Scout Pilot Of the Free Union

by Will Macmillan Jones

  “Do I look like your mother in law?” asked the spider, clearly affronted by the suggestion.

  “The resemblance is uncanny,” I assured it whilst starting to retreat.

  “Don’t try to run away.”

  “Oh, I wasn’t.” Indeed I wasn’t. Running backwards is a well-known way to get yourself hurt. I was intending to walk briskly. I raised the flame thrower, and the spider hesitated.

  “I thought you were intending to help me?” it asked, rather plaintively.

  I stopped moving, but kept the flame thrower in position. “Well, possibly. Where are you from?”

  “Mars, of course. All spiders are from Mars, well the space spiders anyway. My name is Ziggurathatach. Ziggy for short.”

  “It would be, wouldn’t it?”

  The spider appeared a little nonplussed by that, but carried on. “I was happily asleep in a crate of bananas I’d found in one of the Bonded Warehouses.”

  “Why?” I interrupted.

  “Well, I’d got a bit, well I had one or two too many in a Mars bar.”

  “A Mars bar?”

  “Lots of bars on Mars. It’s a very cosmopolitan place,” the space spider assured me. “So I wanted a place to kip down for a bit, and next thing I knew I was waking up on board this overgrown sardine tin.” The space spider thought for a moment. “And my head hurt, and boy was I hungry.”

  I pursed my lips and nodded. I had every sympathy for those feelings and experiences. Apart from waking up in a box of bananas of course. I’d never actually done that. I had gone to sleep after a night out and woken up on a spaceship of course, but getting out and about before the flight started had always been part of my plan anyway. The reverse doesn’t work out too well career-wise for solo space corps pilots.

  “Now, what help is it that you need then? A lift back to Mars?”

  The spider looked around at the heap of uniforms on the floor, many of which were now starting to twitch. The severed head stopped frowning at me from the floor, and giggled instead which I considered both surreal and in rather bad taste.

  “Oh no. You see my food source has run out.” The spider looked at me with its assorted eyes in a manner I could only consider overly suggestive. It moved to the very centre of the net of webbing it had strung around the storage bay. The pile of uniforms wriggled again, and several rose to the vertical. I realised with horror that the uniforms were filled with bodies - the bodies of the crew. But no living men (or women. My aunts and my superiors, often the same people, have lectured me extensively about the virulent evils of sexism: right now an informative lecture or two about defeating the evils of vampire space spider created zombies would have been of more practical value) inhabited those uniforms. I raised the flame thrower, only to discover that the fossil fuel supply had run out in an untimely metaphor for the over use of a planet’s natural resources. I looked over my shoulder, but several more grey faced men in Imperium Space Corps uniforms had appeared behind me.

  “You haven’t thought about ordering a pizza?” I asked.

  “Why?” wondered the space spider. “I asked you for help, and you came willingly to my web. Now you can fulfil your promise, and save my life. Come forward young man, approach me.”

  Although there was no contact, I could feel that the dead were close behind me. There was a strange scratching sensation on my foot, and I looked down to see that the disembodied head had rolled over to me and was now chewing urgently on my right boot. The space spider cackled, and shivered in the web. Its teeth glinted, and it swayed, waving its front legs at me.

  “Pay the penalty,” whispered the spider. “Have you any last words?”

  Penalty! I pulled my right boot away from the head on the floor, put my foot on top of it - the head objected violently, but I paid no attention to that. Rolling the head back towards me, I pulled back my leg and kicked the head as hard as I could. GOAL!!! The head, flying like the soccer balls I used to mess about with as a kid, flew straight and true at the net and smacked into the space spider at some speed. The spider made an inarticulate noise that would, I am sure, have disappointed it and then fell to the floor with its legs curled around it. The uniforms collapsed into several heaps of dead men (and women, no doubt - I didn’t stop to check).

  “Referee! Foul play!” complained the head, now resting on top of the motionless spider.

  “It thought it was all over,” I said triumphantly. “It is now!”

  “I’ll get you for that!” cried the head, indistinctly.

  I backed away down the now empty corridor.

  “I’ll bite your knees off!” the head yelled at me as I hurried back along the corridor to the lift, but I felt reasonably safe in ignoring the threats. The lift was still ready in position, and I was quite grateful to return to the bridge of the battlecruiser. The vidscreens showed that a Free Union tactical battle group had arrived, and the ship to ship comm was already bleating with the Admiral’s demands that I report the status of the derelict battlecruiser. I sat in the captain’s chair and opened the comms channel.

  “Is the ship secure?” demanded the Admiral. “We’re coming across.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied. “I’ve taken command for the Union, and a relief crew can come on board. But a request, please.”

  “What’s that?” demanded the Admiral.

  “Send a pest control team with them. There’s a bit of a spider problem.”

  “He’s barking mad,” observed the Admiral without bothering to close the comms channel. I could hear every word. “We’ll be there shortly, scout. Free Union!”

  “And FU too sir,” I replied. I closed the comm. and settled down to await fame and fortune, or more likely a minor reprimand for my efforts for the day.

  Deep in the bowels of the battlecruiser, the vampire space spider shivered as lots and lots of nice new crew members filed aboard.

  Chapter four

  First Contact

  The planet filled my vidscreen. Mostly it seemed to be made up of clouds, but the occasional glimpse of blue and green suggested that both water and some sort of landmass were present below the cloud layer, making me think that that it might be possible both for me to set down on the surface and survive the landing. I rather hoped that I might manage to survive what came after too. First contact with a planet is a risky business because, by definition, you have no idea who or what you are going to meet.

  The commscreen burst into life with the unwelcome and unappealing image of my immediate superior. “Are you there, yet?” he demanded, sounding exactly like the petulant teenager I have no doubt that he once was. Like the rest of us, of course, but mostly we try and grow out of it. He had managed to retain only the least pleasant aspects of his youth.

  “Nearly, sir,” I replied. “I’ve carried out a reconnaissance run and now am about to descend below the cloud level to seek a suitable landing site.”

  “Well get on with it then. Get down there and plant the flag, so that we can officially claim the territory.”

  The vidscreen went mercifully blank, which I considered a considerable improvement. I turned the pilot’s chair to face the control console, and the worn-out chair promptly made a disgusting sound and sank so far towards the floor that my chin hit the edge of the flight console. Cursing I pulled myself up and then adjusted the chair to a proper height. Not being flavor of the month at Star Base, I had of course been assigned what one might charitably describe as a ‘preloved’ Speedbird Star Scout. Less charitably, any normal pilot like myself would call it ‘clapped out’. The seat was just one example. It showed that bored - and occasionally seriously over-excited – pilots had spent too many hours sitting there. The flight console was well polished in those places where a fed up pilot might rest his arms and wrists, and dried coffee stains proved that Star Base had not bothered having the craft valeted inside since my last mission. What it was like outside I didn’t like to speculate. At least the computer was insistent that nothing had dropped off on the way here,
and the systems were fully functional.

  The seat slipped again and I said some more bad words. Isn’t it typical that we can make a star ship capable of interstellar travel, but designing a functional pilot’s chair is still a mystery beyond the wit of man?

  Back at a reasonable height, I let the scout ship lose height and drop out of orbit. The computer calculated the re entry path, and the ship sped across the night sky of the unknown planet like a comet trailing stars. A vision that would have astonished and delighted any sentient entity on the ground, had they been there or been watching; or been able to see it through the ever present, enveloping cloud cover and rain, of course.

  The clouds enveloped the ship and the vidscreens faded to grey. Although the flight instruments showed me the height above ground, and the ship’s guidance radar was checking continuously for obstacles (like inconvenient mountains) I was quite nervous until the clouds faded and I could see what lay beneath. I stared moodily at the expanse of sea, and waited what seemed an age for land to appear. At length a large island appeared, and I stared at it with mixed emotions. Continuing the low orbit, I soon saw that the planet had no cities or indeed towns. As an upside, that also suggested that there were no air defense systems that might take umbrage with my sudden arrival. No radar, no air force, no radio transmissions found by the comm computer – no modern amenities at all, in fact. But as most of those amenities would have led to my sudden demise, that could be considered an upside.

  Two full low level orbits and it was clear that I could set down almost anywhere with an equal chance of achieving nothing at all. The next chore just could not be avoided, so I gritted my teeth and opened the commscreen and called my boss.

  “Sir, I’ve circumcised the planet.”

  “Circumnavigated, you mean!”

  “I took a short cut. The atmosphere is close to Terra Standard, as predicted. Oxygen levels slightly higher than usual, ground temperature acceptable if warm. High but tolerable humidity. Gravity 85% Standard. Anyway, no cities, no major settlements. No radio broadcasts or broadcast traffic. There are some isolated settlements though. I plan to set down near one of those and see what’s what.”

  “Understood. You have read the First Contact protocols, of course: ensure that you follow the procedures.”

  The commscreen reverted to my favourite blank image. Looking at the scans of the surface, I decided that it really didn’t matter where I landed, so I pointed the ship at the nearest visible settlement and initiated the landing sequence. The first sight of an interstellar vessel can cause alarm and astonishment to those of a nervous disposition or those who have never dreamed such things were possible. We in the Reconnaissance Unit of the Space Corps all knew of one scout pilot who landed on a planet whose religious rulers told him that his existence was a distressingly logical impossibility and freed him from his distress by terminating his existence. First Contact requires caution.

  It was tempting to land in a wild extravaganza of fire and smoke, but in case this disturbed anyone on the ground who might react quite badly to such disturbance, I chose to land with some discretion. The ship settled gently to the ground and a quick scan around showed me that I had touched down beside an area of light forestation that would disguise my presence, at least for a while.

  I re engaged the drive and lifted the ship three or four feet from the ground. Drifting forward I bounced off a couple of trees and settled into some deep foliage. The vidscreens showed leaves wildly wafting in all directions and I turned them all off before leaving the Flight deck. Actually, to call the cramped and slightly smelly room a flight deck was rather a grandiose description, but it was printed on the sign fixed to the door. A superfluous touch really as the whole ship only had five rooms, one of which was the bathroom. Although to be fair, the aroma in the Flight deck rather suggested that the last user had confused those two on a number of occasions.

  Immediately behind the flight deck was what was described as the ‘living quarters’ comprising a chair, a sleeping pod, a small kitchen and a wall with storage and music functions. Three other doorways too: one to the bathroom, one to the engine room (marked ‘Authorised Personnel only’ – a nice warning in a single person craft). The other doorway had a circular staircase leading to the entry port. In there I quickly located a couple of weapons and an only slightly soiled flight suit.

  The storage chamber also held the only way in or out of the craft. I peered through the smoked glass porthole in the hatch, but all I could see was foliage. A machete would be useful, but of course wasn’t available.

  I opened the hatch. At once a number of green fronds, all dripping what I hoped was water, flopped into the chamber; soaking the flight suit I had just put on. Since it was the only one on board I was stuck with it, so I peered outside, sniffing the air.

  It was warm, had a faint, earthy, smell and a gentle rain was falling. As I stepped out of the ship I stumbled at the slight drop and the unexpected resistance from the leaves and plants around. Carefully I looked at the plants in case they were about to attack me – don’t laugh, it has been known. They all seemed to be alike, as if bio diversity had been dismissed by this area of the planet. Some creepers lay across the track I had created in landing, and I watched them cautiously. When they didn’t move, I stepped over them. Despite my worst fears, they didn’t move, or even twitch. Leaves and foliage were already springing back into place ahead of me, showering droplets of water in all directions so I moved quickly to the edge of the forested area and stared out across this new land.

  A new land, a new planet, perhaps a new civilisation to add to the growing ranks of The Free Union of Worlds. It should have been an exciting, uplifting moment; in practice I was too busy being scared of what I might meet to be uplifted, and was desperately hoping for boredom rather than excitement. Plus it was raining.

  I had chosen to land near a small settlement. There had been several in sight, and this one I had chosen more or less at random. It comprised a small collection of huts clustered rather haphazardly beside a stream. A low hedge had been grown around the huts, but seemed to be more as a boundary marker than a defense, which I found both positive and negative. Positive as it lowered my concern over my personal safety while out and about; and negative as a need for defense against aggression seemed to be quite usual amongst most higher life forms.

  I pulled a small set of binoculars out of my flight suit and studied the settlement. At first there was little to see. The huts were roughly made of mud and wattle with leaves as a roof covering; there appeared to be no deliberation in the positioning of the huts although all the doors faced towards the hedge rather than the centre of the group. The lapel of the flight suit held a small microphone, transmitting back to the ship for the purpose of recording my impressions while they were fresh – and in case I didn’t return to the ship, of course.

  After a few minutes, I was surprised to see a large humanoid figure emerge from the low doorway of one hut. As it straightened up I was able to tell that the figure was definitely built like a standard Terran human, and was very definitely male. Impressively so. Presumably the temperate climate made clothes an optional extra. Keen to ascertain if this was a cultural phenomenon beyond the males, I scanned the huts to see if an equivalent female appeared; but was disappointed.

  The vegetation was sticking its wet leaves to my flight suit, so I pushed a little clear of the forest I the hope of being seen. The male clearly saw me as I stood against the tree line, but showed no interest in me at all which was a slight blow to my ego. After all, one does expect the first contact between a new people and a star travelling spaceman to be greeted with more than indifference. I waved. He stared at me, then urinated impassively on the hedge, turned his back and returned inside his hut.

  I thought about this. I had been sent on four courses on how to make, react and control the First Contact before being sent out on this mission. None had discussed what to do if the First Contact pees in your general direction and then
pees off. Still, I reasoned, he had shown no open hostility towards me. Indifference may be demeaning, but it doesn’t hurt. I stepped free of the vegetation and big leaves that surrounded me, eagerly dripping their raindrops down my already soaked legs and caressing me with their silky fronds, and walked a little closer to the settlement.

  Several of the humanoids now came out of their huts, and clustered together, looking at me. As some of them were female I took the precaution of using the binoculars to examine them closely. They were clearly well developed Terran normal too. To be on the safe side I checked out as many of them as I could see, and then reported into my lapel microphone accordingly.

  There was one gap in the low hedge, so I slowly walked towards that and halted at what I took to be the entrance to the settlement. None of the humanoids came close or seemed interested in me. After the initial surprise, they had returned to whatever they had been doing before I arrived. It didn’t seem to be very much. Not one of them paid me any attention at all.

  I selected one example, the nearest male, and walked slowly towards him. I raised my hand in a greeting, and was still ignored.

  “Hello,” I said, slowly and clearly.