The CS Mayflower, in transit
Four months into the trip, Mike found himself seated at dinner with one of the ship’s engineers, who tried to explain at length how the ship’s Gellar drive used a negative energy drive field that actually acted on the mass of the ship itself. This, according to the tech, made it easier to drive a huge ship at a greater speed than a small one.
Mike went away shaking his head. Animals, trees and rifles Mike understood; the intricacies of interstellar drives, he’d leave to others.
Six uneventful, boring months after that, as the four young men played a thousandth round of nickel poker at the table in their cabin, a tone sounded, followed by an electronic voice:
“Ship has entered orbit. Ship has entered orbit. Passengers for Forest will prepare to disembark beginning tomorrow morning at 0800. Ship’s navigation viewer display of the planet is now available on your view screens.”
Mike and the two young farmers jumped for the viewer. Jim flipped the screen’s power toggle, and a view of an Earthlike planet materialized on the panel, their first view of the planet Forest.
Two large emerald-green continents were in view, as the colonizing ship drifted over the northern hemisphere. Mike saw a faint tracing of white at the pole, and faint signs of mountains in the center of the larger continent; puffs and strings of white marked Earthlike temperate weather patterns. All in all, the planet looked far more ordinary than Mike would have imagined.
Since only about fifty people were debarking for Forest, Mike’s debarkation number came up quickly. Early the next morning, ship’s time, he found himself in a shuttle bound for Settlement, the OWME Company’s port city and main colony base. Surrounded by his light baggage, Mike endured the hammering, bouncing ride down the gravity well, arriving finally in front of a large wooden building, which sat on a wide concrete apron that perched on a stupendous concrete flat intended for landing cargo ships. One such cargo ship was departing as Mike stepped off the boarding shuttle. He watched in amazement as the giant disk, a full three hundred meters across and fifty meters tall, rose on four pillars of gray-white smoke from a pad a kilometer or so away. In orbit, it would re-dock with its Gellar tunnel and navigation module to jump into subspace, bound for Earth.
Immigration checks and medical exams occupied the better part of a day, including a hot and uncomfortable UV bombardment to eliminate Earthly microorganisms from Mike’s skin. The treatment left him feeling mildly sunburned and itching all over. Immediately following the UV, he had to take a shower that smelled evilly of chemicals. This, at least, washed away the white powder of oxidized epidermis the UV bath had left on his body, and a clear-water shower afterwards removed the chemical smell. Finally, he was given some strange medicinal cocktail to drink, and received four air-hypo injections, two in each shoulder. He could now emerge from the quarantine area sterilized, with no bio-load of microbes to spread on a new planet. There was one drawback, as the Med Tech informed him: “You’ll have the trots for a few days until your intestinal fauna sorts itself out.”
Finally, Mike was directed to a room labeled ‘Occupational interviews and placement,’ which was, apparently, the last step. Inside the door a skinny, balding man sat at a desk, flipping idly through a sheaf of paper. He didn’t look up when Mike entered, instead simply motioning with a pen to the chair in front of his desk. Mike sat down, and after a few moments, the interviewer spoke.
“Name?” he demanded.
“Michael Crider.”
“Middle name?”
“Don’t have one.”
More shuffling of papers. “Ah. Here you are. You signed on to be a pioneer and hunter?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
The balding man fixed Mike with a gimlet eye. “You do realize pioneers don’t receive a salary? You earn cash for any meat, skins or feathers you bring in for sale. Other than that, you’re responsible for your own food and shelter, got that?”
Mike bristled a little at that. “That’s why I signed up!”
The interviewer chuckled suddenly. “Don’t get your back up, sonny; I just wanted to make that plain. We got all these gomers coming in here looking for a paycheck, every day I see people complaining when they’re expected to be self-sufficient. Hell, if they wanted a handout, they should have stayed on Earth. But if you can hunt and handle yourself in the woods, I expect you’ll do all right. Two tips. First, don’t hang around Settlement. The hunting around here’s pretty picked over by the company troops and the townies. Also, watch out for the rocs, they’re no joke. Have you got the rifle the Company recommended?”
“Yeah, I got the Parks double.”
“Good; you’ll need it. We’ve got 15mm ammo here in the company store. It’s heavy stuff, but you’ll find the Parks is a damn fine piece. You can trade for ammunition and supplies. The Company will credit you a fixed rate per pound for the various species. Here’s a chart that gives the rate. Extra paid for salable skins or plumage. Or you can sell meat and skins outright to the other colonists for cash, but you’re better off dealing with the Company. This here’s a pretty cash-poor colony. There are only a little less than four thousand people here on the planet, three thousand of ‘em right here in Settlement. The feathers and such have markets elsewhere, but the food we can use right here. You’re one of,” he consulted a large binder stuffed with paper, “eighteen hunter-pioneers we’ve got now.”
A stamp on Mike’s paperwork: DISPOSITIONED. “All right, cowboy, out through that door and collect your gear. Good luck.” The skinny, balding man returned to his papers, ignoring Mike’s departure. He found his gear directly outside, a large frame backpack stuffed with clothing and gear, his small carry-on from the Mayflower, and a long, heavy case containing his rifle. In front of him was a door marked Exit.
This was it. Gathering his gear, Mike strode out the door into the bustle of a Settlement afternoon.
The very air was strangely different, smelling oddly of an alien world. A hot, orange-yellow sun beat down on the bare red soil outside the door; a few skimmers rode lightly on the company street just ahead.
It took him a moment to notice that there was no grass. A few odd-looking forbs grew along the building, but otherwise the earth underfoot was bare, red hardpan. Past the last buildings Mike could see a wall of huge green trees that looked much like the familiar pines and spruce of Idaho. In the northern distance, a range of mountains stood watch over the landscape, but there were no snowcapped peaks here; the green continued unbroken all the way to the top. A large, sluggish river meandered by the town on the east.
Mike accosted a passerby. “Where can I buy some maps and a few supplies?” The frowning, middle-aged woman pointed at a warehouse-like structure up the street that bore a large, crudely painted sign: ‘OWME Mercantile.’
A wide and varied display of merchandise was inside, some of which Mike needed for his already bulging backpack. A clerk informed Mike that most of the pioneers and farmers were settling the area to the south, so Mike picked up several good maps of the land to the north. His Earth compass seemed to work alright; the helpful clerk assured him it would be fine. Two more boxes of ammo for his 15mm Parks double rifle, one hi-ex and one solids, and (much to his surprise) a box of shells for his grandfather’s old .45, now holstered once again low on Mike’s hip in an equally ancient leather holster and gun belt rig. He also invested in a few provisions, including two large packages of something called ‘Boser jerky.’ Out of curiosity, Mike sampled a bite; the leathery stuff tasted faintly like a cross between turkey and beef. A locater beacon for Settlement’s provisioning droids was expensive, but essential. Most of Forest’s game was too large for a single person to move easily, and a field-dressed carcass would be picked up and credited to Mike’s account when marked by the beacon.
Looking over the dehydrated foods, Mike bumped into a grizzled, broad-shouldered man who was busily selecting packets of dried vegetables.
“Observez votre étape, garcon!” the older man snapped. “Watch you’ step, eh?”
Mike noted the thick Cajun accent. “Sorry,” he apologized. The older man nodded, scowling, and went on selecting packets.
An hour was spent in the mercantile, tramping around on the rough-hewn plank floor, selecting this item and that, and then Mike was ready to leave. In his pockets were tickets for a skimmer bus to Outskirts, a tiny village twenty kilometers to the north. Past that was, according to the maps, nothing but empty forest all the way up to the approaches to the three-kilometer high New Pyrenees Mountains. The bus ride, up a red-dirt track following the river, took only ten minutes, the giant conifers whipping past at a frightening rate.
Outskirts was indeed a tiny concern. Four houses, a Company warehouse and a miniature version of the Mercantile back at Settlement made up the whole place.
Beyond that, was the endless forest.
Mike hopped from the bus, nodded his thanks to the driver, shouldered his pack and strode off into the trees. This would be his world now, his new home planet, and he would face it on his terms as he had preferred to on the planet he left; rifle in hand, alone, a man in the wilderness. Two small boys paused in their roughhousing to watch Mike’s tall, rangy form topped by the large gray Stetson, heading into the woods.
“I bet the rocs’ll get him in a week!” the smaller of the two dirty-faced urchins giggled. “A day!” the other challenged, and they began their play-fighting anew. Behind them, the shifting shadows of the trees swallowed the young man’s form.
Now I wonder how much unpacking/repacking you’d do as a passenger on a six-month spacecruise. How many changes of socks would you need?
Presumably for a voyage intended to be that duration, there would be some form of laundry facility on the vessel. It would take up less mass than carrying enough spares. You would already be heavily invested in water treatment and recycling, for the same reason.
Space socks. They clean themselves.
In space, no one can smell you sweat?
How many changes of socks would you need?
Get a fresh pair from the replicator every day.
Replicators?!?! WHERE!?!?!
*Grabs P90*
You could create the magazines pre-loaded.
🙂
It’s sad, I didn’t watch any of the Stargate TV series and I still got Sean’s reference.
I didn’t. I was thinking it was about the cost of 5.7x28mm
I never watched the TV series because the movie was so offensively stupid. “Alien world? I know let’s send in the Air Force on foot with a manpack nuke!”
What? You mean you’ve never wanted to nuke an alien pyramid?
I have no idea what any of this is about
Click the smiley face, Kinnath.
Kinnath – long story short, there’s a race of alien robot andtagonists in the Stargate TV series called the replicators after their tendency to make more of themselves. The main firearm used in that series is the P90.
Sean was playing of of that instead of the initial Star Trek replicator reference.
thanks everyone
It makes a lot more sense if you assume that the whole plan was to ensure that the gate can never ever open again. Send in one loser pop-scientist who might have accidentally figured out the whole cover-up, one suicidal drunk burnout commanding a bunch of expendable meat puppets, and one PADM that has a timer rigged to activate sixty seconds after transit. I always figured that the FTL transit fucked up the timer, hence allowing the rest of the story to happen…
The big radio station in Minneapolis (KQ92) has updated their format recently. As I was white-knuckling the steering wheel and cussing the other drivers, they played some Meat Puppets:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oFD88EyZ80E
The story has a Heinlein feel to it, which I like. There’s also a Deathworld vibe.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Deathworld
The Grugell seem a tad uninspired, but Space Nazis are a standard sci-fi villain. Other common sci-fi villains are big bugs, robots, Proud Warrior Race guys, and Space Zombies.
https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/ProudWarriorRaceGuy
Even if cheap, easy space travel existed, I doubt many people would take advantage of it. Many people fantasize about being astronauts, and yet so few bother to visit exotic-looking places like Utah or Wyoming, let alone truly exotic places like Antarctica or the Gobi Desert. We romanticize the moon, Mars, etc because they’re so far away, not because there’s a good reason to go there.
What are your thoughts on Bill, The Galactic Hero?
I read part of it online and liked it. The Wikipedia article on it is amusing. It was written by a WW2 vet. Another vet who read it said “it’s the only book about the military that’s true.”
Next of Kin subverts the usual military sci-fi tropes as well.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Next_of_Kin_(novel)
***
It is the story of a military misfit who successfully conducts a one-man psychological warfare operation against an alien race, with whom humans and allied races are at war.
***
Bill, the Galactic Hero is basically the original comedy version of The Forever War. I think the authors of both read Starship Troopers and didn’t like it.
If cheap easy space travel existed you would see it used for economic reasons – the opportunity for a better life in the offworld colonies mining unobtanium, or selling stuff to the people maintaining the mining robots.
An offshore oil rig I think is a more accurate analogy, and people don’t live on those permanently.
But otherwise, yeah, like the Klondike Rush and other suchlike, relatively small numbers of people would make the journey. Mostly young men too, I think.
I guess it depends on your definition of quick.
“Even if cheap, easy space travel existed, I doubt many people would take advantage of it. Many people fantasize about being astronauts, and yet so few bother to visit exotic-looking places like Utah or Wyoming, let alone truly exotic places like Antarctica or the Gobi Desert. We romanticize the moon, Mars, etc because they’re so far away, not because there’s a good reason to go there.”
BOOM. This is absolute. Well-said. Will borrow.
I watched a truly bad movie over the weekend.
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3717234/
If you have the chance, don’t.
Were they 42-year old Female Diversity Hire SEALs?
No.
is representing herself in the age-discrimination case
Ozy wouldn’t take the case?
I don’t think he wants a fool for a client.
I’m surprised the age limit is so high and the PST minimums are so low.
They ring the bell fast enough.
ring my bell
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp11DjaUc5A
You would have been better off watching Return to Blood Fart Lake.
https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2279231/
That’s got an even lower rating.
You should have gone with STEVE SMITH’S UNAUTHORIZED BIOGRAPHY.
You know it. I felt violated when I watched it. Like I was held in prison for an hour.
EvilSheldon, if that ever shows up streaming you know I’ll post it.
a horny sasquatch named Stick Fist
Watch out for your corn hole.
Deep in the Bible Belt, Navy Seals go undercover to save a town from the Demons from Hell who are stealing souls.
unexpected that a movie like this was bad.. no way one could have known
Yeah, I know of B-movies. Just how far down the alphabet do you have to go to properly characterize this?
I have to ask my brother-in-law, Jeff Davis*, about this.
Right name, wrong person.
I never watched the TV series because the movie was so offensively stupid.
I think you misspelled “gay”.
gay – i remember at least one nude young female…
Thank you for this story, Animal! I am enjoying it. Work has been a pain so I am not around so much lately.
Yes, thanks for the story.
Were they 42-year old Female Diversity Hire SEALs?
That person strikes me as deeply serious and sincere.
What are your thoughts on Bill, The Galactic Hero?
Most excellent. Highly recommend. Do not, I repeat, do not read any of the “sequels”. They suck.
gay – i remember at least one nude young female…
I don’t recall any nude females. I do seem to recall a lot of weirdly effeminate young boy “servants”.
james spader character got a free chick on egyptworld
Mili Avital
If the boys are speaking about a large, dangerous predator, are they crying wolf?
Mike’s going to get eaten by a Grugell.
Eaten by a Gru…gell?
He didn’t bring a light source?
I figure Grugell rhymes with “blue bell” and not “poodle”, though a war with Groogles could be amusing. I picture Dr Seuss type creatures.
Once a groogle made a doodle of a noodle-eating poodle…
I figure the G is silent and it’s ‘Rule’
Turkish has a silent g, but it gets a special mark.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C4%9E
***
In modern Turkish, the letter has no sound of its own and serves as a transition between two vowels, since they do not occur consecutively in native Turkish words.
***
“Once a groogle made a doodle of a noodle-eating poodle…” who poodled, so Googled oodles of bugles tooting futile boops to finish my stanza.
Well-played, good sir. That was fun.
My guess is Mike and the Cajun guy will cross paths again to bail out the Criders. The Grugell will want to tame the rocs so they can do the DinoRiders thing.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6n3WgLDyMw
***
Dino-Riders is an American animated television series that first aired in 1988.[2] The cartoon was primarily a promotional show to launch a new Tyco toy line.[3] Only fourteen episodes were produced, three of which were produced on VHS for the United States.[3] The show aired in the U.S. as part of the Marvel Action Universe programming block.[4]
The series focuses on the battle between the Valorians and Rulons on prehistoric Earth.[3] The Valorians were a superhuman race, while the Rulons comprised several types of humanoid animals. Both races came from the future but were transported back in time to the age of dinosaurs. Once on Earth, the Valorians befriended dinosaurs, while the Rulons brainwashed them.[3]
***
In case anyone is bored, I found the MST3K FOREVER-a-thon. Right now one of my all time favorites is on, Wild Rebels.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anO6fLiDEUY
Plex has both a channel and on-demand.
Yes it does. It now has a pretty robust backlog of on-demand. I cannot verify exactly how many titles are in it, but it feels like over ten thousand now.
Thanks for these. Always a pleasure.
“Mike hopped from the bus, nodded his thanks to the driver, shouldered his pack and strode off into the trees. This would be his world now, his new home planet, and he would face it on his terms as he had preferred to on the planet he left; rifle in hand, alone, a man in the wilderness.”
I resemble this (minus the rifle). But the Pioneer Spirit isn’t one I have, I reckon. I’ve gone to the global wilderness in search of work and adventure, but I was never starting anything *new.* I certainly don’t have any (real) wilderness skills to help, and I highly doubt I’d adventure out were I in Mike’s spot. Having typed that, I wasn’t born in that time and place. I’d likely be all over it. Hopefully, I’d have learned the basics in that setting. Still, I’ve never started anything new. That’s a Human curve ball in the mix, cuz I don’t *really* think that way.
(Or do I? Hrm.)