Island Hoppers: Captain Arlon Stoddard Adventures, #7

By Sean Monaghan

Captain Arlon Stoddard and his tireless crew patrol the spaceways.

 

Arriving on Melle, a planet covered in vast oceans, hundreds of archipelagoes and entirely lacking continents, the crew know they have their work cut out for them.

 

With conflicting jurisdictions, megalomaniac leaders and a mysterious ruin, the planet presents exactly the kinds of problems the crew specializes in. Impossible ones.

 

But betrayal from an unexpected quarter throws them into a desperate battle for their lives.

 

A battle that might just have Melle reveal its secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triple V Publishing
• Release date: Apr 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201612054

Sean Monaghan

Sean Monaghan is the author of more than one hundred stories, in print, online, on broadcast radio and podcast. His stories include "Concentration" in Landfall, and "The Molenstraat Music Festival" in Asimovs. He was the Grand Prize winner in the 2014 Jim Baen Memorial Writing Contest for his story "Low Arc"

Book preview

Chapter One

Arlon Stoddard crouched and picked up a stone. It was a deep blood red and mostly polished to a fine, gleaming finish. Marred by a single nick. A chip missing, revealing dull and rough interior.

The stone was a little larger than his thumb, and the imperfection occupied a section near one end. The size of a nail clipping. Almost as if someone had chipped it with their actual nail.

The stone was warm in his hand, and heavy. It was just the right size to throw, if he had a mind to test out his muscles. Not so big that he would strain, not so small that he wouldn't be able to get a good loft on it.

The kid in him would throw it out over the waves, trying to get it beyond the breakers.

Tempting.

The stone seemed unique on this beach here. There were many more stones in the curve of the little cove. Almost all gray, or white. They lay at a steep repose, tossed and jumbled by the endless, amplified waves.

Salty air whipped across him, bringing its fresh, invigorating scent. It was getting late into the afternoon. Perhaps a couple of hours before the sun set.

This was a nice place to be, even if the circumstances made it fleeting and worrisome.

The cove was perhaps a kilometer across at the mouth, but the beach was just a few hundred meters long. The prevailing winds brought the waves almost directly in at the opening. As the waves traveled along, the rocky walls closed in, compressing the energy into little mountains of water that hurled themselves into the stones.

The sound was quite delicious, really. The surge of water into the stones, shoving them one against the other in a roll of shish-hiss-wheoosh. The kind of thing the people might record and play back in one of those meditation spas that Holly so liked.

Out in the middle of the cove, though, the water's movements were complex and jumbled. Reflected waves from the sides swept across, creating rooster tails in places, the spray going high. Right in the middle there would be moments where two converging waves would be practically parallel. The smack when they met felt almost solid. Like a sheet of thick steel slamming onto a polished stone floor. The sound echoed around the cove walls.

Arlon continued along the beach. It was angled at perhaps fifteen or twenty degrees in places. The stones cracked and scraped under his boot soles.

He was wearing standard issue Authority excursion boots. Comfortable and hard-wearing. The things would practically outlast him. He had similarly hard-wearing deep blue trousers, though those would get cycled once this mission was done. Turned back into another set of trousers. Or a coffee bulb. Or a deck of cards. Whatever the cycler needed the raw materials for at that moment.

Above, he had a light shirt, covered with a matching deep blue jacket. His captain's insignia on the left shoulder.

It was nice to get down to a planet's surface and stretch his legs. Despite time in the Saphindell's gym, there was nothing like gravity to make you feel alive.

Along behind the beach—could he really call this jumble of stones a 'beach'—stood thick-trunked, leafy trees. Numerous different species. Some with bands up the trunks and enormous leaves right at the top. The local version of a palm. They were the dominant ones. Right at the margins, some of them stood twenty meters.

Blended with them were low things like ferns, and medium sized trees. One particular species had lacey leaves, like a spiderweb enclosed in a woody circle. Another had orange nodules all up the trunk.

From within this forest—it really was a forest, stretching on inland across the island's hills—came the constant cries and screeches of fauna. Birds, presumably, but also all manner of other things. Primates, reptiles, even insects.

It was always fascinating how alike ecosystems were. Planet to planet, place to place. There were worlds where Earth-based ecosystems had been introduced and had taken over. Worlds where those same lifeforms simply didn't stand a chance, and the native flora and fauna barely noticed the intruders.

And a few worlds, like here, where the two integrated. Lived in more than harmony and even gave rise to entirely new systems.

On the ride out, he'd gotten a chance to read up some about Melle. The planet was almost the perfect analogue for Earth. As if someone had taken the template and reproduced it here.

About the same size, about the same daylight duration, about the same distance from its big old yellow M-class sun. Similar axial tilt, similar atmospheric composition, even a similar moon hanging gray and pitted and orbiting every thirty-one days.

Twins. Stamped from the same mold. Though there was a second moon. Larger and denser and farther out.

Grazie and Dimetri. They played out an interactive, messy dance tugging at Melle's oceans making the tidal systems stunningly complex.

There were plenty of worlds incredibly similar to Earth, but there was always something that stuck out. Some feature that made them distinctly different.

Maybe quite a bit farther from the sun, making them colder and less hospitable. Maybe closer, turning their equators into fierce uninhabitable bands of desert. Or much less oxygen in the atmosphere, making breathing equipment necessary. Or a distinctly different diurnal duration. Say, spinning in just ten hours, or maybe forty hours.

Each came with their own unique set of issues.

Here on Melle, there was a distinct difference, though it wasn't one of those that made it less habitable.

A simple case of the land to water ratio. The oceans occupied closer to eighty percent of the surface, with a couple of large continents and hundreds of archipelagoes.

It made it quite beautiful. Both from space, and from the ground. Those giant spirals of vast storms were something to behold from above, and the clusters of islands standing up against the endless ocean.

Arlon rolled the blood red rock in his palm. It was good to get a moment's respite. To breath fresh sea air. To stand on solid ground. To just take in the scenery.

From his belt, his comms gave a tiny bleep. As if the system was embarrassed to interrupt his reverie and was trying to be as discreet as possible.

Cap? Eva's voice said from the belt's speaker. You there, or did you forget about us completely?

Who is this? he said. How did you get my contact details.

Oh, so funny. Listen, get back up here. Marto says it's going to rain and the Vice Regent of Bequinnele says we need to get on with our investigation pronto. That was the actual word he used. 'Pronto!'.

Arlon smiled. There was no Vice Regent of Bequinnele. Eva had lately started using that and other terms for local officials who thought very highly of themselves.

Donlen Umquene certainly did. He was the governor of the Tremilt Shire. A collection of thirty-eight islands, including one of the largest islands on Melle. Scanel, with an area of over sixty-five thousand square kilometers.

Donlen seemed to figure that since he'd requested that the Authority send someone to come and take a look at his problem, that gave him the right to make demands, give directions and basically order Arlon and his team around.

It had started from the moment they'd reached orbit. Barely had they time to admire the surface below before he was on the comms asking what had taken them so long.

I'll be right over, Arlon said.

Yeah, good, Eva said. Figure we can get this over with quickly and maybe we could R and R for a day or six. There's some amazing diving south of the equator. Regils Atoll. A blue hole there that goes down six kilometers. Jellies and clams and fish like you wouldn't believe.

I would believe. Let's see how this goes first.

You want me motivated, right? Expediency is useful.

Eva, you'd be motivated if we locked you in a half-lit room with a slate and a piece of chalk. You'd still solve the problem.

True, true, but think about later.

Later?

"After I've had a dive trip. I'll be... I don't know..."

Happier?

Are you saying I'm not happy? I love my—

Eva. Stop now. I'll be up to the landing site soon. We can get this underway. Sound good?

Mm-hm. Don't dawdle.

Chapter Two

Donlen Umquene had been born far away from Melle. About as far as it's possible to get and still remain within human-explored space.

Dragomor. A hot, ashy world. Hundreds of light years away from Melle. His childhood had involved looking at the stars and imagining himself away among them.

That, and imagining the deaths of his parents. Preferably in some horrible way. Perhaps crushed under one of the thundering mining machines. Perhaps dumped out and lost at night in the Stitle Desert, knowing that once the sun rose, they would be baked and basted and burned, with no chance of rescue. Perhaps a simple knife murder, carried out by one of their offspring.

Of course, in the time since then, the human sphere continued to expand. Last he'd read, new worlds were being colonized at the rate of one every two weeks.

Umquene sat in the cool second floor office of the civic buildings in Plimmerton, the largest town on Scanel. The office was larger than he needed, but that always impressed visitors. Always. Whether they were some business person from three blocks away, or some high-ranking off world official.

Close to the enormous windows, which looked out over the leafy, green city square, Umquene had his wide desk. Back to the window, and set up so that he faced the door. Anyone who entered would see him seated there, framed by the trees and sky, with the huge, imposing mass of the desk sitting between them.

The desk was six square meters of smart marble. White with glorious grey swirls through it. They'd had to strengthen the floor below when he'd had it installed.

The desk's surface brought him instant updates of any goings-on throughout Scanel and the whole Tremilt Shire—there were a lot of inhabited islands and it was good to keep tabs on his little fiefdom, such as it was.

Not just that, but also everywhere on Melle. If he was to expand his influence, he needed to know global details.

He was a big fish in a little pond. Suited him just fine. For now.

Along one wall of the office stood tall shelves filled with the gifts of office. Trinkets gifted to himself and his predecessors from grateful visitors. Plaques and dolls, glass holograms and shimmer screens, paleontological artifacts and historical items. One fat rusted nail that was purportedly from the Santa Maria, one of the early exploration vessels back on old Earth. Unlikely to be true, but it looked nice up on the shelves.

The opposite wall had a wet bar and full auto food service. Between his desk and the doors was a wide area with four low, comfy sofas, a wide, even lower, table in between. A fabulously patterned Persian rug on the floor. The imagery showed battles and journeys. People on horseback and on foot. Climbing mountains and boarding vessels, swinging swords at each other. Another likely imitation gift.

Still, they were given with sincerity, even if that was usually somewhat fawning. These people needed something from him and would, in their small imaginations, believe that flattery would help them along.

Umquene tapped at the solid corner of his desk and called up a coffee. The desk knew how he liked it and for the most part did a good job. He had built in some random variation routines so that he was never quite sure. While it was always good to have a supreme coffee, sometimes it paid to have something a little flat, or over-creamed, or flawed in some other way.

It helped him to not take things for granted.

The door chime sounded. Quiet and unobtrusive. A small fragment from a Bellair concerto. Impossible, once the chime had gone off, to not hear the rest of the orchestra picking up the minor key and racing on to build it back up to something more uplifting.

Come, Umquene said. It would be Jasmin, his aide. With personal news about these supposed investigators.

The office doors were tall and imposing. Made from clostel teak. Single sheets of heart wood five centimeters thick, two and a half meters tall and almost two meters across.

Anyone who came toward them from the other side couldn't fail to be impressed.

They both swung open and Jasmin stepped through.

Young, lithe and pretty, Jasmin knew exactly how to take care of things. Didn't hurt that she was nice to look at.

They're here, she said. The team from the Authority. I told them they need to get on with the investigation pronto.

Umquene smiled. She was remarkably efficient. She would have his job some day if he didn't watch himself.

Pronto, he said. Good.

They're there, though, at the island.

What? I thought they were still in orbit.

Apparently, they chose to land. I've ordered a flitter to take you there. Immediately. I have your go bag. We can be on the roof and in the air in three minutes.

On the desk, the coffee spigot hissed, filling the freshly-manufactured mug. The aroma was entrancing.

This would be one of the good cups.

Umquene picked it up and hustled around the desk.

Let's go then, he said. You can brief me on the way.

Chapter Three

The path from the stony beach was narrow and even dark in places. It led uphill, through a jumble of roots and vines and encroaching leaves. A trail that animals used, informally. There were no signpost markings or transponder pings to follow. That was nice. Elemental and rugged.

As Arlon trudged upward, flying creatures darted around him. Flashes of bright orange or yellow. Some that were a strong green, visible only because they were in motion. If they stayed still on a branch, he would struggle to spot them.

The calls were a genuine cacophony. High pitched shrieks and deeper, plaintive calls. Chitterings and tremulous bells. Some that were genuine songs, leaping around Egyptian or Phrygian scales. Counterpoints, even.

These animals were skilled musicians. Though perhaps it was just that he was used to the quiet. Used to the sterility of the cabins and workshops in Saphindell's interior. Any moment of getting out into the wild was welcome and invigorating.

The smells, the sounds, the tastes of strange fruits. Even the feel of the air against his skin.

It was why it was a good idea to set down early, far from wherever they needed to be. To take a moment of pause and reflection before becoming caught up in the depths of a complex investigation.

Are you actually moving there, Captain? Eva said. Strange how it was possible to get so far away from everyone, yet there they were, right there. As close as the simple comms in his belt.

I might be dawdling, he said. The urgency felt by local officials is usually about saving their own skin.

Or political, I know. We've been over this many times.

They had. Eva was sharp and intelligent. And an excellent pilot. She was one of the few people he knew who could drop their opinion immediately new facts came up. Absolutely open to considering other ways of seeing things.

I'm only a couple of minutes away, he said. We can get over and talk to this impatient gentleman.

And then solve his problem in ten minutes, right?

Sometimes they did. That's why the Authority employed them. Their skills at cutting through the local lane blocks and finding the critical details to resolve things.

Wars could be avoided.

Even if it meant a local mayor had to step down.

But this one sounded different. Not a ten minute job, most likely.

The complexities involved in Zeytana artifacts were rarely quickly solved.

Captain? Eva said. I think you came to a halt again.

It's very beautiful here, he said.

You know, if I was the captain, I wouldn't have even let you debark. The way you potter around. You're like a kid.

Arlon smiled and strode on. There were patches of mud in the rough trail. Hoof prints there. Jumbled. It was a well-trafficked section.

Despite her good qualities, Eva could be outspoken. A valued member of the crew, she might test the patience of other captains. In short order she might find herself looking for another vessel to pilot.

He was like a kid, really. And why not? Old enough to know that there were only so many years ahead. Old enough to appreciate things like the sights and sounds of a new planet.

He reached the top of the path and stepped along the flat area, the forest thinning around him.

They'd set the Saphindell down in a clearing. A ship of her size wasn't an easy thing to land, but Eva was always up for a challenge. With Kilo co-helming, she'd brought the vessel down within centimeters of angled branches.

Arlon stood for a moment, just admiring her. It wasn't often he got the chance to examine their current vessel from the outside.

She was black and bulbous. Lumpy, really, as if someone had thrown together a cluster of oddly shaped boulders and sealed them head-shrink plastic. Adding to the effect were the dozens of orange and white conduits stretching around the exterior. They tracked along the hollows, following the valleys between the lumps.

Numerous nodes where they met forming bundles, with access ports and connection points.

Along the side, the narrow canards and aerobraking wings curled, like feathers on her side. She was forty meters long, twelve meters high, and six meters across. If she wasn't so lumpy, she might look like a blade.

The ship stood on four stubby legs. The wide feet had sunk into the grassy ground a few centimeters. Despite her size, Saphindell was light. The materials were very high tech—from silicon-carbon wafer matrixes, to the titanium struts holding the legs.

Despite centuries of advances in space travel, you still wanted your launch vessel to be as light as possible. But no matter, it still had to be up to the rigors of spaceflight.

The entry stairway was still open, leading to the narrow access, the external hatch standing wide open.

Eva standing there. Hands held up.

What's keeping you?

Arlon shrugged.

Who's in charge here anyway?

Eva smiled and vanished back inside.

They were a half hour flight from the Tremilt Shire and Donlen Umquene's office. Arlon hurried up the steps. The moment he was through the threshold, they started a quiet whine. Folding up and out of the way.

Holly Blaise was waiting in the vestibule. She'd trimmed her hair and it sat right against her skin. Maybe a millimeter long. When he'd headed out on his little walk, it had been closer to her shoulders.

New look, he said. Holly was effectively his second in command. The one who was able to step back from the arguments and make a key, pointed comment.

This is what happens when I have time on my hands. She was thirty-four, still with a youthful vitality, but likewise with enough experience to show wisdom. Arlon was older, but he could have used some of that wisdom. They made a good team.

The rest of the crew, Kilo Connover and Olivia Kersmann, also humans, and Marto, the Crested Daison, would be already in their acceleration couches ready for take off.

They'd all taken the time to get some fresh air, but had beaten him back.

They always did.

Weeks out in the skip, Arlon said to Holly, "yet it's now that you have time on your hands?"

Enough chit-chat, Eva said through the vestibule's speakers. "Let's get in the air. We need to make it to Plimmerton in time for dinner. There's a little chili restaurant tucked away there that we need to get to. I'm not missing out