James Scotson - Planets Falling

Bets makes the connection, even given Gorian’s gobblygook language. “Should we be concerned that this Melat woman is here to do the same thing to earth, drag it into that infra … space, portal and all?”

Iggy wheezes. “Perceptive Bets. This thought has crossed our minds. Of course, Etch could not sense her, so perhaps she’s dead or incapacitated. It’s better for us to assume she’s alive, just in case.”

“Great news.” Theo’s flushed. “We’ve got Thresh sending dead ones to us and killing innocents and now you tell us we got to deal with doomsday? We had peaceful lives and now all this. You’re all bringing the horrors of the ancient ones with you.”

Gorian shrugs. “Seems to be the way of things, don’t you think? Didn’t you want things to be better? Not get sick so much? Have more comfort? Keep a constant supply of your beloved tobacco? Keep your loved ones around longer? That’s what makes all this happen. People want more and more. And it just gets more complicated.”

English is strangely sober. “The portal. It’s a test for us, isn’t it?”

“Who’s giving the test?” Iggy asks in his machine voice.

“I dunno. Like, a temptation to us. We need to decide what we want to use that portal for.”

Gorian turns in her chair. “Are you suggesting that someone has a plan for us? Like a god?”

English responds, “Sure. Don’t ya believe in gods? There’s more to all this, do you not think?”

“Oh English. We’ve seen things that we can’t explain. But that doesn’t mean there’s no explanation. I don’t believe that any of this is predetermined. And no, there are no gods. Only other beings like us.”

English retreats to silence and stares out the window.

Theo plops down next to me. “How’s it going Sprouter?”

“We were living a simple life and then — all this. I want my family back Theo.”

“We’ll get them back. I miss them too.”

He touches my hand and Bets glares.

“What if we don’t?”

“Then I’ll always be with you.” Theo gazes a bit too long at me — I feel a warmth in my gut that I can’t suppress. I pull my hand away.

“We’re approaching. Iggy slow it down and descend.” Gorian dims the lights in the cabin, while the shuttle hums lightly. She turns to us. “That sound’s coming from a protective field. If the Raven’s passively listening for us, then it won’t detect us.”

Iggy clarifies, “It’ll make us invisible to Melat. We hope.”

The shuttle gently glides into a thick forest of pine trees. Iggy expertly weaves it in between the boughs. I can sense the age of the forest and the creatures inhabiting it. I expect to see the green ones hanging from the limbs, waving at me. The shuttle slows to a crawl and sinks into a glade of thick weeds. The landing’s so soft that I don’t notice it.

“The Raven’s about a thousand meters straight ahead through this meadow,” Gorian announces. “We need to weapon up.” She and Iggy pull out a series of shelves brimming with guns and other implements. Iggy hands each of us a light blue gun with a short barrel.

“This looks like a toy. I like the colors.” Bets points it toward the front of the vessel.

Iggy jumps and forces the barrel down. “Careful. This thing can destroy the helm. There’d be no way for us to get back without it.”

We gather outside the shuttle, where Gorian stands holding what looks like a dragonfly in her hand. A closer look reveals that the object in her palm’s a machine. It leaps out of her hand and hovers above us. “Do you like my little drone? It’ll give us a look ahead.” Gorian adorns a pair of odd-looking glasses. “These let me see through its eyes.”

“I can do that with magpies,” I mutter.

As we struggle through the dry grass, I notice that the air’s strangely still and cold, even for this time of year at this elevation. I can tell Bets feels the same way — she’s alert, looking intently into the dead vegetation. She’s expecting something to jump out, like a mountain lion or perhaps a grub. Gorian seems less concerned, paying more attention to the view in her glasses than the immediate dangers lurking in the brush.

“We’re approaching a ridge,” Gorian says. Within moments, the ground drops off and we’re facing a vast open space with the mountains impossibly close. At the bottom of the valley is the queerest thing I’ve seen yet. Even Iggy gasps in his alien voice. The same ship we saw emerge from Gorian’s tablet earlier is lying in the trickle of a wide stream bed. It’s impossibly large and dark as night. And only half of it is there.

“What the—” Gorian exclaims. A flash of bright light, like lightning, but green rather than blue-white, assaults us.

The area where the back of the ship should be is hazy and crackling. Flashes of emerald light spark from nowhere. The stream disappears into the haze and doesn’t reemerge — the bed is completely dry downstream of the ship.

Gorian whistles. “Wow, something bad happened. Let’s shimmy down and get a closer look.”

Bets, English, and I exchange worried glances but we follow Gorian and Iggy down a small gulley into the valley. As we approach the bottom, I’m overwhelmed by a smell that reminds me of the air after a huge thunderstorm. The hairs on my arms tingle — all my instincts tell me to flee.

Gorian cautiously approaches the front of the Raven. She produces her tablet and begins gesturing wildly at it. In response, a crack opens on the bottom of the ship, and the air around us calms a bit. My anxiety has now turned to whatever may emerge from the vessel.

The crack becomes an open hatch and a set of stairs like those on the Fuerst descends. We crouch, pointing our weapons at the opening. We’re greeted by silence — nothing seems to be enticed by the activity. Gorian walks to the stairs and ascends, with Iggy following close behind. The rest of us remain motionless, waiting for something remarkable to happen. We jump at a buzzing behind us, turning to see Gorian’s dragonfly. A tiny voice says, “All clear guys. Come on up.”

We ascend into the ship. As my eyes adjust, I realize that the interior of the Raven is much like that of the Fuerst. However, instead of the pristine space in the Fuerst, the air in the Raven is musty and damp, with a hint of rotting meat. Gorian emerges from the pilot house, shaking her head in disgust. We enter the large bare room, which resembles that in the Fuerst. In the center is the pilot’s chair, which is occupied by a motionless, emaciated body with dry strands of red hair. It looks similar to the mummies we encountered in Troll’s compound — lips shrunken, teeth bared, and fingers clenched. However, the eyes of this body are long gone.

Gorian reenters the room. “Amy, Bets, and English, meet Melat.”

“Well, good. She’s dead.” Bets asks.

Gorian gives Iggy a knowing look and points at a lighted panel on the chair.

Iggy tries to explain. “Melat is still alive — just in a different way. She’s part of the ship now, all around us. When pilots travel through space, their minds enter the ships via a conduit, allowing them to navigate the impossibly complex pathways. She uploaded herself into the ship and never re-entered her body. This form, her cadaver, simply died of neglect in that chair.”

“So, she and the ship’s one? Just like Amy and the bird? Then half of Melat’s ass is hanging in nowhere,” English muses.

“How can she be in a machine?” I ask.

Gorian responds. “Same way that you are able to occupy the minds of Thresh, the bird, and the sentient fog. You channel them telepathically using the energy of your brain melded with the energy of the ship.”

Bets groans. “So, that means that she’s still here, like Troll?” She looks up and around. “We’re inside of her?”