T'aafhal Legacy 1: Ghosts of Orion (33 page)

“Yes, Sir. I'm thinking I should be at the controls, since I have more left seat time in that type of shuttle than anyone else on board. Mr. Lewis is perfectly competent to handle the Peggy Sue under these conditions. After all the only possible hostile craft in the system is that bloated colony transport.”

It was Beth's turn to nod in agreement, while Mizuki looked at Bobby without expression. Whatever her opinion of her significant other's volunteering for the shuttle mission, it remained unspoken. 

“Chief, we will go to General Quarters when we enter orbit. I don't anticipate any actual combat but I want the ship rigged for action.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain. The crew will be at their stations, bright eyed and bushy tailed.” 

“Dr. Ogawa, I would like you, and whichever members of your science team you deem useful, to be in the CIC. You will monitor all activity on the planet's surface. I want to know if that black crud erupts anywhere down there.” 

“Hai, Captain.” 

“Beth, Bobby, I want you ready to launch when we enter orbit. I'm still hoping I can get Captain Chakrabarti on board for this evacuation. I'd rather we use his shuttles than ours.” 

“Aye, Aye, Captain,” the two senior officers answered in unison. 

“Any questions?” 

Billy Ray glanced about the room at his people. Even if they were supposed to be merchants, the looks of grim professionalism on their faces befit a crew of combat hardened veterans, which is exactly what they were. 

“Very well. Dismissed.” 

Shuttle B, Zion

The red sun was well past its zenith as Shuttle B made a banking turn to circle the settlement. The grass was green and lush, and some industrious souls were taking cattle and sheep out to pasture. An idyllic scene that would have made a great recruiting poster for the Colonization Board.

“Looks pretty enticing down there, eh Frank,” said Leon. 

“Yeah, if you like tilling dirt and herding animals,” the pilot replied. “Next trip let's bring a fusion reactor, and the stuff to build a hotel casino. Then the place might be tolerable.” 

“Only if the passenger manifest includes a bunch of single women,” Leon replied, grinning. The radio crackled. 

“Aircraft above Zion, come in.” 

“They haven't quite gotten the hang of radio procedure, have they?” Frank reached for the radio frequency setting. “Zion, this is Shuttle Bravo. We are about to land west of the settlement in the usual place.” 

“Uh, good Shuttle Bravo. Brother Abraham and a work party will meet you on arrival.” 

“Roger, Zion. Shuttle Bravo, out.” 

Turning to his crew of one, Frank said, “I'm supposed to stay at the controls while we are on the surface so you are going to have to keep an eye on the offloading by yourself.”

“Yeah, I figured that was coming. It'll take these jokers the rest of the day to unload all this stuff by hand. I'll let you know if I spot any rampaging black thread.”

“Hey, this is the last trip, focus on that. We'll be on the ground in thirty minutes.”

The landing was uneventful, as always. Brother Abraham came out himself to supervise the unloading—perhaps he wanted to make sure none of the faithful had a moment of weakness and tried to return to the ship. Leon soon had the group of young men organized and hauling the contents of the cargo hold to the settlement a half kilometer away. 

Bridge, ESS Fortune

Captain Chakrabarti was viewing the video of the fall of Paradise's native civilization for the third time. If it was a fake it was a very well done fake, with some highly imaginative touches. The natives appeared to be some form of flattened, snail like creatures, sans shells, that slid across the mosaic floors and brick lined streets of their cities. If someone on board the Peggy Sue had created this on a computer they were in the wrong business—they should be turning out SciFi horror films back on Farside.

There was still no word from the missing shuttle crew. No word at all from New Jerusalem for that matter. Shuttle B had arrived at Zion without incident and the crew reported nothing out of the ordinary. Another hour or so and the offloading would be complete and they would be on their way back to the ship. The ship's computer interrupted Sid's thoughts. 

“Captain, Shuttle C has docked in its berth on the hull and is secured.” 

“Fine, leave the access hatches closed for now. I will send some of the crew to inspect the interior in a bit.” 

“As you wish, Captain.” 

At least the computer is properly respectful.
Sid's mood was rapidly deteriorating faced with growing uncertainty regarding the settlers' safety. He placed a call to the crew of Shuttle A, who were on board doing something.

“Mr. Chu, Mr. Bell, this is the Captain.”

“Yes, Captain, this is Chu.”

“I want you two to go to the number three shuttle bay and check out the interior of Shuttle C. See if there is any damage, or signs of why the crew abandoned the boat.”

“Sure, we'll get right on that.” The call went dead.

When I get back, the efficiency reports I will write on all of these insubordinate louts will get them dismissed from the service!
The thought of revenge soothed Sid's unsettled mind, providing something pleasant to look forward to.
Oh why didn't I take that job hauling researchers back and forth to Neptune?
 

Zion, Paradise

The settlements were rudimentary places to live. None had running water or a municipal sewage system. Zion was no exception. For water, the residents of Zion dug a well in the middle of their town. The water-saturated depth of the local aquifer ranged from a few meters to more than three hundred. Fortunately for the settlers the water table was on the shallow end of that range under Zion.

The other side of the utility equation was fulfilled by a set of municipal privies, located at the edge of town. They were on the down slope side of the settlement, in hopes that the ground water flow followed the modest elevation gradient. There were two facilities for the men and two for the women, each a five-holer that would have done any 18
^th
century frontier settlement proud. 

Perched upon a wooden throne, Brother Isaiah was making his daily deposit to the growing collection of human waste at the bottom of the latrine. Isaiah was not the name he was born with; Brother Abraham insisted they all take “Christian” names from the Bible. Isaiah considered the name change to be a small price to pay for having survived the destruction of Earthly civilization and the opportunity to colonize a new world. 

Alone in the tranquil silence, Isaiah thought about Rebecca, the girl he hoped to marry one day. She was a little on the plump side, and thus not favored by Brother Abraham, who liked his women slender like young boys. Brother Isaiah was not precisely svelte himself, his buttocks making a fleshy seal atop the wooden seat. Absently, he noticed that the fragrance of the privy was not too bad this evening.

That was because the accumulated night soil from two months of human habitation had been consumed, turned into more fundamental chemical components, by that which lurked in the depths of Paradise’s sandy soil. The cache of organic material absorbed, black threads sought more fodder to feed their voracious appetite. Up the pressed particle board sides of the dung pit they swarmed. 

Reaching the top, the contagion was faced with a fleshy plug, capping the one open toilet. The black swarm took the path of least resistance and entered the single proffered orifice. Brother Isaiah never new what hit him.

Isaiah reflexively tried to stand but he was dead before he  reached his feet. Black sinews emerged from his mouth and nose as death ate him from the inside out. A black trunk slammed his body through the privy door, wearing his eviscerated corpse like a meat puppet. As tatters of his skin dropped off and fell into the surging black torrent, the other latrines erupted with their own fountains of death.

As the threads swept into the settlement proper, the screams began.

* * * * *

At the bottom of the Shuttle's cargo ramp Leon was conversing with Brother Abraham as two young men struggled with the last container of supplies. Leon was anxious to depart, having had enough of both Paradise and Brother Abraham, but the cult leader had a proposition.

“So, brother, I was wondering if you might be returning to Zion on a future voyage?” Brother Abraham had a habit of calling everyone brother or sister.

“Maybe, I can't say for sure,” Leon answered brusquely.

“As you may know, when we made arrangements for this enterprise we agreed to forgo some supplies that the other colonists considered forbidden in the eyes of their gods.”

“Yeah, and your point is?”

“Both the Jews and Muslims demanded that we bring no food animals their heathen religions declared 'unclean'. Only mammals that chew the cud and part the hoof.” 

“What?” Leon was now thoroughly confused. 

“One of the things we had to leave behind was swine. No pigs means no pork, no ham, and no bacon! I miss them already, and our time in our new home has barely begun.” The look on Brother Abraham's face was one of terrible sadness. 

“Listen, we don't have any pigs stashed on board the ship or I'd bring you some. What do you expect us to do?” 

“I was thinking that, if you were to return to this world on a future voyage, and could convince the powers that be to send along a small herd of swine, I would be in your debt.” 

This piqued Leon's interest. “And just how would you repay that debt?”

“I think we could come to some arrangement, something to ease the hardships of a man far from home with no female companionship?” Brother Abraham's eyebrows rose in an expression of understanding between men of the world.

Damn!
Though Leon.
If I knew I could exchange pigs for pussy I would have smuggled some porkers on this voyage.
“Now that is an interesting proposition, Brother Abraham. And I will be sure...”

Shouting and screams from the settlement interrupted Leon's negotiation with the preacher.

“Look!” cried one of the young men, dropping his end of the shipping container. “What in heaven's name is that?”

A tidal wave of black thread poured out of the town and spread across the grassy field. A number of people ran from the settlement toward the shuttle—they were over taken and pulled under.

“Holy shit!” Leon exclaimed. “Get on the god damned shuttle if you want to live, preacher!”

Leon jumped onto the ramp and ran into the cargo hold. After standing for a second, mouth agape, Brother Abraham scrambled on board with his young followers close behind.

“Frank! Get this bird in the air,” Leon yelled into the intercom while hitting the emergency ramp closure button. “That black thread shit is for real and its coming right at us!”

The young settlers were still on the ramp as it raised into its closed position, dumping them onto the cargo bay floor. A shudder went through the shuttle as Frank engaged the bottom repulsors. 

* * * * *

On the shuttle's flight deck Frank had been idly staring off into space, dreaming of what he would do when the Fortune made port at Farside. Leon's cry caused him to look out the cockpit's side window, just in time to see another running settler consumed by rampaging black sinews.

“Shit!”

Though Frank had many shortcomings his saving grace was that he was a good shuttle pilot. His hands flew across the controls as he engaged the bottom repulsors and threw the massive shuttle into the air. Belatedly engaging the deck gravity, he raised the nose and applied the thrusters. The questing black threads fell short of the departing shuttle by a matter of a few meters.

“Leon, are you OK back there?”

“Yeah, man. Tell me we are off this fucking planet.”

“The gear is up and we are in the air at about 800 meters and climbing. Did anyone else get on with you?”

“Yeah, the head preacher and a couple of acolytes. They were a bit shook up by the liftoff.”

“Tell 'em to complain to the management. I'm going to circle the area and see what is happening on the ground. Check for any sign of survivors.” 

“Go right ahead, but I don't think you are going to find dick. I'm going to get our passengers strapped in and come forward.” 

“Right. I gotta call the ship.” 

Bridge, ESS Fortune

“ESS Fortune, this is Shuttle Bravo. Come in.”

“Go, Shuttle Bravo,” Sid replied.

“Fortune, we have a problem.” Regardless of what they fly, pilots are pilots—the terse Chuck Yeager, test-pilot speech pattern was seemingly ingrained during flight training.

“What kind of problem, Shuttle Bravo?”

“You know that black shit you warned us to look out for? Well it just ate Zion.”

“Ate Zion? What do you mean, 'ate Zion'?”