Date:         Thu, 15 Oct 1998 17:34:47 MDT From: "Robyn M. Herrington" Subject:      [WRITERS] SUB: Halloween: Tropical Paradise? Another one! Wooohoooo! Remember -- critiques to me at rmherrin@ucalgary.ca I'll pass them along to the anonymous authors when the contest is done. Thanks! Robyn >Tropical Paradise? > > As I crouched against the wall, I hoped the only thing stirring out >here was me. The roof of the building I was in leaked and the cold rain >drooled down my back, dripped on my hair and dribbled across my face. This >structural ruin had been a new reinforced steel alloy building only two >weeks ago, before the visits began. Now, it was a pile of junk, only useful >to hide a perimeter watcher. > Tonight, that job was mine -- Dr. Marcus McAndrews, marine biologist >and cook. I had to keep this side of the perimeter secure. > We'd come to this godforsaken planet only six weeks ago. The survey >ships pronounced MR-4 fit for colonization, named it New Indies -- a >tropical paradise world with tall interior forests, fresh water, and >abundant wildlife. It was abundant all right. And, the Saunders >Colonization Consortium (SCC) just delivered to that indigent wildlife a >new imported food source-- the colonists. > I checked the charge on my laser. Still good. Ready to go, just in >case -- for all the good it would do me. All of our security personnel had >died with their lasers fully charged. My wife had been with security. She >was the one who wanted to come on this doomed jaunt through the universe. I >barely made it through the psych exams. I hated space. > Only ten of us were left: three adults, seven kids. We had initiated >the tight-signal distress/emergency pick up call, but because of the >rotation of MR-4, the signal only had a chance of getting through during a >1-hour window every day. > A rock shifted along one of the rainwater streams flowing by me and >the icy water flooded over the tops of my boots. New Indies, indeed. I >shifted to a drier spot under the sagging roof. The two missing metal walls >lay crumpled like pieces of paper. No explosion. More like something big >split the seams from the inside. No clues left. Forty people dead. I slept >through it. > Booming thunder signaled more rain. The lightning illuminated the >surroundings from time to time. Nothing but the trees and undergrowth in >the distance. Wet trees. Undergrowth bending in the incessant rainfall. > I heard something. A whisper? My name? > I slammed my back to the wall and looked into the darkness. > Another whisper. "Marcus." > I strained to look into the gloom surrounding me. Where did it come from? > "Marc..." The whisper was cut short by a loud explosion of thunder >that shook the walls. The part of the roof I was using for shelter started >to screech. It was coming down. I had to move out into the rain, into the >open. > I slipped in the mud as I ran for an opening. The roof metal groaned >and slowly started to peel away from the two remaining walls. I managed to >push off some debris and stand. > The joist for the edge of the roof in front of me dropped a foot and >then stopped, dangling like it was waiting for me to run under it. I >swallowed and ran. > I made it into the open as the metal beam hit the ground, covering me >in a tidal wave of muddy water. > Between coughs, as I tried to clear my lungs of the muck, I heard, >"Marcus," loud and clear, right behind me. I swung the laser around. > Nothing. A flash of lightning confirmed it. > "Well," I said aloud to no one, "maybe I'm going crazy." > A menacing guttural laugh answered me. The laugh echoed off the tree >trunks and rusting metal walls. I couldn't tell where it was coming from. > I ran for the line of trees on the edge of our encampment. I could see >the lanterns from the inner buildings. They were swinging in rain-distorted >arcs. > I heard screams, kid's screams. > My feet hung as if the mud were concrete. I couldn't move. > "Marcus!" A man's voice to my right. Daniel's voice. > He ran up and grabbed my shoulders. "Marcus! Snap out of it!" > Daniel slapped me and I looked at him. > "Let's go!" he said over his shoulder as he ran toward the closest of >the inner buildings. > I shook my head and started to slowly walk toward the yelling, the >pounding of mammoths against metal. I pulled my long knife and slipped the >laser around to my back. I knew how to use a knife. > It had come right by me and I didn't see it. > With the rain and the thunder and the muck, it was all so unreal. >Maybe I was dreaming? > I ran toward the encampment. This was all my fault. > I heard a man's scream followed by the gurgling sound of some thick >liquid. I looked to the first building in time to see Daniel's torso. Not >all of his torso. Only the upper part. Only the left arm. Only the head. >Daniel's head turned to me as red fluid ran out of his mouth. The scream >had been his scream. The gurgling had been Daniel's blood as it backwashed >up through his throat. The bottom half of Daniel had become a quick snack. > It had never left any remains before. It was teasing me. > Laughter again. A bass tuba playing the same note. Only this tuba was >making the ground shake. > More screams. These higher-pitched. The kids. > I ran around the edge of the building, jumping over the red stream of >rain rinsing the fluids from what was left of Daniel. > Bone snapped beneath my feet as I landed on Director Mackey's leg. He >didn't feel it. His left side was gone, like what's left in your hand after >the wishbone is snapped. Mackey got the short half. > I looked down to the sleeping quarters. The walls were ripped apart at >the nearest corner. > The screaming began to stop. > This was all my fault. > There was nothing else I could do. > I stumbled in the muck. "Come get me, you bastard," I mumbled into the >mud as I closed my eyes. > Laughter again. Fading away? Was it leaving me? > The rain started to slow and the thunder seemed to be getting more >distant. The drizzle faded away. > Had this all been a dream? Was I going to awaken now? > A gentle breeze caught my hair. It did more than that, though. The >breeze carried the scent of metal, iron, fresh blood. > I opened my eyes. > The devastation was still there. The bodies, the parts of bodies >littered the clearing. There was no other sound except the fronds of the >trees hitting their neighbors. In the distance, I could hear the breakers >hit the shore. The tension was gone. > I threw up and cried like a baby for a while. > I had to get away from here. > Banging doors caught my attention. The storage shed. I ran inside. >Yellow rafts. Camp rations. Water bottles. Slowly, I gathered what I needed >from the shed. I constructed a larger raft with a sail and strapped all of >my supplies to it. The nearest island was a week or so away by boat and the >weather was looking good for sailing. > I prayed the evil wouldn't follow me. > I thought about staying, but after I had buried what was left of my >friends and their families, I had to get away, even if the devil I didn't >know was worse than this one, the one I _knew_ would kill me. > I dragged everything to the beach and made one last turn around the >encampment. The winds died down and there was silence, as if even the >island wanted to pay its respects to the dead. > Then, I heard it. A regular beep. I went to the Director's hut. The >distress signal. It was going off at its scheduled time. I started to >laugh. No one but me left to rescue. The unit was small. I picked it up and >put it with my other stuff. > I said farewell to the encampment and went to the beach. > With a good wind, I reached the next island eight days later. > It was a little different from the other one. Smaller. But, I could >see what looked like a waterfall on the side of the mountain in the middle >of the island, so there was probably fresh water. > After setting up a small camp about a mile in from the beach, I did >some exploring. This was just the tropical paradise that the survey ships >said it was. I hunted and fished and ate well. I was a marine biologist, so >I spent a great deal of time in the ocean near the island. I called it >McAndrews Island. Who was going to argue? > Day after day, the distress unit went off at it scheduled time. Beep. >Beep. Beep...I paid it no mind. It was just part of my existence now. My >only companion. > One day, I walked up from the beach to hear a new sound. Instead of >its friendly, pleasant beep, the distress unit was emitting an >earsplitting, constant wail. I ran to the box and looked at it. I had no >idea what to do, but the wail was driving me crazy. There was no "Off" >switch. > I pulled out my long knife and was about to hack it in two when it >dawned on me what the blasted thing was for. I had gotten so used to it, I >had forgotten. > I ran to the beach and looked up into the sky. I couldn't see anything >but knew that it might take a while to triangulate my location. >Triangulate. That was a word I hadn't thought about in a while. > I heard it before I saw it. A small ship. A shuttle. The large SCC on >the side told me it was from the Consortium. > I was being rescued! > Slowly the shuttle descended. I stood back as the sand swirled around >the landing apparatus. The engines whined down and I ran for it as fast as >I could! > The hatch slowly opened as I neared it. The ramp hit the sand just as >I got to it and, in my excitement, I tripped on the edge. > > ***** > > I awoke with a headache hours later. I had knocked myself out. > But, why did they leave me laying on the ramp? > I got up and went inside. It was dimly lit and musty. > The ramp slowly closed behind me. > "Hello?" I called out. > No answer. I walked to the front of the shuttle. Blood was everywhere. >Bits of skin and hair were plastered to the front window. > A low guttural laugh filled the shuttle as it took off. > I tried to stop the ascent, but something else was in control of the >ship. A voice came from the speakers: "Affirmative, Scout Four. We note >your communications failure. Received your report about the MR-4 colonists >staying behind. Automatic docking procedure nine in two hours. Colony >Transport, out." > I slammed every button I could. Flipped every switch. The shuttle was >under outside control and heading for the larger ship, a colony transport. >Another ship full of food. > I shoved the legs of what was once the shuttle's pilot onto the floor >and sat down. I noticed a small hand-held data recorder on the floor. >Probably standard procedure when the ship comm goes out. > After wiping off bile and blood, I wondered if it would still work. It >did. > When I completed recording the report of what had happened on the >island, I added, "I'm sitting here in the cockpit of the shuttle recording >this. Whatever killed everyone on the island is on this shuttle with me. I >led it to you. I hope you can destroy this shuttle before you allow this >malevolence on board." > By the time I had finished the recording, we were in space. How to get >this to the colony ship? I looked around. All was silent. No laughter. >Where was it? > I went back to the cargo/personnel transport bay. Nostalgia hit me as >I realized that I had ridden to the surface of MR-4 in just such a bay. So >full of anticipation for a tropical future with my beautiful wife. Now, I >couldn't think past the moment. I had no future. > A console beckoned to me from the rear of the bay. A red flashing >light. I walked up to it and read "Buoy Deployment". That was it! > I attached the recorder to a buoy and loaded it into the tube. I >prayed that this system was unimportant enough to still be operational. I >pushed the button that had been flashing red. It turned to green and I >could hear the whoosh of the tube as it left the shuttle. > I ran to the front and wiped the forward window clean. I could see the >transport ship now. I saw the small buoy head for it. Halfway there, it >stopped and hung in space. I had miscalculated the distance. > My last hope. > Laughter again. From the back. From the bay. It had let me find some >hope and then fail. > I noticed a panel next to the hatch to the rear bay. > "Whatever you do, don't hit that control," I remembered our shuttle >pilot telling us. "It opens the bay doors to the vacuum of space. Everyone >would be dead in minutes." > Without thinking about it, I slammed the hatch door shut and beat my >hand against the control that had been forbidden before. I heard the bay >doors open. > The laughter stopped suddenly. > "Scout Four, we notice your bay doors opening. You must be >experiencing a total operational failure. We still have you under our >control. Docking in ten minutes." > I listened intently for those ten minutes. No sound other than the >usual thunks and groans of docking. No laughter. Had I done it? > I heard the docking door extend and hit the cockpit access door. I >heard the pressurizing and the clunking sound of my salvation opening the >door manually. > The air hissed as it equalized between the shuttle and the transport ship. > As the door started to creak open, the long knife found its way into >my hand. > I started to laugh. A low guttural laugh... -- ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*-------------------------------- Robyn Herrington,Editor rmherrin@acs.ucalgary.ca InfoServe www.ucalgary.ca/~rmherrin New Currents in Teaching and Technology Com/Media University of Calgary Ph: 220-2561 == Inter tormentia latitia == ---------------------------------*=*=*=*=*=*--------------------------------