Genellan: Planetfall Part 45

"You are not still angry with Sharl?" Quinn asked.

"No," the n.o.blekone said. "Only, uh...hurt-ah feeling. Sharl said-ah Longo wanted humans to move south. It was insult-ah. I am not-ah Longo."

"She meant no insult, Et Silmarn."

"This I know. Sharl has pain in heart-ah."

Quinn nodded sympathetically and then remembered her duties.

"Admiral Runacres is scheduled to arrive tomorrow," Quinn said, switching to Legion and reaching into her haversack. "After the services are over he would like to have a meeting with you, and he proposes the following agend-"

"Commander," Et Silmarn said. "When Et Avian-Uh, King Ollant appoint me governor he make-ah it-ah clear that-ah all discussions with humans must-ah involve Citizen Sharl. We should-ah find-ah her, yes?"

Buccari spent hours hiking in solitude. Often she climbed to the top of the valley and walked in the fields of wildflowers mottling the gra.s.sy, humpbacked ridges. Hunters were always with her, sometimes soaring far above, sometimes hopping along behind. Always with her, always armed and vigilant, and she was glad for their silent company.

A familiar double sonic boom sounded far overhead. Buccari searched the deep, cloudless blue skies and presently saw the EPL gliding across the landscape, on final for a landing beyond the river. Her forearms tightened involuntarily; her fingers curled as if grasping heavy flight controls and power quadrant. She watched the EPL, so small in the distance, enter its landing transition, flames belching in vivid colors. Smoke and debris momentarily hid the craft from view. Her stomach sagged with the sensation of deceleration, and she vicariously sought the comforting contact of touchdown. Engine noises racing across the wide river valley and the intervening distances finally reached her ears. She looked down at her feet and the solid ground beneath them.

She exhaled and turned back toward the path. She had official responsibilities now, but she laughed as she realized Runacres- Fleet Admiral Runacres-would have to ask her permission to step foot upon the planet. Her new status had become a private joke between them, but the admiral had also offered her command of a corvette squadron. That she took seriously. She walked faster.

The chaplain finished the memorial service, and Admiral Runacres looked up from his prayer. Honeybees buzzed in the warm stillness, and a gentle breeze, cool and welcome, came off the lake, stirring the waters of the cove and refres.h.i.+ng the gathered mourners. They were a.s.sembled beneath the spreading tree that stood alone in the clearing before the blackened walls of the stockade. Runacres signaled the honor guard and seven Legion Marines sweating in full battle rig fired volleys over the graves of the fallen. The ceremony was over. There was no bugler, but the crying babies, frightened by the rifle reports, made their own accommodation.

Deep in somber conversation, Buccari and the towering Et Silmarn marched away from the rock cairns. The momuments were grave markers for Scientist Lollee, Lander Boatswain First Cla.s.s Jones, Sergeant-Major Shannon, and Private Pet.i.t. The surviving crew, except for Nash Hudson, who was in a hospital bed aboard Tierra del Fuego, Tierra del Fuego, broke from their loose formation: Gunner Wilson, Terry O'Toole, Nancy Dawson, Jocko Chastain, Sandy Tatum, Billy Gordon, Winfried Fenstermacher, Pepper Goldberg, Tooks Tookmanian, Toby Mendoza, and Beppo Schmidt. The survivors wore new uniforms, but beards and ponytails more than offset the martial ambiance. Leslie Lee, the only crew member not in ranks, sat on a tree-shaded blanket, taking care of the complaining infants. The formalities over, she let the toddlers move off the blanket and stood to follow their movements, gently rocking her own sleeping baby. Dawson and Goldberg walked to the blanket. Dawson, disconsolate, sobbed on Goldberg's shoulder. broke from their loose formation: Gunner Wilson, Terry O'Toole, Nancy Dawson, Jocko Chastain, Sandy Tatum, Billy Gordon, Winfried Fenstermacher, Pepper Goldberg, Tooks Tookmanian, Toby Mendoza, and Beppo Schmidt. The survivors wore new uniforms, but beards and ponytails more than offset the martial ambiance. Leslie Lee, the only crew member not in ranks, sat on a tree-shaded blanket, taking care of the complaining infants. The formalities over, she let the toddlers move off the blanket and stood to follow their movements, gently rocking her own sleeping baby. Dawson and Goldberg walked to the blanket. Dawson, disconsolate, sobbed on Goldberg's shoulder.

The other dead were not forgotten, their resting places just farther away. Commander Quinn, Warrant Officer Rhodes, and Private Rennault lay in peace, buried on Hudson's Plateau, so long ago and far away; Corporal MacArthur and the cliff dweller known as Captain, along with sixty-three hunters and thirty-eight konish soldiers, were buried under the wildflowers below the pinnacles high on the valley shoulder-the fallen heroes of battle. Certainly not forgotten.

"Touching," Sarah Merriwether said. "They have gone through a great deal."

"Yes, they have," Runacres replied, walking down the gentle slope toward the lakesh.o.r.e. "And no doubt they have much more to face."

"How soon is your meeting with Et Avian?" Wells asked.

"Buccari tells me we're scheduled for two months from today. It's actually with the Planetary Defense Council," Runacres answered. "That's what Buccari and Et Silmarn are discussing right now, whether or not that's too soon."

Runacres told himself to wait patiently. He sat down on the gra.s.sy slope and looked over to where Buccari and Et Silmarn were conspiring. Merriwether and Wells followed his lead, with Commodore Wells displaying exaggerated chivalry to the flags.h.i.+p's commanding officer. Merriwether giggled adolescently causing both men to grin stupidly. It was a beautiful day.

"How many people will be allowed to settle on the planet?" Merriwether asked.

"I can't get a straight answer," Runacres said. He had pet.i.tioned to immediately transport more humans to the surface of Genellan and to establish a schedule for future immigration and a base for fleet operations. There was no shortage of volunteers within the fleet, and he knew what the response would be when he returned to Earth; there would be riots. Graft and corruption would reach new heights for the rich and powerful that desired to emigrate, for surely only the rich and powerful would have access. But that was not his concern. He discovered planets; he did not govern them. In that respect, he felt sorry for Buccari.

"Rumor says that Et Silmarn doesn't like your schedule," Wells said.

"Actually, I think it's Buccari that's objecting," Runacres laughed. "And I'm proud of her for that. I look forward to getting her back in harness."

"Has she really agreed to return to duty?" Wells asked.

"She'll be back," Runacres said. "She's too good a pilot to grow roots."

"Admiral, have you thought about it?" Merriwether asked. "Growing roots?"

"Thought about it, Sarah? Yes," Runacres said. "But no, not yet. I'm too old to be a Boy Scout. I'll give this paradise a few more years. Besides, humanity's biggest problems may still be ahead."

"How so, sir?" asked Wells.

"You haven't forgotten Shaula, have you?" Runacres asked. "There's an old and belligerent race out there. It attacked us twenty-five years ago, and it probably attacked this system over five hundred years ago."

"You think it's the same race?" Merriwether asked.

"Who knows?" Runacres replied. "Regardless, there's a great danger out there. I have a feeling we'll face it again in our lifetimes." He listened to the happy noises of the children and envied their bliss. He ran their names over in his mind. They would be famous: the oldest, Honey, ran along the beach cove, splas.h.i.+ng the lake waters; little Adam followed, waddling in her footsteps; the youngest baby-Hope-still in her mother's arms, was just awakening.

Epilogue.

She breathed deeply. Beach smells redolent of wet sand and seaweed-the odors of ocean tides-rose to meet her. Her senses responded to a symphony of stimuli. She touched warm ocean waters with bare toes and, listening carefully, heard plaintive sounds drifting insh.o.r.e, insh.o.r.e through the fog. The sweet sounds of Trident's horn, soft and temporal, lingered but for seconds before trailing into the background-a mysterious sound. Genellan had many mysteries.

Buccari stared seaward, into the thick bank of fog standing offsh.o.r.e, a curtain of inscrutable gray cotton obscuring the distance to the open horizons, but she knew a horizon was out there somewhere. Overhead, morning skies bespoke the coming of another balmy day, and at her feet the surf frothed softly, a comfortable, metronomic hissing sound-water gliding over sand. The breeze freshened; the fog bank receded. She could not feel the wind, but she could see it; cl.u.s.ters of tiny ripples marred the mirror-smooth surface of the low swells and gentle waves. Cat's paws, the ripples were called, and she understood why.

The breeze wandered ash.o.r.e, blowing her dark hair, fine and l.u.s.trous, across her face. She reached up innocently and brushed it aside, touching the long scar on her cheek. Her fingers lingered, as they often did-the scar a bittersweet memory. She slowly dropped her hands, and they fell naturally, with fingers spread around gravid belly. She felt the burgeoning existence, a reminder of the past and an element of the future. A wonderment.

Difficult for her to comprehend, this biological activity in her womb. Her mind was facile and her intellect expansive; rarely did processes or systems cause her confusion. Reason was her ally, and logic a well and often-used tool. Yet somehow, in some way, this was different, and the limits of her intelligence were tasked. This was so very different; her body was performing on its own, and it was creating something-something from almost nothing. A miracle-it was a miracle, the miracle of life, and a new beginning, exquisitely profound.

Fine white sand squeaked behind her. She turned to see the great ma.s.s of Kateos plodding across the strand. Buccari moved back from the warm ocean, sensitive to the kone's fears and perceptions. The human raised her hand in greeting, and the kone, rising onto her hinds, replied in kind. Kateos removed her helmet.

"The fog-ah is lifting," the kone said. "Soon you will see them."

"The whales? Does the noise come from the whales?" Buccari asked. The horn again-a high-pitched moaning close insh.o.r.e, and distinct clicking sounds, the loudest she had heard yet.

"Yes, they are come back. That is their call," Kateos replied, taking a nervous step away from the water's edge. "That-ah one is very close to sh.o.r.e. Look, the fog goes."

The friends stood on the sh.o.r.e and watched as freshening breezes parted the veil of fog, until only scattered clouds remained. The horizon expanded to the full limits of Buccari' s elevation, and she observed the churning caused by giant ocean creatures. Great mammals surfaced constantly, and puffs of vaporous steam hissed from their blowholes. Colossal rounded backs, barnacle-encrusted, smoothly cleaved the ocean surface, and languid flukes gracefully arched into the sky.

"They come here to bear their young, just as you have. Your beautiful baby will be born here, too," Kateos said, rapture in her voice.

"Yes, it will be born by the sea," the human replied. "And then we must return to MacArthur' s Valley. Just as the whales return to deep ocean."

They stared in silence, watching the endless movement of nature.

"Will you return to s.p.a.ce, Sharl?" asked the kone enviously, dropping back on all fours so that she could stand face-to-face with her human friend.

Buccari looked Kateos squarely and deeply into her kindly face.

"The deeper oceans of s.p.a.ce...Maybe, my good friend. Maybe."

Author Biography

Scott G. Gier was born in Aiea, Hawaii in 1948. He received his undergraduate degree from the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis and his MBA from Santa Clara University, Santa Clara, California. He served in the United States Navy for six years and then worked for various Silicon Valley companies while living in the San Francis...o...b..y Area for almost thirty years. Married for thirty-seven years and a proud grandfather, his interests include backpacking (aircraft wreck-chasing), kayak-fis.h.i.+ng, surfing, birdwatching, and ocean-staring. He says of himself, "Still haven't grown up (just old)."

THE END.