Sand Fall: The Complete Trilogy: Sand Fall

By Neil Mosspark

Something has gone terribly wrong in transit. 

Pioneers looking for a new start were selected to escape a dying earth, and travel to a far off colony in cryogenic sleep, but something has gone wrong.

After the crash landing on a remote planet nearly kills the crew, Adam the pilot must work to save the survivors, among them Tricia the only woman he has ever cared for. Searching the sand-covered planet, it becomes clear that they are far from safe.

If the burning sun, scouring storms or violent inhabitants hunting them does not finish the dwindling group, the luring call of an unknown voice promises them safety. With each step mysterious forces follow at the periphery urging their demise.

The true danger may be their own human nature as supplies dwindle, and exhaustion sets in. 

Will they overcome their baser instincts and survive ... or succumb to them and perish?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Neil Mosspark
• Release date: Apr 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386515036

Neil Mosspark

I was born in British Columbia, Canada and grew up in the rockies before traveling to see the world. I’ve been writing Science Fiction and Fantasy for more than a decade, but only recently have decided to share my work through eBooks. Currently I have a backlog of novels that I am editing and publishing on various platforms. I write the type of Science Fiction and Fantasy that I enjoy reading. Most of my work takes place in the same ‘universe’ with subtle crossovers that allow fans of my work to pick up on the nuances, while new readers don’t have to play catch up. Please feel free to leave a review, I always love hearing from readers. If you want to chat, you can find me on twitter @NeilMosspark or email [e-mail].   Thanks for reading!

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Blaring alarms echoed within the foggy emptiness of Adam Hill’s skull. They resonated all the way to the back of his brain, where his thoughts sought to remain dormant. The sound was so far away. He pried open his eyes and focused on the world outside. Where was he?

A sharp pain erupted in his left forearm, but in the lethargic soup he was mentally wading through it didn’t seem to matter much. By the time he turned to locate the source of the pain, reality had rocketed into harsh focus.

The distant sound became a banshee wail. His heart began hammering against his chest wall; blood flushed to his face, warming him as though he were on fire. Inside the upright glass and metal coffin where he lay, the world began to vibrate and shake.

Adam began to feel concerned as the fog of sleep fully dissipated. He blinked away the cryosleep and rubbed his eyes before searching for the internal screen. The initial numbers and graphs seemed meaningless as they continuously flickered from power surges. He tried to make sense of the chaos and the alarms ringing beyond the glass barrier, which was only a short distance from his face.

According to the screen, there had been some sort of failure: a Code 2.

Code 2? What’s a Code 2? His mind scraped at the checklists he had memorized long ago. Shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, he attempted to dredge them up. They had seemed so unimportant back then.

What was a Code 2?

Frustrated, he realized he couldn’t deal with it in here. He took a few deep controlled breaths in an attempt to fight against the adrenaline-induced anxiety. He pushed the feeling deep down into his gut and, with a shaking hand, reached for the release of the cryogenic chamber lid.

The door slid up and away, allowing the cold, dry air of the ship to wash over him. The emergency klaxon now wailed at full volume, assaulting his ears. He shivered as goose bumps rose on his naked skin. The heaters had not been activated yet. It was obvious to him that something had gone very wrong only moments ago.

Across the aisle his co-pilot, Amanda King, also stood naked behind the glass of her own identical cryotube set in the semi-reclined position. She was a robust woman of average height. Although she was stockier than most women, she usually carried herself with an athletic grace that only now seemed lacking. Her eyes lolled around stupidly until she noticed him. As she shook her head, he could see the preprogramed stimulant activate, causing her motions to slowly become more oriented and controlled. Upon seeing Adam, she opened her cryotube as well.

Amanda! What’s going on? he barked, releasing the harness from his naked form and stepping onto the floor below. As the sole of his foot came in contact with the cold metal grating he could feel it vibrating. The entire ship was shaking like a washing machine cleaning a brick on spin cycle.

Something is seriously wrong, he thought. He struggled to hear Amanda’s voice above the sound of the alarms.

It’s a Code 2, she replied, releasing her harness immodestly and stepping down to the floor next to him.

I know, but what does that mean? He traipsed towards the front of the ship. He could see the cockpit from where he stood. There would be answers once he reached the controls.

Pressure suit first! She grabbed his arm and pointed to the storage compartment next to the pod. There were extras in the back, but this one was designed for him. Complete with a custom medical pack, it was ready to administer drugs or repair damage. Each had been calibrated long ago by those who had sent them on this task.

Right...right... What’s a Code 2? I can’t remember; my head’s all funny. He unlatched the compartment cover and dragged out the folded suit. His hands were shaking, and he swore under his breath as he opened and closed his fingers. The movement seemed to help dispel the tightness in the joints. His fine motor skills, however, had gone out the window.

I feel drugged up too, Amanda said. Must be the cryosleep. I think we got dosed with something to instantly wake us up. It’s going to be a hard comedown later.... She stepped into the legs of her own suit and began zipping it up. Umm... Code 2. I think that means we are way off course. It’s related to the quantum drive. I remember something about calculation issues. Yeah! It’s a miscalculation of the slip drive! We’ve dropped out.

Adam finished pulling his suit over his hips and thrust his arms through the sleeves into the soft gloves. His hands found the fastener and zipped it up. Makes sense. Might account for why we’re shaking so much., He took a deep breath and turned the suit on. He could feel it adjust to the shape of his body and begin to warm. The change in the size of the suit from the time he had previously worn it indicated he had lost mass. Was he in fact smaller now?

How long have we been sleeping? he laughed, running his hands over the constricted material of his abdomen. He paused only for a moment before resuming his journey toward the cockpit.

Amanda, too, chuckled as she turned on her suit and felt it constrict to her own now significantly smaller size.

We should fly cryo more often! She laughed out loud and proceeded to follow Adam. They stepped carefully, each of them keeping a hand on the surrounding bulkhead as they progressed. The shaking was beginning to increase. They managed to enter the cockpit together.

Find out where we are, he ordered as he slid into the pilot’s seat on the left. His hands danced across the controls in a practiced pattern as he performed the power-up checklist. As the monitors rippled to life, he toggled the blast shields covering the windows to open. A ribbon of bright light burned into the room, expanding as the shields retracted.

No! No! That’s not good, she stated quietly as she worked her way through the process.

He calmly continued to work his way through his own emergency checklist; panicking now would only exacerbate their situation. Keep a cool head, Amanda. We just have to get the ship back on track. We are probably just out of the envelope, and can—

A horrendous bang occurred, and the console lights flickered for a second before going out. The hum of the cooling fans quelled, the console lights dimmed, and even the soft background noise of the life support came to a complete stop. Save for the roaring and shaking of the ship, and a growing howl, there was a deadly silence from the internal systems.

Dammit! she said with panic in her voice. We’ve lost power; it’s probably the power surges. She strapped herself into the seat before continuing her tasks.

Once belted into place, she reached up and opened a panel above her head and yanked hard on the interior lever. The thick handle moved slightly and then hesitated for a moment before becoming immobile. Adam reached up, placed his hand on the lever next to hers, and they pulled together. The resistance disappeared, and the handle completed its arc, closing the circuit.

Lights flared back into existence, and the cool breeze offered by the life support returned.

Both sighed for a second, looking at each other. Adam was the first to look away.

That was the core, wasn’t it? he said.

She nodded. Yup. Sure was. Now we’re screwed—royally, totally, completely screwed. Her voice was surreal—calm and resolute.

In your next review... he said as he reached up to toggle the autopilot off, ...I’m going to have to dock you points on your ‘flight deck professionalism.’

She laughed. You get our asses out of this, and I’ll bring the beer at the next ‘review.’

His shaky hands wrapped around the control yoke. Sounds like a deal to me.

Adam’s hands flitted across the console, shunting the remaining power to the control systems. Let’s see where we are. Open the main blast shield. The forward cameras are down.

Amanda reached above her and toggled the system controlling the shield. The hydraulics groaned as the thick composite slab protecting the forward windows of the ship began to slide backwards.

An orange glow flickered and grew into a blazing wave of fire dancing across the glass at high speed. Adam knew that the autopilot was not capable of dealing with a re-entry.

Switching to manual control in three, two, one— His hand wrapped around the control stick and eased it back.

Adam compensated for the off-kilter approach, shifting the mass of the ship with subtle changes as he pulled back and rolled, instructing the ship to alter its course. The tons of metal behind them groaned and shuddered before finally calming.

How much power do we have left? Adam asked as he checked their altitude. The mechanism was notoriously incorrect on these ships. They were designed for space travel and had minimal re-entry capability. It was a design afterthought for emergencies. Now, in their time of need, he hoped it would be accurate.

That power outage was definitely the core, she stated. It’s been ejected. We’re only running on what’s left in the plasma coils—eight percent and falling fast. There might be a leak somewhere too. Maybe we’ve got a damaged engine.

Could be anything at this point, he said as he adjusted the controls again.

The orange glow began to fade until it flickered out completely and was replaced by an orange sky. Adam was disappointed; he had hoped to see stars rather than atmosphere. At least there wasn’t as much shaking, he thought to himself. We’ve got a few kilometers of altitude left. I’ve fixed our approach angle. We’re not going to break atmosphere, but we might be able to land.

Amanda concerned herself with the readings. We’re still coming in too fast.

We’re in the atmosphere now; give me aero brakes. Let’s see if we can take advantage of this thinner air up here. I don’t want to lose any more of the ship than we already have.

Amanda reached forward against her harness to execute the order. They could feel the ship shudder as it slowed. Panels on the exterior of the ship opened, pushing against the air that was flowing past. Hydraulics groaned as they forced their way up against the roaring pressure.

We’ve got the shake back again, he stated. Controls seem sluggish. There’s some starboard drag; we’ve got a bit of a funny—

There was another bang and the ship dropped suddenly, like a puppet with its strings cut. They both could feel their stomachs rise into their throats.

Amanda pressed her right hand against the wall while her left hand gripped the chair, What now? Her eyes read over the ship’s damage reports.

There was a long silence.

What? What is it? he asked. 

Uh . . . I think we lost the hull pressure on the starboard side . . . a huge section of it is gone and were bleeding fuel. We’re down to two percent.

He considered this for a moment. We don’t have enough to land.

Parachutes? she stated skeptically.

Yeah, fire them off; let’s get some drag to slow us.

She reached for the controls above her, unlocked the panel, and pressed down hard on the double buttons. There was a pause. The ship jerked for a second and then continued its rattling fall.

She looked at him. They tore away. Her voice began to rise with concern.

There was a long pause as they mentally scrambled for options.

Could we shunt juice from the cargo? she asked hesitantly.

He contemplated the thought for a second and then thought about what they were carrying.

The thirty-six people in cryochambers were all sleeping through this quietly and calmly. They were expecting to wake on a new planet, ready to begin a new life.

His chest felt tight as he realized Tricia was back there too.

They had grown close during the last few months they had spent together training for departure. Adam tried to recall if he had ever felt like that about anyone. He had expected it to end before the launch, but it didn’t. She had asked him to come with her, to make it a one-way trip. He never told her his answer.

A choking feeling of sorrow welled up in him. Adam had gotten her on this trip, but now he wished he hadn’t. He didn’t want her to be hurt.

The only blessing would be that she would be saved the horror of being aware of their dire circumstance.

What about stealing some power from the life rafts? Amanda said solemnly.

He shook his head. No . . . we can’t do that to them. I’m not going to risk everyone’s life. Adam scrutinized the readings on the console.

We could eject them, though. The pods are self-contained. They’re programmed to land on their own if ejected. The ship was laid out for that.

Once we drop the sections, we lose any power we are siphoning. There’s not going to be a lot left for us, she stated grimly. The worry in her voice was evident.

I think it would be best if you move to the rear, he said as he turned to look at her. I’ve got this . . . The look on his face was calm and understanding. Someone had to remain to fly the ship.

They both knew that whatever happened next was inevitable. Her hand drifted silently to her harness, fingering the latch contemplatively. He could see her hardened face welling up with tears as she was caught in the moral decision he had already made.

You need my help? she asked, her hand lingering on the buckle. She didn’t want to abandon him.

I have this, he laughed, trying to convey reassurance that it was all right to leave. It’s not my first crash.

She blinked, taking her hand away from the harness to wipe her eyes. No...no...I’m staying. You need my help. Her voice was calm and resolved.

He nodded, smiling softly. Amanda was an excellent co-pilot. During the last five years of working together, he had never seen her flustered more than now, and she knew the consequences. He was more impressed by her now than ever before.

Unlocking bolts! she stated, forcing the strength back into her voice as she reached up to arm the system. Systems isolated!

He fought with the controls as the ship listed hard. Five-second intervals. We don’t need them bouncing off each other as they . . . he was going to say ‘fall’ but caught himself. He couldn’t bring himself to think of the life raft ‘falling’ with Tricia in it.

Dropping Habitat section in four, three, two, one, drop! Amanda depressed the release controls. The ship jostled again, and Adam could feel the change in the length of the ship. The sluggish controls had become slightly crisper.

He struggled to remember which section she had been placed in. It had seemed inconsequential at the time, and only important enough to know she was on board. She would be dropped away from the ship, out of his care, and into the automated control.

Tricia, he whispered under his breath. His stomach knotted up, knowing what was about to happen.

Dropping Raft Alpha in four, three, two, one, drop! Again the ship jumped, rolling a little this time as the aerodynamics changed.

He pulled the ship back in line and began the process of looking for a landing. No. At this point he needed to call it what it was: a crash site. This was not going to be clean. There would be no fuel left to lower them to the ground calmly.

Raft Bravo in four, three, two, one, drop! The controls snapped back, pressing firmly against Adam’s leg. He compensated hard as he felt the weight change. They were drifting sideways now. The danger of a spin was evident.

Do you want me to hold off till you correct? Amanda asked.

I can’t . . . Just do it! He was gritting his teeth now, waiting for the last raft to drop before he used up the remaining fuel.

Last one! Charlie in four, three, two, one, drop! The sound of tearing metal rippled through the ship, and the cockpit swung hard as the final two pieces separated. The exterior of the ship evaporated into hardened ribbons of lightweight metal.

Adam moved to the next item on the checklist. Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! Flight one-eight-one-nine-echo out of Earth Port Rio, heading to Proxima, experiencing technical difficulties slip light drive malfunction. We are off course and are caught in the gravitational pull of a planet. Location unknown. Have jettisoned life rafts and rear habitat. Current mission status is failure, repeat: mission failure. He paused for a moment, realizing that this would be recorded on the telemetry. I’m sorry, Tricia . . .

New alarms blared as the controls became weak and ineffective. A moment later the console dimmed down, and the equipment went dead. The feeling that they were entombed in a falling metal box was overwhelming. Outside, the wind charged past the skin of the dropping cockpit.

Mentally shifting back to their current situation, Adam tightened his harness. I wish we had power left, he said.

I wish there were ejection seats and a flying pony, Amanda stated calmly. Zero power. Nothing left.

His hand was still on the controls as they flailed limply with the vibration of the ship. It was more to keep the control stick from banging against his inner thighs than an attempt to fly the falling, twisted wreckage. They sat there for what seemed like forever, bracing themselves against their harnesses, listening to the howl of the wind.

The horizon dipped as the arc shallowed and the nose dipped downward. Both pilot and co-pilot wracked their brains as to how to fly the dead block of metal which was now falling. Inevitably, the silent conclusion was agreed upon.

I’ll try to manually vent the forward stabilizers before impact. They are designed for zero gravity, but they might slow us down a little. Adam shrugged. It’s been good working with you, Amanda, he stated calmly, his eyes fixed on the distant rock formation they were falling towards.

It’s been a pleasure working with you too, she said, her voice filled with emotion. Disappointed I’m not gonna see my kids again. She reached across the small space between the seats and touched his arm. He gently patted her hand in response.

With his left hand, Adam pulled his face shield over his head, creating another layer of insulation from what would happen next. His free hand braced against the handle of the manual release, his fingers tightly wrapping themselves around the metal handle.

Sorry it ended like this, Tricia, he whispered quietly. He knew his inevitable fate and was saddened he would never see her again. She would always wonder what had happened in those last few minutes he was now experiencing.

It was a purely selfish feeling that filled him now; all he wanted was one more minute with her. Closing his eyes, he remembered what it was like to hold her; her soft skin against his, the smell of her hair. There was an overwhelming sense of loss filling his stomach.

He gauged the distance and pulled the handle to vent the remaining pressure forward. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he felt their speed diminish for a few seconds before resuming.

Amanda squeezed his gloved hand hard enough that his eyes opened in time to see the ground appear feet away from the ship’s nose.

The weight of the ship slammed into the rock face, compressing as it scattered metal and debris in a corona of red dust. The bulk finally came to a complete stop and settled against the rock, never to move again.

CHAPTER 2

The main body of the ship had abandoned Life Raft Bravo. It had been released into the atmosphere faster than the speed of sound, well beyond the anticipated range of its design. The square cube was hardly aerodynamic.

Something had gone wrong. Internal computers whirred to life and began calculating the trajectory as the raft fell. It did not know why it had been initialized, but the hard connection between itself and the rest of the ship had been cut.

The system began double-checking the sensors to confirm the fall through the atmosphere. It became aware that other segments of the ship had already been ejected as well, creating additional large pieces of falling debris. As the system located the exact positions of the remaining portions, it calculated that each of them was on a different trajectory, and would effectively avoid colliding in midair or landing on each other once they reached the planet’s surface.

Hydraulics opened control surfaces on the life raft’s exterior to catch air and direct its descent.

There was a groan and a bang as wind resistance tore away an air brake from the body of the box-like craft. Although the machine could not hear it, it understood that some failure had occurred. Though the arc of the craft had not changed, it was beginning to spin dangerously out of control like a top.

Emergency contacts clattered into place to alter the pattern of panels on the outer hull. The timing of the impact with the ground had already been calculated, along with the non-survivable speed of descent.

Small thrusters fired at precise moments as it spun, slowing the raft’s rotation into something more manageable. Its mathematical unit fought to keep time with the changing situation, calculating and recalculating, making adjustments every hundredth of a second.

The system determined a course of action to clinically sacrifice a portion of the cargo, allowing the rest a chance to survive. Explosive latches fired in the underbelly of the raft, exposing a tubular container. The machine waited for the spiral rotation to reach an appropriate position, then fired the heavy mass of the cargo out of the escape tube. The effect was instantaneous; perfect timing had completely stopped the roll. Thrusters fired again almost immediately and the body of the vessel stabilized.

The thrusters continued to fire and correct, burning the limited energy resources from the core. There were only a few minutes remaining until impact. The computer assessed the vector and the constantly changing crosswinds as the vessel plummeted through the thin atmosphere.

While the system continued to efficiently manage the numerous small retro-rockets, it had already determined how much thrust would be needed to maintain a landing that would keep ninety percent of the cryogenic pods intact. A loss of ten to twenty percent was tolerable. It calculated that the impact would occur in the fore section on the starboard side of the container.

Life Raft Bravo was the size of a small house, and its computer system knew damage to that corner would leave it unstable. After identifying the location of the team leader inside, it determined the most effective damage point.

Adjusting the airflow over its surfaces, it auto-rotated the vessel ninety degrees clockwise, compensating statistically for the survivability of the leader. With the damage already inflicted, the landing party would have a forty percent survival rate, even with the habitation module intact.

Any additional loss of human life would leave the final surviving party members at one hundred percent failure.

It again altered the course, determining that a lower pocket of air pressure would change the calculations for the rate of descent. It drove the boosters to beyond their capacity, with the understanding that this would be the final moments of their functioning. Molten slag was already pouring off their control tips as the shell melted away.

Exterior panels on the hull opened to create friction. Turbulence forced the contents of the cargo container to shake and rattle. Internal doors and bulkheads failed and exploded their contents, belching them out the open exterior door.

Identification of a mass change altered the calculations. The machine double-checked the arc to insure it had not been offset. There had not been enough of a weight change to merit more fuel usage.

The mathematics moved again to the team’s survivability and updated the figures. The loss of thirty-three percent of the humans on board, while ordinarily considered unacceptable, would increase the post landing integrity by one hundred percent. The machine made the decision clinically and without remorse, but it understood the importance of its cargo. The cold device initiated the final stages of its plan to increase the survivability advantage.

A single chamber in the cargo container hissed as pneumatics began changing the pressure and composition of the complex gasses inside. The technology had begun the procedure of resurrecting a crew member. There would be damage, and a human—the female doctor with emergency medical training—would have to correct that after the impact. She would be able to assist initially with waking and triaging the crew members as they woke—processes that were beyond the scope of the service and care the machine could provide.

The ground was racing up towards the pod, and sensors chattered to the central control unit as it detected a change in the surface. It was not as flat as anticipated. It was attempting to time the opening of the pod with the waking of the doctor. But the sensory overload had caught up with it. It had not noticed one of the thrusters fail underneath. A microsecond later the other failed, melting away. The impact was one thousand Newton’s harder than expected, kinetically converting the sand dune into ejecta of high-velocity silica and metal. Bulkheads bent slightly, rupturing a coolant line, spilling the inert but precious liquefied gas through the floor of the container. Immediately, even before the inertia rocked the container back from its impact, the wake procedure was initiated as instructed by the pilot.

Secondary automated systems came online. The container was a self-sufficient system designed to become a repurposed shelter for the people contained within. The pressure drop in the coolant line showed that at least one of the six damaged pods would not survive waking.

The main computer noted the job assignments of each of the individuals: an untrained child, a farmer, a mechanic, a priest, a school teacher, and a soldier. Noting that there was damage, the remaining coolant was shunted to the mechanic’s pod to save his life. The mechanical engineer would be important to assist with repairs. The machine coolly monitored the slowly decreasing life signs of the dying humans, signaling the alarms to the other humans as they woke . . . but organic creatures were slower than machines. The doctor was awakening too slowly. She probably had not understood that there was an accident. The machine intravenously administered the maximum dose of stimulant to jump start her. Immediately her vitals spiked with the fight-or-flight response.

Tricia Young’s lungs filled with oxygen as the tube connected to her insides was extracted through her throat. Slowly her heart rate picked up from what was otherwise a complete stop. Chemicals forced their way into her blood to counteract the sedative effects from years of stasis. She coughed in spasms despite the deep sleep. She had not felt the strong vibration of the cargo container as it fell, but now the drugs were beginning to take hold, warming her tissues, and re-starting her metabolism. Even from behind her closed eyes, the red warning lights and alarms were causing nightmares and anxiety. 

Tricia’s heart pounded, her eyes exploded open as her pupils dilated. She took a gasping breath and pressed her hands on the inside cover of the pod.

The red lights continued flashing, the alarms were still going off, and her pod itself sat at an awkward forty-five-degree angle. Something was wrong. Really wrong. Why were they not being woken by a medical crew? Breathing deeply, she attempted to shove the panic deep down inside her. It was the epinephrine. It had been administered by the stasis system. Standard procedure to wake on emergencies.

Her hands shook as she attempted to unlatch her harness. Fingers barely responded to the requests of the brain. After the belts finally released their hold on her, she hit the emergency OPEN on the metal lid and heard it hiss as it broke the seal, retracting upwards to clear her way.

Tricia, naked, stumbled out of her cold pod and felt the wave of dry heat envelop her. Soft feet touched the warm metal floor. It should be cool, she thought. They should be docked with the ship Midway. It had been sent years ago with tons of terraforming supplies and equipment. There should be the familiar cold hum of the ship. Instead, there was a windy noise. And sand? There was sand everywhere!

Where is everyone? she mumbled out loud. Her soft voice carried the unusually harsh and sore feeling of her throat. The movement of air in her irritated windpipe induced a fit of coughing.

She walked past rows of the cryosleep chambers and noticed one was missing. Her mind scraped at why it was gone. Ejected? Why would that happen?

She wracked her brain. Cobwebs of sleep mired the doctor’s clarity as she leaned back against the edge of her own open pod.

The empty spot had held another female she had recognized—a zoologist and veterinarian. Why was her pod gone? Tricia recalled how similar the two of them had seemed upon first entering the pods. Why did the ship eject that woman and not herself?

Alarms raged on, disinterested in her personal discomfort or confusion. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and looked down the hallway of the pod, surveying her situation. She was the only one awake. They should be on a station, making preparations for landing. The expected situation was not developing. There should be at least two people waking them up, helping them out of the pods.

Hello? she said again, her voice a little clearer. She coughed after speaking, but it felt good to move her lungs again after such a long sleep. The only reply was her echo.

She realized that they were planet side, according to the tilt of the floor. Sand was pouring into an exposed corner, blasted by heated air. Was there a fire outside? They must have crashed. How long would the rescue take?

One of the pods was blinking red, and her mental alarms started activating. Tricia now understood the reason for her abrupt awakening as she rushed over to the pod. The subfloor had liquid nitrogen pooling in it. Her naked feet stuck to the metal grating before she even felt the cold seep in. She retracted immediately, thinking of how liquid nitrogen burned more than froze. Exposed tissue would be frostbitten in microseconds.

Hopping from foot to foot, she paced back to her pod quickly and reached under the coffin-like structure to open a clothing locker. After extracting a bag containing some clothes, including a pair of gray shoes and socks, she decided to get dressed before returning to the pods. She could do no good for anyone if she started freezing her feet to the floor.

As she pulled open the plastic bag, she realized how completely naked she was. Normally she would have been extremely sensitive about her body. But the few extra curves she once had had been digested away over the duration of the trip, leaving her looking very lean.

She slid on the gray garments, matching top to bottom. The clothes were basic, cheaply made. Similar to nursing scrubs, with no intrinsic value other than to preserve dignity.

She instinctively raised her palms to her temples and pulled her long black hair up, fixing it with the elastic that had held the plastic bag shut.

Two of the four pods were still powered, but the nearest was failing. She quickly peeked through the glass, shocked at how young the teenager inside was. She guessed that the girl was only fifteen, maybe sixteen years old.

While most of the planned population would consist of older pioneers and scientists, it had been mandated that there be a smattering of adolescents to allow continuity and age variation in the new colony. The majority of adults had been sent ahead in order to establish a stable starting point on the new planet, after which their children follow later. The sight of fading innocence involved with this trip was still concerning. Pulling away from her maternal instinct, Tricia surveyed the rest of her flock.

Luckily the power was still on, and she entered the emergency code to open the girl’s pod. The heavy metal cover retracted. After few moments of fumbling with the latches and tubes, the doctor had freed the young woman from the coffin. The small breaths and immediate shivering indicated near-hypothermic body temperatures. Her body would need to warm slowly to avoid shock to the heart and brain. Tricia dragged her away from the nitrogen to the far end and rolled her almost prone, keeping her airway open in case the girl vomited.

They would have to get out of here soon, she thought to herself. The evaporating nitrogen was displacing the oxygen in the air. It was not poisonous, but it could possibly cause everyone to pass out due to lack of oxygen.

Turning her attention to the next pod, she could see the man inside; his heart had stopped. She opened the vitals screen. Her head was pounding, and her hands shook violently as she realized suddenly how unprepared she was.

Pulling out the armature that suspended the touch screen, she initiated the resuscitation sequence with a few taps of her fingers. Inside a mechanism began the invasive procedure of breathing for him while an electrical charge was passed through his heart to reset its rhythm. She checked the log and noted that the heart had not been beating properly for well over a minute. For a moment it fluttered in an incorrect rhythm; it was unstable but functioning. There was a high-pitched whine as the instrument charged again, followed by a thud as the man jerked in his pod like a puppet being tugged on by his master. No change.

She altered his care by adding medications to affect his rhythm and charged the defibrillator again to a higher setting. Current passed through the meat of his body, arching him harder against the sleep harness.

The screen hesitated for a moment, and the alarm on the chamber stopped, altering its overhead light from red to yellow. She sighed, noting that the man’s heart had been shifted back to normal sinus rhythm.

The doctor walked away from the machine, leaving it to monitor the older man as she attempted to open the next chamber. The lights on the panel were out, indicating there was no power. She looked sadly at the small boy inside for a moment, hoping there was some indication of life. But without power, the equipment had never performed the wake sequence. It had never compensated for the loss of life support. At least the young boy had passed quietly in his sleep, blissfully unaware of the violent reason for his end.

Moving clinically now, she noted that the next pod was fine and operating normally, but the third was darkened as well. It appeared that the system had shunted the power and coolant to the still-functioning pods. She tried the code again and again on the two dark pods, but to no avail. She contemplated finding something to pry the pods open with but, in the end, knew she had two other patients that needed her care and others that needed waking before power ran out, sealing their collective fates.

It was now a race against the dropping voltage. She had to triage them. These three were dead. Two were dying. At least she could save the rest.

LIFE RAFT BRAVO’S AUTOMATED systems quietly watched the statistics of its cargo’s survivability update. Internal sensors observed that the expected casualty count had changed from five to three as the male’s heart came back online and stabilized to a normal rhythm. Various drugs were administered as per the doctor’s orders. A quick calculation noted the twenty-five percent mortality rate, but the probability of survival of the remaining nine was well into the high nineties.

Soon after noting the change, the system began to power down, shunting the last remaining power to the monitors and emergency beacons. With a clerical flair, the machine added the final entry in the data log, noting the number of remaining humans that were alive, despite the universe’s best efforts to do them in.

CHAPTER 3

The alpha male loped along on all fours. It was an awkward gait, but one that allowed it to occasionally stand on its hind legs when it wanted and was faster than walking bipedally. His body was covered in what resembled tumor-like patches of fur sprouting from between scaly calcifications. Except for a smattering of leather slings, from which hung bits of bone and teeth, the beast was naked. The slings were merely an efficient way to collect and display his trophies, each a past kill made visible to the other smaller, younger, and all too aggressive hunters following respectfully behind him.

Oblivious to the hot sun, it lifted its long toothy snout, smelling the dusty air. A long dry tongue absently worried at grains of sand embedded in between rows of long sharp teeth. He opened his mouth in a wide yawn, stretching the stiff muscles of his thick jaws.

His focus was on the yet to be killed feast which lay ahead. The alpha turned its long snout side to side, checking to see where the others were. Some looked up, nervously. They were looking to him for the slightest amount of instruction or direction, and he, in turn, was always on the lookout for those who would challenge his role in the pack.

He was three times as big as the others, an abomination since birth. His litter mates had not survived their own brief existence; they had been consumed in an early heat of feeding, making him the sole successor of that litter.

In his adolescence, again he had risen to power by strangling and eating the previous alpha. It had been easily accomplished in his early years.

For a long while the previous alpha creature had flailed about as it was simply held down under the weight of the challenging alpha. For the latter, it had been an enjoyable process, feeling the life fade from the body. But the subsequent meat had been tasteless and stringy; no joy had flowed forth from it as that of younger meat.

Now he was strong enough to handle any challenge and smart enough to be wary for those who might take advantage of his current distraction.

He slowed his pace before the rise of the next dune. Kneeling in the red-orange sand, he raised himself up on his hind legs. It was a comfortable enough position to walk or to operate tools, such as the metal cutter he had strapped to his back, but travel