My hands are a blur on the controls, frantically checking damaged systems. I’m looking at about a dozen of them after getting rudely yanked out of FTL and entering the atmosphere of this planet at such a high speed.
I skip down to the grav lifts and prioritize them for auto-repair. I imagine nanobots bursting free, scurrying through the Vera to make emergency repairs. A progress bar appears. Two minutes and five seconds, counting down until the system will be operational again.
Shit, I’ll be a smear on the landscape by then.
Nosing down, I use the interceptor’s aerodynamic profile and wings to get some lift. Now racing down nose-first, I’m picking up speed again. I dial down the inertial dampeners all the way to 50% so that I can feel the moment when the interceptor stops falling and starts gliding.
Precious seconds pass. No joy. Still falling like a rock and the ground is racing up fast.
I need to risk a boost from the thrusters.
I tap the throttle forward. A meaty roar comes from the engines and my ship lunges toward the ground.
Altitude dropping below one thousand feet.
“Pull up. Pull up.” The Vera suggests in that bland female voice.
Not yet.
Three hundred feet.
And then I feel it. The moment when lift takes over. The Vera skips up lightly, nosing up. I pull up as hard and fast as I dare. All of my blood drains into my feet and I’m left blinking through a haze of black spots. Sounds grow muffled. My ears start to ring.
And then my vision clears, and I’m cruising low over the tops of alien trees.
“Yea-ha!” I crow, grinning from the near brush with death.
Right until a tree catches my starboard wing and sends me spinning down into the jungle.
I’m thrown against my restraints a hundred times, as the Vera crashes and tumbles end over end, splintering trees and branches.
The sound is deafening. Foliage obscures my view. A feeling of freedom and relief overcomes me.
Death will be a mercy. Ghosts aren’t meant to roam among the living, and the ones haunting me have waited too long for me to join them.
Darkness falls and I welcome it. I guess this was a sunset after all.
PART 2: RING WORLD
Chapter 17
Eyelids rasp against my eyeballs as I come to. I’m dangling from my restraints. My holoband is on the floor, beside my feet, tucked between the pedals for the lateral thrusters. A nest of branches is pressed to the dirt-crusted cockpit canopy in front of me. The palladium-glass is cracked in two places. A wedge of it missing. Alien smells mist in with the muggy jungle air.
Breathable? Toxic?
The hell if I know.
What I do know is that I’m not dead. At least, not yet.
Maybe that’s because death would be too easy. Vera always used to tell me that justice is served by the living, not the dead. I thought it was her way of telling me not to let my ghosts haunt me because they don’t give a shit about how they died. But maybe what she really meant is that me dying wouldn’t make up for the things I’ve done. I was in a dark place back then. Disobeying my orders to save her on Dramos was the only good thing I’d done in a long time. She pulled me out of that darkness. And her words stuck with me, because she’s right.
Justice is served by the living, not the dead.
Pushing her from my mind, I force myself to focus.
Holo displays in the cockpit are flickering. Several of the 2D ones are cracked and dark. Offline. A stream of errors and damage reports scroll along my main holo display. All of the systems red and damaged.
I feel heavy. A lot heavier than I should. Inertial dampeners are offline. This is the planet’s gravity I’m feeling. Feels pretty brutal, but at least it’s not enough to crush me.
A quick check on one of my working displays reveals that surface gravity is 1.67 standard Gs. I just came from Terra Novus with point 96 Gs. My neuralink makes the math easy: my two hundred and twenty standard pounds is feeling like 367 right now.
The atmosphere misting into my cockpit is breathable, but a bit heavy on oxygen and alien antigens. I’ll have to wear a filter mask to be safe.
Reaching for one under my seat, my fingertips graze the air hoses. I pull the mask out and yank the straps over my head.
Fresh, neutral-smelling air fills my lungs.
A good start.
I take a few deep lungfuls of it to clear my head.
My eyes catch sight of one system that’s still green. The grav lifts. Looks like my nano-sized little helpers came through. Grabbing the stick in one hand and the throttle for the grav lifts in the other, I ease the throttle up—
Branches snap and shriek over the hull.
Then I pull up to direct the thrust and level out. The nose of the Vera drags free of dirt, and the nest of branches covering the cockpit falls away to reveal scraps of pinkish-peach sky peeking through the shattered trees. This better not be another cliff.
I inch forward. More branches clear from the canopy, and I see more sky. But there is sloping, grass-covered ground beneath it. I’m on a hill, not a cliff. More trees below. I drop the landing gear with a grinding clunk, then set down on the grass. The landing gear adjusts for the incline and keeps the Vera level.
I kill the grav lifts and stare blankly out the broken cockpit, my breath rasping through my mask, my pulse skipping along steadily. I’m not injured. Not dead, obviously. The clouds are gradually growing lighter, so I was wrong about that sunset.
But what does a day look like on this planet? How long does it last? Will it cook me alive when temperatures soar over tolerable limits?
I don’t know a damned thing about where I am, and my ship doesn’t have any details for me, either. If I can’t fly back up to orbit and get a proper fix on my location, I’m bound to spend the rest of my life on this forgotten world—however long or short that may be.
On the bright side, I bet the real estate here is dirt cheap.
A crooked grin lifts one side of my face.
* * *
What do I need to get out of here? Thrusters. Life support. A cockpit that holds air. And a working FTL drive.
All of those systems are currently offline, and my cockpit definitely won’t hold air. But that’s what the nanobots are for.
Scrolling through the damage reports on my main holo display, I set the little helpers to it, and watch as progress bars and ETAs appear next to the Vera’s primary systems.
The longest ETA is for the FTL drive—
Instead of a time in hours, minutes and seconds, that one shows the lazy eight symbol of infinity.
That delicate system can’t be repaired without brand-new components.
Components that I won’t find here.
My heart drops into my boots. I’m actually stranded here. I don’t believe it.
How many blind jumps have I done without getting sucked into a rift?
Ninety-nine? A hundred?
Fate must really have it in for me.
I blow out a weary breath that hisses through my mask.
Okay, Cade, think...
Everything else I need can be fixed. My gaze flicks down the queue for repairs.
Comms: five minutes and counting.
Life support: forty-seven minutes.
Cockpit: two hours and change.
Main thrusters: sixteen hours.
That’s it, then. In sixteen hours, I can take off, get back up to orbit, find out where I am, and send out a distress call to the nearest search and rescue outfit. I’ve got the credits, so they’ll gladly come for me.
Just as long as I’m in range of the hypernet. There is that little catch to worry about.
But I guess I won’t know until I try.
A nice dose of uncertainty to niggle at my thoughts for the next sixteen hours. What the hell am I going to do with all that time?
My eyes fix upon the lightening clouds along the horizon. Snow-capped peaks faded blue still lie in shadow. A gil
ded pool of sunlight is shining on the jungle canopy below the hilltop where I sit. The leaves are shining blue-green with the light. Curtains of mist are rising. Alien fauna is hooting and chirping.
I guess I could get out, meet the local xenos, and see the sights.
Chapter 18
My cockpit canopy swings open with a groaning complaint from damaged mechanisms. Muggy air swirls in. It’s cool, but not cold, so there is no need to put on additional clothes from what I have stashed in the Vera’s cargo box. I grab my holoband where it lies down by my feet and slide it back over my forehead. It’s not much use without a connection to any networks, but at least I can use the holocams in the rim to keep eyes on my surroundings.
Standing up, I pull my seat back to grab a go-bag of survival gear and a gun belt with my spare DX-22 already holstered in it.
I loop my arms through the shoulder straps of the bag and belt on the gun, then swing my legs over the side of the cockpit and jump down.
My knees buckle in the higher gravity and I land on them with a grunt. I must be getting old.
Straightening up, I glance around. Air whistles through my mask. It’s just a filter mask, taking out allergens and contaminants in the air, and reducing the high oxygen concentration to a level that my lungs can cope with.
There are smart pills in my survival bag that could make more lasting changes to my lungs and immune system so that I won’t need the mask, but I’m not planning to stick around here long enough for that to be necessary, and the mask isn’t much of an encumbrance.
I take a few steps down the hill. Dense, stalky black grass crunches underfoot. Each blade is tipped with a dish-shaped blue flower that automatically folds up to protect itself as I walk.
An alien chir-rup spins my head around. I find myself staring at a fluffy white thing about the size of a toddler with a round body, two blue eyes, two skinny arms, and two stubby legs. The fur is thinner on its face. A tiny black nose twitches. A reed-thin black tongue darts out toward me, extending easily six feet before reeling back in. I’m about ten feet away. Is it tasting my scent?
Chirr-up.
Sounds like it’s saying cheer up to me. A smile twitches onto my lips.
“Hey there little guy.”
Chirrrr... up!
“Small vocabulary. I get it. Don’t worry, I’m not big on small talk.”
Chirr... the little guy coos.
Is it a predator or prey? I wonder to myself. All animals fall into those two categories. Then again, I suppose humans do, too.
Those big blue eyes look intelligent, but I know better than to be fooled. The Priors are the only intelligent species we know of besides ourselves, and they’re long extinct.
Even if this world has never been seen by human eyes before, the odds of there being intelligent life here are astronomically low.
So this furball must lie somewhere along the animal spectrum.
A cracking sound draws my eyes farther down the hill. The tree tops are shivering. A branch just fell.
Boom.
Hmmm. Heavy branch.
Furball lets out a sharp, trilling cry, “yip-yip-yip-yip!” and scurries away from the sound. Darting behind my ship. The last I see is it hopping up into the starboard engine nacelle. Great.
“Hey, get out of there!”
I stalk around the back of the interceptor. The furball has curled up in the shadowy recesses of the thruster’s exhaust port. All I see is a fuzzy white ball. Blue eyes peek open, peering through a forest of its own fluff.
“You need to get out of there.”
Chirrr, it replies softly, as if it actually understands me. I highly doubt that.
“Either you get out, or I reach in and drag you out. You’ve got three seconds.”
Chirr-up.
One.
Chirr.
Two.
Another crash sounds from the jungle, followed by another boom.
Yip-yip-yip-yip! The furball tucks itself tighter and the eyes disappear.
I look away, scanning the tangled wall of trees below my landing site. There appear to be two main types. Tall and skinny ones that end in umbrella-shaped tops covered with a single greenish-blue membrane that is thin enough to let the glaring red sun through and make them seem to glow. The other type of tree is like a spear with big, flat blue and black leaves extending directly from its trunk.
My hand rests on the grip of my sidearm as I scan the shadowy jungle.
Another boom rumbles out, and I see the trees shiver. This time there was no crack of a branch breaking. And in my experience, branches don’t naturally fall with that kind of regularity.
“What are you?” I whisper to myself. “Predator or prey?”
Another boom, this one closer and louder than the last.
High grav worlds don’t usually produce big animals. Then again, the galaxy is a strange place, and there are plenty of exceptions to prove the rules.
My mind conjures up some kind of herbivore with a long neck to help it graze from the tree tops. Probably not dangerous.
But then why is this little guy so scared? I glance back at him. One eye cracks open. The fur shivers as the eye vanishes again.
Boom.
Still getting closer.
And that furball is shivering continuously now.
My hand closes in a fist around the grip of my pistol. I ease the DX-22 out and flick off the safety.
I wonder if I should get back in my cockpit and use the grav lifts I repaired to find another landing site. Maybe one of those cliffs. Bet I won’t be disturbed by the local fauna up there.
Better to be safe than—
Boom.
The trees ahead of me part like a curtain, and I freeze on the spot.
Two giant arms are holding the trees apart, bending their trunks like bamboo shoots.
This monster looks vaguely like one of those trees itself, but without the leaves: a hairless black and brown hide that’s rough and plated like tree bark. The arms and legs are knobbly and asymmetrical. And it’s just as tall as one of the trees, standing around forty-five feet from head to toe. It has a big, lumpy face that follows the shape of its narrow, crooked torso, ending in a crown of antlers or branches at the top.
It has a big, gaping oval mouth that looks like a hollow. Another, smaller hollow above it that could be a nose. And a pair of giant black eyes with gleaming silver pinpricks for pupils. Even those could be mistaken for parts of a tree.
Nature gave this guy a clever disguise. I guess if your prey is these scampering furballs, chasing them down is a lot more work than letting one of them accidentally curl up inside your mouth.
Maybe that means they’re like those long-extinct sloths from Earth. Too slow to worry about.
Let’s see...
I relax my frozen limbs. Roll out my shoulders. And take aim with my gun.
The thing pivots toward me, eyes flare wide, and it lets out a rumbling roar that would make a T-Rex piss itself.
Then it bursts out of the trees with long, loping strides, coming straight at me. Each footfall is a thunderous boom that shakes the ground.
I take aim with my pistol, lining up the misshapen oval of its mouth—
And pull the trigger.
Chapter 19
A dazzling red flash erupts from the barrel of my sidearm. The tree monster staggers and screams. Its open hollow of a mouth writhing as the guttering flame in the back of its throat sputters out. The monster keeps coming.
I fire again, aiming for an eye this time. The laser bolt misses, hitting the crown of antlers above its head. One of them splinters, but the creature doesn’t seem to feel it.
Seconds. That’s all I have before one of those long, knobbly arms with their odd number of splayed, crooked fingers grabs me in a crushing grip.
Only one thing I can do now. I take my cue from the furball shivering in the exhaust port and throw myself under the Vera for cover. Booming footsteps chase after me as I crawl between the landi
ng skids.
A frustrated roar reverberates painfully in my ears. More booming. I see giant feet with toes like roots radiating from the central trunks of its legs. The tree monster is walking around my ship in a circle, trying to figure out where I went.
Not very smart, I guess.
Then it stops, and I hear a snuffling snort. Hands touch down beside me with another ground-shaking report. Crooked fingers as thick as my forearms dig into the stalky black grass. Blue flowers fold up. A giant black eye appears beside me. The silver pinprick of its pupil swiveling back and forth as it scans the space beneath the Vera.
Can it see me? I’m wearing black. It’s pretty dark under here.
Another snort from its nose hole. A snuffle. Dried leaves and twigs come skittering underneath the ship. One of them lands on my hand. It’s not a leaf.
It’s some kind of flat-bodied creature with tiny, translucent white legs all around the edges. Those legs prickle my skin as it crawls over me. It looks just like a leaf that turned brown and dry after falling from a tree. I guess the tree monster isn’t the only creature on this planet that looks like foliage.
I hold my breath. Something wet probes my skin. The leading edge of the leaf thing opens up, revealing translucent white teeth. Black tongues lance out, pricking my skin. My hand starts to grow numb.
Fuck.
I fling the thing away before it can take a bite out of my thumb. It goes skittering off, and I nearly shoot it for good measure.
Anticipation lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.
That giant eye has been watching me the whole time. The silver fleck in the center flicking and forth. It squints at me. I stare back.
It’s your move. What you gonna do, tree?
It straightens up with a snort that sounds dismissive. Maybe I don’t smell as tasty as it thought I would.
Booming footsteps slowly recede from my position. I let out a sigh that rattles through my filter mask.
My hand still feels numb, but the feeling isn’t spreading, so I take that as a good sign.
Damn, I hate bugs.
* * *
The Bounty Hunter (Cade Korbin Chronicles Book 1) Page 8
