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In all the years man tried to grasp the stars, and destroy death, it amazes me that he never truly tried to fix the ails of society. -Timothy Whitehawk, Senator.
The clouds of hyperspace disappeared, almost too subtle for the crew to notice, and real space returned. Before the Angler appeared the pale planets that inhabited the Polaris system, and beyond them the yellow form of their sun, Polariss sister, loomed slightly smaller in the sky than the sun of Earth would have. The stars name was Cerberus, a play on the name of its fiery sister, Polaris, death to the ancients. That star was merely a mote of light in the distance, but it still gave off heat that rivaled its sisters. The two suns orbited slowly, Death and Deaths guardian, dancing until the end of time and trapping their children in between.
The planet Lethe, which bore the weight of Polaris Station, was the only planet in the system even remotely capable of supporting life. Its brethren were either too close to Polaris for half of their orbits, or too close to Cerberus, or too dense. The last was the case with Lethes sibling, a copper-based planet named Styx. And so when the first humans had arrived in the Polaris system, carried by the first of Turan Yesseks hyperspace engines, they had chosen the rocky surface of Lethe for their home. The station they built was more truly a city, as its open streets and breathable atmosphere eliminated any need for enclosure. A spaceport had been built several kilometers away from the city proper, and mining vessels set off continuously for the rich mines of Styx.
Around the spaceport, ships circled, some waiting for landing clearance, and some sending smaller shuttles down in their stead. Many of those were simply too large to land safely. Gregory knew he would have to rent one of those, more from a desire for secrecy than for safety concerns, though the two were closely related in his business.
Past the station, two immense gas giants rose beyond Lethe's horizon, one a dark green and the other a light blue. Both were several times the mass of Jupiter, and completely unsafe. Their names were Orcus and Thanatos, respectively, Death himself to the Romans and Greeks, also respectively.
Gregory was snapped out of his reverie by the communications link flaring up.
M-class Piston, please state crew number, captain identity, purpose of visit, and cargo.
Gregory sighed. Im captain John Trenton. Were carrying 54 crew, and 50 passengers. Were here to drop them off, pick up cargo, and take shore leave. The Anglers hull was secure from long-range scanning by some trick in the design, and the patrol ships would count the 104 people as being standard for a passenger ship, and not suspect the Anglers warlike nature.
Very good. Any services youd like to request from the port?
Yes. Ill need two shuttles up here, and a fueling craft.
The ships will be on their way soon. Bills will be presented upon completion of services. The com-link shut off with a dull click.
Gregory addressed the crew. Okay, listen up everyone. When the shuttles dock, I want the boarding crew and the techs to begin loading cargo onto them. All senior personnel may go on shore leave, except for Arthur Cassle. Arthur, you have command of the Angler while were gone. Gregory shut off the communications. Arthur Cassle was a generalist engineer, equally skilled in most aspects of running a ship. He also had a good head for tactics and leadership, and Gregory was trying to groom him for a possible future command. The only thing that kept the man off the bridge was that only one commander was needed at a time.
Pilot, bring us into a low orbit around to the spaceport, around ten minutes long. That should be enough to get the ships up here. The orbit also gave a slight hint of gravity to the Angler, and so Gregory unlatched his restraining belt. Ten minutes passed in silence, and three vessels began drifting towards the Angler. The two shuttles, small blocky things, docked first. Gregory took the boarding crew down to the cargo bay, where most senior officers already waited. Okay people, I want the equipment were selling loaded quickly, near the backs. The less the shuttle crew sees, the better. The crew worked well, loading the entire shipment in five minutes.
Boarding crew get in the first shuttle with me. Officers, go to the second shuttle. At the surface go and do whatever you like, but be back at the spaceport by 8:30 tomorrow morning. I dont want to have to leave you. Most of the crew knew Gregory wasnt joking.
Those chosen to go seated themselves on the shuttle, which stank of processed air and unnaturalness without being the least bit unpleasant, and the two craft blasted away from the Angler. As they neared the spaceport, Gregory saw that ships landed on an huge paved area, and then either wheeled themselves to a more protected site, or were towed.
Two men piloted the shuttle, locals of Polaris station. One was a middle-aged man, probably fifty to sixty by the slight graying of his hair. He smoked a long cigar, probably a Cuban import. The other couldnt have left his teens yet, and he gazed curiously back at the armed men and sealed crates. He had probably never seen such a group before, and, Gregory had to admit, neither had most people. His crew was outfitted in light body armor, not suited for the vacuum of space, but less likely to draw attention than armor that was. They packed pistols at their side, which were legal, and had easy access to fully automatic weapons in the crates, which was quite illegal. The E.U. didnt like people running around with assault rifles.
The elder noticed his ship mates interest in the crew. Dont bother the para-militaries, kid. The boy nodded once, and kept his eyes on the planet. Gregory saw, though, that he seemed to take looks in his pull-down mirror a bit more often than normal, after that.
In the other ship, Kental and Jetlo sat with several colleagues. Their shuttle crew was just as interested in the cargo, but for a very different reason. Jetlo nudged the weapons officer in the side. Why in the stars did Mandrosus have to bring those corpses on?
Kental sighed. I told you, a true burial is more honorable than being dumped into a star. That stuff is very uncouth, nowadays.
Yeah, but sitting next to a dead guy doesnt give my a very good feeling, you know. He looks really pale, and he kind of smells..
Hes dead, Jetlo, Kental barked. What did you expect a corpse to be like? At least Mandrosus preserved them for now. Honestly. He leaned closer to the pilot. You know, if you cant handle this, you really shouldnt be begging to go with the boarding crew during combat operations.
That was only once. And I stopped after you showed me the knife, remember? I was real good after that. Kental owned a knife that was two inches wide, nearly a foot long, and wickedly serrated. It had taken only a single display of his skill with it to shut the pilot up.
Real good, you say. Well, how bout that time-
Will you two shut up, for once? That came from Kravern. Im trying to formulate circuits, and your incessant blathering is severely hampering my ability to do so!
Jetlo stood, shouting. Well, if your crazy doctor friend hadnt brought the dead bodies on the shuttle, we wouldnt have a reason to blather!
The mentioned doctor rose to his feet. Uncouth, inconsiderate, slime rat!
Necrophiliac!
The shuttle captain lifted the microphone. Will the passengers please be quiet, or will I have to send you all into deep space?
The crew sank back into their chairs, most grumbling. Several engineers muttered about punching the pilot, and the captain swore that hed never take on passengers again.
The shuttles landed amongst a cloud of smoke from their engines, and were ferried to a terminal, where the crew disembarked. Gregory got the shuttle crews out of their ships with the promise of a large tip if they locked them until the captain came calling. And with that, the officers scattered through the roads of Polaris Station, and Gregory took his squad through the spaceport and to the city.
The first thing that hit him was the smell. As the automated sidewalks shuttled the men down the roads, they were assaulted by a generic odor of the same type that had lingered in the shuttle. The dim scent of food mixed in, but as they neared the city proper, a new stench reached their noses.
Rot, decay, death. Burning flesh, sitting flesh. It smelled, no, tasted, foul. Like a morgue. A butchers shop, actually. A particularly unsanitary butchers shop, with files buzzing around the pork chops. When Gregory came into sight of the streets, and stepped on the ground of Lethe, he remembered why.
Polaris Station was not an attractive city, or even a pleasant one. The ground was gray and dusty, and sickness filled the air. The legends spoke of a river called Lethe, which beckoned men to drink, and upon one taste of its waters, robbed them of hope, memories, and home. Not because of immense joy, as the lotus of the same lore, but because of despair. Men who had nothing to gain were as impotent as men who had nothing to lose were fierce. As Gregory walked the streets of Polaris Station, he saw Lethe was an adequate name for the planet.
Many homeless crowded the streets, huddled in doorways for warmth and shelter. The hungry were there, too, and the beggars, asking for whatever piece of money they could, and receiving a blow to the face as often as a Euro. Gregory walked past without giving any. It was a bad habit to get into. Best to use the cash through charities, where more beer wasnt an option among the poor.
Children crowded the alleys, and the prostitutes. But most terrifying to Gregory were the Plagued.
Modern science had claimed to have cured all of mans ailments: Bacteria, viruses, fungi, and were said to have been working on death itself. Then the hyperdrive had been created, and man reached the stars, the unknown.
It shouldve been expected that the dreaded and hoped for first contact would have not been with intelligent life, but with something that almost defied life. Within twenty five years of the colonization of Centauri, Polaris, Vega and the others, a plague ravaged the colony on Triton. The first victims had been interstellar traders, plying their wares across galactic space. They had been recovered from their ship, their faces and limbs rotting from some disease unknown to any doctor or medical book. The next to die had been the doctors treating them. In the two past years, not a single planet had escaped the ravages of the Rotting Plague, as men were beginning to call it.
There wasnt a cure. the only thing doctors had was a vaccine, one that protected for a lifetime, but cost a fortune to make. The ones who couldnt afford it were doomed from the instant their hand started to turn black.
One of the Plagued stood before Gregory. His fingers were black and brittle, and his arms looked ready to fall off if Gregory so much as glanced at it the wrong way. His right was hanging by a strand of putrid flesh, as if he hadnt wanted to just end it and slice it off at the start. His nose was gone, and a cavern jutted out at Gregory, a cavern of rotting meat. He was emaciated. His shirt hung loosely, just enough so that Gregory could see ribs and even backbone showing through his stomach. Yet even through his ails, the Plagued bore himself with an almost noble demeanor and spoke as a man well-schooled. Alms for the poor, good sir.
Get away from me. Gregory stepped back.
Please, a coin for the damned, so that I might enjoy life.
I said, get away.
For the mercy in your heart, please.
Gregory drew his pistol, pointing it at the mans face. Get back, or I kill you.
Im already damned, doomed, good as dead. Death itself doesnt bother me. Go ahead, shoot me and brag to the world that you slew a Plagued man. I wont care.
Then what do you want? Gregory was almost screaming.
A coin, to wash away the pain. The memories. My family-
Heres five Euros, go burn your mind. Gregory tossed the coin to the mans feet.
Bless you. He bent to pick it up, and Gregory led his men past.
Gregory studied a map as he walked, desperate to take his mind off the man.
There, but for fate, go I. Chance, really. One of the first to receive a vaccine, and so one of the last to die. The first to die had come and gone. Nearly four hundred thousand had lost their lives to the Plague, with an untold number ill with it. In two years. If a cure, or a cheap vaccine, were not found soon, humans would shrink to a mere fragment of what they had been. And Gregory would stand in the ashes of man, waiting desperately for the race to rise, like a phoenix of legend. He was sure that it would be a nightmare.
Wayne Marshalls office should be two blocks to the west. Lets get there before more of these beggars show up.
A squad of Union soldiers sauntered down the street. Their green armor glittered in the twin suns, and their black visors reflected the glare all around them. The starry insignia of the European Union shone on their arms, and they carried standard issue automatic weapons that were polished almost enough to carry an edge. They walked slowly and surely, not even glancing at the destitute. They noticed Gregorys men, though, and decided it was best to not report anything of suspicious activity.
Gregorys group reached Marshalls rented building, and were stopped by an armed guard brandishing a rifle. Who are you people?
Gregory raised his hands. Easy. Tell Marshall that Gregory Whitehawk is here to see him.
You. The man shuddered. Ill see what he has to say. He left the group to go with in the dark building.
One of the newer crew members whispered. Whats wrong between the captain and these people?
Few months back, we shot up an Iron League gunboat near Orion. They dont have us on their kill list due to professional courtesy, but they wont do us any favors.
That shut the mans mouth until the door guard came back.
Well, captain, he says hes been expecting you to come in sometime, and that you two have some dealing to do. Go on in.
Gregory walked to the doorway, and the crew followed. They were stopped as the guard leveled his rifle at them. Sorry, but your soldiers will have to find something innocent to do for now. Gregory nodded, indicating the commands were to be followed, and entered the building. Whether to a welcome or a trap, he had no idea.
(This message has been edited by Celchu (edited 08-12-2002).)
Celchu
Well,it looks like you dunnit again! Great job of creating a story that draws the reader deeper and deeper into the drama of it all. Then, BAM! You left me hanging there in cyber space wanting to wring your neck, because I want to know more. What's waiting behind the door? Why are you here, What's your mission? Arrahh!! Great job, Celchu.
However I was wondering, "Past the station, two immense gas giants rose in the air"... where did the air come from if they are in space? Also is Castro still alive, and producing Cuban cigars?
Pretty soon you'll have more karma than Andiyarus.
------------------
(This message has been edited by Toast (edited 08-11-2002).)
Quote
Originally posted by Toast: ** **
Well, thank you muchly. Means oodles to me. The next installment is coming soon, have no worries.
However I was wondering, "Past the station, two immense gas giants rose in the air"... where did the air come from if they are in space?
Where is that? I can't see it.
**Also is Castro still alive, and producing Cuban cigars?
Pretty soon you'll have more karma than Andiyarus. **
Nope, Castro's dead, even he can't live 300 years. But his succesors are hard at work on those cigars. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but to have more karma than Ben I'd have to oust moki. And since I depend on ASW for my addictions, that's not happening any time soon.
------------------ "Then you do believe that we are real. You think us capable of not forgiving you. Who would forgive you more readily than your dream?" "No," the Unbeliever said. "Dreams never forgive." -Stephen Donaldson, The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever
Great story! I love reading, but I only read things that greatly grasp me, and make me read them all in one day. This was one of them. I love it!
------------------ Be carefree like the bunny; nibble on grass, prance through fields.
Nice story Robert. Meshes well, characters still work fine. Only a small gripe, when Jetlo and Kental are agueing, their actual spoken words don't fit perfectly together.... but then, they work well enough.
Incidentally, I'm planning to institue the Cythera method of karma dispersal for chronicles here, as I really don't have enough material being released to justifty a monthly competition. Thus, you and dampeoples will both gain karma from your past works (altthough not from Time and Dominion, starting after that. )
Originally posted by Celchu: **Nope, Castro's dead, even he can't live 300 years. But his succesors are hard at work on those cigars. I'm sorry to burst your bubble, but to have more karma than Ben I'd have to oust moki. And since I depend on ASW for my addictions, that's not happening any time soon.:)
**
And a brief note, technically, you already have more karma then me. I might be blessed, but when I was 'promoted' my karma was at 3, I believe, and if I do resign or am 'fired' then it will be back to 3 again. Of course, there are ways to raise it, even as a mod, but hey....
-Andiyar
------------------ "Any good that I may do here, let me do now, for I may not pass this way again"
PinkFluffyBunny, thanks for the compliments. I really appreciate them.
Originally posted by Tarnćlion Andiyarus: **Only a small gripe, when Jetlo and Kental are agueing, their actual spoken words don't fit perfectly together.... but then, they work well enough.
So, am I to assume that the rest of my dialogue does fit together perfectly? Nice... But seriously, could you elaborate? Does it seem out of character? Clumsy? etc.?
Andas to the karma, I'm an 'Honored Leader" now, evidently. I'm moving up in the world.
Originally posted by Celchu: **PinkFluffyBunny, thanks for the compliments. I really appreciate them.
And as to the karma, I'm an 'Honored Leader" now, evidently. I'm moving up in the world. **
Clumsy is probably the best word.... the actual characters themselves don't seem to fit the dialogue. I envisioned them both as at least partially seasoned space privaterrs, etc, but they come across as being a bit juvenilistic.
And you're welcome. Better than I ever did.
Originally posted by Celchu: And as to the karma, I'm an 'Honored Leader" now, evidently. I'm moving up in the world.:)
Only in the world of crons, Celchu... to me, you're as annoying as ever. You could improve that, perhaps, by taking that literary break I've been suggesting.
And nono critique now, Celchu! That comes later; right now I'm busy with TFM. I promise...
------------------ (url="http://"http://homepage.mac.com/cafall/projects/tfm.html")The Four Mages(/url), an unfinished quest-oriented plug-in for Pillars of Garendall. If passion rules reason, how can you allow only reason to rule you? Cafall
Nice story! Just the Plague part seems a bit wierd- like, how could the guy buy himself a drink, wouldn't he be forbidden from bars? And 400k people is not that much- I would have guessed in the tens of millions. Look at the Bubonic plague, and what it did!
Also, aren't there ANY public services on Polaris? Hospitals? Anything?
------------------ The answer to life, the universe, and everything is...42.
Originally posted by Tarnćlion Andiyarus: Clumsy is probably the best word.... the actual characters themselves don't seem to fit the dialogue. I envisioned them both as at least partially seasoned space privaterrs, etc, but they come across as being a bit juvenilistic.
Even Kental? Maybe I'll have to re-work his lines. But the Jetlo part is on purpose, he's new to the crew, and young, so he's not as experienced or mature as the others. And Kravern is always cranky.
Originally posted by llegolas: Nice story! Just the Plague part seems a bit wierd- like, how could the guy buy himself a drink, wouldn't he be forbidden from bars? And 400k people is not that much- I would have guessed in the tens of millions. Look at the Bubonic plague, and what it did!
Thanks for the compliments, and as to your quesitons: The Plagued have a large, seperate culture, much like the Jewish ghettos in WW2, but without governmental persecution. Some things, like clothes and the aforementioned beer are relatively easy to obtain, if at high prices, form less squeamish merchants. And the Plague's only been around for two years, with a relatively high dormancy period. With the original number of nine deaths, doubling each month and factoring in the dormancy period, four hundred thousand is a reasonable guess. I'll explore the disease more fully from Dr. Mandrosus's point of view later, though.
**Also, aren't there ANY public services on Polaris? Hospitals? Anything? **
Did I imply that there weren't? If you're talking about the Plagued, there are many people ill with it, not enough doctors to help ease the pain of them all. If it's all the destitutes, all cities have their bad signs, even in the 23rd century, and the poor and homeless tend to crowd around ports.
And Cafall, "Little House on the Prarie" would break my stride. Right now I'm reading American Gods by Neil Gaiman, about the resurgence of mythology in the USA. You should try it.
------------------ Consider. If passion rules our reasoning, and we are ruled by logic, we are all simply unwitting slaves to emotion, pretending to be greater than what we truly are.
(This message has been edited by Celchu (edited 08-16-2002).)
Originally posted by Celchu: **Did I imply that there weren't? If you're talking about the Plagued, there are many people ill with it, not enough doctors to help ease the pain of them all. If it's all the destitutes, all cities have their bad signs, even in the 23rd century, and the poor and homeless tend to crowd around ports.
OK then, it that's how Jetlo is meant to sound.... just from the previous chapters he sounded a bit more used to weird and freaky space-type thingies.
And thanks for the tip about American Gods..... I've been meaning to pick it up for a while, but have kept putting it off. I just finished Thief of Time, by Terry Pratchett, so that means I only have another seventeen books to buy and read before I get to American Gods. Sigh. Compulsive reading is an expensive habit, my friends. And yes, I know all about libraries. But I like to own the things I read.
Terry Pratchet is most glorious!