Chapter 2: Landfall

Scott stepped into the ready room and saw about half the Pathfinder team still suiting up. Dad, thankfully, was already gone, headed for the hangar. Cora, also ready to go, was waiting for him. Dad's orders, no doubt.

"Hey. Glad to see Captain Dunn didn't hold you up too long."

He nodded at Cora, stepping into the room and taking in the energy and excitement before his eyes settled on Sara's locker. "Sara's going to hate that she missed this."

Cora smiled hesitantly. "Are all the Ryder's adrenaline junkies?"

Scot shrugged. "Two of us, at least. Sara beat me into the world by one minute—couldn't wait to get started and follow in dad's footsteps, I guess. Me, well… I prefer to keep my risk of cardiac arrest as low as possible. Or as low as I can keep it with my family, at least."

"Well, I'm sure she will pull through then. The chance to explore a whole new galaxy? She wouldn't miss it."

She was trying to cheer him up, and despite how transparent it was it still made him feel a bit better. And more to the point, she was right. He needed to set aside Sara for the moment and focus on the vital, dangerous task at hand. He may not have wanted to come here, but that didn't mean he didn't need a home just as much as everyone else on the ark now that they were here. He nodded firmly. "You're right. And when she's back, she'll want stories."

Cora clapped him on the shoulder approvingly. "So let's get out there and find her some."

He stepped past her and pulled open his locker to start pulling on his Pathfinder-issue space suit. Each piece went on over his rubber cat suit, latching and sealing to each other. It wasn't quite like any other suit he'd ever worn. It had started life as a fairly standard space suit, rated for hard vacuum, and then they'd started adding things. A stronger radiation shield, a coating to protect against acid and flames, a bigger oxygen supply and better CO2 filters, and even some light combat armor.

It didn't compare to an Alliance hard suit, of course, but it was better than nothing, and it had a lot more range and life support than any Alliance armor ever made.

As he pulled on the chest piece and checked the connections on autopilot his mind reviewed the Pathfinder manual. Their job was absurdly broad, something no serious planner would ever sign off on giving to a single unit. They were supposed to verify the golden world targets, map and explore unknown territory (both planetary and celestial), perform scientific analysis of any phenomena discovered, make first contact with any alien species, establish and support diplomatic relations with those alien species, and provide 'general support' for the colonies. It was like someone took a heavily romanticized vision of ancient cowboys and threw them into space. I guess some things about humanity never change.

Kirkland and Greer were finished up and talking quietly. "Ever done anything like this?"

"No… I guess that's why I'm here. It's a chance to do something new… and pretty crazy."

Scott rolled his eyes. You can say that again, Kirkland.

"Yeah, I know what you mean. If you'd told me I'd be one of the first people to set foot in Andromeda… well…"

Scott finished his checks. If he was going to be risking his life with these crazies, he might as well say hello. He took a step closer to the pair, who looked up at him. "Hey Ryder."

"It's Kirkland, right?"

"Yeah, I think we met once just before the Hyperion left the construction yards. Not sure if you know Greer?"

"Hey, nice to meet you." Scott held out a gloved hand and they shook.

For all Greer's nervousness, the man had a firm grip. "Good to meet you. Did your dad say anything about what's going on?"

Ryder shrugged uncomfortably. "Tough to say. Sensors can't get a read on the planet, and heavy cloud cover means no visual."

Greer grinned nervously. "Well, at least it keeps things interesting."

Kirkland chuckled. "Yeah, it would be a shame to go through all this training and not put it to good use."

Scott couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not. The pause started to stretch, so Scott cleared his throat. "Okay then, see you guys on the way down." He stepped away and heard them start talking again behind him.

"No sensor coverage, huh? It'll be flying by the seat of our pants."

"This is how Neil Armstrong felt!"
"Yeah, except he didn't have twenty thousand people waiting for him to find a place to land. Besides, the Pathfinder will be first onto the planet."

Scott left them behind and stepped over to the weapons locker, where Fisher was carefully checking his M-3 Predator. They were solid, reliable weapons, originally made by Elanus Risk Control, but they weren't very effective against shields, which made the Alliance look elsewhere. Their reliability made them very popular out in the terminus where expensive shielding systems were less common. And from the looks of it, the Initiative had scooped up a fair number of them when nobody was looking.

He picked one up, feeling the weight of it, then attached it to his waist harness via the built-in magnetic clamp. He checked that the ammo block was full, slid a handful of thermal clips into the harness pouches, and he was good to go.

Of course, the fact that they weren't going to bother testing them at all, much less sighting them after a few hundred years in storage, told you everything you needed to know about the Initiative's jump-first-plan-second attitude. Though maybe the fact that the clock was ticking on humanity's extinction in this galaxy had something to do with it.

"Hey Ryder."

"Hey Fisher, how's it going?"

Fisher glanced around the room quietly and lowered his voice. "I heard a rumor from the bridge that your dad and the captain aren't seeing eye to eye on this."

Scott kept the smile fixed to his face. Word sure traveled fast. "Well," he started carefully, "she wasn't thrilled with the idea of this expedition, but dad won her over."

Fisher nodded knowingly. "I'm glad she came around. Your dad's the N7 here—he's got the most experience. And the best aim. I go where he goes."

What is this, are we picking sides now? Proclaiming loyalty in case of infighting? That's a bad sign.

"Right. Well, I'm gonna hit the rock and head on down. See you soon."

Fisher nodded and turned back to his weapon. Scott breathed a sigh of relief and moved over to stand next to the good-luck rock, positioned next to the door and worn down by the slap of many hands heading out to the field. The solid chunk of granite had saved dad from a deadly fall while mountain climbing years back, and he'd hauled it around with him ever since. Scott had often wondered just how different his life would have been if it had not been for that rock. Certainly, he wouldn't be in this galaxy. On the other hand, he'd have died centuries ago, too. So…

He shrugged and gave the worn stone a quick rub.

Cora called out across the room. "Alright people, let's wrap it up and head down."

Scott took a deep breath and stepped through the doorway and onto the tram while the rest of the team piled in behind him. They were a tense, uncomfortable, silent bunch on the ride. After a ride that was somehow both way too short and far too long, they stumbled out into the hangar where two UT-47 Kodiak drop shuttles were being spun up by a handful of techs while the Pathfinder stalked restlessly in front of the rest of the team. They were both surprisingly small and tough, those shuttles, and packed to the gills with test equipment meant that crew and irreplaceable equipment would be crammed in there together like so much cargo.

Cora walked next to him, talking quietly, still trying to get his head in the game, and he wondered why she bothered. He might be the Pathfinder's son, but he was well below her on the totem pole, and it took about five seconds in Alec Ryder's presence to realize there was exactly zero nepotism happening there. Well, aside from dragging his kids around his wake, that was. What was she playing at?

It didn't for a moment occur to him that she might also be nervous. That just wasn't who she was.

"So, just another day at the office, huh?"

Scott glanced sideways at her. Sarcasm? "Not exactly. It's one part exciting, three parts dangerous."

Cora nodded. "I know what you mean. I always wondered what it was like when old-time explorers crossed the ocean. Nothing but stars and dead reckoning to guide them."

Now that was unexpected. Super-soldier Cora had a touch of a romantic side? But more to the point, someone as practical as she was had to know those ancient mariners ran one hell of a lot of risks. "And don't forget the map with 'here there be dragons.'"

She rolled her eyes, conceding the point. "Yes, well, if they made it, then we can, too. And maybe see a dragon along the way."

Scott half-feigned a shudder trying not to think of all the agonizing, gruesome ways many of those early explorers died. "And on that note, we're here."

The Pathfinder caught sight of them as they stepped into his orbit and he marched over, turning to have a quiet word with Cora while Scott made a break for it in the opposite direction, where he was surprised to see Dr. Harry Carlyle, one of the ark's senior doctors, double checking a cannister of medical supplies.

"Dr. Carlyle? With everything going on, I'd think the ark needs you more than we do."

The doctor clamped the cannister's lid shut and stood, settling the Pathfinder space suit uncomfortably into place. "The Pathfinder wants a medic on hand. And if that is home down there, I'm happy to knock on the door."

A hand latched onto Scott form behind, and he turned to see dad hadn't let him get away that easily. "I heard what happened. Your sister's strong, she'll make it."

Scott forced a smile onto his face and tried to come up with something suitably insane that Sara would have said. "We bet on who's boots would hit the ground first. This isn't how I wanted to win." He just happened to forget to mention he'd been betting on her.

The Pathfinder seemed to approve of the sentiment. "Well, knowing Sara, she'll want to go double or nothing on who climbs the tallest mountain. Don't let it get you down. I need you sharp." Uncharacteristically, he hesitated half a beat. "Your mom would have been proud. Of both of you."

And with as much mushiness as either of them could handle, he pulled away and looked back at the rest of the hangar.

"Okay team, listen up! I chose each of you for the Pathfinder team, not just because you're talented and passionate, but because you're dreamers like me."

Scott snorted quietly. Here we go. If dad heard it, he ignored it.

"We dream of exploring the unknown, of finding the edge of the map, and discovering what lies beyond. When people look back on this, and they will, they'll remember that we didn't give up. That we kept dreaming. That our few first stumbling steps in Andromeda were the beginning of everything they know. We only get one chance to be first, so let's go make history."

He turned and boarded a shuttle, Cora right behind him. Scott waited a second, then turned and stepped onto the second shuttle. Another team member, this one with darker skin and dreadlocks cut just short enough to fit in a helmet, slipped into the seat next to his and started strapping in with a grin. "Been waiting six hundred years for this."

Scott sighed.

After a final check the Kodiaks rumbled to life and lifted into the air while the Pathfinder's voice echoed through communications.

"Ark Hyperion, this is Shuttle One, shifting to manual guidance."

Kirkland's voice followed. "Shuttle Two, following your lead."

Captain Dunn spoke next on an all-bands announcement. "Good luck, Pathfinder team."

The shuttles set into motion, carefully picking their way through the hangar and towards open space and every crew member fitted and sealed their helmets. They were really going to do this.

Scott settled deeper into his chair. Well, there were some benefits to flying commercial, as it were. For one thing, the seats were far more comfortable than on the military models. On top of that, the inside of the Kodiak's gull-wing doors had been fitted with large displays linked directly to the shuttle's exterior sensors to show a startlingly vivid image of the surrounding space. Beyond that, they'd also removed the bulkhead separating the pilot from the rest of the interior, though Scott wasn't quite sure why. Still, it made it easier to hear Fisher muttering into his mic while he flew.

"Turning to vector one-three-five."

"Copy that, we're on point Shuttle Two."

Dreadlocks stared out their 'window' and gasped. "Wow, will you look at that?"

Scott couldn't blame him. The view was incredible. The massive ark ship Hyperion had come to a complete stop, its side enmeshed in some sort of burnt-orange energy field. "Whatever it is, it stopped the Hyperion in its tracks."

It appears to be an unstable mass of dark energy.

Scott shrugged, most of the motion lost in the bulk of his suit. "If you say so, SAM."

The Pathfinder cut in sharply. "Steer clear of that energy field Shuttle Two."

They continued on for some time, skirting well clear of the randomly jutting spears of energy as they made their approach on the planet still blanketed by heavy cloud cover.

Fisher grunted as they started their final approach and the shuttle trembled. "Getting some chop here."

Gravity anomalies detected.

Kirkland, in the co-pilot seat, chimed in. "I'll see if I can even it out."

Greer, opposite Scott, grumbled under his breath. "My stomach would appreciate it."

"Alright, we're clear. Accelerating back to cruising speed."

In an effort to keep from dwelling on exactly how many ways this could all go horribly wrong, Scott looked over at the team member he didn't know. "Hey, not sure if I caught your name."

The man reached out awkwardly through the restraints and shook his gloved hand. "It's Ryder, right? Yeah, we didn't have a chance to meet back in the Milky Way. Name's Liam Kosta, security and response specialist."

"Good to meet you, Liam."

"Yeah…" Liam nodded towards the display. "Hard to believe we're finally doing this."

Scott did his best to smile, hiding his own uncertainty. "I guess it beats reading the brochures."

Fisher cut back in. "Beginning deceleration for planetary insertion. Hang on back there, initiating atmospheric entry."

Scott gripped the restraints tightly as the turbulence kicked into high gear. The display showed fiery clouds of very displeased atmosphere before going completely blank.

Liam grinned. "Here we go!"

Fisher swore, his voice dropping into the inflectionless blank that every fight pilot seemed to use when they were in serious trouble. "Flight guidance is scrambled."

"It'll pass," muttered Kirkland.

"Controls are fighting me."

Adjust approach vector three degrees starboard.

The turbulence cut back a notch and Fisher breathed a sigh of relief, while Scott tried to choke back down the bile that had been rising.

Cora's disciplined voice cut through the chatter. "Shuttle Two, confirm our negative visual readings."

Scott gave himself a mental shake. The pilot's job was flying—his was looking. He took a look at the display as it blinked back on and winced. Lightning crackled across the sky almost constantly, and huge jagged rock formations were everywhere. There was no evidence of plant life or water. He keyed his com. "Copy that, Shuttle One. Visual is negative for golden world."

Kirkland chimed back in, the tension back in his voice. "Ionization levels are spiking."

"Pathfinder to shuttles, stay on course, I am feeding you coordinates to the most likely landing zone."

Fisher swore again as they flew past what looked like a mountain of rock just… just floating in the air, with crackling electricity arcing between major chunks. "Is this the right planet?"

"Cut chatter, team." Alec Ryder's voice cut him off abruptly, and Scott swallowed as he heard his father's command voice. They were in serious trouble.

Fisher spoke up again, his voice awed. "Shuttle One, confirm visual port side of a structure."

"Confirm visual, Shuttle Two," spoke Cora briskly. "Angular structuring and stability despite uneven load distribution indicate advanced engineering."

"Hyperion, this is the Pathfinder. We have confirmed evidence of an alien civilization. Pathfinder Team stick to First Contact protocol. No use of force unless hostile intent is clear."

The shuttle bucked wildly, and sparks cascaded off the display above Scott's head.

"Shit, ionization spiked again."

The turbulence ratcheted up again and all Scott could do was clench his teeth and hold on. Another huge jolt wracked the shuttle and this time the gull-wing door locking mechanism sheered straight through. The door swung open and immediately ripped clean off under immense wind resistance, taking a chunk of the bulkhead with it. Liam's crash chair wobbled, only half attached to the shuttle.

"Ryder!" he screamed, just as the crash chair tore free completely. Liam was launched into the sky, and the chair clipped Scotts on the way out. The shuttle was falling now, forced into a flat spin by its ruined aerodynamics. The skin was pulled back on Scott's face as the lateral G's crashed home, and his crash chair, damaged by the impact from Liam, ripped out with a shriek of metal and he was thrust out into open space.

The small computer in Scott's crash chair remained undamaged, however, and detached the restraints holding him, giving him a chance to use his jump jet to save himself.

He forced himself to breathe and spread his limbs, stabilizing his flight and stopping the spin. His heard felt like it was thumping out of his chest as he frantically waved his arms, adjusting his flight path to avoid huge, crackling boulders in the sky.

Acceleration decreasing to terminal velocity.

"No kidding!"

Your jump jet is malfunctioning.

"Well, fix it!" he gasped, twisting his legs and avoiding instant death by floating mountain by about two meters.

Approaching terminal velocity.

A huge mass of land was swiftly approaching now, maybe even the ground. "Saaaaam!"

The jump jet on his back sputtered to life, firing fitfully, and he abruptly slowed, but not enough. He hit the almost vertical side of a mountain and slid down, completely out of control until he slammed to a halt.

He hurt all over, but a sharp hissing immediately captured his complete attention. "Ah, shit." Several cracks along his faceplate spiderwebbed out from a significant crack, and the suit's oxygen warnings blared. He pulled up the omnitool imbedded in his left arm and triggered the emergency protocols, frantically keying in the command to manufacture suit sealant from the (very) limited supply of materials surgically implanted in his arm. He held the omnitool up to his face and slowly, sloooowly moved it across the crack, spraying the instantly hardening, transparent sealant across the damaged faceplate.

The waring alarms clicked off, and his arms collapsed to his sides. He just lay there for long seconds, breathing hard and trying to decide if the stabbing pain in his side meant broken ribs, or just cracked.

Welcome to Andromeda.