 
## Chronicles

## of

## Aria Prime

## Episode One

Published by AJ Reissig

©2013 AJ Reissig. All Rights reserved.

Edited by Todd Barselow

Smashword Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

## Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

About the Author

#  Prologue

"So what do you think of the Wolverine, Colonel?"

Colonel Christopher Nash gazed at General Henson seated across the desk from him. Half-squinted, icy blue eyes peered back. The older officer had a face that spoke of decades of hardship. A scar ran from chin to temple, nearly splitting the man's face in two. The scar was accentuated by a network of fine lines and rough stubble.

"A first-rate ship, sir," Nash replied. "I've been on her a few times in the past week. She makes the Trident seem like a relic. Bigger guns, more powerful engines—"

"Neptune and back in two minutes, last engine test."

"—and a lot bigger. The bridge and crew quarters are huge compared to the Trident."

The general chuckled. "Remember the quarters on the Excalibur?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Nash's mouth. "How could I forget? Me and Foreman shared a room that could barely fit two bunks and a desk. Excalibur was built for combat, not comfort."

Henson nodded his head. The chuckle faded and his face returned to its usual, ice-cold demeanor. "So what's up, Chris?"

"Nothing, sir. I'm excited and honored to take command of the Wolverine."

"Huh-uh. Don't bullshit me. I know when something's bothering you. What's the deal? Out with it."

Nash stood, walked to the office window, and stared into the darkness of space.

"I've been the CO of the Trident for ten years. She's become part of me. And now she's going to join the mothballed wing on Moonbase Five. I feel like the kid who's leaving home for the first time, or who just lost his best friend."

"I can respect that. I know what it was like when they put this star on my collar and I took over base operations."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about that happening to me."

"No," the general said through clenched teeth. "For better or for worse, Command only promotes Academy graduates to general officer."

Nash faced Henson once again. "That's fine by me. Last thing I want is to pilot a desk like you. Sir."

"I thought you'd say something like that," the general said while rubbing his chin. "Probably right, though. Space cowboy like you would go nuts in a place like this." He tapped his index finger on the desk. "How's prep for the final mission of the Trident?"

"We'll launch on schedule," Nash replied as he sat down. "Not a lot of prep needed for a mission like this."

"I know. Running supplies and colonists to the settlements on Alpha Ceres isn't all that exciting, but it's an important mission. Command's top priority is to populate the outer ring."

"Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense with how sparsely populated Earth is."

"I don't disagree, but we both have our orders."

Nash nodded. "Sir, unless there's anything else, I need to get back to the Trident. Four second lieutenants reporting for duty at eleven hundred hours."

"Kids from the Academy?"

"Yes, sir."

"Better get moving then. Dismissed."

Nash stiffened and quickly rendered a salute. After the general returned the gesture, Nash spun on his left heel and headed for the door.

"Colonel Nash."

"Sir?"

"Good Luck."

"Thank you, sir."

#  Chapter One

"Transmit your message again."

Colonel Christopher Nash ran his hand through gray-flecked brown hair as he leaned back in the command chair of the PSC Trident.

"Yes, sir," replied Signaler Theresa Stanton. She thumbed a setting on her console. "Freighter Stingray, this is the Pegasus Stellar Coalition cruiser Trident. We have received your distress call and are standing by to assist with engine repairs. Please respond."

Nash looked around the small, hexagonal shaped bridge as he waited. From his central command chair, he could see every workstation with a simple twist of the head. Directly in front of him sat the pilot and signal stations. To his left sat the weapons console, and to the right the research and executive officer's stations. He drummed his middle finger on the armrest of the command chair as he continued to wait.

The silence was broken by the sound of the conveyor doors opening. Nash turned to see Major Dara McBride, executive officer of the Trident, stepping out of the conveyor and onto the bridge. Even after having her aboard for six months, Nash's heart skipped a beat at her appearance. Born in Dublin and of average height, she had extreme curves that the officer's uniform was ill-equipped to handle. Her face displayed lofty, curving cheekbones and a dimpled chin, while thin eyebrows arched gracefully over her deep set viridian eyes. Per regulation, her wavy, cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back tightly.

"Have we heard anything yet, sir?" she asked as the conveyor doors closed with an industrial hum and clunk.

"Nothing," Nash replied. "Their comm system had better be down, because I'm getting tired of waiting for a response."

"Oh, but I so love helping freighters that didn't pack repair parts for their engines," echoed a voice from the bridge's starboard side.

Both Nash and McBride turned to see Captain Drew Davenport, the ship's research officer, sitting cross armed at his station. The dark-skinned Australian grinned, baring white teeth.

Nash shook his head. "Davenport, if you weren't so good at your job, I'd transfer your comedic ass to another ship."

Davenport continued to grin. "Lucky for me, you're the only colonel in the Coalition who will put up with me."

"Yeah," Nash replied. "Well, why don't you drop the comedy routine and scan the freighter for bio signs?"

"Yes, sir."

McBride closed her eyes and shook her head. She turned her attention back to Nash. "Sir, I just came from deck two, and the colonists are complaining about our little detour."

Nash sighed. "Well, they're going to have to get over it. I can't ignore a distress call because four hundred colonists are in a rush to get to Alpha Ceres."

"I tried to impress upon them the importance of responding to distress calls," McBride said, "but I was reminded that the Coalition has declared colonization of the outer rim planets a top priority. I left before my temper got the best of me."

"Well—" Nash began.

"Colonel," Davenport interrupted. "I've got nothing on the Stingray. No life signs, no power, nothing. She's a dead hunk of floating space debris.

"Strange," Nash replied. He looked toward the pilot station. "Lieutenant Freely."

The young towhead seated at the pilot station turned his seat to face the colonel. "Sir?"

"You told me yesterday you'd like to see some action during your first assignment on the Trident. Looks like you got your wish."

Lieutenant Freely smiled. "Yes, sir."

Nash returned the gesture, then continued. "Major McBride, I want you to take a team over—"

"Colonel!" Lieutenant Karen Preston, seated at the weapons console, looked up with eyes wide. "Two Karakan battleships just dropped out of hyperspace. Five hundred kilometers and closing!"

"What the hell are those reptilian bastards—"

Before Nash could finish, the Trident was hit by a full spread of torpedoes from the approaching ships. The impact threw Freely and Stanton from their station; Nash fought to remain in the command chair.

"Energize the defense fields, Preston!" Nash shouted. "Sound general quarters; everyone get your goddamn safety harnesses on!"

"Yes, sir!" came several replies. The distinct clicking of safety harness buckles echoed throughout the bridge. As she struggled to get back in her seat, Stanton slammed a red softkey on her station console; immediately the whooping sirens of the general quarters alert sounded. To her left, Freely fumbled with his safety harness. She simultaneously buckled her harness and helped Freely with his.

"Heavy damage to auxiliary control and the engine room," Davenport reported.

"Defense fields at eighty percent, Colonel," Preston said.

"Target the sensor array of the closest vessel," Nash said. "Fire plasma cannons. And get me a visual on the main screen."

Preston leaned over her console and keyed firing commands. "Firing plasma cannons."

There was a momentary humming as the cannons fired, followed by Preston's excited voice.

"Direct hit! Sensors disabled on enemy battleship."

"Where the hell is my visual?" Nash shouted.

"Coming up now, sir," Stanton replied.

The main screen shimmered to life, revealing two Karakan battleships. The vessels resembled chunky, elongated arrows, with rows of gun turrets and a bridge tower rising from the center. At the rear, the oval exhaust ports of their scillion drive burned a bright blue. The closer of the two battleships showed heavy damage, with its front sensor mangled and crippled. The other ship swung about to face the Trident head-on.

Nash gritted his teeth. "Lieutenant Preston, fire torpedoes on the undamaged ship."

On screen, three orange orbs streaked from the underbelly of the approaching Karakan ship. The torpedoes impacted the Trident's defense field, exploding meters away from the hull.

"Defense fields held but are now down to fifty percent, Colonel," Davenport reported. "You may want shoot the bad guy before the shields give out."

Ignoring Davenport, Nash spun the command chair to face the weapons station. "Lieutenant, where are my torpedoes?"

"Weapons malfunction, sir!" replied Preston. Her brown eyes tensed as she scrolled through screens on her control panel. Her eyes grew wide while she highlighted a setting. She looked up from her console and locked eyes with Nash. "Torpedoes online, sir!"

"FIRE!"

Six shimmering globes burst from The Trident's torpedo tubes and lobbed toward the enemy ship. There was a momentary flash of yellow as the torpedoes penetrated the enemy's defense field and tore a massive chunk from the vessel's hull. Debris spewed from the gaping cavity, creating a silver spray of metallic nuggets. The enemy ship's forward motion stopped, and she began to list toward port.

Preston laughed deep in her throat. "Readings show major damage to the first battleship. Weapons are offline, shields are down, and they have multiple hull breaches."

Nash turned his attention to the second enemy ship. "Pilot, bring us hard to port. Plasma cannons one through four, fire on the second battleship; target their reactor."

"Yes, sir," replied Lieutenant Freely. The shrillness of the boy's voice made his fear obvious; Nash hoped he wouldn't crack under pressure.

The view on the main screen spun wildly as the Trident performed the tight maneuver. Plasma cannons fired, and Nash watched with satisfaction as the green bursts of particle energy peeled a section of the hull's skin, exposing the interior structure. Another blast pierced the ship's center section. The vessel shuddered and erupted in a spectacular display of fireworks.

"Sir," Preston said, "enemy vessel destroyed."

"What clued you in, Lieutenant?" Davenport said with an arched eyebrow. "Was it the debris, or the massive explosion?"

Preston shot a glare at Davenport, who immediately forced a wide, toothy smile.

Nash leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. It had been more than ten years since the war with the Karakan Empire. Earth and her allies had won the brutal war, and an uneasy peace had existed ever since. Why are two of their battleships so deep inside Coalition territory, he thought. Is this the start of another move against the Pegasus Stellar Coalition? Whatever the reason, Coalition command needed to be notified ASAP.

Preston's loud voice brought an end to his contemplation.

"Colonel! Another Karakan battleship dropping out of hyperspace!"

Before Nash could speak, The Trident was bludgeoned on the port side. The shoulder straps of the safety harness dug into Nash's chest as the force of the blow tried to throw him from his chair. Preston, eyes wide and mouth gaping, made a hasty view of her console. "Colonel, that torpedo penetrated our fields!"

Nash jerked himself erect in the command chair and faced the main screen. "Pilot, bring us about!"

The main screen was a blur as Lieutenant Freely spun the ship to bear her weapons on the attacking battleship. Nash leaned forward in the command chair, teeth barred and veins popping from his neck.

"Torpedoes, fire!"

The Trident shook violently as the cannonade lobbed lethal force toward the opponent's battleship. There was a brief yellow flash, and the torpedoes ricocheted off the enemy's defense field and exploded harmlessly in space.

"Their defense fields held," said McBride, her Irish accent becoming more pronounced under the stress of the moment. Mouth half open and eyebrows arched, she eyed Nash. "How the hell did the Karakans get weapons an' screens that powerful?"

"Incoming!"

The impact of the enemy torpedo was far stronger than the first. Once again, safety harnesses dug into flesh, and there were several gasps from various bridge stations. From the rear of the bridge came a heavy ozone smell, followed by the crackling sound of crystalline circuits shorting out. Nash turned toward the sound to see a large wall panel billowing smoke. There goes communications.

He returned his attention to the main screen. "Plasma cannons, fire!"

"No effect, sir," Preston said. "We can't penetrate their shields!"

"Colonel!" Chief Engineer Trace Jordan's Tennessee drawl growled over the command chair speaker. "We can't take much more of this! Defense fields are failin', and we got hull breaches on decks three to six."

"Have the compromised compartments been sealed off?" Nash asked.

"Yessir," the engineer replied. "Emergency bulkheads triggered an' sealed."

We're too badly damaged to fight this out, Nash thought.

"All power to defense fields!" Nash shouted. "Pilot, lay in a course four eighteen mark four. Best possible speed." He punched the ship-wide intercom. "Prepare for hyperdrive, maximum speed."

"Course laid in, Colonel!"

"Colonel!" came the engineer's voice again. "I don't know if the ship can handle that speed! We've taken too much damage."

Nash keyed his console. "Understood, but this is our only choice out of here. Pilot, engage full throttle!"

The high-pitched whine of the spooling hyperdrive filled the bridge, and Nash looked at the screen with satisfaction as the enemy ship instantly became a dot. He turned his chair toward McBride's station.

"Are we being pursued?"

"No, sir."

"Colonel!" Freely shouted. "I'm getting no response from my console and speed is increasing."

Nash smacked the quick release of his harness and jumped to the pilot console. He punched in several commands, but nothing changed. He spun around to his command chair and keyed the intercom. "Engine room! Pilot station is unresponsive and speed is increasing."

"Workin' on it, Colonel," said the engineer's voice. "Navigation computer is locked up and is tellin' the hyperdrive to accelerate. I'll have to reboot the system."

"How long?"

"It'll take two minutes."

"Hurry, speed is still increasing."

"Yes, sir."

Davenport, eyebrows elevated on his dark face, looked up from his console. "Colonel, we're twenty percent beyond our safe top speed!"

"Understood."

A weak vibration began to spread through the deck plating. It intensified rapidly, causing looks of worry throughout the bridge. Nash, still standing, was reaching for the comm button when a sudden jolt rocked the ship. He was thrown to the deck, his backside landing on the diamond plated decking.

The intercom once again buzzed with Chief Jordan's voice. "Coolant leak!"

Nash bit his lip. Coolant leaks in the hyperdrive reactor caused uncontrolled mixing of matter and antimatter, resulting in an explosion that made fission bombs look like a belch. He leaped to his feet and vaulted into the command chair. As he pulled on his safety harness, he punched the intercom to engineering.

"Can you lock down the leak?" Nash asked.

"We should..." There was hesitation in the engineer's voice. "No! We've got a containment field in place; it'll last five minutes. We gotta eject the reactor core before she rips us apart!"

"How long on the navigation?"

"Thirty seconds."

"Chief, prepare to eject the core." Nash closed communications with engineering. "Mr. Freely, once navigation is restored, bring us out of hyperspace. As soon as the core is ejected, throttle the scillion drive to best possible speed and maintain course."

The Lieutenant's hands shook at the controls and he swallowed hard before answering. "Yes, sir."

The deck shook violently underfoot and Davenport shook his head. "Sir, we're experiencing hull damage from this speed. I expect it to increase exponentially if we maintain much longer."

"Understood." Nash hit the intercom again. "Chief! How much longer?"

The wait for the Chief's response seemed eternal. Klaxons continued to sound, and a cracking sound spawned from the bridge canopy. What is taking so long, Nash thought. We don't have time for this! Nash felt his heartbeat thumping in his chest.

The intercom crackled to life. "Navigation online!"

"Now, Mr. Freely!"

"Yes, sir!"

The scream of the hyperdrive disappeared as Freely brought the Trident to sub-light speed. Nash thumped the comm button on the command chair.

"Chief, eject the core!"

The bridge shuttered; Nash's heartbeat continued to pick up speed and intensity.

"Core ejected!" echoed the engineer's voice.

"Freely, get us out of here!"

"Yes, sir!"

Nash's heart felt as if it would pound a hole in his chest. He watched the main screen as the Trident limped away from the ejected core. With the hyperdrive now gone, they could only move the ship using the scillion drive, which was not capable of faster than light speed. Nash knew his ship would likely be hit by energy waves from the exploding reactor core.

"Shift power to the aft defense fields!"

"Yes, sir."

There was a sudden flash of white light on the screen as the core erupted.

"Brace for impact!"

The colossal energy wave sliced through The Trident's defense fields like a white-hot machete through butter and collided with the hull. Computer consoles and wall panels showered sparks, and lighting went out. The bridge was filled with the stench of burnt circuitry, which singed the nostrils with every breath. Coughing resonated throughout. After a moment, dim emergency lighting flickered on, revealing a smoke filled bridge.

Nash scanned the smoky bridge. "Report!"

Davenport wiped the sweat from his face and peered at his console. "Sir, we have major damage throughout the ship. Main power is offline; we are currently on batteries. Scillion drive damaged and unresponsive. Multiple hull breaches; starboard nacelle is nearly shorn off. Defense fields, sensors, and communications are all down."

"Understood. Have damage control parties begin repairs." Nash slumped into the command chair and looked at the ceiling. At least they were alive. But staying that way was another matter. Far off course, extensive damage, and no faster than light drive... things did not look good.

#  Chapter Two

Nash, followed by McBride and Davenport, stepped through the doors of the Tactical Operations Center to see Major Trace Jordan pacing around the conference table. Upon their entrance, the portly, gray haired engineer crossed his arms and stared.

"Colonel, I got too much goin' on to sit in a meetin'."

"Take it easy, Chief," Nash replied. "I need senior staff briefed on our condition. Have a seat."

Jordan huffed and dropped into a chair next to McBride. He crossed his arms and began tapping out an agitated rhythm with his foot.

Davenport took a seat opposite Jordan. "No worries, mate," he said to the engineer. "We'll finish in time for dinnies."

"Fuckin' clown," Jordan mumbled.

Nash shook his head and sat at the head of the table. "Where's the Doc?"

The door to the Tactical Operations Center slid open with an industrial hum and Doctor Talhoo shuffled in. A native of the planet Minerva Seven, the doctor was the only non-human aboard. From a distance he could pass for a human of Latino decent. However, up close the doctor's oversize cat-like eyes and long fingers with fleshy tips gave away his alien heritage.

"My apologies, Colonel," the doctor said in his lisping voice. "But I find it difficult to leave sickbay when I have so many patients."

Nash looked up from the table. "It's okay, Doc; I'm going to keep this as short as possible because we all have a lot of work to get done. Why don't you start; what's our medical status?"

Talhoo took a deep breath. "Six dead. Four stationed in the engine room sustained third degree burns over a large portion of their bodies."

"They were caught in a huge arc when the transformers went out," Jordan added.

"Luckily," Talhoo continued, "most of the other injuries are pretty minor. A few concussions, a couple of broken bones. Lots of bruises and abrasions. There's no damage in sick bay, so all of my equipment and instruments are fully functional. I see no reason why all of my patients won't make a full recovery."

"We're dammed lucky we got by with such light injuries," Nash said quietly. His eyes shifted to Jordan. "Chief, how bad off is the Trident?"

The engineer leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his steel-gray hair. "Ain't gonna lie to you, Colonel; we're in a heap o' trouble. I'll get auxiliary power and the scillion drive up and runnin' in a few hours. But long range communications are down for a long time, maybe permanently. We're still inspectin' hull damage. Emergency bulkheads sealed off the compartments with hull breaches, but there's still an atmospheric leak somewhere. Hope to find it when we inspect the hull. Also lost a bunch of atmospheric scrubbers. We've got a crew of three-fifty, plus four hundred colonists. I reckon those remainin' scrubbers are gonna get overloaded real quick."

Nash nodded his head. "Mr. Davenport, have you triangulated our position?"

"Way off course, Colonel." Davenport keyed a panel next to his seat and a 3-D image of the local star systems appeared above the table. He pointed to a blinking dot. "We're here. Over here is our plotted course to Alpha Ceres."

Dara McBride whistled. "We're way out there, aren't we lads?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Davenport replied. "Assuming top speed with scillion drive, we're looking at over six months to get to the nearest Coalition Outpost or friendly planet."

"No way," the engineer said, shaking his head. "We won't last that long."

Davenport pointed his index finger at Jordan and grinned. "For once, I agree with the chunky koala."

The engineer didn't say a word, but simply stared at the grinning Davenport.

Paying no attention to the angered engineer, the research officer turned toward Nash. "Colonel, what is a bigger problem than the distance is where we are. We are far off from any of the normal routes of travel. It is highly unlikely that any friendly vessel is going to discover us or receive our short range communication signals. We are effectively on our own."

Nash sat quietly, looking at the table, tapping his index finger on the surface. Without looking up, he said, "We're going to have to abandon the Trident."

An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Finally, McBride spoke.

"There's got to be an alternative."

"If anyone has a better idea, now is the time to speak up." He scanned his officers, but none spoke. "I don't like the idea, but I don't think we have a choice."

"You don't think the Coalition will send a search mission?" McBride asked.

"I'm sure they will. But when? And we're way off from our last reported position. Could take months to find us. Or maybe never. I'm not willing to risk the lives of everyone on board on the chance that we may be found."

Doctor Talhoo sagged in his chair while forming a triangle with his hands. "I realize I am only the ship's doctor and do not know much about the systems on this ship, but I think we are at the point where our primary focus needs to be on the survival of as many of the crew and passengers as possible."

"The doctor is right," McBride said, curly hair shaking as she bobbed her head.

"Mr. Davenport, are there any habitable planets close by?"

"Right here," Davenport said as he pointed to the 3-D map. "I think this is our best bet. Running scillion drive at seventy-five percent, we can make it in five days."

Colonel Nash looked at the Chief Engineer. "Is that doable?"

"Yessir. It'll be tight on the fuel supply, air supply too, but I think the scrubbers should hold out that long."

"Do whatever you can to extend the fuel and air supply. I know we're transporting an oxygen generator to the colonies; use that to extend our air supply if necessary. Drain fuel from the shuttlecraft if you have to... whatever it takes."

"Yessir."

Nash reclined in his chair. "So what do we know about this planet?"

"Unfortunately, not much. The data is based on the surveys of an unmanned probe about ten years ago. The surveys refer to the planet as Aria Prime. It is three percent larger than Earth, with similar atmospheric makeup. About sixty five percent is covered in water, with two major oceans. Weather extremes are comparable to Earth as well."

"Inhabitants?"

"The planet is lightly populated with a humanoid life form. We really don't know anything about them. We do have probe images showing structures and villages that would suggest a technology equivalent to the medieval period."

"No chance of gettin' them to fix the ship," Trace Jordan murmured.

"Not likely," Nash said with a tired smile. "Let's just hope they're friendly. Alright, let's get underway and make as many repairs along the way as possible. Drop a distress buoy to transmit our position in case a ship comes close."

Nods of agreement came from Davenport, McBride, and Talhoo. Trace Jordan simply stared at Nash through narrowed eyes.

Nash rubbed his chin. "Dismissed. Major McBride, Chief, wait here a moment." After the other officers had left, he turned to his First Officer and said, "Dara, go get the leader of the colonists for me. What was his name again?"

"Myron Decker."

"That's it—thanks."

"On my way, Colonel."

After McBride left the room, Nash looked at Trace Jordan, who was still sitting in his seat, tapping his Academy ring on the table. Jordan didn't say anything, but continued to stare at Nash. The pupils of his eyes flared as if a camera flash had caught him by surprise, while the deep fissures of his forehead and ruddy color of his skin expressed his emotions all too well.

"Speak your piece, Chief."

Jordan drew a deep breath. "Just had to stand and fight, didn't you?"

"There were only two of them."

"Yeah, and we got our asses handed to us." Jordan stood, put his hands on his hips, and looked at the ceiling. "Always the fuckin' cowboy."

"Hey! When have we not been able to defeat two Karakan battleships? That should've been a piece of cake."

Jordan shot a look at his colonel, lips drawn back in a snarl. "Well it wasn't, was it? The hero of Salus Centauri had to get his revenge on the Karakan!"

Nash's nostrils flared. "You and I both agreed a long time ago never to discus Salus. Ever. It was war, and I did what I had to do to complete the mission."

Jordan crossed his arms and scowled. "And I remember standin' in the hanger bay of the Excalibur, watchin' you step out of the shuttle, alone and covered with blood, swearing that you would one day have your revenge on the Karakan."

"That's right, I said that. I lost everyone in my command. And for the past twelve years I've had the death of forty-four crewmen on my conscience. But that has nothing to do with our current predicament."

"Whatever." The engineer closed his eyes and took a deep breath, once again turning his head toward the ceiling. "Do you have any idea what you've done? To me, to everyone aboard this ship?"

Nash jumped to his feet and leaned over the table. "You think that hasn't been on my mind! You think that isn't gnawing at me ever since the attack?" Red faced, Nash pointed toward the door with an angry thrust. "You think I'm not worried about what will happen to the crew or those colonists out there?"

Jordan stood silently, still staring at the ceiling. He exhaled a great breath, and then turned to look at Nash. "Sorry, Colonel. It's just... well, I had my retirement forms all filled out. I was gonna send 'em in once we got home. Had my eye on a place in the Tennessee backcountry."

"Look, I'm sorry you're retirement plans are botched. Hell, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life on Aria Prime. But we're officers of the Pegasus Stellar Coalition and we have a duty to the crew and the colonists aboard this ship."

The engineer gritted his teeth. He forced his hands behind his back and stepped closer to Nash. "You think we'll ever make it home?"

"I don't know," Nash said with a shake of the head. "The way I see it, the first priority is survival, the second is to get home. Do you think you'll get the long range communications up?"

"Can't say. Definitely not before we reach Aria Prime. After we're down on the planet, I may be able to fix it by salvagin' parts from other systems. The problem's gonna be power."

"What do you mean?"

"To make the repairs, I'm gonna need a way to generate power. Scillion engines are out; we'll be almost out of fuel by the time we land."

"Could you salvage some of the solar panels from the probes we're carrying?"

"Sure. But those panels won't generate enough power to suit our needs. Hell, I bet that won't even be enough to keep refrigeration running."

Nash scratched his head. "Do we need to conserve electrical power now?"

"No. Scillion drive produces a surplus of electrical power while at cruising speed. We'll want to make sure every battery is fully charged before we get to Aria Prime, but even that stored energy won't last."

"Well, we'll just have to make do. Once on the planet, we look at the resources available and go from there. We may be lucky and find a place where we can set up for hydro-power or tap some geothermal energy."

"Wishful thinking," Jordan said flatly. Nash nodded.

"Speaking of probes, I'd like to launch one into orbit when we reach Aria Prime so we can learn more about the planet."

"Might be best to launch two, just in case one fails."

"That's good thinking."

"Well, I've got a lot to do, sir."

Nash nodded and watched as Jordan exited the room.

As soon as he was alone, Nash slumped into his chair and rubbed his forehead. This was not what he had in mind for an easy transport of colonists. If only he had more warning when the Karakan had attacked. Perhaps if he had ran at once instead of trying to fight them off....

No, he told himself. There would be no second guessing. What's done is done, and there's no rewinding the clock. The only logical action was to move forward; war had taught him that. Every defeat must be looked at as an opportunity, and one must forge ahead by any means necessary.

Not enough power for refrigeration. Nash thought for a moment about the implications of what the Chief had just said. All of their systems, all of their technology was dependent on electrical power. What's more, since electrical power was needed to access the ship's library, they wouldn't even have the capability to research old methods of doing things. Clearly, making sure that power was available to access the library would be a priority.

He was just finishing reviewing the status of their provisions when McBride arrived with Myron Decker. He was a short, heavy man of perhaps forty-five, with thinning black hair and gray eyes. Nash stood and held out his hand.

"Mr. Decker, please sit down."

Both Decker and McBride took seats at the table.

"I'm assuming that Major McBride filled you in our status?"

Decker nodded. "She did. Says we're going to some place called Aria Prime 'cause we're in too bad of shape to get anyplace else."

"That pretty much sums it up," Nash replied.

"What the hell kind of ship you running here? We're supposed to be going to Alpha Ceres!"

"I know where we were supposed to go, Mr. Decker. Unfortunately, the Karakan decided differently."

"I thought those Karakan ships are no match for our cruisers?"

"Normally, I'd agree with you. The battleships we encountered carried better arms than I have ever seen. Anyway, that's immaterial now. Our only concern now is survival."

Decker rubbed his hand across the table. "I guess you're right. But damn it, my people aren't going to be happy about it."

"I'm not happy either. But the only way we are going to survive is if we work together."

"Ok. What do you need from me?"

Nash relaxed back in his chair. "For starters, talk to the rest of the colonists about what has happened. I'm sure there's going to be some pretty ticked off people."

"You can count on that."

"Well, you know them better than I and will have better success relating to them."

"What else you need?"

"I was just reviewing our supplies, and between emergency rations and normal provisions, we have enough food for about a year. So we're going to need to farm, hunt, fish, you name it, to produce food. We can use the ship as temporary shelter, but we'll eventually want something more permanent." Especially when they find out we can't spare power for heating and cooling, Nash thought.

"Look, Colonel, we're not the first wave of colonists to head for Alpha Ceres, so we don't have any Daniel Boone types. Sure, we have some craftsmen among us, but there are bankers, lawyers, teachers... people with skills that will do absolutely nothing to help us survive."

"Then those who do have skills will teach those of us who don't. Everyone will have to pitch in, or we won't make it. It's as simple as that."

"I see your point. I'll do what I can to get everyone to cooperate."

"Good. There's also the question of leadership."

"What do you mean?"

"The last thing I want is any sort of Coalition-versus-colonist conflict. I know my crew will follow my orders, but I don't want your people to see me as some petty dictator. Once we step off this ship, we need the colonists to have an active voice in how things are going to be run. There will be less than one thousand of us, so I think something akin to a town council will work. We need something where the citizens' voices will be heard."

Decker scratched his head. "A town council might work. But I think you should have a permanent seat on the council."

"Why?"

"Well, the way I see it, you represent the military. The rest of the council will represent the people."

"Sir," McBride interrupted. Both the colonel and Decker looked at her.

"Sir, that sounds fine once we are established, but it may be wise for you to take leadership for the first few weeks. The crew will look to you for leadership, and it will likely take some time to get organized."

"I think she's got a good point," Decker added.

"Alright, that sounds fair. But I want civilian leadership ASAP. Like I said, I don't want to be perceived as a dictator." Nash pointed his index finger at Decker and continued. "Now you just need to sell it to your people."

"I'm a third generation salesman," Decker said with a smile. "Not a problem."

Nash laughed and held out his hand which Decker shook vigorously.

#  Chapter Three

January 25, 2285

It has been five days since our encounter with the Karakan ships. Considering the circumstances, things are going quite well. Chief Jordan's repair crews have completed major structural repairs to the starboard nacelle, so we should have no issues with it crumpling when we land on Aria Prime. In addition, we have evacuated all decks with hull breaches and are no longer venting atmosphere to the depths of space.

While none of the colonists are happy with our plight, most seem to have accepted the situation and are working to prepare for survival on the planet's surface. Myron Decker has been a great asset in this regard; he seems to have a knack for finding out people's talents and how to best utilize their skills. I was surprised but happy to find that two of the colonists are skilled in metallurgy and metalworking. Apparently, they had planned to open some type of tourist-shop where a person could come in and watch them work. I have a feeling that their skills will be most useful when we reach the planet.

Several of the colonists have been hard at work manufacturing hand tools with our electron beam fabricator. Shovels, axes, rakes, hoes, saws... all manner of hand tools are now in our inventory. I have also instructed the fabricators to build whatever tools the metal workers will need so that they can put their talents to use. Chief Jordan initially objected to the use of our limited raw materials, but I pointed out to him how much labor will be saved with our 3D printing techniques.

I have been surprised at how many of the colonists seem to know quite a bit about gardening. Many, in fact, have brought a supply of seeds with them, with the intention of starting backyard gardens on Alpha Ceres. At first I was puzzled by this, but then Mr. Davenport told me that many families grew backyard gardens during the war because of food shortages. This was something I was unaware of, but I must admit to losing touch with what was happening back home during the war.

Our main concern now is the question of fuel for the scillion engines. Supply is tight to say the least. I must commend Chief Jordan and Captain Davenport on the work they've done to stretch our fuel supply, but even with their efforts, we may run out of fuel before we reach the planet. While standard protocol is to make several orbits before making a landing, I don't think we will have the fuel to spare. Assuming the fuel holds out, we plan to land on the surface as soon as we reach Aria Prime. I would have preferred to use the shuttlecraft to transfer people and supplies from the Trident to the surface, but our short supply of fuel has made this impractical at best.

We plan to launch two of our research probes into orbit just before entering the atmosphere. It is my hope that we can stay in contact with the probes to learn more about this planet.

Colonel Christopher Nash,

PSC Trident

## ******

Nash rolled up his sleeve as Dr. Talhoo prepared to give him an injection. As usual, the doctor mumbled to himself as he performed his work, something the colonel always found amusing. Nash noticed the doctor wasn't using his usual injection gun, but instead held an old style syringe.

"What's with that thing, Doc?"

The doctor held up the syringe and smiled. "Practice. I keep these on board just in case I run out of cartridges for the injection gun. Once on the planet's surface, I know I'll run out of cartridges sooner or later, so I just wanted to get in practice."

Talhoo's response was met with crossed arms from Nash. "So I'm your guinea pig?"

The doctor didn't say a word, but simply continued to smile as he flicked the syringe, removing air bubbles. Finally ready, the doctor wiped Nash's shoulder with a cleaning pad and then inserted the needle into Nash's shoulder with a quick, smooth jab. With slow and even pressure on the syringe, he injected the purple solution, then gingerly removed the needle.

"There we are. All finished, Colonel," the doctor said as he pressed a gauze pad over a drop of blood on the Colonel's shoulder.

"You do good work, Doc," Nash said with a half-smile. "What's this injection for again?"

"Immune system booster," Talhoo replied as he disposed of the needle. "It will help you acquire resistance to local diseases."

Nash nodded. The ship's crew normally went through the decontamination chamber after visiting a foreign planet. Once inside the chamber, an individual's body was bombarded with a variety of energy particles to kill any pathogens. After landing on Aria Prime, using the decontamination chamber would not only be impractical, but would use far more energy than they were capable of producing.

"How many still need the booster?" Nash asked.

"You're the last, Colonel."

"Good." Nash leaned back in the exam chair and rolled his sleeve down. "How are your preparations for the planet?"

The doctor sat on a wheeled stool opposite the Colonel. "Very well, I should think. We are well supplied, and among the colonists there is a doctor and three nurses. A chemist and a chemical engineer have also stepped forward to assist me in the manufacture of medicines."

"Decker told me about them. Said you've already been brainstorming on what you can and can't make."

"Precisely. Much will depend, of course, on what local raw materials are available. But I do have high hopes."

"High hopes." Nash put his hands behind his head. "That about sums you up, doesn't it, Doc? Nothing ever gets you down."

A wide smile swelled across the doctor's face. "One should always look on the bright side of things. Optimism, Colonel, Optimism!"

"Colonel Nash," a voice called from the corridor.

Nash turned toward the sound of the voice, revealing a woman standing cross-armed and staring at him. She was of medium height and somewhat thick around the waist, with stringy, shoulder length hair the color of walnut, save for the occasional streak of gray. Her skin was very pale, and the dark bags under her eyes added years to her looks.

"Yes?" he replied.

"We can't land on Aria Prime. You need to turn this ship to some other planet."

Nash blinked twice and stood. "I'm sorry... and you are?"

"Hope Liberty," the woman snapped. "We can't land on Aria Prime."

"And why is that?"

"The planet is inhabited by a humanoid life form. We can't contaminate their culture. Do you know what happened when Europeans came to the new world?"

"Yes, I know," Nash said. "The Columbian Exchange. Thousands of the American Indians died of disease. That was eight hundred years ago. Dr. Talhoo is taking steps to ensure that we don't—"

Liberty cut Nash off. "I'm not talking about disease. I'm talking about their culture. We will be ruining their chance to develop without human interference. We have to go somewhere else."

"I'm sorry, but there is no other planet we can reach. It's Aria Prime or nothing."

The woman's forehead and nose wrinkled. "Then at least promise we'll have no contact with the natives. We can't contaminate their culture."

Nash put his hands on his hips. "We'll do our best to tread lightly, but I'm going to do whatever is needed to keep everyone alive. If that means I contaminate another culture, then so be it."

"Don't you realize what you're suggesting?"

Deep valleys formed across Nash's forehead as he squinted at the woman. "If I have to contaminate a thousand cultures to save the people on this ship, I will do it without hesitation. If you have a problem with that, file a formal complaint with the Coalition Command."

Dropping her arms to her sides, Liberty huffed, turned around, and stormed away.

Up to this point, Dr. Talhoo had been sitting silently, listening to Liberty and his Colonel banter back and forth. With Liberty's leaving, he looked at Nash and shook his head.

"Interesting woman."

"Interesting isn't the word I'd use, Doc."

"Well," the Doctor said as his smile returned, "as they used to say in generations past... LOL."

"You're a lot of help," Nash replied.

They both laughed.

Over the intercom, the alert signal sounded followed by McBride's voice.

"Colonel to the bridge."

Nash hit the intercom button on the wall nearest to him. "Bridge, this is the colonel."

"Colonel, we are nearing Aria Prime."

"On my way."

Nash hit the intercom button again and turned to leave.

"Colonel," Dr. Talhoo said.

Nash stopped and turned to look at the Minervian.

"Good luck, Colonel."

"May fortunes favor the bold," Nash replied and then continued on his way.

#  Chapter Four

"Colonel on the bridge!"

Everyone jumped from their seats and stood at attention. Nash took a few steps forward; the characteristic mechanical hum of the closing conveyor doors echoed through the bridge. He looked around at the bridge crew. Haggard faces were the rule of the day; it was apparent that the stress of the past few days was taking its toll on everyone.

"As you were," Nash said.

As the crew returned to their seats, Nash walked toward his command chair. Standing beside the chair, he looked to the main viewscreen, which displayed a view of Aria Prime. Blue oceans, green land, brown mountains, swirling white cloud formations... save for the shape of the continents, the planet looked identical to earth.

"Report, Mr. Davenport."

"Sir, at present speed, we are minutes from the planet. Sensors confirm our data on the planet. Earth-like atmosphere and climate."

Nash crossed his arms as he stared at the viewscreen. "Settlements?"

"Small and scattered," Davenport replied. "The area with the most settlements is in the northern hemisphere, near a chain of mountains that runs through the center of the largest continent."

"Excellent. Send those coordinates to the pilot. Mr. Freely, plot a descent course that will bring us down in that general vicinity, but at least a dozen kilometers from any of the settlements. Don't want to get too close; no telling how the natives will react to our arrival."

"Yes, sir. Course plotted in."

Nash turned and keyed the console on the command chair armrest. "Chief, are those probes ready?"

The intercom buzzed with the voice of Chief Jordan. "Yessir. Ready for release at your command."

"Launch the probes."

"They're outta here, sir."

"Good work. Engine room ready for the landing?"

"All set on my end. Colonel, we need to get movin' ASAP before we run out of fuel ... unless you want to make this a crash landin'."

"I'd rather not." Nash leaned over the intercom and spoke in a near whisper. "Can the ship handle the stress of the landing?"

There was a long pause before the engineer's response. "Ask me on the surface."

"Understood," Nash replied. He keyed his console again, this time opening ship-wide communications. "This is Colonel Nash. We are about to descend to the planet surface. I want to thank everyone for their hard work over the past few days. Crew of the Trident, your performance in repairing this ship is to be commended. To the members of the colonist party, your assistance with repairs and surface preparations will not be forgotten. I wish the circumstances were different. I wish I could tell you that we would be rescued by a Coalition vessel in a week. I wish I could tell you that survival on Aria Prime will be a cake walk. But I can't make those promises. We can only play the cards we have been dealt. But one thing is for certain; we will not succeed if we do not work together. Fortunately, from what I have seen over the past week, that will not be a problem for us. God Bless."

Nash closed communications, then looked around at his bridge crew. A realization hit him like an iron beam across his skull. This was the last ride of the Trident, and possibly the last time he would ever sit in a command chair. There was a twitch at his cheek and tightness in his chest. Were they too badly damaged to reach the surface? Would they ever be rescued? Could he have prevented this from happening?

"Colonel."

McBride's voice brought Nash back to reality. He turned to look at the Executive Officer's station where McBride sat. She looked him in the eyes and then squinted as she stared.

"Colonel, we're losing precious time."

Nash nodded. "Quite right, Major. Sound general quarters."

"Sound general quarters," McBride repeated in a booming voice.

Sirens blared as Nash took his seat in the command chair and strapped on his safety harness. The clicking of buckles revealed others doing the same. He looked to the pilot's station, once again occupied by Lieutenant Freely. McBride had wanted to replace him with a more experienced officer, but Nash had been impressed with the lieutenant's performance thus far and had refused the change.

"Well Mr. Freely, can I expect another excellent piloting performance today?"

The lieutenant swiveled his chair to face the command chair. Dark circles ringed his eyes, and there was a slight twitch to his face. He swallowed hard and exhaled a deep breath. "Absolutely, Colonel," he said with a weak smile.

Nash returned the gesture and nodded.

"Colonel," McBride interjected. "All stations report ready."

"Excellent. Pilot, take us in."

"Yes, sir," the lieutenant replied loudly.

The sound of the ship's engines echoed through the bridge. Aria Prime grew on the main screen, and soon the round ball morphed into a curved horizon on the screen. The horizon grew into a breathtaking view of vivid colors as the layers of the atmosphere became visible. Deep blue, milky white, pale pink, and then finally orange and yellow closest to the surface.

Nash felt small vibrations in the deck plating. He scanned the bridge crew. Everyone was hard at work at their stations—except McBride. Pale faced and gloomy eyes fixed on the main screen, she clutched the silver cross normally worn around her neck.

"Is gairid ar gcairt ár an saol seo," she whispered in Gaelic. She noticed the colonel staring at her and swallowed hard.

Nash took a deep breath and turned his gaze to the main screen.

The Trident broke into the atmosphere of Aria Prime, accelerating as she sliced through the thin air. As friction with the air intensified, the heat shields warmed and began to glow. Soon, the view on the main screen took on a ruddy cast.

"Report!"

"Heat shields at maximum, Colonel!" Davenport replied. "I'm seeing high stresses in the nacelles, but structural integrity is holding."

The rising temperature on the bridge told Nash the heat shields were maxed out. The vibration in the deck had intensified as well; Nash was sure everyone on the bridge noticed. Now in the clouds, white, smoky formations whipped past the screen at breakneck speed.

With a sudden jolt, the ship veered toward starboard. A few of the bridge crew gasped, and Nash's heart raced as he fought to stay seated in the command chair.

Trace Jordan's voice crackled to life on the command chair intercom. "Sir, we just lost the starboard scillion drive thruster!"

Nash gulped hard. The loss of one thruster changed everything. The best that could be hoped for was a controlled crash. The Trident would have to come in like an old fashioned airplane... but they had no wheels to come to a rolling stop. He took a deep breath and wiped a sweaty palm on his pants.

"Pilot, we're going to have to make a belly landing. Watch for an open area that will work as a landing strip."

"Yes, sir," Freely replied in a shaky voice. The boy's face was the color of flour and beads of sweat ran down his cheek from small pools forming at his temples.

Hold it together just a bit more, son, Nash thought.

"Davenport, how are heat shields holding?"

"Shields are holding but are near point of failure, Colonel."

"Understood. Mr. Freely, make a series of left and right maneuvers to pour off some speed." Nash's eyes locked onto the main screen.

"Yes, sir."

Bulkheads groaned and stainless rivets popped as the ship torqued left and right. The clamor of the friction and the engines combined to produce the sound of a raging thunderstorm on the bridge.

"Colonel!" McBride howled as her head popped up from her console. "The hull may not take that strain!"

"She'll hold!" Nash said with confidence, eyes still fixed on the screen.

The left and right maneuvers made it difficult for Nash to sit erect in the command chair. Beads of sweat slid down his forehead and dripped from his nose. He shook his head to knock the sweat loose, unwilling to risk falling from his chair to wipe it away.

"Major fatigue in the starboard nacelle, Colonel! Nearing critical stress limits!" McBride shouted

"Understood, Major!"

The Trident skimmed fast over forested hills. Nash pointed to the main screen.

"There! Open plains just beyond the woodland! Bring us down there!"

"Yes, sir!"

Davenport spun his chair to face the colonel. "Both nacelles are breaking apart!"

"We'll make it!" Nash shouted.

The ship soared only a few feet above the treetops. Nash pressed the ship-wide intercom.

"This is the Colonel. Brace for impact! I repeat, brace for impact!"

The impact of the Trident striking land was more powerful than anything Nash had experienced. Strain against the safety harness forced the air from his lungs, causing him to involuntarily gasp. There was a groaning of metal, and the main screen twisted, then shattered in a shower of shards. Freely screamed and covered his face as he was sprayed with plastic and metallic fragments.

With the sound of grinding metal, the ship's forward momentum continued. There was a loud popping sound from the weapons station and a shower of sparks sprayed from the console. Every panel and light went out, leaving the bridge crew in total darkness, save for an intermittent flash from an electric spark.

The ship came to a sudden, jerky stop. Nash slumped back in the command chair; his chest and waist in agony over the safety harness slicing into his flesh. As he tried to bring his heart rate under control, he drew a deep breath. The acrid smell of burnt circuitry singed his nose and smoke burned his lungs. Silence reigned over the bridge, save for the occasional cough.

They were alive.

A small beam of light penetrated the darkness. It was Davenport, scanning the bridge with a flashlight. The light stream struggled to cut through the drifting smoke, while the falling particles of dust and debris sparkled in the white brilliance. The beam stopped when it reached Nash.

"Are you alright, Colonel?"

"Just fine," Nash replied. He unbuckled his harness and stood. "Anyone hurt?"

"OK here, Colonel," McBride called. The light beam shot to her duty station to reveal her standing. She was a mess. There was a large tear in the fabric of her uniform sleeve, and her long red hair had fallen out of its ponytail and covered her face. She pulled her hair back and tried keying the console in front of her.

"It's dead," McBride said. "Not even emergency lighting."

A light appeared from the rear of the bridge. It was Preston, holding a pair of battery powered lanterns. She walked toward the Colonel and handed one to him.

Nash keyed the armrest console. "No response here either," he announced. He pulled his jacket sleeve back to expose the comstrap wrapping his wrist. He pressed the metallic face of the strap and spoke.

"Major Trace Jordan."

The strap's tiny speaker buzzed to life. "Jordan here, Colonel."

"Chief, bridge power is out."

"Yessir. It's gone through most of the ship. Lost a lot of systems in the crash."

"Understood. Let's blow the emergency hatches and get everyone out of the ship."

"Yessir. Jordan out."

Nash tapped the comstrap's face and looked at Davenport. "Mr. Davenport, let's see this new world that we're going to be calling home for a while."

"Yes, sir."

Davenport turned his flashlight toward the rear of the bridge and walked toward a yellow door that read "Emergency exit." To the door's right was a long lever, painted with yellow and black stripes. Grasping his flashlight with his teeth, Davenport took hold of the lever with both hands and pulled. There was a loud explosion and the door flew outward, letting in a stream of orange tinted light. He released the lever and cocked his head toward the rest of the bridge crew.

"All ashore, mates," he said with a grin.

The bridge crew filed toward the door and exit, leaving only Nash standing next to the command chair. He stood alone and in silence, eyes sweeping the shattered bridge. With a sigh, he ran his hand over the armrest of the command chair one last time.

"Well, old girl, you gave us one hell of a last run."

The dual sensations of chilling breeze and warm sun greeted Nash as he stepped out the door. He stood still for a moment, allowing the sun to play on his face. Eyes closed and mouth open, he bowed back and took a deep breath. It had been far too long since his lungs had felt air not processed by atmospheric scrubbers.

"Air never tasted so sweet."

After reaching the ground and joining the rest of the bridge crew, Nash looked around to survey the landscape. The sun was setting in the west, hanging low over a range of cragged mountains. The late afternoon light, a deep orange-red in color, bathed the green and brown meadow before him, causing the grasses, thistles, and brambles to shimmer as they wavered in the breeze.

Behind him lay the Trident. After impact, the vessel had continued to grind along the earth, plowing a deep furrow over two kilometers long. The ship was a mess. Various sections of the main hull had been stripped of the outer shell, much like a peeled orange. The starboard nacelle was completely severed and lay wrecked and mangled about a hundred meters from the rest of the vessel. From the emergency exits at various points along the hull came crew and colonist alike, who banded together in small groups.

Davenport scrutinized the wreckage, bit his lip, and then looked at the colonel.

"I'm glad they're going to take that out of your pay and not mine."

At first Nash said nothing; he simply stared at the dark-skinned Australian. Then the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Nash's mouth, which slowly expanded into a wide grin. His grin turned to laughter, soon joined by the rest of the bridge crew.

"I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor, Mr. Davenport," Nash said between laughs. After he regained his composure, he cocked his head toward McBride. "Major, what was that you said in Irish during decent?"

"Oh." She bit her lip and after a momentary pause continued. "Is gairid ar gcairt ár an saol seo. It means our lease on life is short. I... I didn't expect us to make it, sir."

Nash put his hands behind his back. "Well, what happens on the bridge stays on the bridge. Your secret is safe."

"Thank you, sir."

The Colonel looked briefly toward the setting sun, then back at McBride. "Major, find me the Chief and Myron Decker. We need to come up with a short term action plan to get us through to morning. By the look of the sun, we don't have much light left and I want to minimize the use of electric lights until we have the solar panels up and running."

"On my way, Colonel."

It wasn't until McBride walked away that Nash noticed Freely. He had a large gash in the center of his forehead, which was oozing blood down onto his nose.

Nash pointed to the lieutenant's forehead. "Mr. Freely, go find Doc Talhoo and have him look at your forehead."

Freely reached up and touched the gash, apparently unaware of the injury.

"Sir, I'm fine. I'll just—"

"Now, Mister."

"Yes, sir."

As the young man walked away, Nash put his hands on his hips and called out. "Mr. Freely."

He turned at looked at Nash. "Sir?"

"Good work today."

A grin swept across the young man's face. "Thank you, sir."

After the lieutenant walked away, Nash once again looked toward the setting sun, hanging large and orange over the mountains. "Reminds me of the Rocky Mountains back in Montana." He continued to stare at the view and said, "Mr. Davenport, is it just me or does this sun appear large on the horizon?"

"Sir, this star is both larger and closer than Earth's. It is cooler, though. That's why there is an earth-like climate range."

"I see. Just curious, how long is a day is on this planet? Or a year?"

"Luckily, a day is still twenty-four hours. However, the year is shorter; three hundred and five days."

"I see. And do you know what time of the year it is now?"

"I calculated that just before descent, Colonel. It is early spring. Based on calculations I made, we should experience a climate similar to the New England area of North America, but that isn't much more than a best guess because of my limited knowledge of this planet."

"Understood." Nash patted his science officer on the back and then added, "I'll take your best guess any day."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't mention it." Nash could see McBride approaching with the Chief and Decker in tow. "Here they come now. Come on, let's get this sorted out or it's going to be a long night."

#  Chapter Five

Banging metal woke Nash from a deep sleep. He jerked into a sitting position and tried to clear his head. The room was uncomfortably quiet due to lack of the usual noises of humming electronics. He blinked several times, trying to focus in the dim room which was only lit by a beam of sunlight streaming through the small portal window. As the fog of sleep left his eyes, he was just able to make out his computer console, right next to his collection of history books on the desk. On the floor near the bed lay his clothes from the previous day, which had been tossed there in the haste to get to bed.

The crash landing had been the start of a very long night. As people poured out of the wreckage of the Trident, nobody was prepared for the number of injuries the crash landing had wrought. Like most of the ship, sickbay was without power so much of Dr. Talhoo's equipment was inoperative. With so many injured and only battery powered medical devices available, the sickbay staff was overwhelmed. Many volunteers helped Dr. Talhoo, but in the end, four of the severely injured died.

Nash spent much of his time directing tasks to get everyone through the night. The crash damaged a large portion of the crew and passenger quarters, so Nash decided to use the launchbay as a dormitory. The work to get beds, blankets, and other supplies moved into the gymnasium-sized room proceeded at a breakneck speed, all in an effort to beat the setting sun and avoid using electric lighting. As the night grew cold, parties headed to the edge of the forest to gather wood for warming fires. Chief Jordan's group started installing the solar panels, hoping to complete the task before dawn. It was nearly morning when Nash finally managed to lay down for some sleep.

The banging started again; Nash realized the sound was someone pounding on the door to his quarters.

No power, no door chimes, he thought.

"Colonel," came McBride's voice.

"Just a second," Nash said groggily. He rubbed his face, stood, and then slid the door open to reveal McBride.

"Oh," McBride said on viewing the bare-chested Nash. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I guess I woke you."

Nash nodded. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Five hours. Sir, we've made a few discoveries about this planet that you should be apprised of as soon as possible."

"Alright. Give me ten minutes."

"I'll meet you at the command tent, Colonel."

Nash dressed, then placed his hands under his sink and waited for the water to come on. Nothing happened.

Moron. There's no power, no water, no nothing. It would take time to get used to a powerless lifestyle.

On exiting the ship, he found a cool day with the barest hint of a breeze. The sun was high overhead and bathed Nash in a warm, not altogether unpleasant light. He stood for a moment, enjoying the sun and watching crew and colonist alike as they bustled around the area performing essential tasks side by side. A huge pile of firewood had been stacked near the tail end of the ship. Not far from where Nash exited the ship, a large canopy stood, protecting several tables from the Trident's mess hall. McBride stood under the canopy, digging through a large plastic crate. Nash walked toward her.

"Breakfast, Colonel?" McBride asked.

"Absolutely. What's on the menu?"

Without a word, McBride reached into a crate and pulled out a heavy plastic envelope the size of a computer tablet. She tossed the package to Nash, who caught it with a frown.

Great. Emergency rations.

McBride saw the frown on Nash's face. "I assumed you wouldn't mind eating ration packets."

"Try living on them for four months straight," Nash said dryly as he tore open the plastic package.

"I see your point," she replied with a half-smile.

Nash pulled out a packet of ready to drink coffee and an envelope marked Bean burrito omelet. As expected, the coffee was fine, if not a bit strong. However, the omelet was very bland with a heavy, pasty consistency. He looked around in the main packet and found a small bottle of Tabasco sauce, which he promptly drained into the omelet packet.

Better hot and spicy than tasteless.

"Aren't you going to heat it?" McBride asked. "That's why they include the chemical heating packet."

Nash shook his head. "I got used to eating them this way during the war. Anyway, while I'm eating, give me a rundown of what's been going on since I went to sleep."

"Dr. Talhoo reports those injured in the crash are doing well. While there were a lot of injuries, the majority weren't serious." McBride cleared her throat. "Furthermore, one of the colonists is a Catholic Priest. Father John Powers is his name. He asked me about doing a service for the four who perished."

"I didn't know there were clergy of any faith aboard," Nash mused.

"I didn't either, Colonel. He has talked to the families of the deceased, and they all confirm that they want a memorial."

"Tell him to make the preparations, but make it as multi-denominational as possible. You and I may be Roman Catholic, but who knows how many others are. Last thing I want is a religious war."

"I will talk with him, Colonel."

"So what else?" Nash asked.

"Solar panel installation is complete and charging the battery bank. Power has been restored to a small area of the ship centered around the engine room."

"What about power to the galley so we don't have to eat these damn things?"

"Chief Jordan has a team building wood-fired cook stoves using salvaged materials from the destroyed nacelle. Jason and Steve Rohan, the two metalworking brothers, came up with the design; said it's based on something from the late nineteenth century. The Chief says they really know their stuff."

"What are the colonists up to?"

"After he heard about cook stoves, Myron Decker put a large portion of the colonists to work on collecting and cutting firewood. There are also some who are helping our crew with things like debris cleanup and sickbay."

Nash forced down another bite of his omelet. "Good work. So why don't you show me your discovery?"

"Maybe you should finish your breakfast first, Colonel."

"Believe me, there's nothing you can show me that will ruin my appetite."

McBride shrugged. "Follow me, sir."

Nash followed McBride toward an area just outside of the forest. Dr. Tahoo and three of the galley crew stood around a long, stainless table. The doctor noticed the two approaching officers and motioned for them to come near.

"Hello, Colonel," Talhoo said with his usual smile. "I assume you've come to witness our little discovery."

"That's right, Doc," Nash said. His eyes worked over the table. There were two partially butchered animals; one resembled a skinned pig. The other had been butchered into various cuts of meat. He took another bite of his breakfast and stared at the carcasses for a moment. He swallowed the mouthful and then said, "Looks like a couple of hogs."

"Quite correct, Colonel," Talhoo said with a nod. "The creatures wandered upon a couple of crew members gathering firewood. They shot the animals with a plasma pistol with the hopes of extending our food supply. I was called in to check the creatures out and make sure they'd be safe for human consumption."

"So what did you find out? Nash asked. "Are they safe to eat?"

The doctor cocked his head from left to right. "They're safe to eat, Colonel. What's more, they're from Earth."

Nash stopped with the spoon just shy of his mouth. He slowly lowered it back to the plastic envelope. "Whoa, wait a minute. What do you mean they're from Earth?"

"I ran a blood sample and my medical scan pulled up a perfect DNA match. This isn't an alien animal that happens to look like a pig; it is a pig. This particular species is Sus scrofa, subspecies ussuricus, also known as the Manchurian Wild Boar."

Nash took a long draw on his coffee packet. After a hard swallow, he looked at the doctor. "So what are you thinking? Some traders or pirates stopped on this planet and pigs got away from them?"

"At first that occurred to me. Then one of the colonists brought me into the forest." Talhoo took a deep breath and continued. "Colonel, from what I have seen thus far, most if not all of the life is native to some other planet, including Earth. We've identified vegetation and animals from twelve different systems."

McBride crossed her arms. "Could this planet be a terraforming project?"

"If so, the engineering of the planet's surface took place hundreds, if not thousands of years ago," the doctor replied. "Have either if you been in the forest yet?" Both Nash and McBride shook their heads. "There are White Oak trees with trunks more than a meter and a half in diameter."

"Those don't grow overnight," Nash mused.

"Precisely," Talhoo replied.

"Colonel," McBride started, "if the trees are really that old, who planted them? It wasn't any human; we've only had faster than light drive for one hundred and fifty years. Those trees must be way older than that."

"I don't know," Nash said with a shake of the head. "While it's a mystery, let's not lose focus on our primary concern— survival. It does make a few things easier for us, though."

"In what way?" the doctor asked.

"If we can identify a species of plant or animal, we don't have to research its properties. From historical record, we know what white oak has been used for. And we don't have to experiment on every animal we come across to find out if it's safe for consumption."

Talhoo cocked an eyebrow. "I had not considered that, Colonel, but you are quite correct."

Nash turned to McBride. "I want you to talk with Decker. Have him find any colonists who know anything about raising pigs. If we could capture some of these things, maybe we could pen them up and raise them for a steady supply of food."

"Colonel Nash," one of the galley crew said.

"Yes."

"Sir, I know we have to figure out ways to feed everyone. We have several hundred pounds of fresh potatoes that are stored in the stasis chamber. Why not plant some of them? With no power to the stasis chamber, they're going to start to sprout anyway."

Nash looked at McBride. "What do you think?"

"It may be a worthwhile long-term investment," McBride replied.

Nash nodded. "Discuss potato farming with Decker as well."

"Right away, Colonel."

Nash turned to the galley crewman. "Good thinking. You guys butchering the hogs for dinner?"

"Yes, sir. At least if we get the new wood-fired stoves soon enough. Otherwise it'll be tomorrow."

"I see. Carry on," Nash said. He turned his attention to McBride. "Any idea on where the Chief is?"

McBride shook her head.

"Chief Jordan headed toward the river a few minutes before your arrival," Dr. Talhoo said. He pointed with a stubby finger. "That direction, maybe a kilometer. Two of the colonists were with him."

"Thanks, Doc," Nash said. "Major McBride, feel like taking a walk with me to the river?"

"Sir, I'd like to check on the debris cleanup. I also need to find Decker and go over the items we discussed."

"That's fine. I'll see you in a bit then."

The trek toward the river skirted the edge of the meadow, allowing Nash to see a wide variety of vegetation. He recognized some plants from Earth, but many were new to him. Scattered through the meadow was a strange flower that reminded him of black-eyed susans, except with pale pink petals and a deep purple center. Thousands of small, orange petaled flowers skirted the treeline. But his favorite looked to be a thistle growing along the forest-meadow border. Its tall, slender stems stood chest high, with prickly leaves and a puffy flowerhead of a washed out golden color.

Soon the din of cascading water found Nash's ears. He followed the sound and came upon a narrow riverbed constraining a fast flowing current. The riverbank was coated in smooth, round stones in a fantastic variety of colors. He saw hues of grays, browns, reds, as well as those with color combinations that seemed to be swirled together. Those along the water's edge appeared glossy to the point of being almost glass-like.

Finding no one, Nash continued downstream toward the sound of crashing water. After about ten minutes of walking, he discovered the source of the sound; a waterfall. Cascading water fell over twenty meters before colliding with massive boulders and creating a white, frothy pool. Standing near the falls was Jordan and companions. He could see them speak to each other, but the roar of the waterfall prevented him from hearing them. He yelled and waved his arms, and after a moment, the Chief noticed him. He pointed to a large outcropping that overlooked the waterfall and everyone headed in that direction.

"Definitely worth looking at," Nash said loudly. "Back on Earth, this would be a tourist attraction."

"Reminds me of Cumberland Falls in Kentucky. Helluva view," Jordan said with a grin. He pointed to the two colonists standing near. "Sir, this is Natasha Marov and Jake Phillips. They've got some ideas that'll interest you."

Tall and spindly, wearing baggy blue jeans and a loose, worn sweatshirt, Jake Phillips looked like a man in need of a meal. Sunken cheeks covered in three day stubble, deep set eyes, and a charcoal gray ponytail only accentuated the image of a homeless man. Only the glint in his eyes betrayed the hidden intellect behind the shoddy appearance.

Natasha Marov was somewhat short and carried few extra pounds which left her body with exaggerated curves. Her straight, shiny black hair fell to her collar and turned slightly at the ends. High arching eyebrows and heavy lids displayed her deep brown eyes, which had gold flecks that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight.

"Been looking forward to meeting you, Colonel," Phillips said as he gave Nash a vigorous handshake.

Nash nodded.

"Hello," Marov said with a thick Russian accent. "Please forgive me; English is not my native language."

"Never would have guessed," Nash said with a smile. "I guess that means you're not from the US?"

"No, although I have spent time in your country. I was graduate student at the University of Cincinnati and spent several years in your country."

Nash arched his left eyebrow. "Really? That's where I went to college."

Marov smiled. "It is—how do they say— a small world."

"I would have guessed you went to the Coalition Academy," Phillips said to Nash.

"No," Nash said with a shake of the head. "I became an officer through Officer Candidate School. Never intended to join up, but the war started and I volunteered. Fifteen years later, I'm still in uniform."

"Ninety day wonder," Jordan mumbled.

"Not everyone can be a third generation academy brat," Nash said as he glared at Jordan. "Anyway, that's not important right now. What is it you wanted to show me?"

"This." Phillips unrolled a large sheet of paper.

Nash looked and saw what appeared to be a map of the surrounding area. He could make out the forest, the meadow, and the river. Penciled-in squares and rectangles covered the vicinity of the crash site, while the entire page was inked with notations. As he studied the sketch, Marov began to speak. "We propose to build village around the crash site and set up industrial area here."

Nash looked up from the drawing. "You three have been busy this morning, haven't you?"

Phillips grinned. "Most of this layout is Natasha's handiwork; she's the architect. I'm a mechanical engineer by trade, so I've been trying to come up with ideas for building the things that will make our life easier."

"Such as?" Nash asked.

"Here's where we are now." Phillips pointed to the map. "I want to use the river to build a hydroelectric generator."

"Would that meet our power needs?" Nash asked.

"That's the kicker, sir," Jordan added. "Spinnin' a generator with water is the easy part. Gettin' the power back to the crash site is the tough part. We just don't have enough power cable to get from here to there. That's why we thought of usin' the power here, on-site, and make this our industrial center."

"So far, we have plans for sawmill, water tower, and metal fabrication shop," Marov added.

"Why not just build our settlement here? Nash asked. "Then we're right next to the power generator."

"Perhaps you wish to live in the shadow of a power station? Marov said flatly. "Or possibly next door to a sawmill?"

"I see your point," Nash replied. His eyes drifted back to the drawings. "You do think big, don't you?"

"Everything I have done is based on assumption that we never leave this planet," Marov said.

Both Nash and Jordan looked at her.

"What?" she asked. "You cannot tell me the thought has not occurred to you. Everyone wishes we will be rescued next week, but it is best to assume we will never be found."

"I considered it, but hadn't announced it to the passengers or the crew," Nash said.

Marov frowned slightly and arched an eyebrow. "It is best if they accept facts, is it not?"

"I don't disagree," Nash said. "I just didn't know how everyone would react."

"Anyway," Phillips said with a wave of the hand, "we've also been looking at the different raw materials we have to work with. There's plenty of large timber in the forest, also sand and stone along the river."

"The subsoil is heavy clay," Marov added.

"What would we use the clay for?" Nash asked.

"Clay soil such as this can be mixed with sand and stone, then compressed under pressure into bricks."

"Mr. Phillips and I—" Jordan began.

Phillips interrupted. "Jake, please."

"Jake and I," Jordan corrected, "have been lookin' at schematics of these brick presses. Don't look too hard to build. And they run on people power."

"All of your ideas sound great to me, so I think what we need to do is get together with Decker and figure out what we need to do to implement these things."

"Sounds good, Colonel."

Nash tapped his comstrap and spoke into the face.

"Major Dara McBride."

"McBride here, Colonel."

"Major, have you met with Decker?" Nash asked.

"I am with him now, Colonel."

"Good. Meet me and the Chief at the Trident. He and a couple of the colonists have some ideas that will take Decker's help to implement."

"Understood, Colonel."

"Additionally, tomorrow I want to take a team to the native village and meet the locals. I need a linguist, Doctor Talhoo, a security team of four, and Davenport to accompany me."

"I will inform them, Colonel."

"Alright. Nash out."

"Colonel," Marov said, "I would like to join you tomorrow. I wish to see the native dwellings; it may give me insight to what works well for homes in this region."

"It's a long walk," Nash said. "Mr. Davenport tells me it's around fifteen kilometers."

Marov pinched a handful of flab from around her waist. "Good. I want this gone."

Nash chuckled. "OK, come along. And I think we should all head toward the Trident now, so we can get these ideas of yours under way."

#  Chapter Six

Day One

January 26th, 2285

It has been a little more than twenty-four hours since our crash landing on Aria Prime. Since I am unable to use the voice recorder in my quarters (due to no power), I will begin a paper journal to record what happens while we are marooned here. Dr. Talhoo was kind enough to give me a notebook and an old fashioned inking pen.

Today, we made baby steps toward ensuring our survival. Two colonists, Jake Phillips and Natasha Marov, have been working with Chief Jordan to lay out the industries we need to make our survival possible. Listening to them, I realized how out of my league I am. I was trained to fight and command a Coalition cruiser; I know nothing about building a town. I have persuaded Myron Decker to form a sort of town council who will meet and discuss the various proposals as to how we should run our community. He has agreed and is currently working on a list of council member recommendations. My personal lineup includes Decker himself, Phillips and Marov, and my senior staff.

A team completed the wood cookstoves this afternoon, although not in time for the galley crew to cook a dinner. However, I've had a chance to examine the stoves and I must say, the metal fabrication skill of the Rohan brothers is outstanding. Unfortunately, we found the amount of electricity used to weld the stoves was very costly to our power banks. Chief Jordan has estimated it will take two days of full sun to recover the energy that was used. Until the water turbine goes online, we will have to be very judicious with our power usage.

Tomorrow brings several events. First, preparation for potato planting will begin. Teams will turn the soil for planting and potatoes will be cut into sections for planting (it is my understanding that there only needs to be one eye on a potato section to grow a new plant). Another group will fence an area for livestock; it is our hope that we can capture some wild hogs for domestication. All of these projects are labor intensive and both Decker and myself agree than everyone must participate, except for those with skills needed elsewhere. We have implemented a meal ticket system to facilitate this. Put simply, you don't work, you don't eat.

Jake Phillips and a team will begin to build the compressed-earth brick machine, with the hope that they can begin to use it in a few days. It is completely human powered, so we can make bricks without electricity. Chief Jordan and his team will begin construction of the water turbine soon.

I will lead a team to the native village located fifteen kilometers from here. It will be our first contact with the indigenous alien life on this planet. I am hopeful that they are a peaceful people who will be willing to trade with us for items that will assist in our survival.

Colonel Christopher Nash

## ******

The expedition to the native village began in the blue-gray mist of pre-dawn. Nash and the rest of the Trident ditched their standard duty uniforms in favor of camouflaged field uniforms. A pair of the security detail took the lead with Davenport by their side to navigate.

Most of the journey was without incident and nearly everyone commented on the natural beauty of the land. Starting in the dewy meadow, the terrain soon gave way to a forest of widely scattered, enormous evergreen trees. A smooth, papery white bark coated the tree trunks, while deep blue-green needles the length of a man's arm hung limp from the branches. A thick carpet of these needles muffled the sound of nine pairs of tromping feet, which made the wildlife noises all the more pronounced. A variety of bird chirps, the buzzing of insects, and the movement of unseen animals through the trees were all discovered.

"How much farther, Mr. Davenport?" Nash asked.

Davenport looked down at the small computer tablet that he was carrying. "About one and one-half kilometers."

"That should put us just past that next rise," Nash said pointing toward the easy slope that lay before them. To his left walked Marov. Her dark purple sweater was unzipped halfway down, revealing a white turtleneck below. Droplets of sweat coated her forehead and her chest rose and fell with heavy labored breaths.

Nash placed his hand on her shoulder. "You need to take a break, Ms. Marov?"

Marov wiped the sweat from her forehead. "Please call me Natasha. I am fine. It has been some time since I walked this far."

With a nod, Nash replied, "I suspect lots of people are in the same boat as you. Chief Jordan told me yesterday that all of the walking he was doing was wearing him out."

Natasha nodded her head between pants. "I am not in prime condition, but it is not good for man his age to carry so much weight."

"Definitely not."

Marov pointed to the long, thick curved knife on the rear of Nash's utility belt. "Tell me about that knife. I have never seen a Coalition officer carry one."

"It's called a kukri," Nash said. "They've been carried by Gurkha soldiers since the 1800's."

"Gurkhas?"

"They're part of the British Army, recruited from Nepal, and are considered to be among the finest infantry on earth."

"I still do not understand. Why do you carry the knife?"

"My grandfather was a British officer who commanded Gurkhas. Like many of the Gurkha officers, he learned kukri knife fighting techniques. When I was in my teens, he taught me what he had learned."

"But I thought you were from the United States?"

"My grandfather moved to the United States when he retired. He bought a small place in the mountains of Montana, near Glacier National Park.. I went to live with him when I was thirteen; my parents were killed in a car accident."

"I am sorry," Marov said.

Nash shrugged. "It was a long time ago. While I wish my parents hadn't died, I cherish the memories I have of my Grandfather."

The group crested the rise and looked down into a shallow meadowed valley. The sun, shining through drifting, darkened clouds, spread its golden light on the valley highlighting the deep, green grass mixed with a kaleidoscope of flowers. Deep in the valley floor lay the village.

The village contained around fifty buildings; small round affairs with domed roofs that made the structures look like large mushrooms. Many had wisps of smoke rising from a central chimney. Tilled fields of deep brown earth and livestock pens, along with a few isolated structures, lay to the west.

"It looks like something out of a medieval fantasy novel," Dr. Talhoo commented.

Several screams and loud shouting from the village broke the silence of the pastoral scene. Nash pulled his pistol, made a quick adjustment to the selector switch, and then turned to the rest of the group.

"Weapons on stun, let's double time it."

As the crew drew and adjusted their weapons, Nash said to Marov, "Follow us at a distance. I don't want you hurt or lost."

Before Marov could respond, Nash headed for the village at a run, followed closely by the rest of his crew.

Nash led the way into the village, sprinting through the muddy lanes toward the sound of the screams and shouting. For a time, not a soul in site. The close streets opened up, revealing a town square. Hundreds of human-looking beings sat in the dirt, most with terrified expressions on their faces; some cried. A dozen humanoid creatures carrying an assortment of swords, spears, and axes surrounded them. One of the creatures sat on a horse-sized cat-like animal, apparently his steed.

The standing humanoids were of human height, sinewy and broad of chest. White-pupiled eyes, shadowed by heavy brow ridges, sat over large noses and protruding mid-faces. Large canine teeth, with tips visible even with a closed mouth, rose from their lower jaws. Large ears, pointed in fairy tale fashion, flanked their skull. Not a single hair could be found on their skin, which was a brownish green, much like a pond with too much algae. Most stood bare chested, while wearing fur boots and pants of rough leather. The one on the cat also wore a leather vest with small metal plates attached to it.

One of the creatures drug a small child from behind one of the village huts. When he reached the area with the other villagers, he threw the child to the ground and put his sword to the child's neck, yelling in his language.

"Leave those people alone!" Nash shouted.

Silence spread like wildfire as all eyes locked on Nash, now joined by his panting companions. The cat-mounted humanoid grabbed a spear from one of the others and drew a long, curved sword with the other hand. His eyes locked with Nash's. He nudged the cat with his knee, and the cat slowly crept toward Nash. At about forty paces from Nash, he stopped and began to speak.

Lieutenant Macy, the translator, was standing just behind Nash. He read from his universal translator. "I am Kallack. I take what I want and kill what I want. Pray I do not destroy this village."

Nash's eyes remained fixed. "Lieutenant, tell Kallack that this village is now under my protection. He and his men must leave and never come back."

"Translating now, sir." The lieutenant translated and then Kallack laughed a deep laugh.

"You have no arms and yet you are the protector of this village? You should leave while you still have your lives."

"I repeat my offer, Kallack. Leave now and no harm will come to you or your men."

Kallack huffed loudly, straightened himself, and spoke.

"Enough talk," Macy translated.

Kallack rode his cat to where the rest of his men stood and then turned around to face Nash. He bellowed in his own tongue and his followers whooped and yelled. Kallack yelled again, as his followers charged toward Nash and his crew.

Davenport readied his pistol. "I think that was the order to attack, Colonel!"

"You are a smartass at the worst times," Nash replied. "Take them down!"

The high pitched sound of plasma rifles and pistols echoed, and Kallack's men dropped before they got close enough to use their weapons. Nash fired on Kallack's cat, which toppled to the side, pinning Kallack under its weight. The four remaining enemy threw their weapons to the ground and held their hands over their head.

"No matter how many worlds I visit," Nash said, "that has to be the universal sign for I give up."

Nash walked to Kallack, still struggling to get out from underneath the cat. He pointed his pistol at Kallack who stopped struggling and stared at Nash with a fiery glare.

"Lieutenant, get over here!"

The lieutenant ran to Nash's side. "Tell Kallack that I will let him live and that his men will wake up in a few minutes. If he and his men ever return, they will be shot again and this time they will not wake up."

After Macy's translation, Kallack spoke.

"Sir, he says the Black Enchantress will hear about this."

"Tell him I don't care who he tells."

Kallack's upper lip twitched and a growl rose from deep in his throat.

One by one, Kallack's horde regained consciousness and stood under guard by the security team. As soon as the cat woke, Nash ordered them to leave the village without their weapons. The creatures didn't speak, but their burning eyes and angrily cast glares spoke volumes.

The villagers still sat silently on the muddy ground. One of them, sitting toward the front of the group, nudged another, who quickly smacked the other's elbow. The second drew a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet, soon followed by four others. The five approached Nash, the leader licking his lips and wringing his hands. They looked remarkably human, save for one feature; not one of them stood taller than Nash's waist.

The leader peered through eyes set deep in a chubby face and under square-cut, ash-brown hair. This, combined with his height, lent him the appearance of a child, though the occasional silver hair betrayed age. He wore loose, baggy pants and a long tailed v-neck shirt, all woven from a coarse cloth. Moccasins, laced ankle high, cloaked his feet.

Still wringing his hands, he spoke in a near whisper. "I don't know your name, stranger, but I must thank you for your help. I am Conway Lockskin, Chief Councilman of Vale."

Nash blinked twice. "You speak English?"

"What is English?"

"That is what we call the language you're speaking. What do you call it?"

"Common tongue."

Nash bobbed his head. "Tell the people of your town that you have nothing to fear from us. We are new to these lands and wish only to meet and trade with you."

A broad smile drew across Lockskin's face, with the four standing behind him quickly following suit. One of the four turned toward the sitting crowd.

"God be praised! They have come as friends. Let us go about our day!"

The crowd filled with smiles and the air was filled with cries of joy and sighs of relief. Nash turned to the crew and motioned for Dr. Talhoo.

"Doc, you want to see if there are any injured?"

"Certainly, Colonel."

Nash leaned toward the doctor's ear and spoke in a whisper. "See what you can find out about them."

Talhoo smiled, nodded, and descended into the crowd.

"Colonel Nash!"

Nash turned to see Marov standing cross armed behind him. Deep fissures in her forehead combined with a dark frown, creating a foreboding look. "You say you don't want me lost, and then you run away!"

"Looks like you made it just fine," Nash replied.

Marov stamped her left foot. "I would have preferred not to travel the last kilometer alone."

"I'm sorry about that, but my gut told me I was needed here." Nash drew a deep breath. "Look, you are here now, so why not do what you came here to do?"

"No wonder you are not married," Marov said as she stormed off into the village.

Nash arched his left eyebrow and shook his head. He returned his attention to Lockskin, standing with his hands behind his back.

"Who are you big people?" Lockskin asked, voice now loud to overcome the crowd.

"My name is Christopher Nash and I am the Colonel of—" Nash hesitated for a moment, "a sky ship that crashed not far from here. You may have seen the crash in the afternoon sky two days ago. It would have looked like a ball of fire in the sky."

"Oh, yes. Most in the town saw that. Many though that it was the work of the Black Enchantress."

"This is twice I've heard of the Black Enchantress. Who is she?"

"A witch, the most feared in the land. Skin black as night, hair like snow. She lives eternally. Hundreds of years ago, she enslaved my people. But our ancestors escaped bondage and settled in this valley."

Have you ever seen her?"

"No. Nobody in the village has. But we have seen evidence of her sorcery." Lockskin rubbed his chin. "A sky ship? It sails through the air like on water?"

"Yes," Nash replied. "We come from one of the points of light in your night sky."

He continued rubbing his chin. "This needs more thought. And food. Come with me, Christopher Nash, and we will talk with the rest of the town council. The town hall, I should think... it may be the only building tall enough for you."

"That sounds fine, Mr. Lockskin." He turned to Davenport. "Learn what you can while I meet with the town council."

"Yes, sir."

#  Chapter Seven

In the town hall, Nash felt like an adult visiting a preschool. The central table was long, but far too short for someone of his height. Nor could he fit in the chairs, as his hips hung up on the arm rests. He finally gave up on the chair and sat cross-legged on the floor. The structure looked like something from the Middle Ages. Rough brown plaster walls, still showing trowel and swirl marks, supported a burly timber-framed roof. Beefy ceiling ties stretched dangerously low for Nash, who struck his head several times on beams. Along the south wall, glowing red-orange embers and low flames filled a massive fireplace, large enough for three villagers to enter.

After sitting with the town council, a young woman brought out a pitcher of wine and a wooden tray loaded with loaves of bread. Nash was handed a plate with a thick slice of the heavy, coarse bread smeared with butter. The bread, still warm from the oven, had a flavor similar to rye and the sweet butter only heightened its taste. The wine was dark and far too sweet for Nash's taste. In respect of his hosts, however, he forced small sips down.

"Tell me," Nash began, "as I said earlier, my people and I are strangers to these lands. What do you and your people call yourselves? My people are called humans."

Lockskin scrunched his nose. "Hu-mon? That's a strange name. We are tillers."

"I see," Nash said. "And are there other villages of tillers?"

"Certainly," another at the table said. "There are three towns within two days walk, several farther out. Another one near the Digger Kingdom of Fjall."

"Who are the diggers?" Nash asked.

"They are big people like you," a councilman replied.

"Not so tall," another added.

"But taller than us," still another said.

Lockskin held his arms out wide. "Very big in the shoulders and chest. Big, long beards. They are master blacksmiths and miners. Their entire kingdom is carved out of solid rock in Kolen Mountain. Fierce warriors they are, too."

Nash rubbed his chin. "Do you have any contact with them?"

"They keep to their mountain realm, but we do trade with them. Their metal goods are far better than anything our blacksmiths are able produce."

"And what do the diggers get in return for their metal crafts?" Nash asked.

"Cloth and the fruits of the field," Lockskin replied.

"The diggers couldn't farm if their lives depended on it," a pale and gravelly voice said from behind.

Everyone at the table turned toward the entry to see a wizened old man leaning on a cane in the doorway. His head was nearly bald, and what little hair remained was pure white. His face was narrow, with a long straight nose; hollow cheeks and high cheekbones accentuated his thinness. A thin goatee of white flecked with gray highlighted rather than concealed his thin lips and elongated chin. These features, when combined with his large and slightly pointed ears gave the appearance of an elf-like creature from a fairytale.

"Master Trewin," Lockskin said. "If I had known you wished to join us, I would have sent a strong lad to help you to the town hall. I know your condition makes travel difficult."

"I led this council when most of you were an itch in your father's pants. Seems to me, I shouldn't have to be invited when the council has a guest in their midst."

Lockskin smiled. "Of course, sir. You are always welcome at this table."

The old man grimaced and nodded his head, then advanced toward the table. An ornately carved cane aided his slow stiff stride, while the expression on his face told well the pain each step brought. He took a seat directly across the table from Nash and proceeded to squint at him. After a moment, he said, "Looks like we need a bigger chair."

Everyone at the table laughed, including the old man.

"Colonel Nash," Lockskin began, "this is Wilan Trewin, the former Chief Councilman of our town."

"Currently our elder statesman," one at the table added.

"He is," Lockskin continued, beaming. "We refer all of our deeper questions to him."

Trewin smiled a crooked smile. "They do. They do indeed." He cleared his throat, and continued. "On to more important matters, we must discuss the events of earlier today."

"What do you mean?" one of the councilmen asked.

"Colonel Nash may have run off Kallack and the rest of the drogs—"

"Excuse me, but what is a drog?" Nash asked.

"Those creatures that held us hostage this morning," Lockskin replied.

Trewin glared at Nash. "As I was saying before I was so crudely interrupted, what Colonel Nash did today was a noble thing, but he may have caused us more harm than good."

"In what way?" one of the councilmen asked.

"Do you believe Kallack will stay away from this town? He'll be back, and with far more soldiers."

The room fell silent, leaving only the crackling of the fireplace. Nash leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin on the cup of his hands. He looked up at Trewin.

"I assume Kallack has been here before. What does he do when he comes?"

"Steals some livestock and grain, and scares the townsfolk. You've probably changed all of that."

"Yeah," Nash said in thought. "Why don't you fight off the drogs?"

"Look at us and look at them," Trewin replied. "They're twice our size with twice our strength. And unlike you, we don't have light boxes that make our enemies fall to the ground."

"That is a problem," Nash mused. "Does Kallack come often?"

"It used to be two or three times a year," Lockskin said. "Now, it is more like once a month."

Nash nodded. "I will offer your village a trade. If you can provide meals and a place for them to stay, some of my people will stay in Vale to guard against Kallack and his horde. In exchange, we would like to purchase some of your livestock, grain, and vegetable seed."

"What do you need those things for?" Lockskin asked.

"My skyship is damaged beyond repair, so my people are building a town around the crash site. But we don't know these lands. We need to know the weather, what vegetables grow well and which do not. We have no livestock."

"It sounds as if a trade would benefit both peoples," a councilman said.

"It does," Nash replied. "Eventually, once my village is established, I may be able to provide you with weapons that will allow you to defend yourself. Until then, my men will protect the people of Vale from Kallack."

"That sounds like a deal to me," Lockskin said. He looked around the table. "All in favor?"

"No," one of the councilmen said. All eyes turned to him.

"He chased off the drogs, but what if he and his people are greater enemies? What then?"

"Consider this," Nash replied. "I defeated Kallack with little effort, and yet I offer a trade that benefits us both. If I wanted to take from you, I wouldn't waste my time trying to barter a deal."

"He has a point, Jacob," Trewin said.

"Let's try this again," Lockskin said. "All in favor?"

Everyone raised their hands.

"Then it shall be," Trewin said. Lockskin cast him a look. "Oh, I'm sorry, Conway. Old habit I suppose. You say that now, don't you?"

"Not much point now," Lockskin replied.

Nash stood, adjusted his shirt, and held out his hand to Trewin. He looked at Nash's hand under an arched eyebrow.

"It is a custom of my people," Nash said. "You do the same."

Trewin held out his hand, which Nash shook vigorously.

"It is a sign of lasting friendship between people," Nash added.

Trewin nodded with a simper and slumped back into his chair.

Nash returned the smile and slapped the comstrap around his wrist.

"McBride here, Colonel," the device buzzed.

"Major, I have made arrangements for a trade of sorts between us and the villagers. However, they need protection from a band of marauders. Send a ten person security team to this village right away."

"Understood, Colonel. Do we need to worry about the marauders at the crash site?"

"I don't know, but make sure every crewman is armed, and from this point forward nobody goes off alone."

"Consider it done, Colonel."

"How are things on your end?"

There was a momentary pause. "Nothing I can't handle, sir."

"Nash out."

As Nash covered the comstrap with his sleeve, Trewin smiled. "I knew you were powerful when I saw you this morning. You sail a skyship, talk to faraway places through a bracelet, and have a wizard as your servant."

"A wizard?" Nash puzzled.

"The dark skinned one. A wizard calls you colonel... that's power."

"He's not a wizard," Nash replied with a shake of the head. "He is a human, just like me. All of his tribe have dark skin. And he is not my servant; he follows me of his own free will."

The old man stroked his goatee before saying, "If someone follows you freely, then you are even more powerful that I thought."

Nash smiled and turned to walk away, but once again bashed his forehead on the low beams of the ceiling. As light snickers filled the room, he cursed to himself and walked to the exit.

Near the entrance to the town hall, Nash found Dr. Tahoo and Davenport. As he approached, Talhoo pointed to Nash's forehead.

"Are you alright, Colonel?"

"Fine, Doc. Just low beams in there."

Davenport grinned. "Not built for giants?"

Nash shook his head. "No. And I have no idea how such little people built a place with such massive timbers. Hey, Doc, there's an old man in there, looks like walking is really painful for him. Can you check him out?"

Talhoo smiled broadly. "A gesture of goodwill?"

Nash nodded and the doctor entered the building.

Davenport leaned against the wall of the town hall and kicked a loose stone. He looked up and said, "Security team is keeping an eye on your girlfriend, Colonel."

Nash crossed his arms. "Why is she my girlfriend?"

"Come on, Colonel, she's pretty hot, and the fact that she can't pronounce the v sound is sexy. Besides, you're a starship colonel; they're supposed to be womanizers."

"Guess I don't fit the stereotype. I've just never had much luck with the ladies. Not your kind of luck at least."

"One on every outpost. I'm sure the mamas are going ape shit crazy without a regular serving of Drew stew."

Nash laughed. "You're one sick bastard."

"Proud of it too, sir," Davenport said with a wide smile.

"That's what I thought," Nash replied. He looked to the sky and continued. "What do you think... about two hours of light left?"

Davenport glanced at his computer tablet, then up at the sky. "Maybe a little more if you count twilight."

"We can't make it back to the crash site before dark, so I'll have a word with the town council about a place to stay tonight. Another thing, keep an eye out; there's a security detail on its way."

"Security detail?"

"I made a trade with the village elders. We'll provide security from that little band we encountered this morning, and in exchange these people will help us out with farming and livestock."

Davenport stood quietly and rubbed his bottom lip with his forefinger.

"If you've got something on your mind, spit it out."

The quiet continued for a moment before Davenport spoke. "Sir, I like to help people out and all, but posting a security team here? For how long? A week, a year? Longer? I don't see how that helps us out."

"They have goods and knowledge that we desperately need," Nash replied. "They can't help us if Kallack and his band are stealing all of their surplus. Long term, we need to figure out a way that these people can defend themselves without us."

Davenport rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Sir, I hope that doesn't mean you plan on handing over plasma weapons to the little people."

"Absolutely not. But there has to be some kind of weapon we can arm these people with."

With a shrug of the shoulders, Davenport replied, "I'll do some research when we get back, sir. I just don't know what I'll come up with."

"You always come up with something, Mr. Davenport. That's why I keep you around."

#  Chapter Eight

The security force arrived at twilight. The tillers hosted a dinner for Nash's crew in the town hall, filling the long table with food. There was more of the bread that Nash had so enjoyed, roast pork drizzled in a sweet sauce, and a steamed green. A sweet honey-wine washed down the meal, and when the feasting was complete, Lockskin and other tillers filled the hall with song.

Dawn found Nash and his original party back in the evergreen forest, heading toward the crash site. A smoky fog drifted through the trees in the cool morning air. Sparkling droplets of dew hung from the tips of the tree needles, occasionally dropping to the ground with a soft pat-pat-pat.

"Hey, Doc," Nash called. The doctor, who was walking a few meters in front of Nash, turned to face the Colonel and continued walking in his side to side gate, only backwards. Nash shook he head.

"I forgot to ask you, how did things go with Mr. Trewin's exam?"

"Just fine."

"Did you find out what is wrong with him?"

"Arthritis. He is simply old, Colonel, and they don't have anti-inflammatory drugs as we do."

"What did you do for him?"

"I gave him a thorozipalin injection for the inflammation, which began to work before the exam was over. He does drink a tea made of a local herb for the pain, but claims it gives him an upset stomach. I left him a few antacids to deal with it. I have a sample of the herbs, which I plan to examine when we get back to the Trident. I also drew blood so I may study the tillers further."

"How'd you convince him to give a blood sample, Doc?"

"Well, it wasn't easy, but after I—"

The doctor's heel caught on an exposed tree root, causing him to fall backwards, landing flat on his back. Several laughed, and one of the security detail leaned over and helped Talhoo to his feet. Talhoo nodded his appreciation and began to brush the evergreen needles from his jacket.

A whizzing sound filled the air and two arrows slammed into a tree near one of the security detail. He dropped to one knee, brought his plasma rifle to his shoulder, and shouted.

"Ambush! Weapons on stun!"

Screams and yells filled the air as several drogs rushed from a shallow depression. Two, holding short recurve bows, stood opposite the depression. The kneeling security specialist fired several shots at the archers, taking them down in quick succession. The rest of the team fired on the rushing drogs, dropping them before they reached axe and sword range.

Nash raised his pistol to fire and was hit in a full body tackle from behind. The pistol went flying and Nash's chin was driven into the bed of evergreen needles that coated the forest floor. Nash could smell the assailant's sweat, a foul odor that reminded him of hog farms back home. He rolled to the left as fast as possible, breaking the assailant's grip. As he clambered to his feet, Nash jerked the kukri from its leather bound sheath and spun to face his attacker. The drog reached for the sword on his belt, but the up-hand slash of the kukri stopped him. The creature staggered back, howling. Nash pressed his advantage, thrusting the thick blade into his assailant's chest. He heard the ribs crack and felt the tip of the blade reach the drog's spine. As the blood gushed from the wound, Nash continued to push forward, walking a few steps as he drove the weapon deeper. The creature took a few clumsy steps back. Nash savagely twisted his wrist, then yanked the blood soaked blade from his enemy, who collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.

Panting, heart racing, Nash looked around. Drog bodies scattered the forest floor and each of his crew had their pistols drawn. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't heard the report of the pistols. He was retrieving his dropped pistol when he noticed Marov. Mouth open and face pale, she stared at him with eyes wide.

"Everyone alright?" Nash called. He turned his attention to Marov. "Natasha, are you alright?"

Several heads nodded. Marov continued to stare, unblinking, mouth still open.

"Ms. Marov, are you okay?" he repeated.

She blinked and looked Nash in the eyes, but still no words came.

"Doc, you want to check her for shock?"

The doctor nodded. As he approached Marov, she threw up her hands and backed away.

"I—I am fine," Marov finally said. Her eyes drifted to the drog Nash had killed, then back to his face. "I have never seen such.... It was so...." He voice trailed off and she looked back at the body. She shook her head. "To think you could kill a man with such depravity."

"I fight to win. I'd prefer to use a plasma weapon on stun, but I will resort to any means necessary to complete the mission."

Marov threw her arms down at her sides, hands bound in tight fists. She stared at Nash through narrowed slits. "Do you realize how barbaric that was?"

Nash, face now in a snarl and still clutching the bloodied kukri, stepped toward Marov, who instinctively lurched back as he approached. His chin quivered and he spoke through tight lips. "If I hadn't done that, he would have killed me, then moved on to you. There is no room for civility in battle. It is cruel, vulgar, and bloody, and what you saw here is nothing compared to what I have seen... or done."

"Colonel!"

One of the security team was kneeling alongside one of the fallen drogs. He pointed to the creature's face, which had a long scar that ran from forehead to chin.

"I recognize this drog from the attack on the village yesterday," the crewman said.

Nash peered at the humanoid's face. "You sure?"

"Yes, sir. Look here." He turned the drog's face to one side, revealing three hooped earrings of a dull gray color. "I pointed this out to crewman Danz when we stunned the thing yesterday."

Davenport put his hands on his hips. "Do you think they were hunting us, Colonel?"

"Maybe." Nash knelt on one knee and wiped the blood from his kukri on the creature's worn and tattered rawhide pants. "Looks like Kallack sent some of his boys to do his dirty work for him." Finished, he stood again and looked Davenport in the eye. "From this point on, I want every party that travels to or from Vale to have an armed escort. Understood?"

"Perfectly, Colonel."

"Good. Now let's get moving. I don't want to wait for the stunned drogs to wake."

"What about the dead drog?" Marov asked.

Nash slid his kukri back in its sheath. "Leave it and let it be a warning to his comrades."

Marov swallowed hard. "Is that not a little—"

"No," Nash interrupted. "It's very barbaric. Now let's get moving."

#  Chapter Nine

McBride, hair falling out of its ponytail, stood and stretched her back. Situated midway between the crash site and what was to be the community's industrial area, she and others were working to erect fencing for the livestock. Known as wattle fences, the design called for posts the diameter of a man's arm and two meters in length to be driven in the ground to a depth of seventy-five centimeters. The posts were spaced half a meter apart. After sinking the posts, long, slender staves were woven back and forth through the posts, resulting in a fence that resembled a woven basket.

A trio of colonists had designed the layout of the livestock pens, and still another came up with the idea of the wattle fencing. But that was the easy part; building was another matter. Although simple in design, the scale of this project was a huge undertaking. Even with a crew of over two hundred, progress was slow, in no small part due to a workforce unused to physical labor.

McBride grabbed her hatchet and picked up another oaken post before wincing in pain. She gazed down at her blistered and cut hands, the result of a morning of handling rough bark with soft hands. A grunt rumbled deep in her throat as she tightened her grip on the hatchet and continued her work.

This would be miserable work if the weather were hot, she thought. As it were, the physical labor had been intense enough for her to strip off her uniform tunic. She now wore a black tank top along with uniform trousers, which was both cooler and allowed for a greater freedom of movement.

"Need a drink, Major McBride?"

Jessica Frey, the colonist who came up with the idea for the fences, handed McBride a water bottle. McBride nodded and eagerly swished down the cold liquid.

"You're not a Coalition soldier. Call me Dara," McBride said after gulping down the water.

"OK, Dara," Frey replied. In a near whisper she continued. "Tomorrow, you may want to wear a different kind of shirt. A couple of those guys putting in the fence posts are staring down your shirt every time you lean over."

McBride looked toward the young men pounding oaken posts into the ground and a snicker slid across her jaw. "If it keeps them motivated to work, they can look all they want."

Both she and Frey laughed.

One of the colonists approached from the forest and dropped an armload of posts in front of McBride. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

"Wait a minute," McBride called. She picked up a post triple the diameter of the others. "See this; way to large. It'll be a nightmare for the post drivers. Remember, no larger than you arm, no smaller than your wrist.

The colonist, a wiry man in his twenties, spun around and crossed his arms over his chest. "This is bullshit."

"What's the problem?" McBride asked.

"All of this building fences and shit. I'm done with it."

"No. You'll continue working if you want to eat. Every person puts in a full day unless they have a medical condition."

"Look at this bullshit!" He thrust out his hands, revealing blisters and cuts far worse than McBride's. "I'm a fucking sales rep, not a farmer!"

"Not anymore," McBride answered dryly. "Whatever you were in the past is now history. I'm no longer the executive officer of a coalition cruiser. We're all farmers and builders now. Get back to work."

Rage boiled in the man's face. He made a fist and took a swing at McBride. Exhaustion slowed both his speed and aim, and McBride dodged the blow with a single backward step. Her face flamed. Still holding the oversized post, she charged at the man, knocking him down to his backside. She threw the log aside, crossed her arms, and looked down at the lean youth through narrowed eyes.

"You don't want to work? Fine. Starve for all I care. But nobody takes a shot at me."

McBride stepped back and exhaled a long breath. As the fear-struck laborer stood, onlookers snickered. He swallowed hard and looked at his feet as he brushed himself off.

"Get out of here," McBride said with a snarl. "Find another crew. I don't want to see your fucking face around here for the rest of the day.

Wide-eyed, the colonist hurried away without a word.

"Come on everyone," McBride called out. "We've got work to do."

Work had barely resumed when McBride heard her name called. Now what, she thought. How the hell am I going to get this thing done with all of these interruptions?

From the crash site came an older woman wearing baggy brown clothing. Her gait was quick, and the fisted hands at her side swung like a pendulum as she walked.

"Major McBride, my name is Hope Liberty and I just heard that Colonel Nash has launched a military expedition against a native village."

McBride rubbed together her raw hands as she gazed at Liberty through tensed eyes. She took a deep breath and slowly shook her head side to side.

"You were misinformed, Miss Liberty. The Colonel went to the village to offer trade and friendship."

"Several of your soldiers were armed."

"Since this is unknown land, it is standard procedure for an armed escort, no matter what the purpose of the mission."

"We are the dangerous ones here," Liberty retorted. "Have you seen anyone attacked? No! But since we have been here, we have already killed the native wildlife, slashed down forests, and are making plans to dam the river. And what—"

"Stop right there," McBride barked as she thrust out her hand. "There was nothing native about those pigs we caught; they're from Earth. God knows how they got here. And in case you haven't noticed, this forest is huge and our needs will barely make a dent in it. As far as the river—"

"Excuses! Always with the military! They take what they want with no regard for the impact to the environment or to native cultures. Do you have any idea what will happen to the natives after contact with the Colonel?"

"Hopefully a deal that is mutually beneficial." McBride put her hands on her hips. A scowl grew across her reddening face and beads of sweat dripped from her forehead.

"No! We will destroy their culture, just as the Western European culture always has. The natives will end up just like the American Indians; a broken people, landless, dependent on us for their every need."

"Then what the hell do you suggest?"

"We need to tread lightly on the land. Don't cut down its trees, don't slaughter its wildlife, and don't exploit other cultures."

"I don't know what planet you're on, but nobody has suggested exploiting anyone or cutting down trees we don't need. You want to live like a prehistoric nomad? Be my guest. Leave. But don't come to me with this bullshit; I've got too much work to do."

McBride leaned over, picked up her hatchet, and continued to sharpen points on posts. Tears began to stream down Liberty's cheeks and she drew closer to McBride.

"How can you be so blind! Don't you see the crash was a gift? It is our opportunity to break free from what the people back home did. No more computerized this and mechanized that. We can learn—"

"I have had enough!" McBride threw down her tools and leaped to her feet. She grabbed a handful of fabric at Liberty's shoulder and dragged her away from the worksite. "I have no tolerance for this kind of bullshit. Get out of here!"

McBride shoved Liberty in the direction of the river. As she stumbled to the ground, there was a choir of whistles and laughs from observing work crew. Liberty pulled herself to her feet, took a few steps toward the river, then turned and shouted at McBride.

"You think I'm the only one who feels this way? There are others just like me!"

"You are a sad, sad little woman," McBride said coldly with a shake of the head. "If there are others, you can collect up your little band of misfits and go live in a fucking cave. Don't ever come around me again."

McBride returned to the work site amidst clapping and chuckling colonists. She scanned the beaming faces and fought to control her quivering lip. She grabbed the hatchet and got back to work without a word. Frey approached and put her hand on McBride's shoulder.

"I'm sorry you had to see me lose my temper," McBride said without looking up. "I'm that stereotypical sexy, red-haired Irish girl who blows her stack at the slightest provocation. Something I've had to battle with all my life."

Frey shook her head. "Both she and that young man got what they deserved. You weren't being unreasonable."

"The Colonel would have been more diplomatic."

"I doubt Liberty's mother could talk sense into her."

"Thanks, but—" McBride was cut off by the chimes of her comstrap. She raised her wrist toward her faced and tapped the device. "McBride here, Colonel."

The comstrap hissed to life with an muffled version of Nash's voice. "Major, I have made arrangements for a trade of sorts between us and the villagers. However, they need protection from a band of marauders. Send a ten person security team to this village right away."

"Understood, Colonel. Do we need to worry about the marauders at the crash site?"

"I don't know, but make sure every crewman is armed, and from this point forward nobody goes off alone."

"Consider it done, Colonel."

"How are things on your end?"

McBride scanned the colonists, now back to work on the fencing detail. "Nothing I can't handle, sir."

"Nash out."

McBride closed communications with the Colonel and reset her comstrap.

"Lieutenant Travis Burton."

After a moment's delay, the comstrap's face lit up. "Lieutenant Burton here, Major."

"Lieutenant, the Colonel needs a ten man armed security team in the nearby village. Pick your men and move out ASAP."

"Is the Colonel in trouble, sir?"

"No, but he has promised protection for the village."

"Understood, Major. I'll have a team together and on the move within fifteen minutes."

"Good. McBride out."

Frey tilted her head to the side. "Trouble?"

"Probably better safe than sorry," McBride responded. "Let's get back to work. How about helping me with these posts?"

Frey picked up the hatchet. "Let's get to it."

#  Chapter Ten

Nash stretched and rubbed his eyes, his chair creaking as it tilted back. A long day nearly done, his quarters lay quiet and dark, save for a single light. A small, hand crafted oil lamp cast a flickering, orange glow over the desk, while filling the room with a scent reminiscent of backyard barbecues. He leaned back forward and pulled out the small, leather bound diary and fountain pen from under the desk and prepared to write.

"Colonel Nash," came a voice from the open doorway.

Nash turned to see Dr. Talhoo, wearing his usual smiling face and holding a computer tablet.

"I hope I am not interrupting, Colonel, but I have something you might find interesting."

"Come on in, Doc," Nash said as he tossed the pen back on the desk. He opened the lower drawer and pulled out a dark brown apothecary-style bottle and two white china teacups. "Have a taste with me?"

"Certainly, Colonel." The doctor shuffled to the bed and had a seat. "You know I am quite fond of gin."

"You and I are about the only ones on the ship who have a taste for it." Nash poured the drinks and handed one to Talhoo. "To your health, Doctor."

Nash downed his gin in one gulp. He leaned back in his chair and watched the doctor sip the gin, as if drinking hot tea. The doctor pointed to the oil lamp.

"Is that your gift from Wilan Trewin?"

Nash nodded.

"Ms. Marov was pretty shaken by the events on the trail home, Colonel."

Nash sat quietly for a time before speaking. "I wish she hadn't seen that. Hell, I wished it hadn't come to that. When the war ended, I swore never to kill a man like I did today."

"You did what you had to do to protect others. That is who you are."

"For years, I've done everything I could to avoid a repeat of Salus Centauri. Now, on this planet, I feel like it's just a matter of time before that happens."

"And what if it does? You did what you had to do."

"Lots of good people died."

"That is the nature of war." The doctor placed the china cup on the stand near the bed, then formed a triangle with his hands. "It is interesting, only three individuals on this planet know what happened on Salus. One detests you for what you did. Another admires you for your actions."

"I'm not about to guess which you are, Doc." Nash stared at the wall for a moment, then cleared his throat. "So, what did you come to show me?"

"The tillers," the Doctor replied. "I completed my examination of Wilan Trewin's blood sample. He and his people are human."

Nash's eyes opened wide as he slid forward in his chair. "What do you mean they're human? You've seen how small they are."

"On a genetic level, you have more in common with the tillers than you do with Mr. Davenport. They have a near perfect match for someone of Western European descent."

"Near perfect?" Nash quizzed.

"The tillers have been genetically altered for size, disease resistance, and a few other factors. Very sophisticated work, actually."

Nash rubbed his chin. "This place gets weirder by the minute. Plants and animals from all over the galaxy, now we find genetically altered humans. What's next?"

"Perhaps the tillers know something of their past that can give us a clue as to what has happened here."

"Possibly. You tell anyone about this, Doc?"

"Just you."

"Let's keep it that way for now."

"Certainly, Colonel. Goodnight."

Nash once again stretched in his chair.

What a day.

## ******

Liberty stormed into the evergreen forest, arms at her side and hands clenched in blood stopping, white-knuckled fists. As her heart pounded and blood roared in her ears, all she could think about was getting away from the crash site.

The confrontation with Major McBride had been a mistake; she was, after all, Nash's number one officer and would blindly follow his lead, no matter how foolish. Afterwards, she had tried to gather a following to her cause, but every colonist rebuked her.

What was wrong with them? Didn't they realize where this path led? The Western-European culture had destroyed every other culture it had encountered. First, it was the American Indians and Asians on Earth. Centuries later, history repeated with the Minervans and Zybolians.

Nash claimed to only want trade with the native cultures, but he'd already involved himself in a conflict between two native cultures and it was all too apparent who he'd picked as a winner. He even killed one of the drogs on the trip back to the crash site. What happened to his claim of treading lightly? If he feared for his life, he could have easily used a plasma weapon on stun. But no, he had to kill an innocent and show this planet what happens to species that stand in his way.

Liberty stopped and looked at the surrounding trees. She had not intended to go this far into the forest and now had no idea of where she was. Her eyes darted around and sweat poured from her body. All of the massive evergreens looked the same.

The sound of a blade drawn from a sheath filled the forest. She quickly grabbed a fallen tree branch thick as her arm and raised it like a baseball bat. She turned round and round, searching for the source of the sound. And that is when she saw him.

He stepped from behind a colossal softwood, sword drawn. Exceptionally thin with skin dark as coal, his deep set fiery eyes glowered at Liberty. Hair the color of frost on a mid-winter's morning fell past his shoulders. He was cloaked in a black leather tunic and trousers, with glossy knee-boots the color of anthracite. The sword was a meter in length, with a blade that was nearly straight except for a graceful curve near the tip.

Sword pointed a Liberty's throat, he approached with slow steps. His face showed no emotion, nor did his eyes blink.

Liberty waved her club and shouted. "Whoever you are, I'm not afraid to club you with this. I'm warning you!"

The dark skinned one did not lower his blade but continued to slowly advance.

"I'm warning you, I'll use this!" Liberty continued to wave her weapon.

When the blade was a hand width from her neck, the being stopped and lowered the sword. He began to circle Liberty and when he stood behind her, he spoke is a soft voice, nearly a whisper. "You are from the crashed spacecraft?"

Liberty turned and faced him with wide eyes. "Yes. How did you know? Who are you?"

"How many of you are there?"

"Seven hundred fifty. Who are you?"

"Like you, I am marooned on this planet, although I have been here for many, many years." He began to circle around her again. "You appear distraught. All is not well?"

"They're fools," Liberty snapped. "None will listen to reason. They all blindly follow Colonel Nash."

"And has this Colonel Nash done something... unsavory?"

"Instead of allowing the native cultures of this planet to evolve naturally, he has involved himself in their affairs. He decided to help the tillers because it is to his advantage. He will take from them what he wants, in the process destroying their culture and that of the drogs as well."

"What do you know of the drogs?"

"The Colonel chased them from the village of Vale. He also killed one in the forest near here."

"I see. Interesting." He sheathed his sword and crossed his arms over his chest. "It is not right to destroy another culture. It happened many times in the history of my planet. And you say none would listen to you."

"Of course not! All they were interested in was making life more comfortable. They didn't care that they would destroy tiller or drog culture."

"I would not want to see that happen. As I said, I've been here for many years and done my best to keep a distance from the other cultures on this planet. Would you like to put an end to Colonel Nash's meddling?"

"Certainly."

"I can give you guidance... advice that will make this possible. Come with me; there are other survivors of my people. We will discuss these events, and perhaps we can help you."

Liberty tossed her stick to the ground. "Lead the way."

The End

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LinkedIn:  <http://www.linkedin.com/pub/alex-reissig/43/a52/4b><http://www.linkedin.com/pub/alex-reissig/43/a52/4b>

#  About the Author

AJ Reissig lives in New Richmond, Ohio with his lovely wife Christina and children. Born in 1973, AJ Reissig grew up in the small river town of Moscow, Ohio. He is a graduate of the University of Cincinnati with a background in chemistry. After spending several years as an analyst in manufacturing, he began to pursue writing as a part-time freelancer. His hobbies include gardening, woodworking, home improvement, and anything outdoors.
