The ship’s recently disabled engines sputtered for a moment, and then returned to working order in a desperate attempt to control its decent. Its spiral became gradually less pronounced with each moment, and the ship’s course began to straighten out. Its momentum had already grown too great to be changed, however, and the ship fell horribly fast down through the air, leaving a thick trail of smoke and dust behind it. A vast film of clouds dotted with glowering mountain peeks in the distance concealed the alien world below. The titanic object blasted a path through the haze and vanished beneath its billowy curtains.
The ship lay motionless on the ground, propped up on one side by a giant mound of earth. The battered, but still intact wreckage lay at an angle near the edge of a sharp precipice, which dropped two hundred meters to the churning sea below. A deep, wide trench of uprooted trees and moist dirt stretched on behind the ship for three kilometers - all the way back to the hillside where it first slammed into the soft ground. The freshly created valley was a trampled mass of dark soil and mangled, damaged forest. The dust and flying leaves were still settling when the noise of the impact finally dwindled into an echo somewhere off in the distant mountain ranges.
Although the ship rested on a cylindrical belly, it did not rock or sway in either direction. The valley it had carved out created even support on both sides for its engine arms. The horizontal midsection of the massive transport was at ground level because every section below it had been driven underground. The ship lay at a slight diagonal since the ocean side of the trench in which it was cradled was slightly more raised than the inland side.
As the cloud of dust finally settled, the calamity and confusion that had risen in the forests and plains nearby began to quiet down as well. Herds of native beasts that had begun stampeding finally lowered their pace and resumed their perpetual grazing elsewhere in the region. Rodents and vermin again emerged from their holes in the ground and out from under fallen trees. Flocks of winged raptors that had been disturbed from their roosts swarmed over the hillsides and nested in new trees, away from the now tainted and violated section of the forest.
A deep gash, nearly a half-kilometer long, cleaved the ship’s skin along its midsection. Small, evanescent wisps of gray smoke occasionally spewed from the fault. All of the glowing domes were now cracked or shattered, exposing pitifully brown arboretums to fresh air and direct sunlight for the first time.
Though the massive ship had calmed from its less than graceful entry, no life stirred about it. Nothing emerged from the wreckage. There was only the quiet, endless passing of time. Soon the minutes became hours, and still nothing stirred outside the ship. An occasional native creature might wander close enough to sniff some of the debris that was scattered about the wreckage, but it would quickly return to the deeper sections of the forest - away from the contorted metal objects whose odors it could not recognize.
As the hours drifted by, the usual life of the forest resumed as if nothing had happened. On the microscopic level, the planet had already begun to repair the damage done by the devastating crash. Trees were beginning to decay, and seeds were already sifting down into the soft ground where they would later grow to replace the dead timbers that had once been a large portion of the dense forest. Animals were already constructing new burrows and dens to replace the ones that had been destroyed. Although these occurrences were not visible yet, drastic changes would be easily seen in only a matter of weeks.
As the first day following the crash drew to an end, the sun of the second planet in the system began to set over the eastern horizon. Then darkness came, and the wild cries of the nocturnal creatures that inhabited the alien world carried over the hills and plains, echoing through valleys and eerily repeating themselves as they reverberated through deep canyon walls.
The moon did not shine on that first night. As a result, the countryside was not only dark but also black as the depths of space itself. Not even a single star peeked through the dense storm clouds that covered the nighttime sky. A threatening rumble of distant thunder and flashes of heat lightning also accompanied the impending bodies. However, the swirling masses drifted on menacingly through the darkness only to drop their showers somewhere beyond the visual reach of the lightning’s flash. The first night passed without incident.
Morning arrived with the rising of the sun in the west. A cloudless orange sky awakened the native creatures from their dens and burrows, and they began another day of ritualistic survival - hunting and being hunted in a vicious natural cycle. Some would live only to repeat the process again the next day, but others would be killed and devoured before the sun set again.
Dew had collected against the hull of the relic ship, frosting its slanted metal with moisture. When the sun rose to its highest peak in the sky and all shadows were cast straight down, a new change began to take place. With a deafening screech, an airlock door that had been sealed for centuries stretched its metal joints. The door slid open painfully, revealing a long dark corridor behind it. It continued yawning open with a scraping cry and hydraulic hiss until it clanged to a stop when the entranceway was nearly six feet tall. After a moment, another hiss voiced the awakening of a door on the opposite side of the ship, revealing another long and dark passageway. Soon after, the hissing grew into a snarl as dozens and then hundreds of the same doors slid open in unison. The outer shell of the vessel began to transform into a honeycomb - peppered with hundreds upon hundreds of the small black portals. Several more minutes passed, and when the sun finally arched over its climactic peak in the sky and began to form slightly westward shadows, the first human being emerged from the wreckage.
He was short: about five and a-half-feet tall. His skin was whiter than the foam of the ocean waves, and his hair was a mottled mixture of white and black fibers. He was thin and not very strong as the result of a lifetime of automated survival in a self-sufficient environment. He raised a younger than old hand up to shield his eyes from the intense sun, the likes of which he could never have been prepared for. He took several steps forward onto the hull of the retired ship - the only home he had ever known - and inhaled his first breath of air on a planet. He nearly stumbled with the force of the high-oxygen breath he gasped in, and steadied himself with a pleasant smile on his face. He looked back to the dark shadows of the corridor he had emerged from. After a moment, he returned his gaze to the wondrous natural beauty before him, and then several more humans of various ages stepped out of the doorway to join him.
They each shared a similar rush of fatigued joy at the first breath in combination with the magnificent scenery set before them. As far as the eyes could reach, hills covered in lush trees rolled gracefully in each direction, aside from the rear view which only consisted of the metallic bulk of the upper decks of the ship and the endless blue fade of the ocean beyond. The next wary humans stepped out of a corridor ten decks below and to the right of the first group. Soon after, the various openings began spewing forth dozens upon dozens of cautious, yet ecstatic, humans. They were curious of the new world while simultaneously fearful of its captivating proportions. Trees with bases as large as ten feet around, single hills that were larger in size than the entire bulk of the gigantic ship, and an ocean that stretched ceaselessly forward and disappeared somewhere beyond the pale blue horizon engulfed the crowd in awe.
As the congregation continued to pile out onto the metal diagonal of the hull, there soon amassed a swarming crowd of over one thousand men, women and children, all milling around cautiously but not saying a word to one another. Each one was engrossed by the splendor of natural images that even the oldest person present had never seen before.
After some time passed, the swarm started to disperse off of the metal platform and out onto the plush grass of the adjacent, open field. Soon, the whole crowd was amassed into a tight ball in the middle of the field that faced into a dark, shadow-littered forest. On one side of the huge field lay a scattered string of large, resting boulders.
The thin, g
ray-haired man stood on top of the largest boulder with several other men gathered around him. The men stated reports and presented requests, which were answered with either quick nods of approval or tempered glares of disapproval. At the same time, other men were arranging large speakers on the surrounding boulders and setting up a microphone for the gray-haired man. Although he was in complete command of what remained of the human race, the man on top of the rock was neither a marvel of human physique, nor a marvel of human intellect. His appointed title of “Governor” meant that there was no other power above him in the community’s chain of command. However, he had a council of several men who gave him advice and suggestions, which he usually agreed with unquestionably. Although, when he stepped out of the dark recesses of the ship he had lived on his entire life and stared daylight in the face for the first time, a juvenile idea of becoming an authoritarian entered his mind.
The Governor immediately began to ignore some of the more reasonable suggestions of his advisers. He began making commands only on snap-judgments and whims. He quickly ignored his responsibility to protect the people and decided to rule them. He was ready to assert his given power in the new world with an iron fist and closed mind. But the Governor was not a man of strong action, so he decided it would be best to just allow the people to enjoy themselves and try to keep them happy: maintaining their respect and obedience in that manner.
Several of his advisers disapproved of the leader’s obvious new attitude but remained silent. The fact that no one had ever opposed this Governor’s (or any of the previous Governors’) authority in the history of the ship held back their inhibitions, and the child-man was allowed to play with his power. However, the adviser from Military Branch was not so reluctant to give in to irrationality. He stood up on the boulder and approached the Governor.
“Sir, perhaps it would be wise to move the people back into the ship for safety while I lead a scouting group out to survey the area and make sure of no impending danger,” said the advisor.
The Governor smiled wryly to the big, thick-armed man. “We’ll let them enjoy the sunshine for now, Michael. There’s no danger here, only woods and grass and daylight. The data books make no mention of those things being harmful to people.”
Michael replied, “Keep in mind, sir, that all the data books we have refer to Earth’s nature, not this planet’s. There is no way to predict what dangers could be out there. I really believe we should keep the people where they’ll be safe until I can at least map out the area. What if someone strays away and gets lost? We’ll have no idea where to look for them.”
The Governor smiled again and placed his hand on the Commander’s shoulder. “If they get lost, we’ll go look for them and bring them back. They won’t go far. Besides, it appears that this will be our new home, so there will be plenty of time for exploration. Don’t worry. We’ll all be fine.”
Michael frowned and shook his head slightly. “Yes, sir,” he said, and then quickly walked back down to the bottom of the boulder where his daughter and the Governor’s family were waiting. He nodded politely to the Governor’s smiling wife, and then put an arm around his only child as they walked away from the crowd at the boulder.
“I’m afraid he’s becoming blinded by this serenity,” said Michael. “He might not realize how much different it will be to take care of the people, now that they’re free from the confines of the ship.”
The twenty-year old, black-haired girl looked up to her father with concern and interest.
“Will he be allowed to keep his power?” she asked, in a delicate voice.
Michael nodded. “If no one stands up to him. But this prediction can’t be proven yet. We shouldn’t talk of mutiny when nothing has gone wrong yet.” He sighed, and then smiled. “Well, Kirin, what do you think? Is it all you thought it would be?”
The girl shifted her concentration to the scenery around her, and then gave a warm smile. “It’s amazing. I can’t believe this really happened. I thought we’d never leave the ship.”
“Neither did I,” Michael replied, looking back at the boulder. “It looks like things are going to get better. Today is an important day for everyone.” They stopped walking, and Michael looked into Kirin’s eyes. “We can all start over here.”
The Commander then looked up to see a series of large loading ramps being lowered along the sides of the ship. Immediately, a series of livestock and other agricultural animals began to spill forth from the belly of the ship.
Michael sighed loudly. “We’re getting grossly ahead of ourselves here.”
Kirin watched the animals load out, and she nodded her head a little.
2
Stephen Carlisse stood alone, away from the massive group of conversing humans. He was not bitter toward them, nor did he dislike any of them; he merely did not know any of them. He had been alone for so long that people just assumed it to be his way of life, so they left him alone always. No one desired to infringe on his solitary lifestyle by offering their company, so Stephen simply watched them all from a distance - observing their follies and triumphs, and learning as much as he could about them by evaluating their relationships to others and themselves without ever actually getting involved. He reflected on nothing and only surveyed the wondrous new atmosphere of the planet about him, relaxed and at peace.
Some of the humans had known each other before the crash, but most were seeing one another for the first time, since the interior of the ship was segregated into several community-sections that rarely came into contact with one another. This was done to help the authorities onboard maintain control, in the event of an uprising. If one sector rioted for some reason, the authorities could break up the rebellion, without any of the other sectors ever even being aware of it. Total control was maintained in this way. However, it was never actually necessary, since the people onboard were all timid and naïve: the result of generations spent in a controlled atmosphere.
Now that the entire ship had been evacuated to the outside, people were being confronted with over a thousand new faces. On occasion, a person in the mingling crowd would stumble into a friend or at least some familiar face. But for the most part, the humans were confused in the crowded atmosphere, while at the same time, bewildered by the beauty and awe of a living planet.
Stephen was gazing at the blue-tinted skyline when he heard the only familiar voice he knew in the gargantuan mob.
“Steve…Steve!” yelled Mandel, running up toward him.
Stephen’s focused countenance dissolved into a partial grin. “Hey, Man.”
“This is something else isn’t it?” asked Mandel, slightly out of breath.
“Yeah, it’s amazing.” He paused for another moment as his friend caught his breath. “What’s up?”
“Oh yeah,” Mandel replied. “My dad said he would let me and you go with the scouting party later on to document this all, if you want to.”
Stephen’s eyes broadened. “Yes, I want to!” he proclaimed with a smile. “What do we have to do?” The idea of being one of the first people allowed to view the rest of the planet firsthand appealed to Stephen immensely.
“C’mon,” Mandel commanded. The two boys began to jog back in the direction of the crowd as Mandel finished his explanation. “Dad’s gonna make an announcement here in a minute to all the people about what’s going on. After that, Military Branch is gonna lead an exploration of the surrounding area to see if we can maybe find some nicer place to settle soon. He said me and you can go too, if we do what Commander Lee says, and don’t get in the way. We have to record the whole thing too. They’re gonna give us some A/V equipment to work with.”
”Sounds fine to me,” was Stephen’s only reply.
Stephen and Mandel had been friends since they were both very young. As the son of the supreme Governor, Mandel had been spoiled at a very young age. Stephen was the only person who would not treat him as a superior, so naturally the two became close. Stephen had been living a solitary life onboard the
ship from the time he was a teenager, after the loss of his mother. She was killed when the ship collided with a meteorite. The section of the ship in which the seven agriculturists had been working when the impact occurred was never repaired - as a memorial to those lost in the tragedy. The emotional sting of losing one’s mother had somehow worn off long ago for Stephen: perhaps because Mandel’s own parents had adopted Stephen as a surrogate son over time, and he had grown very close to them.
Though he developed a considerable level of independence, Stephen was still naïve about the nature of existence, since all life processes onboard the ship were automated. However, everyone reported to a specific job at a given time each day. Whether it be in the science or agricultural departments, or even as a member of security in Military Branch, each person’s job could most likely have been performed electronically or mechanically by the astounding ship, but was not. Largely, humans were employed in order to keep themselves within a reasonable realm of sanity, and not because they were actually necessary.
As Stephen and Mandel neared the large boulder on which the Governor was positioned, a deafening hiss resounded over the area, and the temporary sound system, set up by the Governor’s aides, crackled to life.
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