“You didn’t sound any too overjoyed yourself,” replied Treet. “What’s wrong?”
Crocker bent over the keypad again, tapped a key, and then slumped back in the chair, rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t know. There’s something screwy down there, that’s for sure. I wish I could figure it out.” He reached down and grabbed a handful of the mylex printout. “Look at this! I’ve run every scan and probe in my very fat manual, and I can’t figure it.”
Pizzle took off his glasses and rubbed the lenses on his shirt. “You might as well go whole-hog,” he said, “and tell us what you know.”
“It’s pretty complicated, but the long and short of it is that every time I get a steady fix on the colony, it shifts. Rather, I get two readings—first one place, then somewhere else again.”
Crocker’s words met with blank stares. “Here’s a map—” He tapped a key and a green-and-gold landmass appeared on one of Cyclops’ three screens. There were two red dots marked on the map—one in the center, near what appeared to be a blue, winding thread of a river, and another red dot in the lower right quadrant, nearer a tawny gold coast.
“Not much to go on,” remarked Treet.
“We’re still too high for a more detailed picture, and we don’t have a snooper pack, but it’ll give you the general idea. Of the three major continental land areas on the planet, this is the largest.” Stabbing a finger at the red spot in the center of the map, Crocker said, “I get a fairly strong reading here—in the neighborhood of point zero eight seven nine, which ought to indicate a settlement of considerable size. Trouble is, the methane signature isn’t what it should be—hardly anything at all. Over here, though, I get a reading of point zero six six two, with a good healthy methane signature.”
“What’s that mean exactly?” asked Treet.
“Two colonies,” said Yarden. Crocker looked at her and nodded slowly.
“Yeah, two colonies. See, it took me a long time to separate the two because I didn’t want to accept the readings. But that’s what it looks like—two colonies. One nearly as big as the other.”
“How is that possible?” asked Pizzle. “That would mean the first colony would have had to double in size in less than five years. That can’t be right.”
“I don’t see anything so odd about it at all,” said Treet. “It’s probably natives.”
“I thought of that too, but the transcripts of the landing party don’t say anything about an extensive native population. Besides, they wouldn’t have chosen this planet in the first place if there had been sentient humanoids down there—that would violate the IASA charter.”
“Maybe they’re not humanoid,” said Pizzle. “Maybe it’s a mob of long-horned blue kangaroos.”
“That would have to be a sizable mob,” replied Crocker flatly. “It’s a density of point ninety-nine per square meter. Herds and such tend to be less dense—I looked it up. Strong LFR, too— that’s life force reading—above eighty-five percent. It’s the same reading you get from a well-populated city.” He looked at Yarden, who was staring at the mainscreen where Empyrion turned slowly on its axis as they flew over its smooth terrain. “She said it: two colonies.”
Treet rubbed his neck with his hand. “So why don’t we just fly on down for a closer look? I don’t see the problem.”
“I wish it were that easy,” said Crocker. “No, we’re going to have to choose a landing site and take our chances.”
Treet’s features convulsed in a furious frown. “Take our chances! What is this? A game? Is that what it is? Roll the dice and see what comes up?”
Crocker glared at him. “I wouldn’t say that. The colony is down there.”
“Is it? You’re sure, are you?” Treet fumed, getting red in the face. “Then why don’t they answer our signals?”
“Obviously radio failure of some kind.” Pizzle darted a look from one to the other of the two men.
“Radio failure, he says! They could have as easily gotten eaten by that swarm of blue-horned kangaroos or whatever. Shall we go down and make it dessert?”
Crocker waved aside the comment. “You’re overreacting.”
“Tell me I’m overreacting when you’re simmering in your own sauce on a bed of hot coals.”
“I’m sure there’s a rational explanation,” offered Pizzle.
“I’d like to hear it!” Treet demanded.
“We have weapons, Treet,” intoned Crocker.
“We do? Well, why didn’t you say so before?”
“Last resort, dire emergency, and all that. But yes, we have weapons. Does that make you feel better?”
Treet hated to admit that it did. “Somewhat,” he replied grudgingly.
“Good. At last. Well,” Crocker stood slowly and stretched, “it’s agreed then, right? We go down on the next flyover and head for the larger blip.” He pointed to the glowing red dot in the center of the computer screen, then glanced at Yarden Talazac.
Treet saw the look and wondered at it.
Yarden nodded once sharply. “I agree, Captain.” She turned back to the screen.
Treet watched her for a moment; he felt a queer, uneasy sensation at the thought that somehow she was controlling this decision. Maybe she was. “How soon?”
Crocker consulted an instrument. “We’re coming up on the continental landmass in thirty minutes. We’ll start our descent in about fifteen. Actual landing won’t take but a few minutes.”
“And then?”
Captain Crocker stared at Treet levelly. “And then, Mr. Treet, we shall see what we shall see.”
What they saw, streaking through the atmosphere like a meteor, was a turquoise world, blue-green with vegetation, water, and sky. As the Zephyros sped closer, its wings folded back into knife-thin stubs, the landscape rolled out before them, puckered like a rumpled tablecloth, and laced through with blue-white water. Their descent brought them over a rugged range of jagged mountains, a flat expanse of plains, and the sinuous waves of a desert of stark white dunes which faded into an earthy brown, then changed once more to pastel blue-green as they rocketed across the shallow valley of a wide silver river.
Treet, strapped to his flight couch, watched the holoscreen. Although the land seemed fair and inviting, it was empty. He did not see any signs of life: no animals or birds of any description—no sign that the planet supported anything but plants—and possibly insects; there were sure to be insects.
As the land rolled by beneath him, Treet realized that he was seeing a world no one had ever seen before—except the colonists, and perhaps not even them. Here was a virginal world, rich and ripe, ready for the hand of a husband, a world offering a fresh start for those who would make their homes upon her.
Such was the mood the alien landscape cast over Treet. His heart stirred to the sight of endless miles of verdure and fresh, clean water under sparkling blue skies. No dark cities with hanging shrouds of foul air; no yawning ore pits scarring the earth; no highways or fences tying it down; no stinking, festering hellholes filled with humanity’s untouchables. No war. No disease. No famine. No want.
Here was a new beginning, a dream worth fighting for—perhaps even dying for.
Treet wondered at his response to this place. He had traveled far and wide, had seen grand vistas and beautiful landscapes many times before. Some had moved him, it was true, but none like this; none as much as Empyrion. Why? Landscape was just landscape, one hill or river pretty much like another in the final analysis. And yet … this place was different. He could feel the difference, though he could not name it.
Perhaps it was the absence of mankind here and all that represented: a free, unspoiled, perfect world. A paradise which had not cast out its keeper. An Eden where no serpent slithered. A realm of beauty, yes, but of beauty which was as much promise as physical presence.
The overhead speaker clicked as Crocker opened a circuit. “What a place!” he said in awed tones. Then came a long pause, after which he added, “We’re coming up on the co
lony now. ETA two minutes. I’m feathering in the drag engines.”
At that moment Treet heard a hissing sound like sand blowing over glass. The straps tugged at his chest as the Zephyros responded to the increased drag by slowing. They were skimming over the landscape now, wings extended to offer maximum lift. The picture on the screen tilted slightly and then righted itself, and Treet saw a ridge rising up across a valley. The ship flashed over the valley, climbing slightly.
“And here it is, lady and gentlemen,” said Crocker, all business again. He might have been a bus driver casually announcing the termination of his route.
“Where? I don’t see it.” The voice was Pizzle’s, but it spoke Treet’s thoughts as well.
“The lower center of your screen,” returned Crocker. “You’ll see it… now!”
Leaning forward as far as his restraining straps would allow, Treet saw a dull, metallic-looking mound growing in the center of the screen near the bottom. “We’ll make a reconnaissance pass,” said Crocker, and the picture tilted sharply. The grayish mound dipped from the screen, and Treet saw a sky of intense blue above a turquoise horizon.
“Sensors report no radio or electromagnetic activity below. I’ve got a strong LFR confirmed.” Crocker read off his instruments. “We are shedding altitude. Our second pass will be closer.”
Again the picture tilted, and the horizon slanted up. Treet glimpsed a bit of white sunlight through the tiny oval window above him. On the screen the landscape showed pastel green and barren rounded hills and flat places all around, with brown bluffs above a river in the far distance.
“I’ve got a visual,” said Crocker. “The landing area is clear. I’m going to put her down.”
Treet swallowed with a dry mouth; he heard a loud drumming sound and realized that his heart was thumping in his ears. His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch. This is it! he thought. We’re landing!
The rumble and jolt of the engines surprised him, but he did not take his eyes from the screen for an instant. The picture shook momentarily, steadied, and then the horizon began flattening out as they came down vertically.
“Forty-two hundred,” said Crocker. “Coming down nicely. Thirty-five. Very good.” Another rumble rocked the ship. “A little more thrust; that’s right. Good. Twenty-eight hundred. Slowing. Twenty-six…”
Where is it? wondered Treet, straining forward in his seat, eyes frozen on the screen. I don’t see the colony! Where is it?
The holoscreen showed a panoramic view of a blue-green field of tall grasslike plants where wind sent waves rolling like breakers across the plain. The wind was exhaust from Zephyros’ jets as the ship lowered itself from the sky. The picture spun and Treet got a glimpse of something rounded and glittering, rising up nearby—the mound he had seen moments before. The ship came around, and the object slid away.
With a soft, cushioned bounce like an elevator coming to a stop, the Zephyros touched down. “Happy landing, folks,” announced Crocker. “Welcome to Empyrion.”
THIRTEEN
“Is this really necessary?” asked Pizzle, grimacing with distaste. “I mean, really? We already know that the air is breathable—there’s more oxygen in it than Earth’s!”
“Just put it on, will you, and stop stalling,” ordered Crocker. “It’s by the book or not at all.”
“But… the colonists breathe it, for crying out loud—”
“Shut up and do it, Pizzle. You’re holding things up.” Treet glared nastily at the balking Pizzle. “What are you afraid of?”
Grumbling, Pizzle lifted the massive helmet over his head and brought the neck seal down on the tabs. Crocker flipped the catches and checked to make sure it had sealed.
“Okay, we’re all set. Everyone ready?” Crocker looked at each of the passengers in turn, waiting for a nod. “Let me hear you.”
“All set,” said Treet. His legs trembled with anticipation, and he thought, This is it! We’re going out; we’re really going out there! Mingled with this expectation was a distinct undercurrent of fear: the unknown. What lay on the other side of that hatch? Heaven? Hell?
“Ready,” said Pizzle. He glanced nervously around at the others.
“I’m ready,” said Yarden, her graceful form wrapped in a bulky, shapeless, red atmosphere suit like the others.
“Okay, I read you loud and clear. Let’s go.” The Captain reached out and tapped a code into the switchplate next to the outer hatch. There was a muffled whoosh and the hatch withdrew, swung outward, and slid away to the side. A stairstep ladder unfolded below the hatch, and Crocker stepped into the open hatchway. “One at a time. Follow me.”
Crocker stepped over the threshold, turned, and backed down the steps, holding the handrail. Pizzle looked at Treet and gestured to the ladder.
“No, you go next,” replied Treet. “I’ll go after Miss Talazac.”
Pizzle shifted his gaze to Yarden, nodded silently, and stepped into the hatchway. He disappeared, the top of his helmet sinking from sight as he went down.
“Your turn,” said Treet, turning to Yarden.
“Thank you,” she replied, turning crisply and descending without hesitation.
What is it with her? wondered Treet. He sighed and then stepped to the hatchway, turned, and lowered himself onto the first step, counting the steps as he went down.
When he reached the bottom he turned, expecting to see the others waiting for him. There was no one. A twinge of fear flitted over him. He spun around quickly, scanning the perimeter.
Then he saw them, at the rear of the ship behind one of the stilt legs. With instant relief Treet ducked beneath the heatcone of an engine and walked under the belly of the ship to join the others, who stood motionless, their backs to him, apparently engrossed in something. Treet could not see what it was. The suit radios were silent; no one said a word.
Treet stepped from under the obscuring edge of an engine shield and came to stand beside Crocker. Only then did he see what the others were seeing: an enormous sparkling wall of glass shot through with veins of black swept up from the landing platform. Beyond this wall rose bank upon bulging bank of crystalline domes and cupolas, billowing one on top of another beyond counting.
Treet raised his eyes higher and higher still. The many-domed mound rose like a great multifaceted mountain of crystal. Here and there spars poked through the domes, trailing thick, dark cables which gave the appearance of lifting the mass like cathedral spires or the poles of a circus tent. Up and up like foothills climbing to the summit, the bright domes swelled—all sizes jumbled together, gleaming in the sunlight like wonderful, gigantic soap bubbles dropped from the sky—some big enough to cover a building or two, others, larger by many times, able to enclose a small city with room for a few suburbs.
The glistening mountain stretched away for kilometers on either hand, and wherever the eye rested, the glimmer of bright transparency winked back. Empyrion stood an enchanted crystal mountain whose top reached shimmering into the clear blue sky.
“Impossible!” said Treet, his voice hushed in awe. “I can’t believe it.”
“Incredible,” agreed Pizzle. “It’s unimaginable! How could they build this … this bubble city in so short a time? It isn’t possible.”
“Look at this,” said Crocker. The three turned to look where he pointed. His gloved hand extended toward the ground. They saw the platform beneath their feet littered with small rocks and pebbles, bits of glass, warped fibersteel plates, and something that looked like crinkled pink moss growing in thickly scattered patches over the structure. “This landing field doesn’t get much use, I’d say.” He swiveled around and took in the broad expanse of the platform. “It looks like it’s been abandoned for years … decades.”
“The colony isn’t that old,” put in Pizzle.
“I know.” Crocker turned back to the others. “I can’t explain it.”
“Maybe this isn’t the colony,” replied Treet simply, then shuddered to think what he had just said. Not the
colony? Then who …?
“It is the colony.” Yarden spoke with such certainty that the men pivoted toward her. She stood stock-still with her arms pressed to her sides.
“What is it, Yarden?” asked Crocker. “What are you getting?”
Just then she stiffened and pointed at the wall directly before them about a kilometer away. “They are coming to meet us,” she said, but the words were flat, no happiness or excitement in them, but rather something darker, almost sinister.
Treet saw a portion of the wall raise up and a dark shape emerge, followed by another and then a third. These came rapidly toward them on clouds of dust, filling the air with a ringing whine as they drew nearer.
Closer, the travelers could make out men standing in these strange vehicles—men dressed as they were, in atmosphere suits, dark and close fitting, however, and made of a material that shone with a faint luster. A helmet with black faceplate obscured their faces, making them appear monstrous and malevolent.
“I don’t like this,” said Treet. “They don’t look too happy to see us. Where are the weapons?”
“We probably surprised them,” suggested Pizzle. “No prior radio contact—they probably wonder who we are.”
“Shh! They can probably hear you too,” snapped Crocker. “Let me handle this.” He stepped forward. “Yarden? Anything?”
The young woman was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “There is something there, but… it’s blocked. I can’t read it.”
Now the first vehicle swept up, slowing only minimally as it approached. Men stood in the rear of the machine, darkened faceplates turned toward them. One man, a driver, stood ahead of the others, holding controls in both hands. Then the thing swung sideways, and Treet saw two wheels beneath its smooth belly throwing up dust. Another two-wheeler swung around to the other side and the third parked between them, somewhat closer than the other two.
The two groups watched each other. No one moved.
With a shock Treet recognized the snub-snouted barrels of weapons in the hands of the dark-suited colonists. “They’re armed!” he whispered harshly.
Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra Page 9
