The Suns Also Rise

First you think it's a dream, then you want it to be one, and finally you know it's a nightmare. After crawling out of my storage pod, I was in the dream state a lot longer than usual. It's when I sat up and smelled the moldy atmosphere that I realized it's a nightmare and worse, it's real.

My eyes fought to expel the Hiber-Fluid. I could see outlines, shapes, bright colors fighting for recognition. I looked down and started to blink rapidly, not worrying about rubbing my eyes—the meds they put in the fluid wisely prevent that. I fell back on my training for forced exits: slow breaths, head down, blink fast, and stay calm. I'm having a problem with that last part.

My heart started to race as I struggled to see. My sensors beeped and pinged alert noises for the non-existent medical team. I started to feel around. I was sitting on the lip of my life pod, although it was lying at an abrupt angle, but it hadn't moved much. The lid was lying at my feet. I felt the padding inside and realized that I was at the lower end. I scooted on my ass until I was in the middle, reaching inside for the latch that would release my survival bag.

The latch gave with a snap as it opened. My survival bag fell into my hands. "Operator GS-078. You have accessed your survival bag after an event. The Hibernation Fluid is preventing normal eyesight, which will return momentarily. Stay in place unless you are in immediate danger from explosion or other dangers. Your ship's alert system has been activated, authorities are being alerted. Unite with crew members, give aid as needed and follow orders from superiors." The pod's emergency alert gave commands verbally in a female voice we all call Seka, knowing the victim will be visually challenged after being forced out of hibersleep. How considerate.

"Operator GS-078. You have accessed your…" I reached inside and switched off the audible alert. I was surprised that I wasn't coughing up the Hiber-lung fluid until, while feeling around for the switch, I ran my hand through the thick, warm gel-lung fluid covering the top part of my pod. I'd taken a hard hit; the fluid had flushed from my lungs while upside down. That'd hurt later.

The air tasted green. Damp and moldy like a rotten mine shaft before the ventilators are turned on. I started to see some defined images, greens and dancing sunlight.

I tried to recall the alien-botany downloads they gave me years ago: pictures of plants, spores, colors. Most of it's gone, re-formatted to make room for new geo-harvesting protocols on that damn RockSmart TR9000. What's left are fragments: "Bright colors mean danger," "spores can colonize lungs," "do not touch unknown vines." Basic don't-touch-shit stuff. Enough to scare a man but not enough to save him.

Shapes kept shifting in the distance, wind? I felt around the coffin-sized pod. It was sitting on fibrous grass in dirt ground that felt very spongy. It gave slowly and then snapped back like a pissed-off girlfriend who doesn't want to cuddle. It seemed very alive. This planet doesn't want me here.

I remembered my lungs work. "Major Caulderson, medic!" I yelled. It gargled out of me. "Hey, is anyone there? I can't see, sound off!" That sounded better, felt better. Silence. I could hear a light rustling of leaves in wind and I heard a low humming-like noise that came and went. It could be a lifeform in the distance or right next to me ready for brunch.

I reached into the bag and pulled out a cutter. Its hefty weight comforted me. I thumbed the button on. A blue spark kicked it into life. It emitted a low buzz, like a saw, which wasn't too far off. Its slight vibration gave me a sense of safety. I held it out and put my head in my lap, hoping the fluid would drain soon.

It did, being patient paid off. It started to sting which was sharp and quick, causing me to wince. The stinging was a good sign and I rubbed my eyes. A jolt of sunlight actually made me flinch. And like that, I could see.

I took in my surroundings. Yep, I'd crash-landed on what appeared to be an uncharted planet or moon. It was hard to tell which, the overhang of weed-like trees that surrounded me blocked out any view of sky or atmosphere. Speaking of which, the air was breathable… for now.

I could breathe, I could see, and I could think.

The trees moved like weeds—the whole plant moved as a unit, yet still wilted due to the top weight of the red foliage. When looking up at the canopy, it was a dizzying array of transparent reds, purples, blues and light greens. It reminded me of old photoforms of Earth, especially in an area called Vermont in the fall. That's one of four seasons of climate. I struggled to recall even that. My mining downloads fought to make coherence of my situation. I didn't choose to be a mining clone and I shouldn't fight the way I want to process this, so I gave a little. The first rule of mining: ground will kill you quicker than rockfall. I really needed to analyze my immediate surroundings before I went dancing around looking for the crash site.

I stood for the first time and let the dizziness envelope and then dissipate. The ground felt firm, yet there was that spongy tone. Normally I'd be worried about sliding around in this, but that wasn't the case. It held me firm until I lightly bounced, the pissed girlfriend effect kicked in, I popped upwards slightly. Okay, nice and steady, step softly, kind of like with a pissed-off girlfriend.

I saw what looked like a small rock. I squatted to pick it up—it seemed to be fastened to the ground. Upon inspection, it was lying on the ground, not in it, not embedded. I gave it a good tug and it came free. Holding it up, I bounced my wrist light off of its surface. It had a shine that seemed to fade when light was directly on it. I pulled the light away to see it get brighter. It felt like a rock but acted like a light-phobic plant. I didn't think the rocks wanted me here either. Like an idiot, I tossed it. I watched it arc through the air and land about twenty feet away. It made no noise when it hit a patch of dirt. Instead it sent up a cloud of dirt from its impact. The dirt hung in the air for a full minute before it descended in slow motion. Helium sand!

This I knew about. I looked over at my pod, stooped down and hit a large paddle switch that released my emergency helmet. Something I should have done first, even blind, which is why that release switch is so damn large. What was I thinking? I wasn't, which is why all my vital sensors alerted, giving away my rapid heartbeat.

Helium dirt. The last thing I wanted to deal with. On cue, a large roar followed by a sharp assembly of sharp pecks broke the silence to my left. Okay, that's the last thing I want to deal with.

It took me a couple of minutes to go full hazard gear. Soon I had my smart miner boots, my survival suit and belt on, topped with the helmet. I looked like a big orange light bulb. This was my first time dealing with helium sand. I'd heard about it from others and I had seen the photoforms of the Floating Rocks of Apathia. But actually seeing helium sand and surviving, it was a little exciting.

Usually when folks find helium sand they kneel down and wave their hands through. It's really fascinating to watch. It's like walking through clear water with a silty bottom, like a Tannergizer re-vap tank for water reuse, when the silt is disturbed it does that dance before returning to the bottom of the tank. This is just like that except there is no water, no liquid. Just sand performing the same dance. Well, when you kneel down that close, those tiny bits of helium-filled sand go up your nose, into your lungs and kill you about five minutes later. So if I had to look like an old orange flashlight while walking on this mean girlfriend of a planet, then so be it.

It was time to make a plan. I had no idea when night came—the thick triple canopy of tree weeds blocked out most of the light source. I had to find a clearing, or should I trace the trajectory of my pod to see where it came from, maybe leading me to my ship and crew? I should find my crew first, seemed logical, even though the miner program wanted me to play in the sand.

I looked at the ground beneath my pod and stood still. I checked my helmet computer, which didn't indicate a magnetic north. Checking my physical compass on my wrist yielded the same information. Great, just like a mad girlfriend—refuses to talk. So I marked my pod as the north pole for reference and set my helmet's navigation chart. It prompted me for a planet's name for the reference chart. I remembered a temperamental clone tech that I had a quick fling with, Karen. I'll name this planet Karen. It fits.

I entered the name and marked the pod as the North Pole (temporary). The nav system accepted it and started to record and map everything.

The ground gave up the direction of where the pod came from, east. I looked there and didn't see any disturbed foliage, although that may not mean much since the plants around here seemed to move in tiny increments. I had a hunch and looked up and east of the helium sand pit. There in the tree weeds was some broken matter. The trunks of the trees appeared to have been splintered by a high-velocity object, like my pod. That explained why I wasn't dead and why I had clear lungs so early after forced exit. I hit the sand at a high rate and it slowed me down like a large cushion. Talk about dumb luck.

As I started to head east, Seka alerted me to the helium sand pit. Thanks, babe. The more I made my way east, the more of the pod's arc was visible. Lots of splintered trees and roughed-up foliage. I came to a small dip that appeared to be a black water-type liquid pond. My instincts and then Seka told me to go around this. After navigating the death pond, I came across a sight that physically overwhelmed me. I saw, to my front, a forest of trees—not the ambiguous tree weeds meters behind me, but an honest-to-god forest of mega-gigantic trees. Each tree seemed to be at least 50 meters in diameter and they each towered straight up for hundreds more. They all had brown bark, but just inside, yellow fluorescence moved up and down to the rhythm of each tree. I was so blown away I had to sit. There were thousands of these ahead of me, with the yellow light providing just enough luminescence to keep me from labeling it the Dark Forest on my nav chart. As I moved into this forest, I saw that some had split trunks that shot out at 60-degree angles for hundreds of meters, not bending. They defied gravity. I must have bounced off the top of these on my way down. I kept heading east regardless. It took me four hours to navigate the giants. I cataloged many more plants, never seen before, so many I let Seka assign names. I soon came into a large clearing of ankle-high pink grass, swaying hypnotically in the slight breeze. It was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen, and I've held Smooth Lazy Beryl in my hands. I reached down to touch it with my gloves, resisting the urge to take them off. Each blade seemed to move toward my hands and when they made contact they turned an attractive hue of light blue. I slowly returned to my pace and made my way through the grass. I got halfway across when my miner boot sensors alerted me. I was puzzled at first and then I felt the grass start to hold me in place. Looking down I saw, not the blades but a hidden stalk of white grass spring up and grasp at my boots. I picked up the pace but the grass seemed to anticipate me and more reached out. Before long I was in a sea of light blue grass gripping at me. It probably wasn't used to prey as big as me or the sound frequency activation my boots performed to get me out of mud, but the grass failed to hold me, for what, I didn't know. I remembered alien botany 101: if it's colorful, it'll kill you.

At the edge of the Pink Grass of Death I caught my breath and took a drink of water. I happened to look up and saw a slight plume of smoke in the direction of my travel. I would have seen it earlier but the pink grass and all.

An hour later I was at the crash site. Wreckage was everywhere and in small bits. We must've hit at a steep angle. I picked up no life signs anywhere. I looked for the crewpods first—they're more robust than the passengers' and kept in a safe part of the craft. I found what could be that area. I knew that because I saw the remains of human bodies. Ripped apart and mainly in one area. I let Seka chart and identify. I went to where the miner pallets were. Same result. They kept our pods twelve to a pallet, stacked up like a square bundle, easy to move around with the fork loaders. As a clone, you are basically considered cargo, which is why I’ll be surprised if they come looking for us.

I scavenged as best as I could. I retrieved some food pellets, a hydro-maker, and a Hawkins .60 caliber plasma pulse rifle with plenty of ammo. Clones aren't allowed to handle weapons unless we have the Tactical Efforts download, which I do not. But I could figure this out. I used my cutter to cut parts of the craft into hand tools. Some of the airframe was made of Ogeranium, perfect for hammering or chopping.

When I sat down, I experienced my second (or third) moment of amazement. Up overhead were two suns, a binary system. I was stunned. It was then that I really got a sense of how far from home I was. I couldn't recall any binary systems on our charts at this end of the Pegasus Galaxy. Seka was no help.

I also noticed that both of those orange balls were setting low in the horizon. Night was approaching. I finally took off my helmet and took in Karen's atmosphere. It was quite pleasant—almost had a jasmine element to it. I gave up worrying if that was good or bad. I was tired but didn't want to sleep in the open or in this cemetery. I saw, south of me, some cliffs of some sort. I made my way there just as the suns set.

As I approached what I thought was a rocky outcropping, it turned out to be a rocky lip to a vast valley on the other side. There were green weeds that flanked the outcrop. I saw a dark indentation in the lower formation.

The ground sloped under me until the weeds thinned out and the dirt turned dark. Still, when the air behind me filled with that low humming again, I picked up my pace. Better a hole in the ground than open season at the crash site.

The opening was easy to miss, just a crease where the hillside had folded. I ran my glove along it. Cold air breathed out, damp and steady. I grinned despite myself. That's a miner's welcome. Holes don't lie.

I ducked inside, Hawkins first. The walls sparkled when the beam passed over them—veins of crystal shot through black stone. My boots crunched on loose grit that glowed faintly under pressure. The place hummed back at me, not like the forest, but like rock singing under stress. To me, that was home.

Further in, the air evened out—still damp, but cleaner, steadier. I touched the wall. This wasn't some empty pocket. This was a loaded seam, waiting for the right hands. For my hands.

For the first time since waking, my lungs didn't feel like they were closing. My training whispered: set a camp, mark your exit, run your scans. My gut whispered something else: don't leave.

I dropped my bag on a flat ledge near a drip of water trickling down the wall. Clear, steady, cold. I sampled it and Seka gave a thumbs up. I filled my flask. The light's glow showed chambers branching deeper, wide enough for trucks, next time.

I sat there a minute, helmet off, breathing the cave's breath. This wasn't just shelter. This was the kind of find they built me for. A miner's paradise. My paradise.