The Fourth Planet

By Anthon Wessels

A galactic transporter is carrying a group of creatures from different planets to a remote destination. Along the way the ship runs into energy trouble. To lower its mass some cargo and volunteers are left on an apparently habitable planet in the vicinity. Near the surface of the planet the landing craft is hit by a missile and destroyed. The only two survivors are a historian from earth and a female from some distant planet. By grave coincidence she looks surprisingly much like a human being. And a beautiful one at that. A creature of incredible intelligence and athleticism and irritation, she is everybody's enemy. After some adventures the two of them discover a community of people. People? Another coincidence? The people are often attacked by monstrous beings and the new arrivals try to help them survive. Will they succeed? Many mysteries clear up as the story unfolds. 100,343 words

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthon Wessels
• Release date: Sep 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497712461

Anthon Wessels

Thank you for reading my book. If you want to let me know what you thought of The Fourth Planet I shall be very interested. You can leave a comment at my website so we can discuss your likes and dislikes about the story. There is no registration required -- it is quick and easy to comment there.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

As if out of nowhere, the huge spaceship flashed into existence.

Rich, we’ve come out of warp in the wrong place! We are in sector fifteen in the eleventh galaxy!

Captain Hensley was standing behind the navigation screen.

Emergency procedure of the ship kicked in, Captain, responded helmsman Richard Clark.

Wormhole corruption?

Yes, Captain. From earth the wormhole to Rembrandt seemed clear. It shows now that this wormhole has developed kinks and twists just before our destination. When this registered, the Atlantis ended our warp here in sector fifteen.

I should have foreseen the possibility, sighed Hensley. This wormhole has not been travelled for a year and they tend to corrupt when not used.

The year was twenty-two twenty nine. The inter-galactic transporter Atlantis was on its way to the research station on the planet Rembrandt in the twelfth galaxy. The passengers were teams of skilled professionals. Among others there were scientists and agriculturalists, engineers and technicians. Volunteers who were to relieve the teams that had been on Rembrandt for the previous year.

It is not your fault, Captain, said Susan Berkeley, navigation officer. Hensley was a fine captain and a well-liked man. Old school, who accepted responsibility for everything on the ship. Even the navigation team on earth, she said, who set our route: their equipment cannot always detect kinks or twists in wormholes.

Hensley walked over to her console. What do things look like from here, Susan?

The good-looking brunette, who had just keyed a series of codes into her keyboard, was looking at a changing display on her monitor.

It seems clear to Rembrandt, Captain – via another wormhole. Just a moment... She keyed in another code. Yes, we can make it in a single leap. From here the field is certainly clear.

Mister Wolmsley? asked Hensley, turning to his chief engineer – a small creature from the fourth galaxy.

We might have difficulty, Captain, muttered the engineer’s voice over the translator. He was rapidly running calculations through his computer.

After a second or two he turned his quite-human but leathery face to his captain. Our ship is too heavy, Captain. Because of our sudden and unscheduled departure from hyperspace we did not recover all the energy we had expended getting into it. Even for a single jump, straight to Rembrandt, we do not have enough energy to enter hyper again.

Could we enter if we shed some mass? asked Hensley. Time was of the essence. Travelling through a wormhole takes place without the passage of time, and maintenance of the conditions on the ship was very energy intensive. The more time they spent making decisions the less energy they would have.

Wolmsley was already turning a dial and looked at the display on one of his monitors. We would have to lose almost a quarter of the mass of the Atlantis, Captain.

Captain! came the voice of Doctor George Hunt from behind the spectrometers. The solar system that we almost hit when the ship threw us out of warp, he indicated the large screen behind the navigation panel, the fourth planet in that solar system seems habitable. Spectral lines indicate the constitution of the atmosphere almost identical to that on earth.

Hie eyes dropped to his personal monitor. On the surface of the planet lots of carbon is indicated, he said while he quickly scanned the data. Also iron, salts of potassium and sodium... There will definitely be carbon-based life on that planet. Might even be edible material.

He swivelled his stool to face his captain A human should be able to survive there, Captain. He spread his arms to include the extraterrestrial crewmen among them. Any one of us, in fact.

Hensley turned towards his chief engineer again. We could send down the landing craft, Mister Wolmsley, and all cargo not required for the trip. Also the portable equipment of the research teams, especially that of the engineers and the agriculturalists. Would that lower the mass of the ship sufficiently for us to continue?

It may, Captain, said Wolmsley immediately. He turned and touched instruments on his panel. It may, he repeated, calculating.

After a few seconds he sat back and looked at the results. It will, Captain. If we lose the landing vessel and cargo we can dislodge the entire south-west flank of the ship. Leave it here in orbit, and collect it when we come back to pick up the landing vessel. If we do that then the ship will be light enough to warp to Rembrandt. He turned to his captain. But when we send the landing craft down, who will make up its crew? We do not have people to spare.

A landing vessel is not difficult to steer, Mister Wolmsley. Some of Commander Peck’s men are trained pilots of space fighters. He can send down volunteers. They can also protect the landing vessel while they are down there. After refuelling on Rembrandt we shall come pick them up again.

Hensley turned and glanced at his watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. Susan, he asked his navigation officer. How fast does the planet rotate?

She looked at her monitor. A bit faster than earth, Captain. She adjusted the settings. Once every nineteen hours forty-four minutes.

Jimmy, said Hensley, turning to a very young man in a cleaner’s uniform who was busy in the rear of the control room.

Captain? said the boy formally, standing up. There was evidently something important going on and he was eager to play a part.

Go fetch Professor Smith for us, Jim. It is urgent.

Smith was the chief scientist on board.

Jimmy dropped his cloth right there on the floor and sprinted from the room.

Mister Wolmsley, said Hensley, if we stay here until tonight, will we still have enough energy to warp to Rembrandt?

Yes Captain, said the chief engineer immediately. He had evidently already performed the calculations. So long as we leave before ten thirty-three tomorrow morning.

Susan, said Hensley, can you spot vegetation down there?

Yes, Captain. Strong magnification indicates forests, just like Doctor Hunt predicted.

A fairly forested area will offer the best chance of survival for our volunteers. Try to find a landing spot where the planet’s sunrise will correspond approximately with ours tomorrow. Contact the relevant departments and arrange to have the landing vessel touch down there at six o’clock tomorrow morning.

And the professor, Captain? asked the assistant navigator. You want him to discuss with his people the leaving of their equipment?

Yes, Barry, said Hensley, and with the agriculturalists. I’ll talk to the engineers. They’ll understand. We’ll come back to collect their equipment soon, and take it to Rembrandt. I’m not going to be here for a while so you people take care of things.

Some of the professor’s people might also want to go down, said Hunt. Research is about investigating the unexplored. This is an opportunity many scientists would not want to miss.

*****

Late that afternoon the large room – which they referred to as the lounge – was well-lit when Jeremy Donald opened the door. Round tables with chairs were scattered about. Almost all the tables were occupied, noticed Donald as his eyes slid down the room. All manner of different kinds of creatures.

On that afternoon they were grouped at the tables by species, as was the rule, rather than according to the teams in which they had joined the mission. Even though all wore translators at their belts it was just more fun to socialise with members of your own kind.

The members of the expedition breathed the same air, and all ate the same kind of food. Were accustomed to the same level of gravity, and so on. In expeditions organized by the Universal Confederation of Sentient Life that was the rule. For reasons of cost and convenience.

They all looked remarkably similar, as well, the creatures in the lounge. In the way of having two legs, two arms and the head as high as possible off the ground. Hands with opposing thumbs. It is just the most practical and efficient constitution into which an intelligent land-going animal would develop. Donald had read this somewhere and it kind of made sense.

At a table across the room Donald noticed a familiar face. A fellow from back in his college days. Organic chemist. A quiet, rather introspective man, but any company would do. Any human company.

The door was swinging shut behind him and Donald headed in that direction. He walked with a slight limp.

Jeremy old man! exclaimed a voice from behind him. Where have you been all day?

Donald smiled. It was the voice of James Webster, a young astronomer.

Working, replied Donald as he turned, Believe it or not.

He liked this kid James. A short and thickset young man with a curly bush of pale red hair. Very talkative, but pleasant company.

What work? asked James, Did you volunteer to go down to planet four?

I did, replied Donald. But I was not packing. We had a meeti–

Webster jabbed the thin Donald in his ribs. Come along, he interrupted. There’s an empty table! You can tell me over there. He indicated and started off. Donald was just beginning to follow when a movement to his left caught his attention. The other door into the lounge, off towards his left, was opening and Priscilla, the only Raskateen on the ship, entered the lounge.

As usual, one could swear that the feet under her long legs did not touch the ground. Aloof and superior, as was her reputation, she did not look for company as she floated through the room. Under the unkempt mop of green hair her golden-skinned profile – a profile that would have been perfect in beauty had she been human – turned very little. No more than was necessary to negotiate between the tables. Probably just fetch some unearthly drink, like she had done the previous evening, then head back to her cabin, thought Donald as he turned.

Webster was sitting down on the other side of the next table. Somebody had left a half-full glass of water there. Sitting down Donald noticed that Webster had already pressed the button for service.

The relief teams on board had special privileges and were treated very well. All relief teams except the soldiers.

There were always soldiers stationed on Rembrandt. To protect the researchers during work in the unexplored parts of the planet. To relieve those soldiers there were twenty soldiers on board the Atlantis. Their cabins and quarters were separate however, and located directly behind the control room. Their leader, a Commander Peck, insisted that his men be treated as soldiers and that they do not mix with the civilians. And that they do not have the privileges of the researchers during the trip.

So what could have been so urgent so late during the trip? prodded Webster while Donald sat down. Why the meeting this afternoon?

You don’t want to know replied Donald, and turned to see if a waiter was not perhaps on his way yet.

But I do! insisted Webster. So far the trip has been most uninteresting.

We had a meeting with biology today, Donald complied. Straight through until now.

Oh, no! exclaimed Webster, sitting back in his chair. Not seaweed! No wonder you look like a wreck.

Donald glanced over his shoulder. At the door the mop of green hair was just disappearing from the lounge.

Don’t stress, Jeremy, consoled Webster, who was facing that door and had evidently seen her, apparently she cannot hear very well, the Raskateen.

Oh.

Quite a monster, isn’t she?

She was a bit uncooperative, yes, maybe she had had a difficult morning.

Not just today old friend, Webster leaned forward. Tell me about the meeting. Your confrontation with the Raskateen specifically.

You don’t like her very much it seems.

Webster looked at his old friend over the table. Well he wasn’t old, really, maybe forty-five or so. A fairly good-looking old fellow. Had lost his wife in his early thirties and had devoted himself to his work from that time. Well-liked by most people he was, despite the number of rather eccentric mannerisms he had developed over the years.

I am not the only one, trust me, Jeremy, Webster confided. I speak for all the people who have had dealings with her. She is an insulting and thoroughly abrasive organism.

Donald smiled at his friend’s choice of words.

Webster, catching the reason for the smile, quickly explained: An organism is what a zoologist would call her, and quite rightly so. Just another organism.

Oh yes? Donald was still smiling. The young man, who seemed to be getting more excited by the minute, was helping him relax.

Oh yes indeed! Any physical resemblance she has to human beings is purely coincidental. There is no doubt about that.

I should hope so.

Without doubt, repeated Webster. The planet where she was found has never had any contact with humans.

"Where she was found?"

By a stroke of decidedly bad luck, yes, the place where she was found.

And where would this have been?

Back in the milky way a Moorenian spaceship was travelling through the forty-fourth sector a year and a half ago. Picked up an SOS broadcast out of thin air. Traced it to a forsaken planet and found her there.

Alone?

Webster chuckled. One would think if the other individuals on that planet had had transport available then she would have been alone! But it was reported to have not been so.

Reported by the Moorenians? I have no knowledge of such a report.

That’s because the report was never made public, said Webster. That’s the point! But I’ll get there. After I had had the ill fortune of meeting the Raskateen I went to ask Professor Smith. He’s a family friend of ours. In the past year, he told me, he has read a number of her books, and they had all been translated from Moorenian into English.

Not an easy language, Moorenian.

Webster chuckled. That’s a fact. Anyway, after he himself had met her only a week ago, Smith had contacted the Moorenians. At first they had been reluctant, he said, but eventually he persuaded them to send him information about the discovery of her planet.

The report that had never been published?

That’s right! The Moorenians deny it but they seem, says Smith, to have been hiding the discovery of the planet Raskata. He gestured. To have been hiding it from the rest of the Confederation of Sentient Life.

Why hide it? asked Donald.

Possibly out of fear that some other civilisation would invite or entice her to come work for them.

To their peril.

She is a brilliant student and researcher.

Donald nodded. He could not honestly do otherwise. While you spoke to Professor Smith, he asked, did he tell you anything about this planet Raskata?

He did. Back on earth he even allowed me to read the Moorenian report.

Was it interesting?

The report? Very interesting. Apparently there is only one community of her species on the planet. By the looks of it they number about two-fifty or three hundred. When the Moorenians left the other individuals were contented to remain there; it was only she who wanted to leave.

That is a very small population. Were there not signs of inbreeding?

Definitely not. That was specifically mentioned.

Strange, mused Donald. It is a reasonably advanced community?

According to the report civilised, yes, but not at all advanced. Not even to the extent of motorised machinery.

Not? Then what about this radio signal that you spoke of?

Origin unknown. The signal that the Moorenians had received, a hundred light years away, was a primitive old-fashioned radio signal. Those things travel at the speed of light, you know, so maybe that is why they did not know where it had come from. It had been transmitted a hundred years before the Moorenian spacecraft picked it up and found the planet.

The equipment for sending radio signals would still be there.

Webster shook his head. They looked, there was nothing.

Records, history books?

None of that either. Amazing.

Truly. So she left with the Moorenians?

That’s right. She must have somehow indicated that that was her wish and she left with them. They took her to their research station there in the forty-fourth sector.

She was of course not able to speak Moorenian?

Webster shook his head. Not when they met her. It was impossible that she could have anyway; the Moorenians had never sent any expedition to that planet.

Uh-huh?

Webster smiled. No other civilised community has been to the solar system 504 either. That thing is an animal.

Tell me, said Donald, when this Raskateen was found by the Moorenians, how was she able to communicate with them?

Mostly gestures and so on I presume.

Uh-huh?

But the gestures did not last long. Once at their station she learned to speak Moorenian fluently in a week.

One week?

That’s what they told Smitty. You’ve been with her all day, Jeremy, what do you think?

Jeremy Donald looked at his young friend quietly for a moment. As a matter of fact she probably could master a language in a couple of days.

All right, he said. How did she get on board this mission to Rembrandt?

Professor Smith says she volunteered a week ago, explained Webster. Out of the blue. They were only too happy to accept her.

Happy?

During her seventeen... eighteen months with the Moorenians, Webster explained, she passed a universally acceptable degree in science, then mastered and did a DSc in Genetics. Wrote a number of books on the subject. Professor Smith says she is an expert on evolution.

She does not speak English it would seem. We used translators during our discussions today.

Same with all humans – but only the humans – who have had the ill fortune to talk with her. But that may be a good thing. Her own language is almost revolting as her attitude towards humans. Sort of a gurgling sound.

Her name is not Priscilla?

Not her real name, but it probably sounds close enough to it. Nobody can pronounce her surnames either.

Surnames?

That’s right. Just call her Priscilla, it keeps her happy.

Hmm. The report of the Moorenians, is it here on the ship?

Yes, Professor Smith brought it along but he’s unlikely to let you read it now. He’s anxious to get it on the database but has to correct the format first, he said, and so on.

That shouldn’t take too long.

Yes, he’ll probably have it on the database tonight, the way I know him. But that will not happen until very late. Smitty is a notorious night owl.

So I heard. You were telling me about that planet Raskata.

Very similar to earth. Similar atmosphere and the inhabitants – the Raskateen – drink water and eat carbon-based foods, just like us and the other creatures here on the ship. The only real difference on Raskata is the much bigger size of the planet.

Bigger?

You seem surprised.

I am. On a bigger planet one would expect more populations of organisms like the Raskateen.

According to the report hers was the only one. And, as I said, not a very big population either.

Hmm. Curious...

I suppose so-

And what’s more, interrupted Donald, if the planet is bigger then it will have a higher force of gravity. In my experience the organisms on such planets, especially bipeds like her, are as a rule squat and thick-limbed. In order to better cope with the high gravity.

You are right, mused Webster, that is strange. I mean look at her, and Raskata has a gravity more than three times that of the earth.

Three times?

That’s right.

Amazing.

And it is not the only amazing thing, continued Webster quickly. After having traced the radio signal, the Moorenians had sent down to Raskata a full research team. This I heard from Smitty. Fortunately, like all exploratory ships, theirs had scooters on board – and a good thing too because the Moorenians, like us, would not have been able to move under that force of gravity.

So they could move, urged Donald impatiently. He was immensely interested.

The geologists and biologists reported what I had told you earlier. But there was a sociologist there and also an anthropologist, a Sheila Brown. Do you know her?

Donald nodded. Sharp, that one.

Well, Webster continued, she had unfortunately little to go by. Communication was difficult and there was not a trace of documented history.

Nothing at all?

Nothing at all. She did report, however, as had the sociologist, that they were a well adapted and organised community. Streamlined and error-free.

The intelligence of our Raskateen was the norm there? asked Donald, trying to explain the absence – or necessity – of recorded history.

Could be. And – and this is going to shock you – they are a friendly and welcoming species. Believe it or not.

Friendly and welcoming?

Yeah, hard to believe isn’t it?

I’d say.

"They were also the most gregarious species that Ms Brown and the sociologist had ever come upon. To the extent that nobody there ever did anything alone. Not once was one of them even seen alone, for that matter. Whenever a Raskateen worked, sat down, or whatever, there was always a couple of them doing it together."

Could be that they were afraid of the Moorenians?

Not likely, old friend. Even if the Moorenian research teams had been armed, which they were not, they would have been very clumsy and slow on that planet. Certainly no danger to beings who moved and worked with ease there.

That explains a few things.

And it does, too, continued Webster quickly, evidently not wanting to have his story interrupted. The curious way the Raskateen moves is easily explained when you know these things. Here on the Atlantis the artificial gravity is similar to that on earth. With the strength in her legs she must really have some difficulty keeping her feet on the ground.

Hmm.

Anyway, it gets better, continued Webster. Or worse, depending on your point of view. Another thing noted about their community was a total lack of criminal activity.

Nothing at all? asked a surprised Donald. In all history of developed communities there had always been criminal activity of some sort. Even as he expressed his surprise, however, he was linking that information to the gregarious nature of the Raskateen community.

Nothing at all, replied Webster. No jails, no police force, no even locks on the doors of houses and shops.

It sounds like paradise. Why would this Raskateen have wanted to leave with the Moorenians?

That is not known. Do you want to ask her?

Not really.

The young man took the opportunity to lean forward. Now tell me your story, Jeremy. What happened at the meeting this afternoon?

Wasn’t serious man, just some information that zoologists had requested. Regarding the likely development of a civilization on Rembrandt – if we were to find one.

Advanced forms of life there is not possible, Jeremy. The planet is too young!

According to the Raskateen the age of the planet is not all that important. So we talked about it a bit. That is all that happened.

Don’t bullshit me, Jeremy, you should have seen your condition when you entered the lounge earlier.

Donald looked at the young astronomer. He wasn’t going to get out of this easily.

OK, the worst is that later, lunchtime, just when I thought I could relax a bit, who comes along?

Priscilla.

Exactly. Scared everybody away from the table and then grilled me some more.

Webster sighed. We’ll get you something strong to drink after supper. Why the urgency of the meeting?

The zoologists wanted the information now already. To give them time to prepare, I suppose.

Because you are staying here on the fourth planet?

For a while, yes. The captain said a week.

Webster nodded. Should be about a week. They’ll just refuel on Rembrandt, and do a small service and inspection of the ship. The provisions in the crates in the hold will be more than enough to last you during that time.

Good. You spoke earlier of gravity. This fourth planet has a gravity one and a half times that of the earth, I hear.

It does.

We are going to have a tough time getting about, then. Except for the Raskateen, of course.

What? Is she also going down?

That’s right.

What? The young man’s face turned very serious. There’s not going to be many of you down there, Jeremy, it will be hard to avoid her. You can always tell Captain Hensley you don’t want to go down any more. We can easily keep you on board and still make the jump into hyper.

Donald smiled and drank water from the glass on the table. Thanks for your concern, James, but this planet is too inviting an opportunity.

Like Rembrandt, Jeremy, said Webster, this fourth planet is too young to contain advanced civilisations. Creatures with a history for you to study.

That is true but the trip, and what is discovered down there, has to be recorded in the annals of space history. Always better to do it first hand. He drank the rest of the water. Push that button again. I still have to go pack some stuff tonight.

You what? exclaimed Webster while he pushed the button. We are going into orbit around planet four at the moment. Descent of the landing vessel is tonight, with touchdown at sunrise tomorrow morning!

Calm down, calm down, just my own stuff. Won’t take long.

Webster stared at the man in front of him. Donald was a genius, one of the most respected historians on earth. But he was also one of the most absent-minded men Webster had ever met.

This evening is going to find you in the hold?

Just to pack a few personal items. I’ll get enough sleep, don’t worry.

Webster shook his head, then looked up over Donald’s shoulder. Ah, here at last comes the waiter. No tip for him today.

*****

That ‘evening’ found Jeremy Donald enter the hold of the landing vessel at half past four in the morning with his toiletries bag in his hand. Not that he was aware of what the time was. He had had a lot of reading to do.

First there had been the Raskateen at the meeting with her unnecessary aggression. Her point of view had been logical and well reasoned, but her conclusions had been based on dated information. Not incorrect information, but information that had been made insignificant by observations made on planets more recently visited.

During her interruption of his lunch break he had explained to her the details of the new observations. Calmly, over a cup of coffee. She had drunk something else. The effect of the new observations on the discussion at the meeting earlier. How and why the new observations made her point of view statistically unlikely. During that time she had become quieter and quieter.

Not that she had conceded. She had just got up and left after a while.

Then there had been Webster’s mention of her planet Raskata at supper. And the disturbing, from a researcher’s point of view, absence of its solar system 504 from the records. Donald had gone through all his books in the earlier evening and found nothing. Like he had known he would, as a matter of fact, but he had tried anyway. Then he had properly interrogated the computer database. Sector forty-four, solar system 504, Raskata, Raskateen, green hair and every other relevant search terms he could think all of yielded nothing.

Nothing useful, anyway. Not until around midnight when Professor Smith released the Moorenian report onto the database. That must have been when Donald lost track of the passing of time.

Now, down there in the hold, he was at least aware that it was late and he still had to pack. He glanced around and saw his rucksack with the rest of his team’s stuff. His team were good men and in the rucksack he found everything pre-packed, as he had been told it would be. Good. The toiletries come into the special slot on the side of his rucksack.

When he found the slot there was a hard plastic case inside it already, so he slid it out and opened it. Toiletries.

So there.

He placed the case that he had brought along on the floor and glanced at his watch. What? It was almost five o’clock! According to what Webster had told him they would be approaching the surface of the planet already. The force of gravity of the heavy planet on the ship would by that time be tremendous. The reason he had not noticed it was because the landing vessel’s artificial gravity, in force in when they left the Atlantis in deep space, would by that time have reversed into an anti-gravity action, allowing the ease of movement he was experiencing.

It would not be long, realized Donald, before the other passengers started to get up, so there goes the much-needed nap he had planned on taking before the day’s activities started. He reached for his unnecessary toiletries case on the floor.

CHAPTER 2

Commander! The gravimetric beam isn’t holding!

Major Lewis Harris, helmsman on the landing vessel, turned his head to Commander Peck behind him and then quickly back to the controls. He turned the control knob even further but the needle on the dial above it remained stationary. The vessel was not designed for this gravity! I am losing her!

Peck turned quickly towards power control on his left, Action, Schwartz!

Lieutenant Clyde Schwartz, a small but fearless soldier from the Southern Lands, had overheard the exclamation and was looking at Peck. He quickly turned his dark eyes back to his controls and pushed up a large lever on the panel to his right. Then he threw