Pools of Yarah Read online

  “Report, Anderson,” she barked at him, hoping to snap him out of his growing dismay.

  Anderson shook his head slowly and looked up at her. “All communication equipment, except for two short-range hand-held units, is gone. Irreparable. I couldn’t even find some of the components. Our automatic transponder is working. They can locate us, but if the Baldry comes after us, that satellite will destroy it too. I debated shutting it down.”

  “No, leave it on,” she answered. “Hopefully our warning got through. In the meantime, we survive. We have to search for Whitehall. It won’t be easy in the dark.” She glanced at Pegari’s body. Strangely, she felt no sadness at her death, only guilt. She assumed sorrow would come later to replace the numbness after she had time to absorb the consequences of her decisions. “Then, we bury Ialin.”

  She noticed that her voice had suddenly ranged higher. Anderson stared at her questioningly.

  “It’s the helium coolant from the Craddock fusion reactor,” she realized. “The reactor automatically went off-line in the crash, but the coolant lines ruptured. We can’t stay here. I’ve gathered some supplies. Grab anything else you think we might need and meet me outside the ship. Hurry.”

  Her faceplate had cracked during the crash. She ripped off the useless helmet and flung it to the ground in anger, then stripped off the heavy vacuum suit. She barely remembered to trigger the survivor transponder clipped to her belt to let the Baldry know that someone was still alive. The helium gas expanded as it warmed, filling the entire ship. Without her suit oxygen, breathing became more difficult. She took one last look around the wreckage before climbing out through the rip in the starboard side.

  She had thought the inside of the shuttle was stifling. Outside, the heat struck her a physical blow. Hot air rose from the sun-baked earth in waves. Each breath was a struggle, feeling as if it was searing her lungs. She looked around for the missing section of the ship and Whitehall, but she could see nothing in the darkness. She went back into the shuttle to retrieve her cap and one for Whitehall and Anderson. When the sun rose, they would need all the protection they could find. Then, she joined Anderson.

  She pressed her finger to a spot on her neck just above her sternum to activate the communicator embedded just beneath the flesh. Each crewmember had the implant for shipboard communication. “Cathi to Whitehall. Come in Whitehall.”

  She waited a few moments but received no response. She fought the growing panic that Whitehall was dead: another life lost that had been her responsibility.

  “Whitehall, answer me if you can hear me,” she said, almost pleading for a reply.

  “The communicators are short-range, “Anderson reminded her. He still wore his vacuum suit, but he had removed his helmet and gloves. He tried his communicator, frowning at the silence. “Maybe he’s unconscious,” he suggested. He tactfully avoided mentioning the more obvious conclusion, that Whitehall was dead.

  “Yeah, maybe,” she replied.

  “The atmosphere is full of ions,” he said. “They could be interfering.”

  “We’ll find him the old fashioned way,” she said.

  As they walked away from the shuttle, she realized just how lucky they had been. The rough landing had ripped away the tiles and had torn away large sections of the hull, strewing twisted metal and melted tiles like confetti along a trail over a kilometer in length. A deep gash ground into the earth indicated how the shuttle had lost velocity. They had passed within meters of a stony outcropping that would have smashed them to pieces. It was by a miracle more than her piloting skills that anyone had survived. Had they slid another fifteen meters, they would have plunged into a ravine over twenty-five meters deep.

  They searched using handheld flashlights, meandering along their flight path calling Whitehall’s name, searching through pieces of debris, and dreading to find his corpse beneath each one. Finally, they heard a faint reply to their calls. Cathi’s heart leaped with joy.

  They found Tai Whitehall strapped to his seat, still bolted to a section of the hull torn free on impact. It had slid for thirty meters before coming to rest in an upright position. Whitehall would have gotten off without a scratch if not for one, lone, scrubby tree. His makeshift sled ground to a stop just as he rammed into the tree’s single branch, pinning him to his seat.

  After carefully releasing him from his seat and removing his helmet, Cathi examined him with the handheld medical scanner. She quickly discovered that he had suffered at least two broken ribs, but had difficulty determining if there were any further internal injuries. The scanner had suffered damage in the crash, and the readings were inaccurate. They freed him from his seat and helped him back to the shuttle.

  She insisted they all eat, though she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  “We’ll remain near the shuttle for the time being. The Baldry is bound to have picked up our distress call, and will mount a rescue mission.”

  She didn’t add that they had nowhere to go and that Whitehall was in no condition for a journey, or the fact that if no help came within a few days, they were probably on their own. By Anderson’s glum expression, he had already arrived at the same conclusion. He removed the rest of his vacuum suit, leaving only his sweat-soaked jumpsuit. Always neat, he folded the suit and laid it beside his sleeping bag. He lay down and closed his eyes, but Cathi doubted he was asleep.

  Whitehall had drifted to sleep immediately after their meal. His breathing sounded labored, and he moaned whenever he moved. Cathi was concerned for him. The medical kit was limited in scope, and her knowledge of first aid was limited to shipside minor wounds. He needed real medical help, but help seemed unlikely in their present situation.

  She was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but her mind roiled with doubts about her ability to lead. She paced around the crashed ship replaying every minute of their flight and the battle with the defense satellite. She saw no obvious mistakes she had made, but she couldn’t argue with the outcome. They were on a seemingly hostile planet with little food or water and only a slim chance of rescue.

  If help didn’t come soon, she could think of no option but trying to reach the ruins of Denver Dome. It would be a long, grueling hike, especially for Whitehall, but it was also the nearest sign of civilization. Even though the scans indicated it long abandoned, perhaps they would stumble across help along the way. She could not accept that everyone on Earth was dead. Even if her ancestors had left the planet a thousand years ago, Earth was still the Mother World –Homeworld. It couldn’t be dead. It just couldn’t.

  At the first hint of dawn, they buried Ialin Pegari on a small rise beside the shuttle. Using pieces of metal from the shuttle as digging tools, she and Anderson barely managed to scrape a hole in the hard-packed soil deep enough to accept Pegari’s petite body. They wrapped her body in a piece of insulation and reverently placed it in the hole. She dutifully read from her officer’s manual the words for the dead, but mere words seemed inadequate for the heart-wrenching sense of loss she felt. She had never lost a friend to death before. She had also never lost someone under her command.

  “I’m so sorry, Ialin,” she whispered to the small grave as she drove a piece of metal into the grave to serve as a marker. She laid Pegari’s ID bracelet over it. “You came all this way only to die on Homeworld without a proper ceremony.”

  She turned away and swiped at the tear in her eye. She had shipped with Pegari for nearly four years. She had been quiet and solitary aboard ship, but always ready with a joke at a moment’s notice. On shore leave, she submerged herself in whatever culture she encountered, living each day to its fullest. She had helped Cathi study for her officer’s exam. Her death would leave a large hole in the ship’s company and in Lorst’s heart.

  The sun rose hot and merciless. She had never been on a world where the sun beat down on the land as hard. Within an hour, the heat became unbearable, baking her through the thin material of her jumpsuit. They needed shelter. The helium had cleared from the shuttle. She
deemed it safe to return to its relative comfort out of the relentless heat of the sun. Whitehall didn’t complain, but she knew he was in pain in spite of the sedatives. She had bound his damaged ribs as best she could the previous night and administered antibiotics and anti-inflammatory drugs, but she knew he needed better care than she could provide. He insisted on helping with the daily chores – cooking, operating the small water still, and searching through the wrecked shuttle for useful items – but she could see him wince whenever he bent over or pushed himself too hard.

  The malfunctioning medical scanner indicated that his ribs had aligned properly and would mend with time and care, but it provided little reliable information beyond that. He steadily grew weaker throughout the day, and the color drained from his face. She was concerned about internal bleeding, but they could do little about that eventuality.

  The days passed with no sign of rescue. Food and water were beginning to run low. The portable water still, sufficient for recovering moisture from ship’s air or from the atmospheres of most worlds, struggled to wring moisture from Earth’s bone-dry air. It already showed signs of failure. She decided it was time to leave.

  A part of her could not face the fact that they were now on their own. She was not ready to command the small group of survivors. She was not sure if she was up to the challenge. On the ship, the captain was always there for advice. His word was law. She was great at carrying out orders, but she doubted her ability to lead. In the present situation, that could prove fatal. She could not afford to show her doubts to her comrades.

  On the evening of the fourth day, she informed them of her decision. “They’re not coming, and we can’t stay here waiting for them. We’re running out of supplies. Our only chance is to head for the ruins of Denver Dome. Maybe we can find a way to contact the ship or at least find some help for Whitehall.”

  Anderson merely nodded his head. She could not read his face or know how he felt about the situation. Since the crash, he had become even more taciturn than usual. Whitehall said nothing, but she guessed his thoughts. It would be tough going for even the hardiest group. It would be especially challenging for him. Waiting until sunset, they gathered their meager remaining supplies and headed west. What lay there? She wondered. Possible rescue or just empty buildings long abandoned. Either way, they could no longer remain where they were, hoping for a rescue that might never come. Looking back over her shoulder at the ruined wreck of her lost command, a pile of shattered metal littering the landscape, she felt pangs of anguish. She glanced at the unfamiliar constellations overhead. Once again, she wished for the familiar polished steel corridors and comforting, close confines of the Long John Baldry, her home for nearly eight years. The vast, open spaces around her made her feel vulnerable and alone.

  They relied on their flashlights until the moon rose behind them, a mere sliver of light but bright enough to illuminate their path. Much of the terrain around them bore indications of high-energy laser blasts – razor-sharp shards, heat-fused surfaces, and silica glass beads. Her hands bled from numerous small cuts and abrasions incurred while scrambling over jumbled piles of shattered rock or glass-smooth inclines. Her jogging had not prepared her for traversing such obstacles. After travelling less than ten kilometers, the muscles in her legs ached to the point of tears, but she refused to show any signs of weakness to her companions. They needed her strength and guidance if they were to survive.

  She heard Anderson and Whitehall puffing and groaning behind her. Neither was in great physical condition, and Whitehall was weak from his injuries. She hated to push them hard; however, she knew their time was limited. They could not travel in the heat of the day, but the darkness held its own dangers. Twice, she barely managed to avoid sliding down steep slopes into the black, unknown depths below. She kicked herself mentally for failing to bring some wiring to use as a rope. She was sure other such failures would slow their journey.

  At last, shattered rock gave way to a flat, featureless plain. Walking became easier. She increased their pace. They badly needed rest, but she was afraid that once stopped, it would be too difficult to continue. Overhead, the faint glowing edge of the familiar Milky Way brought her some comfort. One of those bright dots, she thought, is my home world. Then she remembered that it was over a hundred light years away. She searched the sky for some sign of the Baldry but saw nothing. She despaired that they were ever coming.

  A sound like a baby’s rattle stopped her in her tracks. She shined her light about and almost stepped on the sound’s source. A coiled serpent struck at her boots with such force that she felt the impact of its fangs through their tough, leather sides. She jumped back, pulled out her laser, and fired without thinking. The snake sizzled as the beam sliced its two-meter length neatly in half.

  Anderson immediately checked her leg. “It didn’t penetrate,” he said with relief.

  “What was it?” She stared at the snake still writhing on the ground. She knew about serpents, having encountered them on her home world, but this one was different. It showed no fear of man.

  Anderson picked up the piece with the head and examined it closely. “It looks like a pit viper. We had them on Brosnia, though not as big. It’s most likely poisonous.” He kicked the tail with his boot, making it rattle. “The tail rattle probably serves as a warning for things too big to eat. It didn’t want to waste venom or energy on you until you almost stepped on it.” He looked at Cathi and smiled, his first since the crash. “You’re too big to swallow.”

  She shuddered. “I hope there aren’t more around.”

  Anderson tossed the snake to the ground. “Too bad. We might have eaten it.”

  She didn’t know if Anderson was joking, but had no desire to taste snake. She wasn’t quite hungry enough to eat meat of any kind, especially serpents.

  “Let’s go,” she said, carefully avoiding the two halves of the dead rattler.

  The remainder of the night passed without incident. As the first light of the sun peeked over the horizon behind them, the temperature soared, forcing them to seek shelter from its withering rays. Anderson found a small crevice between two large boulders, barely space enough in which the three of them could lie down. After first carefully inspecting the crevice for another snake, the trio made camp.

  Though she had been on Earth for almost a week, the fury of the sun when it crested the horizon always caught her by surprise. It was like the blast of an ion engine raking across the planet. The temperature soared twenty degrees in less than half an hour. During the night, she had heard sounds in the distance – insects, birds, maybe even more snakes, but as the sun reclaimed the land, all sounds ceased. Every creature sought refuge from the relentless heat. Without the shelter of the domes, she wondered how man could have survived on this hostile world. No water, no animals, no crops – what would they eat? If they encountered any survivors, they would assuredly be different from those who had remained during the Scattering. How could anyone survive the death of their world without being fundamentally changed?

  She rationed their meager water supply, a few swallows each, and handed out tasteless but nutritious ration bars to conserve their rapidly diminishing food supply. As it was, they were expending far more calories than they were consuming. They could not continue long at that rate.

  “Get some sleep,” she ordered, but saw that Whitehall was already soundly asleep. Anderson ran the scanner over Whitehall’s body and frowned.

  “His fever is getting worse,” he said. “He’s weak. This pace will kill him.”

  She understood Anderson’s concern, but couldn’t give in to her impulse to allow him more time to heal. “We have a week’s worth of rations left and very little water. If we remain here, we die.” She looked toward Denver Dome. “If we have any chance of surviving and getting home, it’s out there. We have to keep going.”

  He nodded his head in reluctant agreement, too tired to argue. She was glad she couldn’t see the accusation in his eyes. He joined Whitehall a
nd was soon asleep. She kept watch for a while, trying hard not to dwell on the futility of the situation, but weariness overcame her, and she too succumbed to sleep.

  7

  Under House Arrest

  Just as Kaffa had predicted, the Council did not look kindly on Kena’s prolonged absence. To worsen matters, Kena insisted on telling of his discovery of the map to Denver Dome. Upon hearing this, Chu Li erupted in fury. The light of the burning braziers used to illuminate the room cast his shadow against the stone wall behind him, augmenting his menacing façade. “This is blasphemous! Denver Dome is an evil place full of the unclean and the impure. Your place is here as our Healer. Yarah will punish us all severely if you persist in your blasphemy.”

  Madras stood and echoed Chu Li’s sentiments. “It is because of your sins our water has not returned. The Pools of Yarah are dry because you insist upon your unholy crusade to return us to the old days.” His finger trembled as he pointed it at Kena like a knife.

  Pandemonium erupted as various Council members tossed insults at one another. Chu Li stamped his staff upon the floor to return order. Hramack could tell by the High Priest’s smile that he was enjoying the melee.

  Kena raised his voice. “The old ways are dead. We will all soon be dead if we do not attempt to locate the source of the water. We need parts for our failing machinery. We need knowledge of what lies around us. We cannot learn these things by hiding in our valley and pulling the sand over our heads.”

  Of the entire Council, only Roagneau stood by Kena. Kena suspected Roagneau’s show of support was more out of respect for Kena’s dead wife, a kinsman, than actual support for Kena’s purpose.

  “Kena has spent his life serving others,” Roagneau said. “Some of what he says is apparent. Our machines slowly deteriorate. True, we can continue without them, but only at great cost. If what Kena says is true, I say let him search.” More voices rose at these words. Roagneau raised his hands into the air and shouted, “Hear me!” When the room quieted, he continued. “Kena should go, but Hramack must not. We must have a Healer. He is all we have if Kena insists upon this reckless search.”