Story #205 - Galron's Ground

Galron's Ground

“All hands, abandon ship.” The sound of the canned mechanical voice echoed through the ship.

“All hands, abandon ship.” It was a good thing the voice was so calm; Technician First Class Galron was having trouble putting one foot in front of the other – what the hell had happened?

As far as he knew, the Celestial Voyager had been nowhere near anything that would put it in danger. Galron had been busy with the trans engines when the first blast struck the port side of the Voyager, and had nearly lost his footing along with his best spanner. Shouts to the deck boss had led to no answers and nervousness had quickly spread among the crew – technicians of all types doing their best to keep their heads down and work, but that work suffering because all they could think about was what the hell was going on.

Two more quick blasts followed and then the ship started listing; Galron had felt it slipping sideways under his feet. The need for immediate answers had risen sharply at that point – he and the other Techs were not members of the service but civilians, and they hadn’t signed on to die. By that time, the deck boss was dead thanks to a blown pipe, and Galron barely had time to grab his tool belt before the warning sounded.

Now, there were only two quick turns between him and the escape pods, and he hoped there would be enough left that he could get out. Specs on ships the same class as the Voyager made it clear that there were not enough pods for everyone on board, something that most of the gun-happy solider boys on board didn’t know. If was unlucky, he’d spend the last few minutes of his life going down with the ship.

A single tube was still open when he came around the corner, and he leapt inside before the men behind could stop him. The pods could only support one life-form, though they were roomy enough for two, and he wasn’t about to share his air with anyone else. He could hear the mag-locks engage and feel the pod slip from its moorings even as the Voyager twisted hard in space. The Old Gods came to mind; Galron wasn’t much for prayer, but any chance was better than none.

“Most ancient and revered,” he began, gritting his teeth as the pod spiraled out of the ship, “protect me now, both humbled and feared…” The words came easily as he fell.

***

Galron woke up alive.

That was a good start, but he almost immediately became concerned with the fact that his leg was trapped under a bent edge of the pod. The things were made of solid poltanium – it must have been one hell of an impact to create such a deformation.

With a scream that faded quickly into the silvered walls around him, Galron pulled his leg free. There was no obvious damage, but he could feel it throb and knew that within an hour it would be twice its normal size. A career in the Techs didn’t come without some pain and suffering.

A quick glance at the detection systems panel told him he’d hit a planet, and one that actually had a breathable atmosphere. Punching in the exit code, he heard the door hiss and pop, and then grate slowly open.

Sunlight poured into the small space, blinding him for a moment. Clarity came after a moment, along with the realization that he was not alone.

“Tizrha!” The bare-chested man in front of him bellowed, shaking a sharpened stick at him. “Tizrha!” Galron didn’t speak the language, but the message was clear enough. He raised his hands.

“Mustall!” The man didn’t look angry, but his voice was stern as he gestured up and out of the pod. Galron rose slowly, making sure his tool belt was still firmly attached. There might not be much to fix on this Gods-forsaken rock, but he wouldn’t be the same without it.

His bad leg made getting out of the pod a significant effort, and he got a few jabs in the back with a stick along the way. Without his injury he might have been able to overpower the tall native, but there was no telling how many more were around.

Half an hour of walking later, he began to wonder if he shouldn’t have simply taken the risk. Just as his good foot began to cramp up, a village appeared out of the trees, a thing of low huts and dirt roads. Despite its lack of sophistication it was clean, and there was a crowd of people standing in its center.

“Wel…come.” An older man in a bright blue robe in the center of the crowd said. Like the man who had captured him, the old man had dark, leathery skin and bright white hair. They all looked mostly human, just with longer necks and smaller heads. But how could this one know his language? There was no way these people were space-faring. Galron came to a halt in front of the man, his mouth open.

“Wel…come,” the man said again, haltingly. “We…have…be…wait. For you.”

“You’ve been waiting for me? How is that…I…” Galron was at a loss for words. This was impossible.

The older man gestured to a woman in the crowd, who pulled a metal device into the open. From the look of it, the thing was a water-pump, and one considerably more advanced the people on the planet should have been able to create. A closer inspection revealed a Federated mark – this was older tech, but from his world.

“You fix.” The old man said, gesturing at the pump.

“Look, I –“ There were rules about interaction with other cultures, and though he hadn’t ended up here on purpose, he’d heard of survivors being left behind on planets because they affected the locals to a greater degree than absolutely necessary.

“You fix.” Bushy eyebrows drew together on the man’s small head. “Or you die.”

Galron reached for his tool belt. That was clear enough.


- D