2. Wreckage
There were groans and cries from all around as Alexandria regained consciousness. Light was filtering into the compartment through the windows, two of which had blown inwards, sending a storm of glass shards all over the passengers. In the chair beside her, her mother was still. Panic rising in her chest, she used the first two fingers of her left hand to feel for her mother's pulse on her neck. It was there, strong and steady.
"Mummy," she said, shaking her mother gently. The woman groaned, and brought her fingers to her bleeding temple.
"Alex? Are you hurt?"
"No mummy, but I think lots of other people are," she replied, taking in the sight of bleeding and cut people. One or two were still, their necks twisted at unnatural angles. Her mother unfastened their safety belts, and Alex breathed in deeply. She hadn't realised that the belt had been so tight, that it had been squeezing her lungs and her ribs so firmly. But it had done its job. It had held her in her seat and saved her life.
Not everybody had been so lucky. Outside the pod were bodies lying scattered upon the ground. They were the bodies of people whose safety belts had either failed, or not been fastened properly to begin with. They had been dragged from their seats during the crash, plucked from the compartment by an invisible hand that pulled them out of the pod as it hurtled towards the ground.
Her mother took her by the hand and dragged her towards the nearest open window. The pod was pitched somewhat strangely, so that the right-hand side of the vessel was further down than the left side. They had to fight against gravity to reach the window, and once there, her mother pushed her over the ledge.
"I'm going to start sending people up, and I want you to lead them to a safe distance away from the pod. Some of them might be frightened or hurt, so help them down and away as much as you can. I'll need to find somebody to help me with the people who can't move on their own."
Alex nodded, and her mother's head disappeared from view. From atop the highest point on the pod, she had an excellent view of the land around her, and what she saw did not look promising. There was little but bare rock and sand, with an occasional dried, withered bush clinging tenuously to its hold on the rock surface. Overhead, the sky was a brilliant azure-blue, and twin suns burnt brilliantly. With no cloud-cover, a thin sheen of perspiration quickly formed on Alex's forehead. It was going to be very, very hot here, she realised.
A bleeding woman began the slow clamber onto the top of the pod, and Alex helped her to find her footing and reach a safe place to begin the climb down to the surface. Several more people followed, mostly women and children. With relief, she saw two soldiers exit another part of the pod, carrying between them a stretcher with an injured man lashed to it. Her mother, it seemed, had found her assistants.
"Yes, yes, very good, very good, this way, over here," said a strongly accented Russian voice from below her. Alex blinked in surprise at the tall, middle-aged man who stood there directing the people as they reached the ground. She hadn't even realised that Provost Zakharov was aboard the escape pod. He frightened her, a little. Rumour said that he was the most intelligent man in the world. Some people believed that he knew everything. But down here, as weary as everybody else and bleeding from a gash along his temple, he looked just like any other person there.
The stream of people leaving the pod seemed unending. Most of them were able to exit under their own steam, but a few had to be stretchered out. There were very few people uninjured, Alex noticed. The soldiers, in their protective armour, had fared the best. But even they had not been completely immune. The body of one soldier had been laid out on the sand in the shade of the pod, his neck crushed by something heavy falling from above. When everybody had been accounted for, there were a total of seventy-three survivors, and twenty-four bodies were lain side by side, their eyes closed or unseeing.
"Mom!" somebody cried. Alex noticed a boy, about her age, run to one of the bodies and throw himself down upon it. Nobody tried to pull him away; others were going through the same grieving process.
She looked around for her own mother, and saw her talking to Provost Zakharov as she tended the cut on his head. That seemed a little unfair. Some of these people had broken bones and were bleeding out over the sand, staining it red with blood. Why couldn't the Provost let her mother tend to the more injured people, first? Only two other doctors had survived the crash, and they looked tired and harassed as they administered painkillers to the people screaming in agony.
"Alex." She jumped at the proximity of her mother's voice. She hadn't even seen her approach.
"Yes?" she asked.
"I want you to keep an eye on everybody whilst I start helping a few of these people. If you see anybody who looks to be in real danger or a lot of pain, tell me immediately. Can you do that?"
"Yes," she said with a nod, feeling proud that her mother trusted her with such an important task. Then she noticed that the remaining ten soldiers were making their way back into the escape pod. "What are they doing? Is there somebody left inside there?"
"No, they're salvaging as much as they can from the pod. We're going to need to take as much as we can with us."
"With us? Where are we going?" she asked in confusion.
"We can't stay here, in this desert. We have to find somewhere more hospitable to set up our base camp. We only have enough food and water provisions to last us a few weeks, and I'm going to need clean water to treat some of these people. I have to make a start now. Remember what I said. Keep an eye open for me."
Alex nodded again, and watched her mother head for the first injured person she saw. Fanning her face with her sleeve to cool herself down, Alex settled down in the shade of the crashed pod to watch over the people.
o - o - o - o - o
00
-- Begin recording --
"This is the personal record of Provost Zakharov, Academician and Chief Science Officer of the Unity.
It has been four hours since our escape pod crashed into the surface of Alpha Centauri Alpha Three, which I have designated 'Chiron'. I am aggrieved to report that twenty-four fatalities have occurred during the crash. Chief Medical Officer Mason has given me two pieces of information which I feel I should make note of as a matter of urgency. Firstly, the death toll may yet rise by another five, as we have crew members in critical condition. One of these is my friend and colleague of many years, Doctor Federov. He is a brilliant man, and I only hope that he is not taken from us. Now, more than ever, I am in need of his expertise and guidance.
The second important piece of information is that this entire situation was no mere accident. Dr Mason has informed me that her husband told her somebody sabotaged the Unity, causing its reactor core to go critical and eventually overload, resulting in countless hundreds of deaths. Dr Mason's own husband, Colonel Paul Mason, was onboard the Unity when it exploded. I am told that he died trying to reach Captain Garland. Loyal to his Captain until the end, he died a hero's death, and I will make sure he is remembered for as long as I live. For now, I am without a senior military officer. A fact that I shall have to soon rectify.
Even though the thought of a saboteur fills me with dread, the information at least has the advantage of absolving me of some guilt. Had the Unity's reactor overloaded because of some design flaw or technical malfunction, my own hands would be red with the blood of innocent lives lost. As it is, my conscience is now a little cleaner. Still, I must face the fact that onboard the ship was a saboteur. He, or she, may still be with my group... or perhaps with one of the other groups. That is, if any of them made it down to the planet's surface. If their pods were as damaged as ours by the shockwave, it could be that they perished upon entry.
Speaking of damage... our escape pod has extensive damage to its exterior, but thanks to the exceptional piloting skills of one Lieutenant Casey West, has minimal internal structural damage. Though the pod's thrusters and engines are now entirely destroyed, the main section of the colony pod is still operational. The marines are currently in the process of removing the colony pod from the ruined husk of the escape pod. In addition, they have also discovered a single terraforming unit still intact. The other two have been irreparably damaged, and I have a science team salvaging as much as possible from these damaged units.
The marines have taken stock, and I record here and now what we have, so that future generations may understand how sparsely we are equipped, and how we must overcome this deficiency to survive. We are left with: One colony pod, one terraforming unit, food and water provisions to last several weeks, two cases of medical supplies and one case of medical instruments, one slightly damaged Scout Rover, some personal items of luggage such as individuals' clothes and shoes, a portable radio plus receiver, three hazmat suits, two barrels of fuel for the vehicles, a box of solar cells, a desalination unit, three simple industrial robots, and a complement of seeds from a variety of Earth plants.
As to the planet itself; as far as I can tell, it is of the Class M type, therefore habitable by humans. The area where we have crashed seems reminiscant of parts of Earth. There is nought around but bare rock and sand, with an occasional withered tree clinging tenuously to life. Due to the nature of the planet's binary system, I suspect temperatures may reach anywhere between forty-five and sixty-five degrees celsius during the height of the day, and that nights will last half as long as they do on Earth. Breathing is a little more difficult than it is in Earth's atmosphere, and I put this down to a lower number of photosynthesising plants available to create an oxygen-rich environment.
I have settled on the name 'Chiron', because in Greek mythology, Chiron was the name of a learned Centaur who taught many Greek heroes. Alpha Centauri is the brightest star of the Centaurus constellation, when viewed from Earth.
For now, the marines are indicating that they have found something they wish me to see. I will stop here, lest I begin to waffle. I will end by saying only this; that I will keep a sharp eye open for any sign of this sabateur, for any sign of betrayal. And if I should find any individual guilty of such treasonous actions, they will not live to regret it."
-- End recording --
"Sir! We've found something else," West called. Zakharov closed his portable computer and carried it firmly in his grip to the group of marines who were stood around another crate.
"Well done, Lieutenant," he said as the soldiers began unfastening the locks. "Your performance during this trial has been commendable. I hereby promote you to the rank of Colonel, effective immediately."
"But Sir, I'm a pilot. I haven't been trained for command!"
"Then you shall have to improvise. We must all rise to the challenges given to us, Colonel. With the death of Colonel Mason, you are the highest ranking officer within my group. I have seen that you have considerable talents, and can keep your head during an emergency. The people need to know that their safety is being taken care of, West, and they will look to you for evidence of this."
"I'll try my best, Sir," West saluted.
"Excellent. I don't doubt it. Now, what have you found that you wish me to see?"
"Weapons, Sir. The latest models." The lid of the crate was opened, and he saw guns of different shapes and sizes, enough to equip every marine there twice over.
"It's too bad we don't have more soldiers to carry them," said Zakharov. "Put them inside the colony pod. We'll take them with us."
"I want a gun," said a voice behind him. He turned in surprise to regard the speaker; it was a young girl.
"Alex, no!" said Dr Mason, hurrying over and shaking her daughter by the shoulders, as if that would bring common sense to the child's mind. He gently prised the girl out of her mother's grip, and knelt down in front of her.
"And why do you want a gun?" he asked.
"Because somebody sabotaged the Unity and killed my father. If I find them, I will kill them."
"From the mouths of babes," he remarked to West. "No, child. If I gave you a weapon then I would be no better than that fanatical Miriam woman. Besides, the guns are very heavy, and it takes years of military training before you can safely use one."
"Perhaps she can carry a side-arm, Sir," West suggested.
"What? Are you honestly suggesting that we arm our children?"
"Well, you did make me a Colonel, Sir. The pistols are small and can be carried easily. Who knows what we might run into here, Sir. If we are attacked, by animals or other people, it might be wise to have people to fire guns, even if it's only into the air as a scare-tactic."
"Oh, very well. But a single round only, Colonel. And make sure she knows how to use it."
A second child stepped forward, a boy who had until now been crying over the bodies of his parents. His tear-stained face was determined.
"It looks like we have a second volunteer, Colonel," one of the marines grinned.
"Alex, why are you doing this?" Dr Mason asked, pleading with her daughter one last time.
"It's what Daddy would have wanted, Mum. He would have wanted me to protect you, and all the other families."
"What have we come to, when we give our children weapons?" Mason asked, standing to confront him.
"We have come to desperation. To an unknown planet, with potentially harmful forms of life. Had the children stayed on Earth, they would have been surrounded by a gun-culture, brought into the gang wars and drug wars or terrorist raids that were growing increasingly common. They would have been drafted into the military and sent off to kill other children from other nations. At least here, the choice is theirs, and they have made that choice for a noble cause. Not to kill people, but to defend their loved-ones."
Dr Federov could probably have said it more eloquently, but in the end Dr Mason relented, and allowed a marine to fasten to both children a belt with a holster and pistol. The doctor returned to her patients as the soldier began teaching the children how to care for and use their new weapons.
"Provost!" called one of the scientists as he exited the ruined pod. Zakharov left the children and the marines to whatever it was they needed to do, and mentally called up the name of the man addressing him. Professor Rutworth was a German computer scientist. He had helped to design the Unity's main computer system.
"What is it?"
"The pod's computer was damaged during the crash, Provost. We've downloaded as much as we can, but we've lost a tremendous amount of data."
"What? How is this possible? The computer is protected against damage by the black box."
"I believe that the shockwave caused most of the damage, Provost," said a second scientist, stepping out of the pod. Like he, she was Russian. Her long black hair was tied roughly behind her, and she observed him through her lids as she explained. "An electro-magnetic pulse followed the shockwave, knocking out most of the computer functions. It was a wonder the pilot was able to land us in mostly one piece."
"The Unity's magnetic container must have collapsed and caused the reactor to generate an EMP," Zakharov sighed.
"Not all of the data is lost," Ruthworth continued. "We downloaded a little of it, and yet more of it which is merely corrupted. We can work at restoring the corrupt data over time, but I would recommend we do so only within a protected environment, such as the inside of the colony pod. If this planet gets as hot as I think it will... not to mention potential sand and dust damage..."
"Very well," he sighed. "Once we have the colony pod working you can both work inside it, try to restore as much information as possible. The EMP didn't affect the computers inside the colony pod, the terraformer, or the memory banks of the industrial robots, did it?"
"No," said the woman. He recalled her name: Irena Korolev, a brilliant physicist despite her young age. "They were not active, therefore not affected by the pulse."
"Good. Keep salvaging whatever you can."
The scientists nodded, and returned to the inside of the pod. Zakharov turned to watch Dr Mason working on Dr Federov, and sent a silent wish for his friend to recover. Now, more than ever, he needed the older man's guidance.