Interstellar Mission: Space Colony One, #4

One

35, 835 kilometers above the planet the humans called Concordia, a probe sat in geostationary orbit. The device was tiny, undetectable to all except the most sensitive astronomical scanners. Even then, the scanner operator would have to know exactly where to look in order to find it. The debris remaining from the battle for the planet was scattered throughout the immediate area of space, acting as the perfect camouflage for the spying device.

The probe focused on a small area of land on the largest continent. Covering approximately 2,184 square kilometers, the area encompassed a razed human settlement, a region where the native vegetation had been cleared, and a small forest. The forest was the point of greatest scrutiny.

Penetrating the forest canopy and a certain depth beneath the surface, the probe peered at a spot below the forest floor where the humans had constructed a habitation.

The existence and location of the site had been gleaned from disinfectors sent down to clean the human infestation from the prized world. Had this information not already existed within the probe’s data banks, the heat and carbon dioxide emitted by the concentrated numbers of humans were clear indications of the invaders’ presence. And, when the system’s star lit that place, the probe detected the movement of humans as they departed their subterranean dwelling.

For each revolution of the world orbiting its star, the pattern of movement was the same: in the daylight hours, the humans traveled to the cleared area and its neighboring lake. Then, just before that area turned away from the star and the line of darkness crossed it, the humans would return to their forest dwelling and disappear below ground.

During the time they spent at the secondary site, the humans tended to their plants, which were non-natives. They applied unidentified substances and, when precipitation had been minimal, they also applied water from the lake. Always, they removed any native flora growing in the space.

The probe monitored the size of the invasive population, its typical behaviors, and evidence of technological advancement. The data it had gleaned up until now had been minimal. The humans’ numbers were small and their activities limited. Had it been sentient, the probe would have been supremely bored. It was working at a level far below the amount of information its scanners, data banks, and transmitter could handle.

Had the probe’s creators been too optimistic when they had configured its data handling capabilities? Perhaps. The device’s construction had been hasty, a last-minute decision based on an abrupt change of plan.

Were the Scythians’ hopes for a successful human colonization too high? The planet thieves were primitive. Their colony ship had resembled a relic of the earliest eons of galactic exploration, like something out of an ancient historical file. It had been a miracle the humans had survived to reach their destination. Even their second ship, which had caught up to the first, had carried only a few ineffective weapons, and its engines had been slow. Only by a fluke had it defeated the scout ship.

In addition to the humans’ low level of development, further factors worked against the colony’s survival. The destruction of their first habitation had set them back significantly, no doubt. Then a second attack had been launched with the intention of finishing them off. The destruction had probably pushed the colony to the limit of its existence.

Had the second attack not been aborted, it would have entirely annihilated the humans. The disinfectors had never been known to fail. Even the unexpected arrival of the irritating aquatic beings, who for some unknown reason had decided to ally themselves with the primitives, would not have made any difference to the final result.

But then, at the last moment, another, more appealing, solution had been suggested, exactly at the moment the humans had foolishly crashed their vessel into the flagship. Perhaps it would be possible to turn the unanticipated appearance of the humans to the Scythians’ benefit. The decision to spare the invaders, temporarily, had been made.

Only two possible futures for the humans lay ahead: they would live or die. Whichever result eventuated, the Scythians would win, in a fashion. As the fate of the colony played out all the watchers had to do was wait.

On their far-distant planet, the Scythians monitored the incoming data. They read the population estimates, studied the humans’ behavior, and tracked their development. The latter was pitiful. It was clear the humans were clinging to survival. All that would be required to finish them off would be the failure of the food supply they appeared to be growing.

The probe had been programmed with various triggers. If the humans transferred to a new location, it would adjust its geostationary position accordingly. If the creatures spread out across the globe so that constant surveillance from a single vantage point was impossible, the probe would react.

Finally, when the required conditions were met, the Scythians would return to claim their prize.

Two

Cherry lowered herself into the narrow, two-seater capsule, steadying herself against the bobbing of the waves by grabbing the side with her right—and only—hand. The vessel was barely large enough to accommodate both her and Ethan, and she was forced to squeeze up close to her old friend as she sat down.

The sea breeze was chilly and made colder by the spray it blew from the ocean. The sun was halfway to the horizon in a gray, cloudy sky.

How long will this take? she asked, eyeing the water. Somewhere beneath those snowy peaks and deep blue troughs thread creatures lay, waiting to transport the humans to their vast underwater metropolis. Her stomach muscles tightened, and it wasn’t only due to the waves’ motion.

Three or four hours, Ethan replied. At least, that’s how long it took last time. I’m assuming the threads have something similar in store for you as they did with me.

I guess it’s too late to change my mind? she asked hopefully.

He glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. Yeah, pretty much. I need a second in command, and I picked you. The Joining Ceremony with the threads is only a formality.

In need of a distraction, she asked, Aren’t there any controls in this thing? She scanned the featureless interior. All that lay around her was the lid to the vehicle, opened at an angle, the well where they put their feet, and the smooth, opaque lower hull.

How did the threads manufacture equipment like this submarine capsule while living under water? The process had to be remarkably different from the way humans did things. The enigma made her curious. On the other hand, the less she knew about the threads the better.

No controls, Ethan replied, and even if there were, we wouldn’t know how to drive it.

Pilot it, she corrected. If a vehicle goes on water, or in the air, or in space, you pilot it.

Drive it or pilot it, we’re doing neither, in this case. Relax. It’s an interesting trip. You might even enjoy it.

So we let the threads take us wherever they want?

That’s what happened last time, and I was totally safe.

Why are you telling me it’s safe? she asked. Do you think I’m scared?

Ethan didn’t reply, only smirked in a maddening manner.

Huh! She squirmed in her seat. I’m not scared. I’m…uncomfortable. I mean, I’m grateful to them. They’ve done so much to help us and we couldn’t have survived without them, but, stars, I don’t like those things. The waves were growing stronger, the capsule was bobbing higher, and she was beginning to feel sick. I wish we could—

A hiss cut through her words as the lid of the vessel suddenly lowered, activated by unseen hands, or rather, tentacles. The lid met the hull and soundlessly closed. They were sealed in and wouldn’t be able to get out again until the threads allowed them. The capsule lifted and eased forward until it was fully on the surface of the water. A particularly large wave smashed into it, causing the front to rear up, rise over the wave’s crest, and nose down the other side.

Ethan gave her a half smile. I don’t really think you’re scared. No one who ran out to face certain death by the cuts of thousands of Scythian spiders could be scared of some friendly thread creatures.

I thought you were going to say single-handedly. She also smiled but then the death of her ex-lover, Garwin, sprang to her mind and her expression fell.

If anyone can make amputee jokes, it’s you and me. Ethan lifted his artificial foot.

The threads’ vessel was moving steadily forward. As it reached deeper water the bobbing became less pronounced but more regular. Suddenly, the sun blazed through a gap in the clouds, instantly warming the capsule’s cool interior. Then the nose dipped. Cherry gripped her armrest.

Here we go, said Ethan as the vessel slid under the waves.

Green water rose up the capsule’s sides and over the transparent lid. A force dragged them along and downward. Sunbeams glittered through the waves, dappling them in shifting spots of light. But the sun’s rays quickly faded and the darkness of deep water encroached.

The light from above had almost entirely disappeared when the rim of the vessel burst into light, illuminating the interior and the water around them.

Ugh. She’d spotted, at the edge of the circle of light, long, thin, tentacles writhing. Thread creatures had come along as escorts.

Oh yeah, said Ethan. They do that. They’ll stay with us all the way down.

No kidding. Isn’t that great?

Why don’t you like the threads?

Is it surprising? They tried to kill me once, remember?

They weren’t trying to kill you. They were only trying to capture you, like they did with me. They wanted to find out about us.

"Oh, I’m sorry. They were only trying to capture me, put me in a little box, and experiment on me. Like they did with you that time you nearly died." Cherry folded her arm across her chest. The action still felt weird now she only had one arm to fold.

Ethan chuckled.

Something funny?

"Fila cherryensia. I love the fact the Woken named the threads after you."

Isn’t that joke getting a bit old? In truth, Cherry enjoyed bantering with her old friend, even though her dislike of the threads was no joke. Their back-and-forth also helped her to momentarily forget the gravity of the colony’s situation. She stole a glance at Ethan’s profile. They had been through so much together. Their closeness in the small capsule almost made her want to reach out and take his hand. How are Cariad and the baby doing? Meredith is such a pretty name.

It is, isn’t it? We named her after someone I used to know. They’re fine. Absolutely fine. She’s a sweetheart. Hardly ever cries. Always smiling.

You’re talking about the baby, not Cariad?

Well, both of them really.

Cariad is a sweetheart too. I realized that once I got to know her. Cherry paused. She isn’t a typical Woken. I guess she must have told you what a bitch I was to her.

Huh? No. She never told me that.

Well, I was, though maybe I was justified in the circumstances. Anyway, I don’t hate the Woken any longer. It doesn’t make any sense anymore. We’re all on the same level now.

Yeah, that’s right.

The divisions that had existed in the early days of the colony were a thing of the past. If it weren’t for the Gens’ uniform coloring, with their olive skin and dark brown eyes and hair, she wouldn’t have been able to tell her kind apart from the Woken: the scientists who had left Earth aboard the Nova nearly two hundred years ago. They were all kinds of colors, from Kes’s chalky white, freckled skin and ginger hair to Cariad’s deep brown skin and black, frizzy hair.

The two Scythian attacks had been great equalizers. The original settlement, planned and built so carefully from materials brought from Earth, had been razed. And the underground hideout, created from the remaining materials scavenged from the wreck of the Nova, had only just survived the second attack. It had taken weeks to clear the passages of the deactivated spider-like search-and-destroy devices. Their claws sliced like razors at the slightest touch, and now that the colony’s medical supplies were severely limited, avoiding cuts and infections was vital.

Her stump ached with the memory of the slash that had severed her left arm.

Thinking about what’s coming up? Ethan asked, drawing her from her reverie.

No, actually.

We’re about halfway now.

The capsule’s beams only illuminated the surrounding threads’ tentacles, streamlined with speed. Everything else was impenetrable darkness. She was reminded of her time aboard the colony ship, when the Nova’s hull had been the only thing between her and deep space. I’m flattered that you want me as your second in command, but I’m not clear on exactly what you want me to do.

I’m not sure myself. I only know we have a long, difficult time ahead of us, and I’m going to need all the help I can get if the colony is to survive. There’s the organization of our defense, for one thing. I have enough to do just keeping us all fed, and I’m no military strategist. You seemed the obvious choice after you helped coordinate the response to the second attack. Unless you think I should have asked Aubriot?

Stars, no, she exclaimed. The thought of Aubriot in charge of defending the colony filled her with unease. He had some good ideas, but his number one priority was himself. Given the choice of sacrificing everyone else in order to save his own life, he probably wouldn’t think twice about it.

See? You’re the best person, Cherry. I know you’ll do a great job.

I’ll do my best.

You’ll be fine. And after you’ve been through the Joining Ceremony, we can talk to the Fila about the Scythian threat. Maybe they can give us some advice on how to prepare ourselves for when they return.

When they come back to collect their tribute? She gave a shudder. She hoped the day the Scythians demanded human sacrifices in return for sparing the colony was a long, long time away.

We need a plan, Ethan said, and so far I have nothing.

Three

Wilder tied the final living vine in place, and then stood up, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She grabbed the handrail she’d constructed from intertwined vines and tested it, pushing and pulling on it. The rail seemed secure. It should be. The material it was made from was fibrous and so tough only a very sharp blade could cut it. The vines’ properties had put her off using them at first, imagining the hours she would have to spend just sawing the stuff off the trees where it clung like a sluglimpet to its prey.

But then she’d realized it made more sense to use living vines. Not only would it save time, the plants would continue to grow and the walkways between the trees would become stronger and carry more weight.

Was using five vines per handrail overkill? Perhaps. But the handrails and the bridges—made from interwoven tree fronds and more vines—had to be entirely safe. She didn’t want anyone to get hurt. And though a fall onto the soft, deep leaf mold of the forest floor probably wouldn’t be fatal, an accident would mean the end of her little hamlet among the trees.

That would be a disaster. All her work would be for nothing. The adults might even insist that she permanently return to the underground settlement.

Sidhe.

That was what they’d called the place, after a vote. It was a name from ancient Earth, a dwelling place of mythological beings.

Her own name for the close, stinking, noisy passageways and tiny rooms of her former home was Shithole. Naturally, she never used the name out loud around anyone important, but she loved how the word encapsulated her hatred for the crowded habitation.

She understood why the colonists continued to live there, even though the Scythians appeared to be leaving them alone for the time being. It was the menace of the sluglimpets. The threat of the nocturnal creatures plagued her too. If they sensed a living, edible thing while out on their nightly prowls, the horrible predators could actually climb trees. Nothing seemed to be a barrier to their many legs and hook-like feet except for electricity, and the remaining fences and generators were all being used to protect the farming district.

It had been the problem of the Concordian native wildlife that had deterred her from her plan to build treetop settlement initially, notwithstanding her eagerness to leave Shithole. Without an electric current as protection, she would have quickly suffered a terrible death on her first night outdoors.

But she’d been determined. The sluglimpets were not intelligent. All they had on their side was their deadly, sticky digestive secretions and a relentless drive to reach their prey. If humans could make their way across the galaxy to a new home, they should be able to think up a way to protect themselves from the predators.

She’d done it. She’d found a solution. Though the first time she’d tested her idea, all alone, illegally outside Shithole at night, had been terrifying.

She’d done it all. Everything she’d planned. Peeking out from the tree fronds were four sturdy platforms, linked by walkways. She stood on the fifth platform, which happened to be the first she’d constructed and the one she would keep as her own.

Below, the forest undergrowth was green and lush and the decaying leaf mold was deep brown, moist, and fragrant. How much nicer it was to be above ground rather than crushed in with everyone else, skulking in dimly lit confinement.

The construction work had been easy compared to the difficulties she’d faced sneaking away to complete it. She’d made a few enemies along the way: door monitors, educators, her parents. But that was nothing new. For years, even prior to Arrival—ever since she’d decided to not attend any more useless, boring schooling, in