Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

“We have to go!” urged Ravana. She handed him the spare mask. “Come on!”

Artorius gave Stripy a shove, who promptly slipped off the seat, fell to the floor and awoke with a loud shriek. Ravana assumed the air would be getting thin by now but Stripy, like Nana, seemed oblivious of Missi’s attempts to asphyxiate them all.

“Fwack,” grumbled Stripy. “Fwack fwack!”

“My research will not be compromised,” declared Missi. “I cannot let you leave.”

“Oh, shut up!” retorted Ravana and picked up the plasma cannon. A quick glance was enough to follow the dust-laden beams to the projector unit in the ceiling and she dispatched the hologram with a single well-aimed blast.

“You killed Missi!” exclaimed Artorius.

“I shot the ghost, not the demon within,” she retorted. “Put your mask on.”

“Why?”

“Because Missi is trying to kill us!”

Ravana urged Artorius and Stripy through the remains of the door and on towards the corridor to the hangar. The boy stared wide-eyed at the various scenes of destruction and gave the gun in her hands a wary look. Upon reaching the hangar, Ravana was relieved to see Kedesh was conscious and back on her feet, albeit wavering unsteadily at the open hatch of the transport. Her news however was not good.

“The airlock is jammed shut,” she said. “That robot you hit for six made a bad show of exploding all over the controls.”

“I’ll try harder next time there’s a mad AI out to get us,” retorted Ravana. She swung the cannon towards the airlock. “Do I blast the doors?”

“We’ll try and ram our way out. You’d better get aboard.”

“Thraak thraak,” agreed Nana, standing behind Kedesh.

Ravana passed the woman the plasma cannon, then helped Artorius and Stripy up the steps into the transport’s own tiny airlock. She was about to follow when she heard the voice of the AI once again, as emotionless as before.

“It is imperative that you stay,” said Missi. “My research is all that matters.”

Ravana jumped as a steel roof joist dropped with a clang to the floor. A loud metallic creak echoed around the hangar. From where she stood, she could see down the corridor into the heart of the dome. The walls were buckling under the weight of the roof.

“Oh my,” she murmured. “Missi, what have you done?”

She leapt into the transport and slammed the hatch shut behind her. Kedesh was at the controls and had started the engine, but sat staring through the windscreen, transfixed by the hangar falling apart around them. Artorius and the greys stood behind, looking alarmed.

“Get us out of here!” yelled Ravana. She tore off her oxygen mask and flung it to the floor. “The air pressure’s fallen too low to support the dome!”

Kedesh shook herself, yanked the gear lever into position and shoved the speed control to maximum. The hydrogen power plant roared into life, sending the transport leaping backwards into the hangar airlock door and knocking Ravana off her feet. There was a bang, followed by a screech of metal, then a second bang as they shot through into the chamber and hit the outer airlock door. The engine gave a determined grunt, then this too burst open behind them and they were free.

The transport bounced into the Falsafah night. Still going backwards, they accelerated along the gravel road, eager to leave the collapsing depot behind. The research station was no longer a dome, for Missi’s attempts to suffocate them in a vacuum left the base with no option but to collapse under the weight of Falsafah’s own atmosphere. Kedesh brought the transport to a halt, switched on the headlamps and they watched in silence as Falsafah Alpha slowly crumpled into the dunes like a deflating balloon.

Kedesh leaned back in her seat and sighed. “That storeroom had three shelves of chocolate cake I’ll never see again.”

“No more ice-cream,” murmured Artorius grumpily.

“Fwack,” agreed Stripy and burped.

“Thraak thraak!” chided Nana.

Ravana frowned. “Why is everything on this planet out to get us?”

“Beats me,” said Kedesh. “And we still have five thousand kilometres to go.”

QUIRINUS FIXED HIS STARE upon the lights of the narrow desert airstrip and tried to ignore Momus’ incessant moaning. His pilot-for-hire had good cause for complaint, for the descent from orbit through the Falsafah night was proving to be possibly the most harrowing experience of Quirinus’ many years as a pilot. The Platypus did not like the heavier gravity at all and the rocket boosters strapped to the hull were creating dangerous turbulence the sonic shield was struggling to contain. The ship’s flimsy aerofoils, extended in an attempt to make the most of Falsafah’s atmosphere, trembled like the wings of a drunken dragonfly, though the unfortunate image in Quirinus’ mind was of a chicken that had leapt from a hen-house roof after forgetting it could not fly. They were coming in far too fast for comfort.

Zotz sat rigid, strapped into the seat on Quirinus’ right. He had not said a word during the descent and frantically stroked the cat on his lap with such nervous intensity it was a wonder the electric pet had any fake fur left. The two-day flight, during which Quirinus and Momus had spent their time alternating between dealing with minor repairs and arguing with each other, had proved to be a very tedious experience.

“This is frigging madness!” cried Momus. “The crappy wings are going to fall off!”

“Shut up!” Quirinus retorted. “Ship, how are we doing?”

“Descent path for Arallu Depot is being maintained,” the ship’s computer replied smoothly. “Air brakes are insufficient to reduce speed to optimum for planet-fall and further burn of retro rockets is required. This will leave insufficient fuel to achieve orbit if landing is aborted. This is proving a most interesting experience, Captain Quirinus.”

“Not the word I would have used,” muttered Quirinus. “Any word from Arallu?”

“The facility reports no service personnel,” the AI informed him. “Please rest assured that I am in full communication with the spaceport automatic guidance systems.”

“In other words, there’s no one waiting to pick up the frigging pieces when we crash,” grumbled Momus, tapping away at the console. “Ten seconds on the retros?”

Quirinus nodded. Moments later, they heard the roar of engines and felt their seatbelts tighten as the forward-facing thrusters fired. The console screen showed the night-time view from the belly of the ship, a complex tableau of dark dunes and arid valleys in the infrared display’s million hues of green.

“Ten kilometre warning,” said the computer.

The retros did their job and the Platypus gradually settled into a calmer trajectory. Quirinus touched the control to deploy the landing gear and listened to the reassuring clunks from below as all four sets of wheels lowered into position. The faulty visual scanners left a blind spot below the sonic shield generator, leaving a forward view restricted to what he could see through the windscreen, but the frown he had worn through much of the descent was there for a very different reason. The pale illuminated dome of Arallu Depot looked lost amidst the expanse of endless desert, an insignificant twinkle of white alongside the runway’s dotted lines of red. It was a long way from home should anything go wrong.

“Hold on to something,” he advised his crew. “This may be a rough landing.”

“What a bloody surprise,” grumbled Momus.

“Quirinus is a good pilot!” protested Zotz, breaking his silence. “He can fly the Platypus with his eyes closed.”