Star stuff, p.9
Star Stuff, page 9
I just hope the natives are friendly, Tom thought. We might be here for a while.
"Tommy, I'm hopping into the last shuttle!" Winter said. "Get your ass over here."
He nodded.
It was time to go.
He paused for just a second on the bridge. He placed his hand on the dashboard.
"Goodbye, girl," he said softly.
Then he turned and ran.
The grav drive kept coming on and off, on and off. Tom ran a few steps, then floated, then ran, then floated. As clumsy as a fish with one fin, he made his way down the central corridor of the starship. As he lurched forward, he kicked open cabin doors, and he kept shouting.
"If anyone is still here—off the ship!"
He saw a few corpses. No more survivors.
Fire blazed before him like a living beast, and bulkheads caved in. Then a support beam buckled. Cables writhed and sparked like electric serpents. A bulkhead tore open, revealing the stars.
Tom grabbed a handle. Air rushed over him. The vacuum lifted his feet off the deck, began pulling him toward the void. He saw another shuttle fly outside, streaking toward the alien world. Was that the last shuttle? Leaving him behind?
I will not die here.
He reached forward, grabbed another handle, pulled himself along the corridor.
I am an Emery.
He placed his boots on the deck, began trudging forward through the roaring air.
My grandparents are war heroes, and I will not die in my first space battle!
He ran, slammed through a doorway, and barged into the hangar.
The hangar was a mess of fallen beams, cracked decks, and crumbling bulkheads. The airlock was sparking. There was one shuttle left. Winter stood at the hatch, beckoning urgently.
"Faster, dumbass!" she shouted.
He ran, then leaped off a fallen beam as the gravity died. He soared through the air toward the shuttle, overshooting it by a meter. Winter reached up, grabbed his ankle, and tugged him down. Clumsily, they rolled into the shuttle and slammed the hatch shut.
Others were inside already. Titania. Hancock. Young Floribeth Santiago. A platoon of marines. They were crammed in, sharing their seats, one soldier on another's lap. It was against safety regulations, but, well, so was staying on a crashing starship.
Tom didn't know how many crewmen had been sucked into space. As far as he knew, the other survivors had already abandoned ship. Hopefully they were waiting safely on a tropical island below.
Tom grabbed the controls and taxied the shuttle toward the airlock.
The airlock doors were not opening.
"Sir!" Titania said. "The airlock motors have burned out!"
Tom tapped a button, and a rotary gun extended from the shuttle. Bullets slammed into the airlock doors, ripping them off their hinges, exposing the stars.
"I fixed 'em," he said, and shoved down the throttle.
The shuttle roared out the crumbling starship into open space.
Tom flew in a wide loop, dodging debris from both human and alien starship. He came around to face the Galapagos.
He inhaled sharply. A massive chasm had ripped across the entire port hull. A chunk of the stern was gone, leaving just a crater of twisted metal. One engine was gone and the second engine was sparking. Fire raged behind several portholes.
The Galapagos was a husk. She would never fly again.
Already, the planet's gravity began pulling her down.
Tom watched as his starship, his beloved Galapagos, plunged toward Bahay's sky. As the hulk hit the atmosphere, fire roared. The ship's chassis cracked. Air rippled across the planet.
"If this starship hits the surface in one piece, it'll be like a nuclear bomb!" he said.
In frustration, he fired his shuttle's rotary gun. His bullets streaked toward the falling starship, hit the second engine. He fired again, emptying his shuttle's ammo.
As the Galapagos plunged through the sky, that last engine exploded.
The blast, along with the impact of slamming into a thick bed of air, was enough.
The Galapagos shattered into millions of pieces. The chunks streaked downward, wreathed in flame, dwindling and crumbling until they vanished into the oceans below.
Tom watched the debris rain, and he heaved a deep sigh.
"Goodbye, my queen of exploration," he said softly.
He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Hancock was leaning forward, patting him.
"She was a damn good ship." The old man saluted, chin raised, and tears shone in his eyes. "Godspeed."
They stared in silence for a moment longer at the raining shards of flame. They all understood their situation.
These shuttles can only fly short distances, Tom thought. Without a mothership, we'll never see Earth again.
He checked his sensors. He could detect the other shuttles. They had entered Bahay's atmosphere, were now flying over the ocean.
"Buckle up," he said, then shoved the throttle.
The shuttle dived into the sky of an alien world … and Tom didn't know if he'd ever go home.
CHAPTER NINE
Eight shuttles flew through the blue sky of Bahay, seeking land.
Emotions filled Tom. Grief at the loss of his starship. Rage at Winter for firing the cannons against his orders. Worry that he would never see Earth again. But there was still room for a little awe.
Bahay was beautiful.
Only a few fluffy clouds filled the blue sky. Two moons shone above—one silver, the other azure. One sun shone bright and yellow, while another gleamed like a distant white jewel, not much brighter than Venus viewed from Earth. Animals leaped through the water, gleaming purple, their fins tipped with beads of light. Soon small islands appeared below, not even large enough for a shuttle to land on. Trees swayed and birds filled the sky, flitting from one island to another.
"Yep, this place will make an amazing beach resort," Winter said. "I can already see it. Yachts, floating casinos, and mini breweries on every island."
Tom glared at her. "Winter, we're officers of the Human Commonwealth. We're not here to build casinos and bars."
She shrugged. "Why not? Who'll stop us? More of those talking Christmas lights?" She snorted. "We dealt with them easily enough."
"You call that easy?" Tom said, voice rising. "They destroyed our starship! We could have avoided violence, but you disobeyed my orders—on my own ship—and you instigated a battle—"
"They had already fired on us!" Winter snapped. "You were pussyfooting around, still trying to negotiate while they were charging their plasma coils. So I took action. I saved our asses."
"I don't need you to save anyone's ass!" he said.
"You clearly do."
"Like you saved us on Ganyme—" he began, then caught himself and closed his mouth.
Winter stared ahead, fists clenched.
"Next time," she said carefully, forcing each word through clenched teeth, "maybe I won't bother."
Tom rose from his seat. "You fly. I need to talk to Floribeth."
He stepped into the back of the shuttle.
Winter groaned and grabbed the yoke.
Tom paused for a moment at the cockpit doorway, took a deep breath, then stepped into the hold. The last survivors of the Galapagos were here, crowded into the seats and aisle. Some were nursing wounds. One engineer sat slumped against a bulkhead, a bandage around his head. A communication officer cradled his arm in his lap. It was badly burned, the skin peeling like an overripe fruit. The stench of blood and burnt flesh filled the hold.
A few people tried to rise to attention as their captain stepped forward. Tom waved them down.
He approached Ensign Floribeth Santiago. The young helmswoman sat by the stern, hugging herself. She looked up at Tom, eyes damp.
"Captain, did … did everyone make it out alive?"
Tom knelt beside her.
"Ensign Santiago—" he began, then softened his normal voice. "Floribeth. On the bridge, when you first saw the balls of light, you seemed to recognize them. You called them … I think the word you used was Santelmos?"
The helmswoman lowered her eyes. "I'm sorry, sir. I was scared and just blurted it out."
"Floribeth, if you have any information about who these aliens might be, I need to know."
She gulped. "I realize that, sir. It's just a story my grandmother used to tell me. A folktale from the Philippines. They're glowing balls of light. In our language they're called Santelmos. That's short for apoy ni San Elmo. In our mythology, the Santelmos are balls of white fire that fight each other. They appear in places of danger—accidents, battles, war."
"Saint Elmo's Fire," Tom said. "That's what we called them in America. In British mythology, they're called will-o'-the-wisps, and they float in swamps."
Floribeth nodded. "My lola—that means grandmother in our language—told me that they appear in every culture's mythology. The Russians call them Saint Peter's lights. The Mexicans call them brujas and believe they're the souls of witches. The Brazilians call them the boi-tata, believing then the eyes of fiery serpents. The Bengali call them the aleya, and they believe them ghosts of fishermen who had drowned. The Japanese call them hitodama, while the Finns call them—"
"I get the idea," Tom said.
Floribeth blushed. "Sorry, sir. I minored in mythology and folklore."
Tom thought for a moment. "So every culture on Earth has seen glowing orbs. Like the ones we saw up here. Could it be these aliens have been involved in human affairs for centuries?"
"Yes, that's what I'm thinking." Floribeth's eyes lit up, and she straightened in her seat. "After all, many creatures from folklore turned out to be aliens. Remember when we talked to that spaceship full of Bigfeet?"
Tom smiled thinly. "We don't call them Bigfeet anymore. That's offensive. The forest walkers of Vega are our allies."
Floribeth's blush deepened. "Yes, well, the point is—many aliens have been visiting Earth since our ancient history. Some kept showing themselves—like the Loch Ness monster, fairies, and Saint Elmo's Fire. Others have been sneakier. We called them cryptids—creatures we saw from the corners of our eyes, vanishing whenever we drew near. When I saw the aliens in that starship, those balls of light, I instantly knew that we discovered another mythological creature—here in space!"
Tom tapped his chin. "And they've been monitoring humanity for generations. What do they want from us?"
"I don't know," Floribeth said. "We blew them up before we could ask."
Hancock approached them, his broad chest puffed out, his ample gut sucked in. His white mustache bristled like a broom.
"Hey, Tommy, you might want to return to the cockpit," the XO said. "We just found land."
* * * * *
As soon as Tom reentered the cockpit, he saw it outside the windshield.
An island. A big island.
"Looks like a good place to land," Tom said.
"Good, you land us." Winter stepped away from the controls. "You're the captain, I'm just the muscle."
Tom replaced her at the yoke.
They flew onward in silence. The island spread for miles across the horizon. Rainforest draped across mountains and valleys, and beaches outlined the island in gold. Volcano vents opened to the sky like hungry baby birds.
Tom squinted. "Look at that. On those hillsides. Are those …" His eyes widened. "Terraces. Somebody is farming here."
Winter nodded. "Probably those villagers."
Then Tom saw them. Huts. They clustered along the coast, and as the shuttles flew closer, he could make out fishing boats in the water.
"Whoever lives here, it's not those balls of light," Tom said.
"Could this village have broadcast the radio signal?" Winter squinted. "I don't see any radio towers."
"Let's find out," Tom said.
He flew his shuttle over the ocean, heading toward the village on the beach. The other shuttles flew close behind.
Tom tapped his helmet, activated a comlink, and broadcast his voice to the fleet of shuttles. "Survivors of the Galapagos, this is Captain Tom Emery speaking. Land on the beach but remain in your shuttles until I give the all clear. We're making first contact with a new civilization. We don't want to overwhelm them with too many strangers at once. Emery out."
Winter activated her own comlink. "Do what he says. Winter out." She glanced at Tom and flashed a grin. "The marines follow orders from me, not you, big brother."
They engaged their stabilizer thrusters. Motors hummed. Air blasted from the shuttles' underbellies. They slowed to hover over the beach, the vents raising clouds of sand, then thumped down one by one.
For a moment, everyone sat in silence.
Tom stared through the windshield. He saw a humble village. Bamboo huts rose on stilts, perhaps to protect them from rising tides. Rice paddies covered the terraced hillsides. Reed boats swayed alongside a wooden dock.
The villagers emerged from their huts, stepped across the sand, and hesitated. They pointed and talked among themselves. They wore humble tunics, sandals, and straw hats.
"Humans," Tom whispered.
* * * * *
Tom leaned toward the back of the shuttle.
"Floribeth?"
The ensign's voice rose from the backseat, shaking slightly. "Yes, sir."
"You're with me. The rest of you stay in the shuttles." He turned off the comm and looked at his sister. "Especially you, Winter."
"Like hell!" The major raised her assault rifle. "They might be hostile."
"They're farmers and fishermen, Winter. Stay in the shuttle."
The villagers were still keeping their distance. They pointed at the shuttles and argued among themselves. One man held what looked like an antique flintlock. But he wasn't aiming the weapon at the shuttles.
Tom popped the hatch and stepped outside.
The villagers gasped. Some stepped back. A few children stepped closer, curious, only for their mothers to pull them back. They spoke rapidly, both among themselves and to Tom. He recognized the language from the song.
They're Filipino, he thought. And by the looks of it, still living in 1904. What the hell are they doing here?
Floribeth emerged from the shuttle too. The young officer had been born and raised in America, but her grandmother had come from the Philippines. She was the best diplomat Tom had right now.
"Floribeth, can you understand them?" Tom said.
The ensign nodded. "Yes, sir. Their dialect is very different from what my grandmother spoke. It's like Tagalog from the ancient books. But I understand enough. They're debating whether we're human or alien."
"Translate for me," Tom said, then took a step closer to the villagers. He raised his hands in a friendly gesture. "Greetings, friends! My name is Captain Tom Emery. I'm from Earth. I come in peace."
Floribeth translated, speaking in a high, soothing voice, a sharp contrast to Tom's deep, booming one.
The villagers all began to talk at once. Not to Tom—but to Floribeth! They surrounded her. A few children tugged curiously at her uniform and tapped the polished brass buttons. The adults smiled, laughed, asked her a barrage of questions. Soon Floribeth was laughing with them and chattering away.
"Great," Winter muttered, coming to stand beside Tom. "We fly hundreds of light-years into space, and she finds relatives."
"I told you to stay in the shuttle," Tom said.
His sister shrugged. "Hey, I left my guns behind! Well … the open carry ones."
A few villagers cautiously approached Tom and Winter. The children, naturally curious like children everywhere, reached toward them. Little hands tugged Tom's beard. A toddler pulled Winter's long braid. And Winter, the gruff soldier, laughed and mussed the girl's hair. Meanwhile, the older villagers still surrounded the helmswoman, chattering away.
"Floribeth, translate some of this for me, dammit," Tom said.
The young officer flushed and clasped her hands behind her back. "Sorry, sir. You just missed some small talk. I don't have any answers to our mystery. I'm, um … establishing friendship first."
"Establishing friendship first, you hear that, Winter?" Tom said. "You could learn a thing or two."
His sister flipped him off. "Here's a friendly fuck you."
One of the villagers stepped toward Tom. She was a young woman, maybe twenty years old. She wore a white dress embroidered with roses, and a string of beads hung around her neck. The breeze ruffled her long black hair, revealing a flower tucked behind one ear. She gave Tom a smile as warm and bright as the summer sky.
She took his hand into hers, squeezed it. Her smile grew. Her hands were small, tanned brown, and callused—perhaps from using a plow or fishing rod.
"Hello," she said in English. Her accent was thick. "My name is Amor de la Luna. Welcome to Bahay."
Tom raised his eyebrows. "You speak English!"
She lowered her eyelids and smiled shyly. "Only a little. I remember the old songs and stories from the books." She looked back up at him, blushed. "My grandmother is the village elder. She thinks you are very handsome!" Her blush deepened. "Will you join us for dinner tonight?"
Tom spotted an elderly woman among the villagers. She wore a headdress of seashells in her white hair, perhaps denoting her status. Tom nodded to her, then looked back at Amor de la Luna.
"Thank you, Amor. We gratefully accept."
He just hoped no murderous balls of light decided to crash the meal.
CHAPTER TEN
There were a lot of mouths to feed.
Over two hundred explorers and soldiers had descended in the shuttles. They doubled the size of the village.
To make things worse, the Earthlings were larger. Much larger.
The Bahayans were small folk, slender and short. Most of them, even the men, stood no taller than Tom's shoulders. Even back on Earth, Filipinos weren't known for being tall. And Bahay had lower gravity, probably selecting for smaller, lighter people.
They've been here for generations, Tom thought. Maybe enough for the first hints of a new evolution.
