Deadly Planet - Ryvenbark's Saga 5
By Gray Lanter
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Deadly Planet - Ryvenbark's Saga 5 - Gray Lanter
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Chapter 1
Bureaucracies or chains of command, whether military or civilian, are exasperating because they often move at a snail’s pace. Occasionally, though, when the powers that be want something done, they react with astonishing speed.
It was the latter case when Dr. Edison Altamonte was literally dropped in front of my make-shift command post on Jardoval just three days and five hours after I had requested him. Dr. Altamonte had been a few solar systems over, but Earth Command demanded light-speed priority in getting him to the base.
As he shuffled into my office, while wiping the dirt from his wrinkled uniform, Dr. Altamonte did not look happy. His hair was ruffled, a red, ugly bruise spotted his forehead and a few nodules of the black Jardoval sand darkened his chin.
Because he had been so rushed, I forgave him for his ragged salute.
You requested me, sir.
Yes, I did.
May I be at ease, sir?
Yes.
Thank you. May I speak freely?
No.
He growled, but I ignored it.
I know what you’re going to say, major, and I don't want to hear it. I need you here.
Do you know where I was?
Probably chasing skirts on some obscure planet where the women have not yet heard of your reputation.
No, sir, I wasn’t. The women on Jamaica Two don’t wear skirts. It’s a beautiful planet with no large landmass. Thousands of islands are spread across a watery landscape. The weather is tropical and the women, at least in the bar I was at, wear very skimpy outfits. Hardly anything at all actually. I had a month’s leave.
Sit down.
He plopped down in the chair and sighed heavily. On Jamaica Two they also have an amazing drink called Coral Reef Punch. It is the finest liquor I have ever tasted.
I had moved over to the small bar and held up a bottle.
Straight whiskey?
That’ll be fine.
I poured a drink and took it over to him. I need a man of your expertise. You are the best in your field, or fields, as the case may be. The sooner I get answers the sooner you go back to your island paradise.
I moved back behind my desk and sat down in the black officer’s chair. Altamonte sipped his drink.
What is it, exactly, you want me to do?
I waved my hand to indicate the planet around us. This un-island paradise is Jardoval. A few solar systems down from here is a planet called Titus, named for one of early galactic explorers.
Spare me the travelogue. Just the basic details… sir.
Titus has about twenty thousand colonists. However, seismic activity threatens to, in the future, rip the planet apart. Evacuation plans are being made. This is the closest habitable planet and was thought to be a perfect place to move all the colonists.
Altamonte gave me a quizzical look. But why would this concern Logan Ryvenbark and his band of merry mercenaries? This sounds like official government business and you are, shall we say, a private contractor. My orders came through official government channels and I was told to report to Major – Major, mind you – Ryvenbark. Not that I don’t think you’d do a good job… major.
He shrugged. But I’m aware of your disdain for governments. Still, I must admit, it appears you have the government working for you and not the other way around.
I grinned. I also have a working arrangement with Belen Morganthal. Let’s say I help provide security to her many corporations. Belen was thinking of constructing some huge space facility on this planet, which would help somehow in her many businesses. So she and planetary governments worked out a little arrangement. The Federation is stretched a bit thin right now so I was offered the job.
Were the governments generous?
The governments were exceedingly generous. After all, they have to worry about 20,000 colonists.
Plus, cover their own butts. I’m guessing it was the governments’ mistakes that put the colonists on the planet to begin.
You’re guessing right. And governments will pay a great deal to cover their butts.
I see. So what’s the problem? Move them and let me go back to Jamaica.
" There’s one small issue. At one time this planet was inhabited. A primitive, rural culture, much like prehistoric man back on Earth. That’s our best guess anyway.
But all the inhabitants have disappeared. As if they were wiped off the face of the planet. The Federation is not about to transplant colonists until they find out what happened to the original inhabitants. If something killed the first group, the new colonists could be in danger too. It is believed the natives lived here until relatively recently, then…
I snapped my fingers. Nothing. They vanished.
He drained his glass. As usual, when the civilian command has a problem, they send for us. Bet you prefer dealing with ravenous Chinors than with bureaucrats and politicians.
It’s a toss-up. So I need your expertise. I need to find the Grim Reaper on this planet and, if necessary, break his scythe. To do that, I need you.
OK. Piece of cake.
That’s one thing I like about you, Ed. That overwhelming sense of modesty. But you do have an amazing ability to piece together disparate information to find the truth. Your science facility is two doors down from here.
Close enough so you can keep an eye on me.
" Close enough so we can communicate with each other. I want daily reports. I envision a smooth working relationship. Work as quickly as possible. The governments are getting antsy about the colonists. Losing twenty thousand people would be