Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  Everyone laughed, but Marla knew it was a battle lost, and there was nothing she could do to make things better.

  Renn stood, released the dead energy pack from his blast rifle, and inserted the back-up. “Marla and I have a boat moored nearby. I suggest we go there to regroup. Then we can figure out what to do next.”

  “Sure,” Marla thought to herself. “Let's give these imperial moochers half our supplies. Then they'll lift, leaving us here to starve.” Fred was theirs, the one place where she was safe from hurt, where she had Renn to herself. Now they were about to invade it, and she would take over. On one level Marla knew her thoughts were full of self-pity, but was too busy wallowing in it to care.

  Marla kept her feelings to herself, and Renn's suggestion met with universal approval. So after a little organizing by Jumo, they gathered their few possessions together, and followed Renn into the jungle. Vanessa said her leg felt much better, so she walked beside Renn, the two of them talking and laughing. Next came Doc and Chin, followed by the privates, Issacs and Ford. Jumo and Marla brought up the rear. Was this arrangement an accident she wondered? Or a carefully thought out strategy? They were criminals after all, and for all Jumo knew, they might have friends waiting in ambush or god knows what. So she wouldn't blame him for taking what precautions he could. And he'd done a good job. By placing Renn in front, with three heavily armed marines right behind him, and keeping her in the rear where he could keep an eye on her, Jumo had effectively divided the potential enemy forces in half.

  If the big marine had such thoughts, he concealed them well, apparently intent on watching their back trail, talking a mile a minute at the same time.

  Meanwhile Marla listened to the laughter that floated back from Renn and Vanessa, made perfunctory replies to Jumo's chatter, and thought her own dark thoughts. Things were changing. She could sense it. And when things changed it was usually for the worse. A light breeze suddenly came up, and the leaves and branches around her began to bob and sway, as if nodding in agreement. Slowly at first, and then with increasing force, it began to rain.

  Chapter Nine

  They buried the dead marines during a heavy rain. As ranking noncom, it was up to Jumo to say the words. “I don't know if these people believed in God or not. We didn't talk about things like that much. But I know Waller and Ho loved to fly ... and they were damned good at it. They'd do anything to leave the station and rack up a few hours. This time it got ’em killed. And Sanchez, well she liked men, tall, short, fat, skinny, she didn't care, long as they could sing in Spanish, or were willing to learn. Goldman was, well, he was different. He spent most of his spare time reading micro spools. I don't know what it said on ’em, but whatever it was made him laugh a lot, and then we'd laugh too. And Corporal Burns, well, there wasn't anyone that could handle a flamer like him. Too bad he didn't have one when he needed it most. I didn't know Lieutenant Costello very well, her being an officer and all, but I know she loved the green hills of New Britain. Anyway, if there's a god out there, I hope you'll take good care of them. They were marines.”

  It took only a few hours to bury the dead, but it took three days of hard work to clear an LZ for the shuttle. It turned out that Chin was good at electronics. He managed to piece together a transmitter from the piles of shuttle junk Renn and the marines brought him. This made Renn a little suspicious, since Chin seemed to be a lot better at electronics than he was at biology, but he decided to keep his thoughts to himself.

  Five hours after Chin's first transmission, a shuttle roared overhead. Help had arrived. Renn and Marla watched with detached amusement as everyone else jumped up and down with excitement.

  Chin dashed into the cabin as the roar of the shuttle died away and turned on the transmitter. “Chin to shuttle, Chin to shuttle, you just passed over our position, repeat, just passed over our position.” Since they had no receiver he said it over and over again, hoping the shuttle crew would home in on the signal.

  Outside, all eyes were on the sky. The dense layer of clouds made for poor visibility, but they looked anyway, hoping to see the shuttle return. And return it did, dropping out of the clouds with a mighty roar and pushing a tidal wave of displaced air before it. As the shuttle came to a stop and hung suspended on its repellors, the jungle foliage swayed this way and that, while the muddy water of the channel was pressed completely flat. A black rectangle appeared in the bright metal of the shuttle's hull, and moments later, a bright orange dot fell towards them.

  It became an orange blob, then an orange rectangle, and then a parachute suddenly blossomed over it to slow its descent. As the parachute drifted slowly towards the ground, the pilot waggled his wings, goosed his engines, and disappeared into the clouds.

  Seeing that the chute would hit about two miles to the north, Renn, Jumo and two marines took off to get it.

  Marla felt good. The air drop would ease the demands on their supplies, plus it should be only a matter of time before the survivors were rescued. And the sooner the better. Though friendly as always, Renn was increasingly preoccupied, and Marla knew why. Dr. Vanessa Cooper-Smith hung on his every word, oohed and aahed over his knowledge of the swamps, and took full advantage of her considerable assets.

  Renn was attractive, but Doctor Cooper-Smith's interest seemed forced somehow. Why would a woman like Vanessa be so taken with a criminal? A criminal condemned to life on a prison planet? It didn't make sense. Or was Vanessa so in love she couldn't think straight? Well, either way the sooner she left the better.

  The search party returned two hours later carrying an orange trunk. It was about six feet long, three feet wide, and constructed of heavy plastic. Inside was a treasure trove of survival gear, food, medical supplies, and best of all, a small transceiver.

  Minutes later they were communicating with the space station via the tiny satellite, which the shuttle had dumped into geosynchronous orbit over their position.

  Once the casualties were mourned, and the survivors cheered, serious planning got underway. Marla assumed they would simply land, pick up the survivors, and take off. She soon learned it wouldn't be that easy.

  Having already lost one of their two shuttles, plus their best pilots, those in charge were reluctant to take any more chances than they had to. They wouldn't be able to get another shuttle for some time, and since the remaining craft was also their only lifeboat, they were understandably cautious. So, to safeguard the shuttle, a temporary LZ would have to be built.

  A small island was chosen about a mile from Fred. Energy weapons were used to clear away the jungle. The shuttle's weapons could have accomplished the same thing in a few minutes, but that would have meant an extra trip, an idea quickly vetoed by station management. So, every tree, shrub, and plant was leveled. Then the whole mess was set on fire. At first the wet vegetation refused to burn, but by the judicious placement of some volatile fire weed, and the addition of some kerosene from Fred's stove, they finally got a roaring blaze.

  Meanwhile Vanessa had earned Marla's grudging respect. When it came to clearing brush the blonde scientist pitched in with a will, often working shoulder to shoulder with Renn, and never complaining. And if that wasn't bad enough, Marla had to sit around and watch. Without hands she couldn't help much. So she watched from a distance as they kissed, silhouettes against the dull red flames of the fire. With the kiss came a dull ache deep inside her, which, unable to ease, she did her best to ignore.

  So she watched the dense black smoke boil upwards towards the sky, instead. Fortunately the clouds were low, and unless someone was very close, they wouldn't see the smoke. Though he hadn't said much, Marla knew Jumo was concerned about Swamp's other residents, and she really couldn't blame him. There were some very nasty customers out there, gangs like the one Cyclops had run, who would regard the scientists as a crop ripe for harvesting. So Jumo posted sentries and scattered electronic sensors over the approaches to the camp.

  These were quite primitive as sensors go, being the sort of broad spectrum
devices included in standard survival kits. Unlike the more sophisticated types, these had no intelligence of their own, and would respond to almost anything. Hearing noise, or sensing body heat, they sent a signal to a small control panel in Fred's cabin. The glowing red dot would show the location of the sensor, but not the nature of the potential threat.

  As a result Marla spent a good deal of her time venturing out into the rain, checking on sensors which had heard a dead tree fall, or sensed the passage of a roo monster. This was not a pleasant duty, but Marla took pride in it, since she could do it better than anyone else. The fact that Vanessa was afraid to go into the jungle alone made it even better.

  So Marla welcomed the morning of the fourth day, and the shuttle which came with it. By nightfall the Imperials would be gone, and things could return to normal. The shuttle hovered as it played its energy weapons back and forth across the still smoldering surface of the small island. Everything the blue beams touched turned to molten soup. Here and there the molten muck overflowed exploding into steam as it hit the surrounding water and quickly condensed into mushy rock. As soon as the surface of the island glowed red, the energy beams snapped off, the shuttle waggled its stubby wings, and lifted towards space.

  The rain poured down all afternoon, sending up sheets of steam, and gradually cooling the surface of the island until it formed a hard crust. When the shuttle returned, the uninvited guests would leave. Marla couldn't wait. So when Renn approached, and suggested a walk, it seemed as if things were finally getting back to normal.

  They chose the well-beaten path to the wrecked shuttle, not because it was especially pleasant, but because it was the easiest the follow. When they stopped using it the path would disappear in a matter of days. “They won't try to salvage the shuttle will they?” Marla asked.

  Renn frowned. “I don't think so. Why?”

  “Because it's a potential gold mine,” Marla answered patiently. “The durasteel alone would fetch a good price back in Payout, not to mention the seats and other stuff.”

  Renn remembered the toilet Doc Fesker had salvaged from a similar wreck and laughed. “Don't forget the toilet.”

  It was Marla's turn to frown. “I don't get it.”

  “Never mind,” Renn replied. “Salvaging the wreck is a damned good idea. Should've thought of it myself. But first we've got a unique opportunity, and I think we should grab it.”

  “What kind of an opportunity?” Marla asked, immediately suspicious.

  Renn didn't answer right away. They'd just stepped into a small clearing. The shuttle had cut a swath of destruction through the soft flesh of the jungle, which now lay in a twisted heap, a memorial to its own destruction. But the swamp had already started the process of healing itself. New growth was poking its way up through the mud, eager to reach the light and carve out a niche for itself in the new order of things.

  Renn made a mental note to take compass bearings. In a few months the wreckage would be covered with new growth and almost impossible to find. Feeling her eyes on him he looked down. “How would you like a little vacation from all this?”

  For a second she wondered what he was talking about, and then it hit like a ton of bricks. “Go up there? What the hell for? It'll be that much worse when they dump us off again.”

  Renn shrugged. “Maybe ... but I could use a little R & R, and whether you admit it or not, so could you. Among other things they've promised to test your systems and perform any maintenance they can.”

  The prospect was more attractive than Renn could know. Marla's body had taken a lot of abuse over the last few months, and she'd been concerned about maintenance. Still, the whole thing sounded like something Vanessa had cooked up to prolong her relationship with Renn. If so, Marla wasn't about to tag along and watch. “Thanks, but no thanks. I suspect it's you they want anyhow. I'll wait here.”

  “You're wrong Marla,” Renn lied. “They invited us both.” Actually Vanessa had invited him, and he'd insisted Marla be allowed to come as well. Vanessa had reluctantly agreed. Now Renn used his winning argument. Or at least he hoped it was his winning argument. “Look at it this way, you get a free tune-up, and we get our pick of supplies.”

  Marla's ears perked up. “Really? Our pick of supplies?”

  Renn nodded. “That's right. In payment for all those roos we didn't get to skin.”

  Marla was tempted. Chances were they could recover the supplies their guests had used up, and then some. Even if that meant watching Renn and Vanessa play kissy face it might still be worth it. Besides, she could tell that Renn really wanted her to go. “OK, you're on. But I still think there's something funny going on here. Why all this gratitude? Why not just say ‘thanks,’ and lift?”

  Renn shook his head in mock exasperation. “Marla, Marla, you're so cynical. I'll admit it seems a little too good to be true, but let's go with the flow and see what develops.”

  They returned to Fred, spent some time cleaning up, and moved him into a narrow side channel. Then they doubled up his mooring lines and used some cut brush to camouflage him. When they were done Renn figured the odds against anyone stumbling across Fred were about a million to one. As he and Marla made their way to the LZ, Renn found he was looking forward to the upcoming excursion. At the very least it would provide a welcome break from life on Swamp, and who knows? Maybe it would offer some other form of profit. Like more time with Vanessa.

  An hour later, a very nervous shuttle pilot touched down onto the steaming surface of the makeshift LZ, and swore steadily as his passengers took their own sweet time climbing aboard. Lt. Fitz wasn't ugly, in fact women found his even features and thick brown hair quite attractive, but they wouldn't have recognized him right now. His skin was parchment white, his eyes wide and dilated, his lips pulled back into a tight smile. One hand hovered over the big red emergency boost button, while the other babied the stick. The problem was that Fitz didn't have much experience. As a result he was scared shitless. Waller and Ho could fly anything anywhere, and if this planet had killed them, then it was a bad place to be. Like all the station personnel, Fitz was trained for a variety of back-up jobs, and shuttle pilot was one of them. Why couldn't he have been back-up cook? Or back-up librarian? This was his third trip to the surface and he hoped it would be his last.

  “Well, we're aboard ... what the hell are you waiting for, Lieutenant?” The voice belonged to Chin. He couldn't wait to leave, plus, he held Fitz in rather low regard anyway.

  Fitz swore. He'd been so wrapped up in his own thoughts he'd missed the ready light. “OK asshole,” Fitz thought to himself, “if it's speed you want ... try this.” His right hand slammed down on the emergency boost button and the shuttle took off like a bullet. Every passenger except Marla passed out. Though immobile under the additional G's, she was completely conscious, but wished she wasn't. It was the damned motion sickness again. At least her bionic body would save her from the humiliation of throwing up all over everyone.

  Thanks to his flight suit, Fitz had no trouble coping with the additional G's. As the shuttle achieved orbit he dumped emergency power, and heaved a sigh of relief. But his troubles weren't over. Moments later Chin came to and gave him a royal ass-chewing. Fitz just kept mumbling, “Yes sir, sorry sir,” until the enraged civilian finally gave up and killed the intercom.

  Meanwhile Fitz saw a spark of reflected light up ahead. The station. Good. With a grunt of satisfaction he flipped some switches, tapped a series of keys, and leaned back to enjoy the ride. The on-board computer would take it from here, thank God. No way was Mrs. Fitz's son going for a manual approach. If they wanted that kind of bullshit they could damned well round up a regular pilot.

  As the computer worked out a leisurely but safe approach, Renn took the opportunity to inspect the space station. It filled the viewscreen on the forward bulkhead. It seemed small by the normal standards of the human empire. Of course this was a research station, not an orbital factory complete with residential areas. Renn had seen all sorts of spa
ce stations during his travels, ranging from the ominous bulk of Imperial weapons platforms, to airy creations, more sculptures than habitats. The one floating towards them fell somewhere in between. The outermost part of the station consisted of two large tubular hoops set at right angles to each other.

  Each hoop was thousands of feet across, and perhaps fifteen feet in diameter, suggesting they were probably hollow. Spinning within the framework of the hoops was a large globe, its surface a patchwork quilt of solar receptors, antennae, cooling fins, and other assorted gear. Renn assumed that the hoops would be used for docking and storage, while the spinning globe would function as the station proper. The spin would provide those inside with artificial gravity.

  His theories soon proved correct: He felt a gentle bump as the shuttle made contact with one of four docking platforms spaced around the circumference of a single hoop. One for each shuttle, plus two for emergencies or visitors. There was a clanking sound as the shuttle was mechanically locked into place, followed by a series of dull thuds and faintly felt vibrations.

  Outside robo hoses emerged from their metal lairs, slithered towards their assigned fittings, and pulsed with temporary life as a variety of fluids flowed through them and into the shuttle they served.

  Inside Renn heard the hiss of equalizing pressure as the shuttle's main hatch cycled open. There was momentary confusion and a lot of good-natured joking as everyone released at once and floated into each other. But since the station personnel were experts at zero G the confusion was soon sorted out and they all lined up to leave the shuttle.

  Though quite experienced at weightlessness himself, Renn stayed back, waiting for the others to clear out. For one thing, he knew Marla would need some help, and for another, there was the question of the shuttle. Should he steal it or not?