Legend Beyond The Stars (17 page)

It would slow her. She would need to land closer to the Commander’s shuttles than she had first planned. Alana drummed her fingers on the metal panel. The flyer entered the planet’s atmosphere. She had better make a decision. Sparks flickered around the outer hull of the small machine as it cut through the outer hemisphere. A ball of fire appeared to roll over the forward fuselage, momentarily obscuring the porthole to disappear towards the rear of the flyer.

Then she was through.

Ahead was the layer of murky brown cloud which reminded Alana of thick city smog. The flyer whizzed through the first wisps. Steam beaded on the outside of the viewing screen. Alana scrutinised her displays. She raised her brows in surprise—the outside temperature had risen dramatically and she mentally kicked herself for not thinking to check this aspect.

This planet was a melting pot.

A swirling cauldron of rising noxious gases and bubbling bogs.

Ugh
.

She cast an anxious look at her flight suit, hoped the material and her helmet would be sufficient to protect her. She shrugged. Too late now and at least she would have oxygen thanks to the small tanks strapped to her back and which Norman had insisted she wear.

The flyer passed through the last of the cloud and there, before her, was the second un-named planet of the Terrane System.

Alana snorted.
Un-named because no one in their right mind would want to live in such an awful place
.

It was a murky, bilious green colour which made Alana think of puke. She cast a quick glance at the sky and her lips twisted with distaste; a milder shade of green which faded into a colour that suggested bilge water. Hanging low near the horizon was a small brown sun from which a faint scraggly light trickled over the landscape, casting long shadows of impenetrable brackish green. She gazed thoughtfully at the columns of gas and steam rising from the terrain.

Alana craned her head and twisted her body to look out the small visor at the rear of the flyer’s cabin and squinted to improve her vision.

There was the culprit.

She goggled at the huge sun beginning to rise over the horizon. It had to be about ten times bigger than Earth’s sun, and even through the tinted visor she could see how brightly it shone. It was also a bright glowing green-white colour. As she watched, flares of blinding green light flickered and shot out in waves off its surface.

Solar flares.

Grimly Alana settled back into her seat, as disappointment turned her heart leaden. It seemed almost impossible now that Carly and the others would be able to survive a planet so hostile, even if they had managed to land. With no protective suits, their puny human bodies would not be able to survive in such an atmosphere.

Still … there was always hope. And Alana did not believe in giving up.

Her mission here was simple: find the source of the signal, check for any survivors then locate Commander Tarak and beg a ride.

She punched in the code, setting the flyer to land about a kilometre from the squadron, on the only other firm patch of ground the on-board intelligence had been able to locate.

The engine changed tune, the mild humming turned to a full throated roar and the flyer shot low over the landscape to its objective. A few deft swipes over the controls and Alana had the flyer switch to hover mode. Gently it descended. She would be disheartened if she had to leave the flyer here on this planet. It was truly a beautiful machine to fly.

Norman had reiterated incessantly that time was of the essence on this planet due to its corrosive atmosphere.

Perhaps she could refuel from the squadron? She imagined Tarak’s reaction should she suggest doing this and flying it back to the Ark and chuckled.

What a great idea!

As if he wasn’t going to be pissed off enough when he realised she had directly disobeyed one of his orders.

Once on the ground, Alana set the clamps and chains, as instructed by Norman, which she hoped would keep the flyer upright and secure until she could return. She checked her gauge on her tanks, marked the time on her watch, ensured her suit and helmet were fully fastened. She switched on her oxygen link. A few quick taps and the co-ordinates of the flyer, the squadron and location of the signal had been keyed into the multi tech compu unit. The small screen clicked on and displayed the best route. She studied it with care.

Alana placed the machine into her pocket, shoved her fingers into protective gloves. She left the flyer, slapping the side of the hull as she passed for good luck.

Chapter Nine

This step’s for you Carly …
Alana jumped onto the surface. She grimaced at the feel of the ground beneath her boots; insubstantial, mushy, unstable. After quick inspection of the data
panels littering the flight suit on both sides of her arms, she heaved a sigh of relief. Everything was functioning as it should; air-flow and mix were normal, body temperature okay, if a little high.

Not bad considering the surface temperature
.

Through the heavily tinted visor of her helmet, she surveyed the scene before her. There was little available in the way of landmarks to assist pinpointing her flyer’s location. Every direction she looked, the scenery was depressingly similar. Small patches of slimy, soggy ground rose above puddles and larger stretches of that noxious looking liquid. Off to her right, the bog extended as far as she could see. Blue-green algae-type growth covered the sodden rocks. To Alana, it reminded her of a surreal painting she had once seen entitled ‘
Scumworl
d’.

A shot of gas burst through the bog.

Alana jumped in surprise.

That was going to seriously slow her down.
Time to go
.

Moving as fast as possible, she waded through the quagmire, checking her position now and then with the compu. Her intention was to make for the only high ground she had been able to find with the help of the infra-red scope she had taken from the flyer, then try and locate the Commander and his men. If she could not see them within reasonable walking distance, her plan was to make straight for the distress signal. If she did locate them, she would need to circle round them as far as she dared—not too far though.

Her reserves of oxygen might not last the distance.

Alana set off, alternating jogging over the ground then quick marching through the marsh, maintaining her breathing regular and even to ensure the oxygen in her tank would last longer. The strain in her calf muscles soon signified the ground was gradually rising. Ahead of her she saw a mound of stones and algae. From the top it should afford her a good view of the surrounding area. Increasing her pace, she scrambled upwards.

Nearing the uppermost edge, she crouched then inched her way the remaining few yards on her hands and boots, monkey style, being cautious to not allow her flight suit to come into contact with the rough ground. The last thing she needed was a hole which would allow the planet’s toxic air and unbearable heat to infiltrate her suit.

The implications of that happening did not bear thinking about.

Lying full length on the surface, Alana raised her head and peered over the top of the small knoll. She fished the scope from her pocket and held it to her visor.

Heart racing, Alana ducked down below the ridge line so she couldn’t be seen.

Bloody hell!
She squeezed her eyes shut. She concentrated on her breathing, slow and sure.
Slow your breathing, slow your heart rate. Easy does it
.

Her eyes snapped open. Jaw clenched, she eased her head up over the rubble again. Through the small lens, she could see many figures scurrying around not too far ahead of her.

Alana watched for several minutes. She recognised the formation of their movements; if she was not mistaken, the soldiers below were busy digging trenches and arranging camouflage.

Using the control pad on the scope, with swift fingers she correlated their position. Just as she thought, the force below was in a direct line between where the squadron had landed and the direction of the distress signal.

Ambush
.

Although Alana had only once before seen their uniform and their general demeanour, she had no trouble in identifying the soldiers below as an Elite Force contingent.

Sweat filmed her forehead and upper lip. She wished she could wipe it dry but she dared not remove her helmet.

There was no time to lose.

She had to locate the Darkon warriors ASAP and warn them of the impending danger.

Alana whipped out her mini compu unit and plugged in new data. Taking into account her lateness in arriving on this planet, the fast pace at which the Darkon warriors could travel and the probability they were a lot better equipped than she to handle this hostile terrain, she suspected they were either already at the signal site or on their way back to the ships. If she circled round the Elite Force to the left, increased her pace, it was possible she could meet up with Tarak before they were within range of the waiting soldiers. It meant though she would have to postpone her search for the distress signal location until after she had warned the Commander.

She rolled her eyes. She could foresee quite a few arguments looming in her future.

But there was no way she was leaving this planet until she had examined the signal site
.

If only she could contact him, but she had not been able to find one of the communicators he used. Norman had told her that such devices were inbuilt in the armour the Darkons all wore. The likelihood of being able to intersect with their communications was poor.

Which was not of much use for anyone else; typical!

Moving with stealth and caution, Alana scurried backwards down the slope of the knoll, her boots skidding once on the algae-covered stones, causing her to slide a few feet before she recovered. Grimly, she reigned in her haste.

By the time she reached the bottom, her breathing was way too fast.

This planet is the absolute pits
.

Already her body was coated in sweat, even inside the regulated flight suit. Her internal temperature way too high and her limbs feeling as if her bones were made of concrete from the planet’s unfamiliar gravity, she paused for a few moment. She sipped water through her hydration pack and some of her light-headedness dissipated.

Time to move out. Alana set off, increasing her momentum until she was almost running, taking leaps over the smaller bog areas, moving fast through the larger ponds and lifting her legs high to gain a faster pace. She sprinted over the soggy ground, checking her location as she ran. In her mind, she could see the Elite Force contingent digging in and worried there were more of them out there.

Somewhere.

Just waiting for Tarak and his men to enter their sector. The company she had spotted would outnumber the Darkons three to one.

Nausea caught in her throat.

Damn him
.

Not that she cared about him in particular, she reminded herself, it was just at the moment, he offered some measure of protection for the women.

She sniffed, once, as she ran.

On and on, over the alien landscape, dodging the sudden eruptions of gas and steam. Her flight suit now wet with perspiration, stuck to her skin and her feet in their heavy gravity boots burned with sensation. Alana paused to catch her breath and take another reading from the compu unit.

Not far now.

Alana dodged around a large boulder, tripped over a clump of algae, lost her balance. She stumbled, hands outstretched into a bog. Her wrists took the brunt of her weight. She bit hard on her tongue to prevent herself from crying out at the pain which shot up her arms. She rolled around in the muck, trying to gain purchase. Finally her feet found solid ground and she scrambled upright.

Around her the bog made a bubbling sound.

Dismayed, she realised she was sinking deeper.

She grabbed hold of a frond of a plasticy plant which looked as if it was securely grounded amongst the rocks. Hand over hand, she hauled her body from the bog while it sucked against her legs as if reluctant to release its prey.

One last heave.

She reached out and secured a firm grip on the rocks.

One final squelch, Alana was free. She stood and with shaking hands, performed a routine check of all systems.
If the oxygen line is severed, I’m stuffed
.

Alana heaved a sigh of relief, all good. Her arms and wrists ached, tremors shook her legs but she did not think anything was broken. She sloshed her way out of the puddles and thick algae which edged the bog.

She had only taken two or more steps, when an un-earthly howl split the air. She stopped, her feet rooted to the ground.

Heart roaring like a rocket’s engine in her ears, she turned round.

Tarak led his troop of terse warriors at a fast quick march over the hostile terrain.

The whole expedition had been a complete waste of time. He was not looking forward to informing his Alana all who had been on board the shuttle must have perished on impact. No one could have survived; the shuttle had been almost completely crushed. The emergency signal had been found some distance from the crash site, still intermittently transmitting. It had been designed to withstand even an Uron explosion, the most destructive bomb that
existed in his world, although the point of continuing to emit signals when all else had been obliterated had always been a matter which puzzled Tarak.

He shook his shoulders beneath his protective armour. The sooner they were off this foul planet the better he would feel. He scowled as he examined possible reasons for the unease prickling the hairs at the back of his neck.

Why did he feel as if he had left some aspect of the exercise unaccounted for? As he pounded over the boggy surface, he mentally reviewed his stratagems.

He could think of nothing.

Tarak’s communicator buzzed. His second-in-command’s voice spoke into his earpiece. He slowed his pace to a ground-eating stride, then stopped to listen. His warriors came to a halt behind him.