Just then the computer voice came through again, "Commencing landing pattern. Commencing landing pattern."
The Buster K's nose lifted as the engines flared up, and they started to climb over the cliffs and into the range of the radar, the air defense and the drones again.
"Oh crap! Computer, cancel landing pattern, go back to manual, NOW!" McCall was irritated.
"Commencing landing pattern." The voice repeated.
"The doohickey, on the double!" McCall yelled to Beaumont, who quickly grabbed under his seat and pulled out the doohickey.
"You got her back." Beaumont confirmed.
"Right, thanks." McCall grunted and steered the ship back down low above the beach. He put it in a very low turn over the surf and then steered around in a landing course aiming for the sandy beach. The Buster K touched down and whirled up a large portion of sand as the retro thrusters revved up. Then suddenly, it became quiet and only the sound of the waves could be heard along the beach of the colony.
"What was that?" Beaumont asked.
"I do not know. Shut the damn computer down. This was no regular malfunction! It just kept repeating that the landing pattern would commence."
"Hacked?"
"Something like that, yeah." McCall stared angrily at the instrument panel.
“I'm having a Dejavu!”
“Me too, but what now?" Beaumont pointed out of the Windshield. Lyman City appeared peaceful and silent in the morning sunlight. Too peaceful. Beaumont suddenly gestured towards the city. "Look over there! The Birds!"
He said in disbelief.
McCall followed the direction of his finger and saw what looked like several dozen seagulls lying on the beach. He grabbed his binoculars from under the seat to take a closer look. "They don't look dead, I mean some of them are moving. Maybe sleeping or dreaming or something. Wait, there's more!" He adjusted the zoom on the binoculars and saw a vehicle standing close by one of the first buildings at the edge of the city. And a human body was laying next to it.
"Shit, that must be a chemical or gas, military I suppose. Take a look." McCall said as he handed the binoculars to Beaumont.
"There's a vintage Land Rover with the door open and someone in a Kilt is lying next to it," Beaumont said, "that must be St. John himself. Never saw anyone else wearing a Kilt on this planet."
"And I never saw an antique car out here. Where the hell did he get that from? Must have cost a fortune to bring it up from earth." McCall wondered.
"Well, it could've been made by a 3D-Printer. I know they have several industrial size ones." Beaumont shrugged and gave the binoculars back to McCall.
"I hope St. John is still breathing like the birds. Dammit. Come on, let's get the gear ready!"
"Mask and Guns?" Beaumont asked.
"Yeah, like in the old days. Fuck, I'm gett'n to old for this shit!" McCall sighed and got up from his seat.
They went over to the main airlock where all the gear was stored in lockers. They chose full-size, face-covering oxygen masks, bullet-proof vests and their assault rifles. Although this was military equipment, it was also common among cargo crews operating in deep space. This century still had pirates and looters, mostly in the uncontrolled areas of the galaxy.
"Whoa!" McCall gave Beaumont a bit of a smirk as he asked, "Do you still really want to use this sucker?" He was pointing at Beaumont´s triple barrel, digitally controlled Trimaster assault rifle.
"Why not? I had it looked at, got all the software updates taken care of. It's almost like new."
"Ok, whatever. I'm sticking with these." McCall lifted his M667 carbine. An antique 20th century assault rifle. And he patted his shoulder holster which contained his Mossberg 500. "Oldies, but goodies. Good old reliable craftsmanship. No batteries required." He grinned.
Beaumont rolled his eyes and answered: "Mon dieux! You'd probably rather fly an outdated Venture Star than our lady too, right?"
"Nope, the Venture Star was already way too much of a digital monster and didn't have a hyper drive."
Beaumont shot back right from the hip: "Right! But it was already outdated when they rolled it out. Exactly your style."
"Yes, STYLE is the word." McCall grinned while he exchanged the Mossberg for the 667 in his shoulder holster. "Ok, let's get going and solve this mystery, buddy. We might be running out of time." McCall added, shifting their attention back to the task at hand.
Beaumont nodded, and turned to the controls of the main Airlock.
"Inner lock closed. I'll give you a heads up before the outer lock opens."
"I'm good to go." McCall confirmed.
Beaumont opened the inner lock, they stepped into the cramped chamber and he closed the inner bulkhead behind them again. They both locked eyes. Beaumont lowered the cargo ramp first and then pulled the switch for the main airlock to the outside.
A mild breeze brushed by them as they slowly walked down the steep ramp. Beaumont grabbed the "doohickey" from his pocket and closed the airlock behind them. They stepped into the sand and he used the same gadget to lift the ramp up again.
"You think it's safe to leave the ship like this? I mean after what's been going on." McCall looked a bit worried behind his mask.
"Trust me. The main flight system is separated from all other systems. The system thinks it's being useful repeating the self-analysis mode." Beaumont grinned sarcastically.
"Great, maybe it'll commit suicide in there." McCall answered in a dry tone.
They looked toward the distant city and went off to investigate. What they didn't know was that they were being watched.
They stood on the beach of Sirius 4 for a short while. The planet was like Earth, very much like Earth. But it was like the Earth that existed 20000 years ago. That's why a group of settlers from the British isles had chosen it for colonization. It had earth-like versions of seabirds, dolphins and fish. Plants such as bushes and flowers existed as well as other flora and fauna akin to home. The appearance of it all was very close to what one was used to on Earth, but with small differences in detail that one only noticed at a closer look. One major difference was that there were no primates on Sirius 4, with the exception of the humans from planet Earth, who were aliens here.
The sand was wet and sticky as they walked toward one of the birds laying on the beach. This one was moving its legs and wings, and it did sort of seem as if it were sleeping and dreaming.
McCall knelt down and carefully picked it up. He lifted one of the bird's eyelids, felt for a pulse, and then he set it carefully back down in the sand.
"This little fella is alive, just looks as if it were drugged or asleep or something. Poor guy." He said.
They stood back up and were planning on going on when they heard a faint noise in the distance. It appeared to be coming closer. They were trying to localize it. Suddenly, with the fierce buzzing sound of an angry hornet, a big drone raced across one of the dunes toward them. They dropped to the ground and raised their rifles in readiness.
McCall fired a shot from his Mossberg, and Beaumont pulled the trigger of his Trimaster. Both missed. The flying robot seemed to expect the shots and flew evasive maneuvers, avoiding the bullets and buck shots. It flew a wide circle behind the dune and came back for another dive over them. Both men buried their faces into the sand as the drone almost razed off their hair.
"This isn't an attack drone, just a surveillance robot gone bezerk!" McCall yelled.
"Crazy, but what now? Can't get a clear shot on it." Beaumont raised his head just to press it down again avoiding yet another speedy flight of the drone. "MERDE!" he cried. The drone had just slashed an even cut along the back of his jacket with one of its propellers.
"Enough!" McCall grunted and stood up. He slid the security switch of his Mossberg into safe and grabbed it by the barrel. He stood like a batter at a ball game as the drone came down for another attempt.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Beaumont yelled.
"I used to play baseball in high school.
Didn't I ever tell you about that?" McCall was breathing heavily as he took a firm and steady stance. The rogue drone came straight toward him at an increasing speed. Again it sounded like a angry hornet. Not a good time to miss. This wasn't a baseball, it was a 3 foot wide drone racing toward them with six 10 inch rotors. It could easily decapitate a person.
It was closing in and its beacons looked like Lucifer's eyes to McCall. He stood there silently waiting for the right moment. God, this thing was fast. But he thought it wouldn't be faster than any well pitched baseball. McCall narrowed his eyes, focusing and suddenly drew back and struck his makeshift bat at the flying drone.
The rotors left deep marks in the stock of the Mossberg, but he had hit it hard, right in the middle. The sound of the angry Hornet turned into a high pitched whine as most of the rotors broke off and one remaining rotor propelled the drone straight up in the air until it finally lost control and plunged down onto the surf. McCall's strike must have broken the outer hull, because fuel cells sparked up in a quick explosion when it hit the seawater.
"Now that was a real boola-boola." McCall was finally able to take a breath, "Son of a bitch!"
Beaumont looked pale when he said: "Well, you didn't shoot it. Do you think there are more of those things?"
"Possible, so stay put! I'll-" But McCall saw Beaumont getting up abruptly. He was running toward the Land Rover and McCall followed in his path. They made it without another attack. They reached the person laying next to the Landy on his back. He looked alive, but like the birds was moving as if asleep and dreaming. As they had suspected, it was St. John, the administrator of the colony as well as Mayor of Lyman City.
"Well, he's alive. Hopefully without brain damage." McCall said, while Beaumont, fearing another drone, secured the area around them.
While he checked the surroundings Beaumont said, "You know what, this looks like the effects of DY-100 to me. The very same stuff we used during the war."
"Yeah, could be. I hope they have enough DY-500 in their stock. That antidote can even wake you up out of hyper-sleep. Been around since 1996."
McCall patted St. John carefully on his cheek. St. John moved his head away, trying to avoid McCall's hand.
"Now, that's a good sign. He's waking up already. "St. John, AYE! WHISKEY IS OUT OF STOCK! AYE MATE!"
St. John suddenly opened his eyes and looked around frantically. "Wha.. what's going on? Linus McCall! You here?"
McCall and Beaumont looked at each other and then back to St. John. Relieved, they smiled, giving him time to come around.
It took St. John a few moments to steady himself and a few minutes later he was able to stand up.
"Crivvens! What's happenin'? I was out on my evening patrol when I started feelin' dizzy. What's gonnae oan, laddies?" He looked at the two pilots, still feeling disorientated.
"We were just going to ask you the same question, " McCall said.
"All the folk!" St. John said and tried to get up, but the dizziness made him sit down again.
"Careful Highlander! Careful! It looks like your city was attacked somehow. And we've been attacked twice since we arrived. We really need to hear what's been going on here from the beginning." McCall said.
"Attacked? But who...?" St. John looked confused.
"If we've got this right, you were attacked by your own air defense system and a flying eye on the beach."
"That is impossible!" St. John said, "Our security system must have detected your transponder signal. You've been here several times before!"
McCall grinned sarcastically and said, "Aye, true. But your computer almost got us by the arse, mate!"
"I don't believe this. What about all the folk?" St. John gestured toward his Land Rover.
"Whoa! St. John, are you capable of driving?" Beaumont looked concerned.
"Aye! I can! Hae ye ne'er bin tae scottlain, Frenchman?" Said St. John and got behind the wheel. He turned the key in the ignition and the Landy's engine roared to life.
"Combustion engine. Seriously." McCall shook his head.
St. John grinned back. "What do you expect? This machine was built from the original technical plans"
As they were getting seated in the Landy, St. John said, "Hauld oan, Laddies, there are no seat belts."
St. John steered the Land Rover toward Lyman City center at a high speed. McCall and Beaumont held a tight grip on the handles as St. John maneuvered the old 4x4 from the Beach up onto the Promenade, and then followed the old and rough roads to the colony hospital. The tires screeched as he brought the vehicle to a quick stop.
"DY-500, quick!" McCall yelled as they got out.
"For sure, we've got plenty in stock!" St. John rushed toward the emergency entrance.
Inside the hospital, people could be seen lying on the floors, on chairs, everywhere, suddenly interrupted in the middle of whatever they were doing. St. John had all of the general keys, so they had no trouble getting into the pharmacy. They searched through the files and found the right storage locker. DY-500 was available as spray, or as a gas in large cylinders. They took both.
Beaumont opened the first gas cylinder in the main corridor of the hospital and let the gas seep out. This potent antidote would be the gift of life. They approached each person individually, gave oxygen if necessary. It wasn't a nice task, seeing as most people threw up and gagged. But they came back to life fast.
After most of the hospital staff had regained consciousness and had been informed about the situation, McCall, Beaumont and St. john took as much DY-500 as they could outside to the city to take care of the rest of the colony. Now that the staff of the hospital was back to normal, ambulances and other vehicles began driving out in an effort to assist in saving the City. They noticed at least two people on their motorbikes on a rescue mission for the people of the Sirius colony. St. John manned the emergency system until the original operators were fit enough to get back to their duties. Two hectic hours passed until they had a good assessment of the situation from the reports pouring in. It was to be expected that a certain amount of people would be in critical condition, according to the reports. DY-100 was generally a safe narcotic gas, but it wasn't safe enough for three elderly people and a newborn baby, who were rushed to the emergency room of the hospital.
Two hours later, it was clear that the gas had caused no fatalities. They had been able to reach all of the citizens. Some had been rushed to the intensive care unit. The entire colony looked like a nervous ant hive for a while.
The situation was calming down and after a while St. John gestured to McCall and Beaumont to follow him. He lead them to the Harbor Bar of the city. The owner stood behind the bar, which almost looked like nothing at all had happened. They ordered scotch in honor of St. John, who was buying anyway.
"To all the folk who can't join us today!" St. John toasted and raised his glass.
"To all the folk who can't join us today!" McCall and Beaumont repeated and drank.
All three slammed their glasses down on the table with a bang and ordered another round.
"I like this place," McCall said suddenly and looked around.
St. John frowned a bit and asked: "Why's that, mukker?"
"No robots, no machines, well except the gambling machine and the jukebox over there. A real person behind the bar. Love it!"
"Ah, is it that bad now on Earth?" St. John was curious.
McCall and Beaumont both nodded.
"You bet. Any job they believe a robot could do better or cheaper, they've replaced with robots. Thou shalt not do primitive work anymore." McCall shook his head in disgust, and added, "you should see our new flight system, St. John. In a few years we're gonna be obsolete too. And don't get me started on hookers."
"Ah, don't look at it so negatively!", St. John said as the door of the pub opened. Seven men and women in flight suits and uniforms walked in. St. John stood up and walked toward them. McCall and Beaumont were surprised and got up to go over to them as well. It was the entire crew
of the La Fleur that had just walked in. They were all there, except one.
St. John shook their hands and gave them a warm welcome, expressing his sorrow about the unpleasantness that had taken place. Then he guided them toward McCall and Beaumont.
"May I introduce Captain Lerille and the crew of the La Fleur. This is the crew of the Buster K., Captain McCall and Captain Beaumont."
They exchanged greetings and moved over to a bigger table, sat down and ordered drinks.
McCall opened the conversation with some good news for them. "We found your ship, unharmed. We put it in a stable orbit around the colony."
The crew of the La Fleur was astonished but happy to hear this.
Captain Lerille said, "That is such good news. We thought we had lost our ship!“ Lerille patted both McCall and Beaumont on their backs, and they raised their glasses together in a toast.
Lerille said, „But is the ship really ok?"
McCall nodded. "Yes, we found it in perfect shape. But it was just drifting and empty, all of you were missing."
Lerille shook his head with a puzzled look. He looked at his crew and they mirrored his look back at him. They had heard what McCall had just said, but it was hard to believe.
Lerille said, "There was a reactor overload warning. So we all got into the rescue pods and abandoned ship. After we landed here, we were taken to the hospital for a medical check-up just to be sure. The radiation from the reactor, you know. Then something must have happened. We were all apparently knocked out with that gas. After we regained consciousness, that's all we can remember. That's all we know."
He shrugged and lifted his hands signaling he had no idea what had been going on.
McCall said, "We found everyone unconscious, including all of the wildlife in a radius of about 2 miles. It looked like it was DY-100, and our speculation turned out to be right. And it almost also got us while we were landing too. That's the story so far."
Lerille looked astonished and took a big gulp of his drink, but before he could speak again, the door of the pub banged open. A pink whirlwind came crashing into the bar and yelled: "Maaaackiieeee!!!"
Jinks on Sirius 4 Page 4