raised her hand.
“What is it, Adjunct?” Turov asked her.
“Sir? Is this really the only choice we have? Just about anything else looks preferable.”
“I agree,” Turov said. “I argued all along that our top choice was to bail out and stay in the space-lane to see if the techs aboard Corvus could pull a miracle and regain control of the ship. In fact, I wanted to put all our technical people on that task. But the Tribune felt it was too risky. He believes the enemy might be waiting to finish the job by ambushing us in space.”
I frowned as I listened to her talk. I gathered from her statements that there were still techs aboard Corvus. The idea was alarming. People were on that ship, sailing into the star, still trying to fix it? If so, they had only a few hours left to live.
I checked the local roster of contacts on my tapper and my heart sank. Natasha wasn’t on the lifter with me. That could only mean she’d been left behind on Corvus. I didn’t want to think about how that was going to end for her.
Adjunct Toro seemed to be thinking along the same lines I was.
“But sir,” she said. “Would it be wise to lose even more people in what’s likely to be a fireball at the end?”
Centurion Graves stirred. He was one of the ones who’d been left standing. Turov signaled for him to speak.
“No one is going to get permed on Corvus,” Graves said. “Not unless we all die. We copied their data to the lifters. If Corvus crashes into the star, we’ll record the fact, then revive them after we land on the target planet.”
This assurance seemed to settle everyone down. I was still alarmed, however. I couldn’t stop thinking about Natasha. Things must be awful right now for her aboard that doomed ship. The techs we’d left behind were all sailing directly into a blazing star, knowing they’d been abandoned with nothing to look forward to other than cooking to death. The radiation alone would probably finish them before they felt the terrible heat.
“Now, back to the matter at hand,” Turov continued. “Let’s take a look at this rock we’re supposed to land on. For the most part, it’s a giant desert. There are a few places where life has been detected. Deep gullies exist—valleys that are essentially cracks in the surface of an endless expanse of blowing grit. Inside these valleys, water runs and the shade keeps the plants from burning up. By our best projections, the shaded regions are similar to tropical oases.”
Turov proceeded to display the world on the planning table and show these rifts in the surface. Some were over thirty kilometers long, as wide as three kilometers and nearly as deep as they were wide.
“The valleys we’re most interested in are those clustered around the southern pole. We’ve identified ten of them—one for each lifter—as landing zones. These valleys are sheltered from the sun and suitably temperate.”
The briefing went on while I stared in fascination. I realized I was about to land on an unexplored world and perhaps be one of the first humans in history to breathe its air. I found that exciting, but it seemed like a wearisome chore to the rest of the assembled officers. Most of them were veterans of many campaigns on alien planets.
In time, the group settled on a green valley close to the pole itself. Due to the angle of the planet, the bottom of this gully was never in the direct sunlight. Our cohort’s techs assured us the temperature would be quite comfortable and possibly even cool at night.
“We don’t have a lot of time to find a suitable region where we can bivouac and survive until help comes,” Turov explained. “The tribune ordered us all to choose a different valley—one for each cohort on each lifter—and to land there when we make planetfall. Once we’re down we’ll explore, compare notes and report in. The plan is to decide which of these holes in the desert is the most suitable and to gather all our people at that spot.”
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. We were breaking up the lifters, each of which carried a single cohort? What if the enemy was down there waiting for us? We thought the squids came from the water world—but we could be wrong.
Several centurions moved about uncomfortably, but no one said anything. Finally, Centurion Graves cleared his throat.
“Yes?” asked the Primus.
“Primus, this seems like a poor strategy. Spreading our forces around the moment we land will weaken us if we meet resistance.”
She nodded. “You’re right, but we don’t have much time. We’re not going to engage the aliens if we meet up with them. We’ll cut our losses and fly out. Dead troops will be counted and revived later.”
“What’s the hurry, sir?” Graves asked.
Turov worked her lips thoughtfully as if considering how she should answer the question.
“We don’t have much in the way of supplies, Centurion. Actually, we’ve got almost nothing. We don’t even have enough water to last a month. We depended on Corvus for that sort of thing, and we had to leave the ship suddenly to make planetfall as we passed this world. We know nothing about this planet, but we’re going to have to find a suitable spot to hole up until we’re rescued. We can explore faster by splitting up.”
Several others, emboldened by Graves’ success, raised their own hands to ask questions. I wanted to join them but didn’t dare.
Primus Turov lifted her own hands in a calming gesture. She looked worried. “I know, I know. You have a thousand questions. Let me give you a couple of facts instead. First, we need breathable air, potable water and hopefully a food source. We need them right now. Second, we might well be ambushed. We might even lose a lifter or two full of troops. But we’ve got the recorders running, and we’ll capture all deaths as they occur. Any group that gets wiped out will be revived at one of the other camps. Problem solved.”
I was stunned. This was just the sort of thinking that Legion Varus was famous for. If you didn’t make it, they shrugged and made a copy.
Centurion Graves asked one more question. “How long will we have to wait on this rock, Primus? When can we expect a rescue?”
“Indeterminate. The Galactics are aware of this renegade frontier system. When Corvus doesn’t come home, the loss will be reported. I would expect we’ll have to wait no more than a year until another Skrull ship comes to investigate. Hopefully, they’ll come before the Galactic Battlefleet arrives. The warships may not bother to distinguish between legitimate castaways and feral local aliens.”
As I heard this, my heart sank. Was I really about to spend a year on a desolate rock in space with no assurance that there would be a rescue in the end? I couldn’t help but think about the events that would transpire when the Galactics finally arrived.
It was quite possible, I knew, that by the time the Battlefleet darkened the skies of Dust World I’d have survived by scraping along for years only to be blasted to component atoms by a heartless maelstrom of interstellar ships.
The questions finally stopped and the group got down to the business of choosing a target valley. Turov made sure we all voted twice to choose the best possible option. In my opinion, she talked for too long. I was getting bored. We couldn’t really make the best choice from such limited data, anyway.
The officers finally chose the biggest valley up around the southern pole. But after Turov selected it on the map, she quickly discovered it had been taken by another cohort. Then she selected our second choice, tapping at screen.
The computer map flickered orange, refusing to take the input. Frowning, Primus Turov became alarmed.
“Those bastards…” she muttered.
She quickly tapped at each of the other major valleys, one at a time. All of them had already bee
n taken. There were ten cohorts in our legion and apparently the rest of them had chosen their destinations first and talked it to death afterward.
Turov scanned the map scrolling it this way and that. Finally, she found a small valley farther north than any of the others. I knew this place would be hotter as it was closer to the equator. But it registered as deep and wet.
“It’s a crater, not a true valley,” Turov said. “It’s basically a deep lake with a sizable scrim of land around it. The sensors say it’s circular, four kilometers deep and about six wide. I guess it will have to do.”
I stared at the screen as her finger stabbed down. The outline of the valley turned green, indicating the selection had been accepted.
Adjunct Leeson walked over to me as the meeting broke up and gave me a grim smile. “Welcome to your new hole in the ground, McGill.”
“Looks like home sweet home to me,” I said.
“Now, here’s the deal. When we deploy I want you right next to me. You understand that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any questions?”
“Just one, sir. Why did you bring me up here to this briefing?”
“I wanted you to know the score.”
“But why? You could have just briefed me later.”
Adjunct Leeson’s eyes slid around the room. After he was satisfied no one was listening in, he leaned closer to me.
“If these crazy squid-aliens of yours are down there waiting for us, I’m going to have you and your big gun front and center.”
“That sounds like a real privilege, Adjunct.”
Leeson snorted. “I’m not out to screw you over. You remember Cancri-9? When the lizards had us trapped at the spaceport?”
“I sure do. It wasn’t our legion’s finest hour.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he said. “But it was your finest hour. You outlasted everyone. I like a man who can survive the worst a planet can throw at him. That’s the kind of magic I want near me. I figured if you were here at the briefing it might give you an edge.”
I nodded, finally catching on. “You want to live no matter what, is that it? That kind of attitude is almost unpatriotic in Legion Varus. Why not trust one of the other cohorts to revive us if things go wrong?”
“I don’t trust my own mother when the blood begins to spray,” he said. “But I trust a good weaponeer.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll try to be worthy of your confidence.”
Adjunct Leeson shook his head and chuckled. “Don’t thank me until you hear the punch line. Our squad drew the short straw. We’re stepping off this lifter first.”
My face fell. “How exactly did that happen, sir?”
“Centurion Graves volunteered us.”
My eyes swung to Graves. Leeson’s did the same. We both stared at the Centurion grimly, but he didn’t seem to care. He was having a private talk with Turov.
“You think he’s over there volunteering us for some more special duties?” I asked. “Like repainting the lifter’s hull after we land?”
Adjunct Leeson laughed. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”
-12-
About a dozen hours later, the lifter bounced through the upper atmosphere of the target world jolting me awake. All around me, troopers looked worried and a little green.
In the center of the aisle between two rows of seated troops was a vacuum-powered drain. When someone popped open their faceplate and leaned forward to puke, the drain turned on, whirring. It always seemed to know when there was work to be done. The rest of us tried not to watch. Vomit could become contagious during a rough reentry.
The pilot began to relay vid feeds from outside the ship to our helmets. I selected the input and displayed it inside my faceplate. The vid was distracting, for which I was grateful, but it wasn’t comforting.
The arid planet we were hurtling toward was big and windy, but we couldn’t feel that yet. We were just below the exosphere now and falling down into the thermosphere. Outside the ship, there was nothing to speak of in the way of breathable air at this point, and only enough gravity to pull the puke gently toward the drain under our metal boots.
But there was enough gas outside the lifter to bump us around. We hung on grimly, not talking much. What was there to say? We’d land then we’d get out and fight if we had to. I don’t think anyone knew what we were getting ourselves into, not even the Primus herself.
Watching the vids, I saw snakes of dust crawling over endless dunes. I couldn’t see any of the tropical valleys we were supposed to be targeting. What I did see was a constant parade of sandstorms rolling over the desolate landscape.
We began powering down and heating up with friction as we punched through layer after layer of the atmosphere. It never seemed to smooth out the way it did at the end back on Earth. I checked the surface temperature and sighed. It was about fifty degrees Celsius down there.
Carlos beeped my helmet. I answered his call reluctantly.
“What?” I demanded.
“Have you been checking out the travel brochure? Looks pretty sweet, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe—if you’re some kind of desert scorpion.”
Carlos laughed. “Just like home,” he said. “The Sahara Desert, that is. Highs in the upper fifties with bags of sunshine—wish you were here!”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn’t complain. Carlos often dealt with stressful situations by making jokes—even if they didn’t make much sense.
Five long minutes later, the lifter heaved and then came to a final, thumping stop. It felt like someone had hit the bottom of my boots and the seat of my armor with a hammer all at the same time.
“At least they didn’t make us jump out,” Adjunct Leeson complained next to me.
We slapped off their buckles and got to our feet—at least, everyone in my squad did. The rest sat there watching us. Thirty troops took thirty seconds to arrange their gear and then a huge grinding sound began.
We all looked toward the exit ramp. A brilliant glare of light was expected—but we didn’t see that. Instead I saw a cool, gloomy light. It was almost purple; the shade of twilight before the last rays of the sun are extinguished and night takes over.
“What’s the temp out there?” I asked Carlos, who was still on a private line to my helmet.
“Thirty degrees C,” he said. “Can that be right? That’s like—reasonable.”
I didn’t have time to answer him. Leeson gave me a rude shove from behind. The servos in the auto-balancing systems of my suit whined in protest.
“Get moving, McGill. We’ll be right behind you.”
I pushed past the other troopers, who were all heavies in armor. My metal scratched theirs, leaving white lines on the burnished surfaces, but no one complained. They’d heard the adjunct’s order, and no one wanted to take my place.
I marched down the ramp with my tube set for a long-distance shot with a narrow energy-spread. I figured there probably weren’t going to be aliens waiting on the ground for us. It would probably take them a while to get to the landing site even if they’d been watching us come down.
When I came out of the bottom of the lifter and saw my surroundings, I was taken by surprise. The land was beautiful, not harsh and ugly as I’d expected. I’d been visualizing a desert, but instead what met my gaze were a thousand lush-looking plants. They weren’t quite like plants from home, but you could tell they were full of water and life.
Most of them looked like some kind of huge flower. Thick stalks led up to massive growths that came in a riot of colors. Under the stalks of each plant was a spray of meaty-looking blue-green leaves. These leaves, stalks and even the flowers themselves all looked like they had a waxy coating on them. Maybe it was just their natural texture—I couldn’t be sure. Whatever they were, I knew I wasn’t going to be the first guy to touch one or, God-forbid, eat one. The bio people would have to run a load of tests before anyone dared to do that.
Besides the towering flowers all
around the ship, there wasn’t much else to see other than the canyon walls that surrounded us. Far, far above was a vast circle of glaring yellow light. The circle wasn’t the star, however. It was only the hazy sky of the surface world, filled with dust. I was looking up from the bottom of a deep hole in the planet’s crust.
Behind me, I heard clanking footsteps. The rest of the squad was on the ramp coming down to join me. We took up defensive firing positions among the flowers, but there didn’t seem to be any need.
“No trees?” Carlos complained. “What kind of a jungle has no trees?”
“An alien one,” I answered.
“What’s that, McGill?” Leeson demanded. “Report, Specialist.”
“Sorry sir. Nothing here. No enemy contact. No sign of civilization. There’s nothing out here other than some really, really big orchids.”
“Good.”
Leeson finally appeared at my side along with Veteran Harris. Had they been hiding inside the ship at the top of the ramp?
“Nice of you two to join the party,” I said. “Pick a flower—we have plenty.”
“Keep your eyes on the horizon, McGill,” Harris said.
I turned back to the scene encircling the ship. I couldn’t see much. I noticed there was a fine layer of silt on the ground. It must filter down from the sky overhead all the time.
Carlos opened his faceplate. I think he was probably the first.
“Air checks out,” he said when he saw us staring at him. “It tastes a little dusty, but all my monitors say it’s breathable.”
Harris, Leeson and I kept our faceplates closed. We watched Carlos closely, and I knew we were all wondering when he might keel over. Sure, the atmospheric sensors were glowing green, but they didn’t always pick up airborne toxins.
Carlos investigated the environment while Leeson called down the next squad. He loudly claimed we’d secured the perimeter. I didn’t think we’d done any such thing, but I kept my mouth shut.
“These leaves are waxy and coated with mucus,” Carlos said, faintly disgusted.
Anne Grant came down to investigate. “That’s sap,” she said.