Quarantined Planet (3 page)

The third planet is a dark, foreboding world, its surface obscured by electrically charged black storm clouds. A thick shroud of glimmering debris circles it in low orbit. Farther out is a moon very similar to Earth’s that has obviously been the victim of some unfortunate cosmic collision, leaving it disfigured and like a cookie with one bite taken out. Rocky chunks of various sizes tag along behind it.

Under the turbulent and electricity-filled sky, Earl and his crew sneak cautiously through gnarled trees and vegetation. A thick mist covers the ground. His small band, who are not wearing helmets, carry alien rifles. They crouch near the opening of an Alien Grey bunker built into a hillside. Two armed Greys stand outside.

“They know we’ve been here,” Frey whispers.

“To hell with ‘em.” Earl fires off several laser blasts at the aliens, none of which hit a target.

The Greys scramble for cover and return fire with rapid precision. Frey joins the fight as the rest of
Lilith
’s crew dive for nearby rocks or trees.

Earl tears off into the forest. “Keep them busy, Frey.”

“Wray! Get up here!” Frey shouts to his Japanese crewmate, who appears and begins blasting away.

Dodging a couple of lasers from his own men, Earl narrows his eyes with vicious determination. The aliens have separated, and Earl sneaks up on one. From behind, he wraps his arms around the Grey’s neck, produces a laser torch, and jams it into the creature’s head, turning it into smoldering mush. Covering his nose from the smell, Earl drags his victim into the forest.

Frey drops the second Grey with a couple of well-placed shots as another exits the bunker. Earl is there in an instant and snaps the third alien’s neck before severing its head with his torch. Frey is soon at his captain’s side.

“Think there’re more in there?” Frey asks.

“We can hope,” Earl says without emotion.

The bunker door opens automatically as
Lilith
’s crew nears. With little hesitation, Earl and Frey charge in.

Sephora
bobs, her backside to the planet, just meters from the massive rock-busting machine in need of a new battery. The powerful metal arms are extended from her bow, and one holds on to a glowing cylinder.

On the flight deck, Chloe strains against her seat straps to see clearly out
Sephora
’s forward port. Gordon operates the ship’s arms, and Nix, not having anything to do, is standing behind him just being Nix.

“Come on, Gordon. Ya don’t have to buy it dinner first.”

“Nix, sit down,” Chloe says before asking her captain, “What can I do?”

“Just hold her steady, yeah?” is his annoyed answer.

Gordon eases
Sephora
’s hand and its glowing payload toward a narrow opening in the rock-busting orb as asteroids whiz by above. Having entered at a slight angle, however, the cylinder becomes stuck about halfway in. “I’ve jammed the damn thing in there.”

“British for foreplay,” Nix smirks.

“Nix, sit down,” Chloe pleads. She watches Gordon with nervous concentration, biting her lip until it bleeds. After some gentle wiggling, he’s able to dislodge the cylinder and lines up
Sephora
’s arm for another attempt. Just outside, a rock zings by.

“That was close,” Chloe says.

“Yeah, we’re thin enough already,” Nix adds. “Can we get outta here?”

“Put a cork in it. Both of you.” Neither Gordon nor the rest have done anything like this before, and the job requires his full attention. After much finessing, the canister jams again and then cracks, exposing its blinding anti-matter interior. Gordon remains cool while his co-pilot slumps in her seat.

“Time to clear off, Chloe. Nix, ya donut, sit down.” The young man finally does as told.
“Chloe. Wakey, wakey.”

“Now we’re down two busters,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Chloe!”

The young woman snaps to and begins backing her ship off. The sphere quickly shrinks out
Sephora
’s forward port as the distance from it grows.

Sephora
’s fingers collapse into a tight V-shape and retract back inside.

Not long after, the cracked cylinder explodes, rupturing the rock buster and catapulting sparking bits of it in all directions. A shock wave hurtles toward tiny
Sephora
.

Gordon and his crew are momentarily open-mouthed by the cascade of debris careening their way. “Love, we need you now like there’s no tomorrow.”

Chloe puts her ship in motion, making a three-hundred-sixty-degree spin just ahead of the oncoming firestorm and nose-diving straight for Gaea. A shockwave of debris wallops the ship from behind, sending a helmet bouncing across the floor. Sparkling shards of the shattered buster rush by
Sephora
’s forward ports.

Gordon’s ship is overworked and not in the best condition due to a few hard landings by Chloe. Now, it’s under siege again.
“Bloody hell.”

With a flash from her engines,
Sephora
rockets toward Gaea, zooming past the planet’s space station seconds before it’s pelted by shards of the rock buster.

Nix stands and watches the river of destruction through a small porthole. “Doubt they’re thinking ‘bout our safe return now.”

“Nix. Strap in, ya pillock.” Gordon’s wrinkles deepen.

“Maybe we should just stay up here.”

“We’ll go back—come up with another plan,” Gordon says before turning his attention to Chloe, “and
you
are going to set her down beautifully right next to Saucer City. Leave me gob smacked.”

“What number is this?” Chloe asks tentatively.

“Six.”

With an over-the-top enthusiasm, Nix says, “Six-ccessful!”

Sephora
enters the world’s atmosphere with a boom.

An asteroid tears through the gap in Gaea’s protective grid. It skims across the planet’s atmosphere before being obliterated by rock busters on its way out the other side.

Bits of that asteroid fall through the sky, leaving long trails of smoke behind. One bounces off a rusty spaceship and comes to rest, still red hot, next to Center Saucer.

Inside the seat of government, a high-ceilinged room is filled by
Sephora
’s crew along with a few Carver detractors and three members of his ragged police force. Chloe hides behind her captain. Beside the governor is his enforcer, Robbie McKenna, a tough Irish man
about the same age
. The desk is a thin barrier between the officials and the excited gathering. Nearby is a holographic projection of Gaea’s protective grid. Two simulated rock busters flash on and off in red.

“Like a back pocket in a shirt,” McKenna says to Gordon with a smile.

Gordon ignores the insult, and Carver puts a hand up to stop the Irish man from saying more. “For years they’ve taken care of the grid…we’ve no experience with it. Our only option now is to find that supply ship.”

“Assuming it’s out there to be found,” Nix says.

“Nix,” Gordon shushes the young man.

“Something must have gone wrong,” Carver continues. “Unless Nix is right.”

There is a sudden buzz from the small crowd before Gordon pipes up, “If they have run into trouble, I don’t see how we could possibly help.”

“We need power cells and as much food as your ship can hold. I only hope Amon Earl isn’t the source of this trouble,” Carver replies to more mumbles from the gathering. Chloe perks up with the mention of Earl.

“Governor, with respect, ferrying supplies from the Eye is one thing—”

“Gordon, don’t go arseways on this one,” McKenna interrupts.

Carver puts his hand up again, “If a big enough rock makes it through the grid, it wouldn’t even take a direct hit to wipe us all out. Find that ship.”

“And if we don’t?” Nix says getting an evil eye from his captain.

“Get underway as quickly as possible.”

Gordon adjusts the collar of his suit. “Yes, of course, Governor.”

There’s an uncomfortable hesitation before he and his mates begin shuffling out. The room erupts with heated discussion.

“Gordon, a moment alone, please?” McKenna asks.

Governor Carver pushes his way past chattering bystanders and corners Chloe. “Another rough landing?”

“Yes, Governor.” She blushes.

“I’ve come to trust Gordon’s decisions, but you in the pilot seat…I just don’t think you’re right for it.”

“Yes, Governor,” she says, unable to look him in the eyes.

***

Minutes later, Nix and Chloe dash through the collection of beached spaceships that make up Saucer City.

“Hey, ya think,” Nix stops her, “maybe I should stay behind on this one?”

“I know I’m not going.”

“Really?”

“I quit. I’m done.”

“Well, good then. Me, too. It’s crazy.”

Gordon sprints up. “Nix, Chloe, get back to the ship.”

“On our way,” Nix replies enthusiastically as Chloe darts off in the opposite direction, kicking up a little swirl of dust.

Nix watches her walk away, then turns to Gordon looking like a deer in headlights. Although the young man is an annoying smart aleck, Gordon loves him like a son. He’s a hard worker who doesn’t complain too much.

“What? Close your mouth and get going,” Gordon orders.

“It’s nuts,” Nix says, struggling with whether to obey or follow Chloe’s example.

“Hey, we enjoy the bloody perks…now we have to earn ‘em.”

“No amount of extra food, cider…hero worship is—I mean—I don’t think we’re coming back from this one…”

“Nix, we’ll be fine. Now go.”

Gordon charges off, leaving his young crewman standing open-mouthed.

Gordon served as a chef in the British navy before he was abducted on May 7, 1975. He never had the chance to marry or have a family. While he thinks of Nix as a son, he’s never thought of Chloe as a daughter and certainly doesn’t think about her the way other men do. He respects the young woman as an equal even while, at times, doubting his choice to make her co-pilot.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he yells, still at some distance.

“I’ve no talent for it, Gordon,” she yells back as he catches up.

“Hey, talent is crap. What you lack is courage.”

“If I ever—ever hurt either of you, I could never live with it. Okay? So stop.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” He grabs her by the arm, and she stops walking.

"I know people don’t think I belong in that chair…that I slept with him, and that’s the only reason–”

“Chloe, I don’t care. You wouldn’t be in that chair if I didn’t think you belonged there.”

There’s yelling in the background as two men they don’t recognize and Marta, the town nuisance, argue over a basket of alien fruit. It provides a momentary distraction.

“Look. Just do everyone a favor. Train Nix.”

“Oh, come on, Nix operates like a tortoise giving birth.”

Angered, Chloe sprints toward the scuffling combatants and is soon between them.

“Marta, stop. It’s okay.” She puts a comforting arm around the dungy woman. “I’ve extra—you can have it.”

Marta hadn’t always been the town nutcase. She’d been slipping into senility for a couple of years, and Chloe had developed a soft spot for her.

“Marta, let go. I have plenty for you.”

The men gently take their basket, thank Chloe, and leave.

“Come on, Marta. Let’s get you home.”

Chloe leads the woman away, looking over her shoulder at Gordon, who shakes his head and huffs off.

Chloe meanders alone past metal structures made from bits and pieces of alien spaceships. Sandwiched between two is an outdoor church. Reverend Evan Desage is a tall, bald man wearing a long brown robe and cross around his neck. He stands in front of a life-size crucifix carved from small tree trunks and set on a small stage several
meters
above ground. She overhears his sermon while trotting a little faster.

“Earth isn’t gone,” he proclaims. “It just needs to heal—we’ll return there. Oh, Chloe. Chloe, join us.”

A believer joins in with an eager, “Yes, Chloe, please join us.”

Her attempts to sneak past the faithful never work, and always she thinks,
Take another route next time
. While she might not know all of Gaea’s thirty-five hundred residents, they all know who she is. As pilot, one takes on a sort of celebrity status. Having the whitest, straightest teeth of any woman on the planet doesn’t hurt either.

“Death isn’t the end, Chloe,” the pastor continues. “It’s the beginning. All of us will return home. Like angels. Who needs a ship? The eternal core within us—the soul, our essence, whatever you want to call it—it knows the way back. The way back to Earth…” More than the religion, Chloe is irked by the belief that Earth is still out there somewhere. She waves a pleasant
no
and scampers up the stairs of another grounded ship.

The former star cruiser looks like a library inside—not just for books, of which there are only a few, but for any and all objects collected from Earth. Several aisles of photos fill the room, each placed with reverence on shelves built out of tree branches. There’s an overly cheerful family portrait, some college-aged kids on a beach somewhere, and row houses in sepia tones.

The randomness of it all troubles her greatly. Why was she saved while the people in these happy photos suffered such a horrible end? Why was she so lucky? Some divine hand at work, as Reverend Desage would have her believe? No, she’d always agreed with Earl on that point—God was a creation of man.

Dennis 72 startles her with a tap on the shoulder.

“Oh, Dennis 72.” She swallows a breath.

“You know a librarian should have more books to librarian over.”

“You say that every time.”

“Do I?” Dennis tilts his head and smiles gently. He regards Chloe with the weight of sixty-seven years of wisdom in his eyes. If anyone knew his real last name, it had been long forgotten. Some years prior, he began a trend among hippie-types of changing one’s last name to the year he or she was abducted. So Chloe would be Chloe 97. Nobody does it anymore, but Dennis still demands his fellow abductees address him that way.

Chloe returns his smile as she steps in front of a 1970s era Pet Rock.

Dennis chuckles. “Funny the things people have on ‘em when taken.”

“He looks hungry,” she says, thinking about her growling stomach.

“You know, I’m glad you stopped by. I’ve something for you.”

Dennis disappears for a moment while Chloe picks up the rock and turns it over, contemplating how simple and miserable life is now. All the technologies and comforts of Earth are distant memories.
Why aren’t the
aliens
taking better care of us
, she wonders.

Dennis returns, cradling a stack of loosely bound papers under one arm. He thrusts them at her, and she takes a hop backwards.

“What? What is all this?”

“Something new to read. Everything I know about
Sephora
. How to fly her. How to fix her.”

“Where’d you get all this paper?”

“Never mind that. She was mine first, don’t forget.”

“Well, I know that.” Chloe shuffles to another aisle as Dennis follows. They stop at a portrait of someone’s mother and father. “I don’t remember what they look like. Mom and Dad.”

“You know it helps to think of them doing something.”

“Hum. Dad getting ready for a concert.” She smiles. “Bach and Beethoven. Mom would turn the pages, and I—I wouldn’t behave.” Somberness comes over her. “I so want to hear him play again.”

“Sure.”

Chloe takes a deep breath. “Water from the moon.”

“Water from the moon?”

“He’d always say that, Dad. It means something that can never be.” She zones out.

“You’re troubled - more than usual.”

“Guess I don’t think we’re doing well by those who didn’t make it, you know? We still cheat and lie and hurt each other—and the city’s divided up by races and churches. People who believe Earth is still out there somewhere…”

“Yup, I hear ya…”

“And, you know, Nix thinks they’ve given up on us. I don’t know. Sometimes I wonder if we were…” She picks up the portrait. “If we were even worth saving at all?”

“Wow—heavy stuff. Look, Chloe.” Dennis takes the photo and places it back on its shelf before resting a hand on her shoulder. “That they went to such efforts to preserve us must mean there’s hope, right?”

“I don’t know. I’m just so disappointed in the human race.”

“Doesn’t sound like you.”

“And I’m done with flying. I know that.”

“Oh, so that’s it.” He places the book in her hands, and she takes hold, fumbling to keep all the loosely bound, hand-written pages from slipping out. “Nonsense, you’re not the giving-up kind.” He winks, adding one final paper to the collection. “That wouldn’t be doing right by those who didn’t make it.”

“Whatever.”

“You know—that brings me to another thing.”

“What?”

“Well, I was thinking, it wouldn’t surprise me if your former captain is behind this somehow. That supply ship being late.”

The young woman perks up. “Amon? You’re the second person to say that today. How, why?”

“Because I don’t think they’ve given up on us—and they’ve never been late before.”