Empyrion I: The Search for Fierra (12 page)

Crocker's words met with blank stares. “Here's a map—” He tapped a key and a green-and-gold landmass appeared on one of Cyclops' three screens. There were two red dots marked on the map—one in the center, near what appeared to be a blue, winding thread of a river, and another red dot in the lower right quadrant, nearer a tawny gold coast.

“Not much to go on,” remarked Treet.

“We're still too high for a more detailed picture, and we don't have a snooper pack, but it'll give you the general idea. Of the three major continental land areas on the planet, this is the largest.” Stabbing a finger at the red spot in the center of the map, Crocker said, “I get a fairly strong reading here—in the neighborhood of point zero eight seven nine, which ought to indicate a settlement of considerable size. Trouble is, the methane signature isn't what it should be—hardly anything at all. Over here, though, I get a reading of point zero six six two, with a good healthy methane signature.”

“What's that mean exactly?” asked Treet.

“Two colonies,” said Yarden. Crocker looked at her and nodded slowly.

“Yeah, two colonies. See, it took me a long time to separate the two because I didn't want to accept the readings. But that's what it looks like—two colonies. One nearly as big as the other.”

“How is that possible?” asked Pizzle. “That would mean the first colony would have had to double in size in less than five years. That can't be right.”

“I don't see anything so odd about it at all,” said Treet. “It's probably natives.”

“I thought of that too, but the transcripts of the landing party don't say anything about an extensive native population. Besides, they wouldn't have chosen this planet in the first place if there had been sentient humanoids down there—that would violate the IASA charter.”

“Maybe they're not humanoid,” said Pizzle. “Maybe it's a mob of long-horned blue kangaroos.”

“That would have to be a sizable mob,” replied Crocker flatly. “It's a density of point ninety-nine per square meter. Herds and such tend to be less dense—I looked it up. Strong LFR, too— that's life force reading—above eighty-five percent. It's the same reading you get from a well-populated city.” He looked at Yarden, who was staring at the mainscreen where Empyrion turned slowly on its axis as they flew over its smooth terrain. “She said it: two colonies.”

Treet rubbed his neck with his hand. “So why don't we just fly on down for a closer look? I don't see the problem.”

“I wish it were that easy,” said Crocker. “No, we're going to have to choose a landing site and take our chances.”

Treet's features convulsed in a furious frown. “Take our chances! What is this? A game? Is that what it is? Roll the dice and see what comes up?”

Crocker glared at him. “I wouldn't say that. The colony
is
down there.”

“Is it? You're sure, are you?” Treet fumed, getting red in the face. “Then why don't they answer our signals?”

“Obviously radio failure of some kind.” Pizzle darted a look from one to the other of the two men.

“Radio failure, he says! They could have as easily gotten eaten by that swarm of blue-horned kangaroos or whatever. Shall we go down and make it dessert?”

Crocker waved aside the comment. “You're overreacting.”

“Tell me I'm overreacting when you're simmering in your own sauce on a bed of hot coals.”

“I'm sure there's a rational explanation,” offered Pizzle.

“I'd like to hear it!” Treet demanded.

“We have weapons, Treet,” intoned Crocker.

“We do? Well, why didn't you say so before?”

“Last resort, dire emergency, and all that. But yes, we have weapons. Does that make you feel better?”

Treet hated to admit that it did. “Somewhat,” he replied grudgingly.

“Good. At last. Well,” Crocker stood slowly and stretched, “it's agreed then, right? We go down on the next flyover and head for the larger blip.” He pointed to the glowing red dot in the center of the computer screen, then glanced at Yarden Talazac.

Treet saw the look and wondered at it.

Yarden nodded once sharply. “I agree, Captain.” She turned back to the screen.

Treet watched her for a moment; he felt a queer, uneasy sensation at the thought that somehow
she
was controlling this decision. Maybe she was. “How soon?”

Crocker consulted an instrument. “We're coming up on the continental landmass in thirty minutes. We'll start our descent in about fifteen. Actual landing won't take but a few minutes.”

“And then?”

Captain Crocker stared at Treet levelly. “And then, Mr. Treet, we shall see what we shall see.”

What
they saw, streaking through the atmosphere like a meteor, was a turquoise world, blue-green with vegetation, water, and sky. As the
Zephyros
sped closer, its wings folded back into knife-thin stubs, the landscape rolled out before them, puckered like a rumpled tablecloth, and laced through with blue-white water. Their descent brought them over a rugged range of jagged mountains, a flat expanse of plains, and the sinuous waves of a desert of stark white dunes which faded into an earthy brown, then changed once more to pastel blue-green as they rocketed across the shallow valley of a wide silver river.

Treet, strapped to his flight couch, watched the holoscreen. Although the land seemed fair and inviting, it was empty. He did not see any signs of life: no animals or birds of any description—no sign that the planet supported anything but plants—and possibly insects; there were sure to be insects.

As the land rolled by beneath him, Treet realized that he was seeing a world no one had ever seen before—except the colonists, and perhaps not even them. Here was a virginal world, rich and ripe, ready for the hand of a husband, a world offering a fresh start for those who would make their homes upon her.

Such was the mood the alien landscape cast over Treet. His heart stirred to the sight of endless miles of verdure and fresh, clean water under sparkling blue skies. No dark cities with hanging shrouds of foul air; no yawning ore pits scarring the earth; no highways or fences tying it down; no stinking, festering hellholes filled with humanity's untouchables. No war. No disease. No famine. No want.

Here was a new beginning, a dream worth fighting for—perhaps even dying for.

Treet wondered at his response to this place. He had traveled far and wide, had seen grand vistas and beautiful landscapes many times before. Some had moved him, it was true, but none like this; none as much as Empyrion. Why? Landscape was just landscape, one hill or river pretty much like another in the final analysis. And yet … this place was different. He could feel the difference, though he could not name it.

Perhaps it was the absence of mankind here and all that represented: a free, unspoiled, perfect world. A paradise which had not cast out its keeper. An Eden where no serpent slithered. A realm of beauty, yes, but of beauty which was as much promise as physical presence.

The overhead speaker clicked as Crocker opened a circuit. “What a place!” he said in awed tones. Then came a long pause, after which he added, “We're coming up on the colony now. ETA two minutes. I'm feathering in the drag engines.”

At that moment Treet heard a hissing sound like sand blowing over glass. The straps tugged at his chest as the
Zephyros
responded to the increased drag by slowing. They were skimming over the landscape now, wings extended to offer maximum lift. The picture on the screen tilted slightly and then righted itself, and Treet saw a ridge rising up across a valley. The ship flashed over the valley, climbing slightly.

“And here it is, lady and gentlemen,” said Crocker, all business again. He might have been a bus driver casually announcing the termination of his route.

“Where? I don't see it.” The voice was Pizzle's, but it spoke Treet's thoughts as well.

“The lower center of your screen,” returned Crocker. “You'll see it… now!”

Leaning forward as far as his restraining straps would allow, Treet saw a dull, metallic-looking mound growing in the center of the screen near the bottom. “We'll make a reconnaissance pass,” said Crocker, and the picture tilted sharply. The grayish mound dipped from the screen, and Treet saw a sky of intense blue above a turquoise horizon.

“Sensors report no radio or electromagnetic activity below. I've got a strong LFR confirmed.” Crocker read off his instruments. “We are shedding altitude. Our second pass will be closer.”

Again the picture tilted, and the horizon slanted up. Treet glimpsed a bit of white sunlight through the tiny oval window above him. On the screen the landscape showed pastel green and barren rounded hills and flat places all around, with brown bluffs above a river in the far distance.

“I've got a visual,” said Crocker. “The landing area is clear. I'm going to put her down.”

Treet swallowed with a dry mouth; he heard a loud drumming sound and realized that his heart was thumping in his ears. His fingers dug into the fabric of the couch. This is it! he thought. We're landing!

The rumble and jolt of the engines surprised him, but he did not take his eyes from the screen for an instant. The picture shook momentarily, steadied, and then the horizon began flattening out as they came down vertically.

“Forty-two hundred,” said Crocker. “Coming down nicely. Thirty-five. Very good.” Another rumble rocked the ship. “A little more thrust; that's right. Good. Twenty-eight hundred. Slowing. Twenty-six…”

Where is it? wondered Treet, straining forward in his seat, eyes frozen on the screen. I don't see the colony! Where is it?

The holoscreen showed a panoramic view of a blue-green field of tall grasslike plants where wind sent waves rolling like breakers across the plain. The wind was exhaust from
Zephyros'
jets as the ship lowered itself from the sky. The picture spun and Treet got a glimpse of something rounded and glittering, rising up nearby—the mound he had seen moments before. The ship came around, and the object slid away.

With a soft, cushioned bounce like an elevator coming to a stop, the
Zephyros
touched down. “Happy landing, folks,” announced Crocker. “Welcome to Empyrion.”

“Is this really necessary?”
asked Pizzle, grimacing with distaste. “I mean, really? We already know that the air is breathable—there's more oxygen in it than Earth's!”

“Just put it on, will you, and stop stalling,” ordered Crocker. “It's by the book or not at all.”

“But… the colonists breathe it, for crying out loud—”

“Shut up and do it, Pizzle. You're holding things up.” Treet glared nastily at the balking Pizzle. “What are you afraid of?”

Grumbling, Pizzle lifted the massive helmet over his head and brought the neck seal down on the tabs. Crocker flipped the catches and checked to make sure it had sealed.

“Okay, we're all set. Everyone ready?” Crocker looked at each of the passengers in turn, waiting for a nod. “Let me hear you.”

“All set,” said Treet. His legs trembled with anticipation, and he thought, This is it! We're going out; we're really going out there! Mingled with this expectation was a distinct undercurrent of fear: the unknown. What lay on the other side of that hatch? Heaven? Hell?

“Ready,” said Pizzle. He glanced nervously around at the others.

“I'm ready,” said Yarden, her graceful form wrapped in a bulky, shapeless, red atmosphere suit like the others.

“Okay, I read you loud and clear. Let's go.” The Captain reached out and tapped a code into the switchplate next to the outer hatch. There was a muffled whoosh and the hatch withdrew, swung outward, and slid away to the side. A stairstep ladder unfolded below the hatch, and Crocker stepped into the open hatchway. “One at a time. Follow me.”

Crocker stepped over the threshold, turned, and backed down the steps, holding the handrail. Pizzle looked at Treet and gestured to the ladder.

“No, you go next,” replied Treet. “I'll go after Miss Talazac.”

Pizzle shifted his gaze to Yarden, nodded silently, and stepped into the hatchway. He disappeared, the top of his helmet sinking from sight as he went down.

“Your turn,” said Treet, turning to Yarden.

“Thank you,” she replied, turning crisply and descending without hesitation.

What is it with her? wondered Treet. He sighed and then stepped to the hatchway, turned, and lowered himself onto the first step, counting the steps as he went down.

When he reached the bottom he turned, expecting to see the others waiting for him. There was no one. A twinge of fear flitted over him. He spun around quickly, scanning the perimeter.

Then he saw them, at the rear of the ship behind one of the stilt legs. With instant relief Treet ducked beneath the heatcone of an engine and walked under the belly of the ship to join the others, who stood motionless, their backs to him, apparently engrossed in something. Treet could not see what it was. The suit radios were silent; no one said a word.

Treet stepped from under the obscuring edge of an engine shield and came to stand beside Crocker. Only then did he see what the others were seeing: an enormous sparkling wall of glass shot through with veins of black swept up from the landing platform. Beyond this wall rose bank upon bulging bank of crystalline domes and cupolas, billowing one on top of another beyond counting.