T'aafhal Legacy 1: Ghosts of Orion

by Doug L. Hoffman

  All that remained of the man and his horse was a curved dagger, badly pitted as if from strong acid, its handle and leather sheath eaten off, and the badly corroded metal bit from the horse's mouth. Higher up the bank were several scattered pebbles, the beads from Ahmed's misbaha.

  New Jerusalem, Paradise

  Mason and Manuel trudged back to their shuttle after completing the business transaction they had come for—exchanging goats for a slip of paper. That paper contained a string of numbers that would unlock their payoff back on Farside. As with previous visits to New Jerusalem, there were no women or children visible, only men in somber black outfits. The boxes of spare parts and supplies had been unloaded and now a number of young men were herding the goats toward town. The smugglers suggested that the four legged contraband be kept under cover whenever one of the observation satellites was over head—at least until the Fortune broke orbit for Earth.

  “Looks like our work here is done, Manuel,” quipped Mason, touching the pocket in which the slip of paper resided.

  “You got that right, amigo. If I never set foot on this rock again it will be too soon.”

  “At least there is grass on the ground this time,” the pilot observed. “The first couple of runs it was just sand. Someday you might regret not buying a homestead somewhere nearby.”

  “With this gravity? No thanks. Why do you think that old geezer wanted those goats so bad?”

  “I don't know. Maybe they want them for a goat grab on some holy day,” Mason replied. “Or maybe he's just queer for goats.”

  “Yeah, I guess it doesn't matter as long as we get paid.”

  “You got it. You know we should probably hose out the cargo bay before we lift off. I noticed there were some goat pies on the rear ramp.”

  “Why do I get the impression that 'we' means me?”

  Mason grinned at his companion, but said nothing more. Neither man noticed the darkness on the far horizon, like a cloud was casting a shadow on the prairie grass below. Problem was, there wasn't a cloud in the early evening sky. As the men joked and ambled toward the forward crew airstair the darkness crept closer to the settlement.

  * * * * *

  On the far side of the settlement, hidden from the shuttle crew's view by New Jerusalem's buildings, there were women and young children about. They were bent over, working in a large garden, tending the young plants that would eventually help feed the community. Busy at their labors, the gardeners also took no notice of the strange dark stain approaching them across the prairie.

  With no warning except a slight rustling sound the black pestilence arrived. The first victim it claimed was a four year old boy. He was kneeling down, playing in the dirt when the malignant sinews enveloped him. So quickly did the dark threads move, and so intense the pain they inflicted on the child, that the boy did not even cry out.

  The next victim was a young woman, caught in the act of standing up. The threads emerged from the ground she was working, wrapping themselves up her legs beneath her ankle length skirt. She managed a scream before succumbing.

  Hearing the young woman's anguished cry the other gardeners looked around, but it was too late. Sinuous black tendrils reached out for them, racing down the rows of young plants, consuming gardener and plant alike. Some tried to run toward the settlement, but were ensnared after only a few steps. One young mother grabbed her child, trying to carry her to safety—instead they died together, becoming part of the growing mass of black death.

  With each ingested victim the volume of blackness swelled. It raced on into the village proper. There was no glazing in the windows or doors to keep out the curious—life on a planet with no insects or other pests made for an open, breezy building style. Black threads flowed over walls, in through windows and out through doors, as death swept from dwelling to dwelling.

  The goats never reached their pen, dying in the dusty street along with their herdsmen. Moments later the threads invaded the stables and the screams of sheep and horses were added to those of the settlers.

  * * * * *

  In one of the public buildings that fronted on the town's open square, Rabbi Menaheim and several of the more technically educated members of his congregation were looking over the latest satellite pictures of their local region. From them they were planning where next to expand their fields and pastures.

  Rabbi Menaheim and his followers may have practiced that old time religion but they fully appreciated the benefits of modern technology. The Rabbi was giving instructions to the young man sitting next to the satellite radio used to communicate with the ship and other settlements.

  “Yani, please thank Captain Chakrabarti for sending the spares and repair kits for the solar panels, but no mention of the new livestock, eh?”

  “Yes, Rabbi.” The young man initiated a call to the colony ship. Currently, Fortune was orbiting high above the planet on the far side of the world. The call was routed through the network of dual purpose weather and communication satellites that had been placed in geosynchronous orbit to aid the colonists.

  “ESS Fortune, New Jerusalem, do you read me over?”

  After a few moments a reply came from the starship.

  “New Jerusalem, this is ESS Fortune, we read you five by five. What can we do for you today?”

  “We would just like to thank you for the final delivery of supplies and equipment. Rabbi Menaheim says that the Colonization Board has been most kind and that he will pray for your safe voyage home.”

  “Thank you, New Jerusalem. We wish you the best of luck with your settlement,” came the reply, but no one was paying any attention to the radio.

  “Look!” cried a man near the open window, pointing across the square. From the buildings on the far side of the town's central plaza fibrous blackness erupted. From the buildings' windows and doorways, and over the low walls between them, a wave of black sinews poured like a tsunami inundating a fishing village built on an ocean shore. Fed by most of the settlement's inhabitants and their livestock, the infestation had grown into a surging torrent that swept all before it.

  “Ahhh!” screamed the man at the window. “It is malakh ha-mavet, the angel of death!”

  The Rabbi sank to his knees in front of the open door way. Clasping his hands before him like an Old Testament prophet, he beseeched God to spare them. He began reciting a prayer for the dead.

  “El maley rachamim shochen bam'romim hamtzey menuchah nechonah al kanfey haschechinah...” God full of mercy who dwells on high, Grant perfect rest on the wings of Your Divine Presence...

  Blackness took him before he could finish. At the radio, Yani tried to tell the ship what was happening, but only managed a single phrase before he too was wrapped in voracious black and his flesh and bones melted into putrescence.

  * * * * *

  Mason and Manuel were unaware of the slaughter taking place less than half a kilometer away in the settlement. They had almost reached the airstair leading up to the forward crew entrance when Mason noticed a spreading black stain moving through the grass in their direction.

  “What do you think that is, Manuel?” the pilot asked, turning to his companion.

  “Mrgff!” came Manuel's strangled cry as the threads wrapped him in a bundle of black.

  Mason opened his mouth to shout but black sinews cracked around his body like the lashes of a hundred whips. His entire body screamed in pain as he too was consumed. The last image he saw was the black lump that had been Manuel sinking slowly to the ground. Then came blackness; then nothingness.

  The black tide raced on, beyond the shuttle, spreading out to consume the entirety of the recently planted prairie. In New Jerusalem not a single soul or animal drew breath. Even plants and inanimate objects made of organic material were absorbed.

  Wooden dressers full of clothing, furniture, rugs and curtains, all were gone. In one storage shed there was a large pile of salt spreading out across the floor, freed from the cloth sacks it had been contained in. Other supplies—spi
ces, tea, coffee, beans and rice—had all vanished.

  Scattered on the shuttle's sloping rear ramp were droppings from the goats, along with strands of alfalfa and hay that had escaped their bails during unloading. Thin black tendrils felt their way up the metal surface, traveling from one patch of organic material to the next. They progressed up the ramp and into the cargo hold, where they found more material to gorge on.

  Chapter 21

  Bridge, ESS Fortune

  Captain Chakrabarti paced back and forth on the bridge, a data pad in one hand open to the same page he had been reading an hour before. One of the shuttles was overdue, the one that was making a final drop off at New Jerusalem. The pilot and crewman had disembarked to help the colonists offload and move the cargo, leaving the shuttle's forward passenger door and rear ramp open—after all, there was nothing alive down there that they hadn't hauled to the surface themselves.

  Now, hours later, remote status signals indicated that the shuttle was just sitting there, hatches open and no one on board. More disturbing, there had been a call from the settlement of New Jerusalem. It seemed a routine call when shouting and screams could be heard in the background. Then the transmission went dead, the last word sent from the planet was “malakh ha-mavet.” The ship's computer informed the Captain that it was Hebrew for “angel of death.”

  Darkness had fallen on New Jerusalem and the surveillance satellite's last pass only detected some strange heat signatures. The weather satellite in geosynchronous orbit was too high to make out details but light was seen coming from the settlement. A better view would have to wait until morning on that continent.

  Maybe the crew went native and joined the settlers, Sid thought, grasping at straws. Maybe they have been incapacitated and cannot reply. No matter, those shuttles are each worth a hundred million credits and I will not leave an abandoned shuttle sitting on the planet's surface. They would probably dock my pay if I left it behind.

  Decision made, Sid instructed the ship's computer to initiate a remote takeoff procedure and return the grounded shuttle to the Fortune. In many ways, the shuttle pilots were a redundant system, only backup to the shuttles' onboard computers. The craft were fully capable of making trips to and from the surface on their own.

  Sid felt a spark of malice, If those two are partying with the settlers, let them call in the morning and beg for a ride back to the ship. The thought shamed him and he was immediately remorseful, I do hope nothing has happened to the shuttle crew, or the settlers.

  With Shuttle C on its way back all the shuttles were accounted for. Shuttle A was safely aboard, but Shuttle B was on approach to Zion with the final delivery to Brother Abraham's flock. Sid's cautious nature reasserted itself. Best tell the crew of Shuttle B to be alert for anything strange.

  This was not at all how the mission was supposed to go. Laying down his novel, he reached for the comm panel. Before he could call the shuttle crew a tone announced an incoming call.

  Bridge, Peggy Sue

  “Capt. Chakrabarti, I cannot stress more strongly the danger that those on the surface of the planet are in,” said Billy Ray to the holographic image of Fortune's captain that floated in front of his chair on the bridge. “Did you view the video I transmitted to you?”

  “Yes, yes. A tragic accident to be sure, but not proof that a horrid fate will befall those on the surface of Paradise,” replied Capt. Chakrabarti, following several seconds of round trip transmission delay. The tardiness of light made conversation awkward but possible as Peggy Sue approached the planet.

  Billy Ray sighed. “There is more to this planet than is obvious to the casual observer, Captain. There were certain omissions in the survey report we sent you when Fortune emerged in the system.”

  “Oh really?” Chakrabarti's voice dripped with sarcasm.

  “Yes,” replied Billy Ray, pressing forward. “We told you we found indications of an ancient alien civilization and we had examined several sites that appeared to be ruins.”

  “Yes?”

  “What we failed to tell you was that we recovered some alien devices from one of the ruins—I'm sending you the coordinates. That site was the same one where the contaminated sample was collected; the sample that killed Dr. Rogers in our Science Lab.”

  “This is all very interesting, Captain, but is there a point hidden in here somewhere?”

  “It has taken more than a month to decode the data stored in the alien equipment. I'm transmitting a part of that recording to you now. What it shows is the destruction of the entire planetary ecosystem by a malevolent black contagion—the same contagion that took my scientist's life.”

  “You expect me to believe that this 'black contagion' is just waiting to spring up and engulf the unsuspecting colonists? How long ago did this civilization ending calamity occur?”

  “Roughly 10,000 years ago.”

  “And you are suggesting that this black death has lain quiescent for one hundred centuries, waiting to devour my colonists? You said that your scientist had to prod the dangerous organism back to life, why should we expect its spontaneous regeneration on the surface?”

  “The presence of organic material seems to awaken it from a state of hibernation, as seen in the Lab video.”

  “After 10,000 years!”

  “That is well within the limits for known life. My science staff tells me bacteria discovered on Earth's Arctic sea floor have a hibernation period of up to 100 million years.”

  “Maybe there was some contamination left in the ruins you defiled, but none of the settlements are within a thousand kilometers of that site. I think you simply want the colonists off the planet because you overlooked something valuable, Captain.”

  Contempt laced Chakrabarti's last reply. Billy Ray's eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles could be seen clenching, a sure sign of his displeasure.

  “Captain, all I ask is that you look over the recordings I just sent you. Then tell me there is no cause for worry.”

  “Fine, I will let you know my decision after I watch your video. Fortune out.”

  The hologram image vanished, but the tension between the two captains lingered. Around the bridge, crew members concentrated on their instruments, avoiding eye contact with their commanding officer.

  “Well, that didn't go quite as well as we hoped,” Beth commented dryly. She had been standing near the Captain, just out of video pickup range, during the call. She knew her husband well and had learned that dry sarcasm appealed to his better nature, even when beset by disappointment.

  “That man is as stubborn as a mule,” Billy Ray finally said, silent rage dissipating. “Mr. Lewis, what is our ETA for Paradise orbit?”

  “A bit over four hours, Sir.”

  “Very well. You have the Conn, Mr. Lewis. The First Officer and I will be in the CIC.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir. I have the Conn.”

  Bridge, ESS Fortune

  Sid was in a funk, brought on by indecision. On one hand, he was outraged at the highhanded actions of the merchant captain, practically ordering him to evacuate the settlements that had taken several months to establish. On the other hand, he had watched the second video recording Capt. Vincent had sent him and it scared the devil out of him.

  If the video was to be believed, this planet used to have a civilization as advanced as Earth's before the alien bombardment. Cities and towns and farms spread across all the major continents. That civilization was destroyed in the matter of a few days, assuming that the video was not a deception concocted by the merchants to have Paradise to themselves.

  Why didn't they just tell us to bugger off when we arrived? Sid asked himself. Surely that would have been easier than trying to uproot the settlers now.

  Maybe Vincent was telling the truth. Maybe they didn't know the danger existed, or maybe they needed more time to manufacture evidence of a threat. Regardless, Sid doubted that the colonists would voluntarily return to the ship. He could just take Fortune and run for home, letting the merchants handl
e the situation—but that would be the coward's way out. He had a responsibility toward the settlers, even if they were no longer on board his ship.

  No matter, his options were limited. The Peggy Sue was rapidly approaching orbit around Paradise. The rumors about that ship were undeniably true. It was slowing at over 60Gs and had been for several days. Nothing short of a Navy warship could maintain that sort of acceleration. This made it easy to believe the other rumors, which said the Peggy Sue mounted enough offensive weaponry to go toe to toe with a cruiser. That ship, far from being a merchant vessel or a rich man's play toy, was actually a pocket battle ship.

  Since Fortune mounted no offensive weapons and only enough shielding to protect against random space debris, there was no possibility of armed resistance to the merchant captain's will. The best Sid could do was threaten to report his actions to the authorities back at Farside. Of course, the people behind the Orion Arm Trading Company pretty much were the authorities back home.

  Earth was almost destroyed, humanity was almost eradicated by hostile aliens, and now we are rebuilding our civilization, Sid thought. Yet the rich are still in charge and the poor have to be happy with the scraps from their tables. They give these poor colonists a new planet and then decide to snatch it back on a merchant captain's whim. Everything has changed but everything still remains the same.

  The injustice of life gnawed at Sid, but in the back of his mind a small voice kept nagging him: What if Vincent is telling the truth? If he was anything, Sid was over cautious. That was one of the reasons he had been chosen to captain this first colonization mission. He placed the delayed warning call to Frank Hoenig aboard Shuttle B, on its way to Zion.

  Shuttle B, Inbound to Zion

  The three settlements were spaced nearly equidistant around Paradise, each on its own continent. It was the wee hours of the morning in New Mecca and the sun had set in New Jerusalem. The day was half spent in Zion, the settlement belonging to Brother Abraham and his flock of fundamentalists. Shuttle B was flying out of the night, descending into the new dawn with ten thousand kilometers yet to go.