“If it weren’t for us,” Brandon said.
Yes, Jordan thought. The human race has altered the face of Earth far beyond nature’s strictures. Even the tropical rain forests that were once thought to be untouched Edens have been shaped and transformed by human tribes for long millennia.
Looking past the curving rim of the planet, with its sliver of bright blue atmosphere, Jordan squinted at distant Sirius, this world’s sun, glaring a hot blue-white against the darkness of space. Not far from the star was a smaller sphere, little more than a brilliant dot, but almost as bright as Sirius itself. The Pup, Jordan realized. Sirius’s dwarf star companion.
“Retroburn in one minute,” said Hazzard, all business.
“Copy retroburn,” Brandon answered, aping the astronaut’s clipped manner.
One of the screens on the control panel lit up to show Thornberry’s jowly face. “Good luck, lads,” he said, his usual grin replaced by utter seriousness.
“Thank you, kind sir,” Jordan replied, trying to mask his own inner tension.
The retrorockets fired and the sudden feeling of weight was welcome. Jordan watched through the windscreen as the heavily forested planet came up to meet them. He remembered the first time he had flown an airplane solo, how suddenly menacing the trees around the airport became.
“Plasma blackout coming up,” Hazzard warned.
They were entering the planet’s atmosphere now, dipping into the upper fringes of the air at hypersonic speed. Lights flickered out there, Jordan saw, dancing little fireflies at first but within moments the ship was engulfed in the blazing reds and yellows of air heated to incandescence. He heard the ferocious roar of wind even through the heavy insulation of the cockpit as the ship began to shudder and buck.
It’s all right, Jordan told himself, gripping the edges of his seat. Perfectly normal. We’re using atmospheric friction to slow us down to a safe landing speed. Still, the craft bounced and rattled as the wind screeched into a long wailing banshee whine. Jordan felt perspiration beading his brow and upper lip. He glanced at Brandon, who sat rigidly, his fists clenched in his lap, fighting the temptation to grab the controls.
The air cleared and the ride smoothed out. No engine noise now; the air rushing past reminded Jordan of the soarplane flights he had taken. The forest was gliding by beneath them, coming nearer, nearer.
“You’re through the blackout,” Hazzard said. The wide smile on his face told Jordan that Geoff had been uptight, too.
“We’re going straight down to the glade,” Brandon said, his smile looking a little forced.
Hazzard nodded once. “Almost. You’ll make one forty-degree turn to get her nose into the wind, and then in you go. No sweat.”
Not much sweat, Jordan amended silently.
“There it is!” Meek called out, his long skinny arm pointing between Jordan and Brandon to the open glade where they were to land.
It looked like a green postage stamp to Jordan. As it grew bigger, closer, he could make out the other rocketplane sitting smack in the middle of the field.
“Wheels down,” Hazzard announced as the sudden rush of air filled Jordan’s ears.
He swallowed hard as the ground rushed up to meet them. Not all that much room for us, he thought.
The ship hit the ground hard, bounced, then settled onto its landing gear and rolled bumpily along the grassy ground. Jordan saw the earlier plane flash past.
“Plenty of room,” Brandon said shakily.
“Braking,” said Hazzard.
Jordan felt his body strain slightly against his shoulder straps. Then everything stopped. No sense of motion. No noise. No vibrations.
“We’re down,” Brandon said, almost in a whisper.
“Copy landing,” said Hazzard. “You stopped eleven point six meters from the calculated stopping point. Not bad for a bunch of amateurs.”
Meek blew out a gust of breath somewhere between a sigh and a snort. De Falla grinned weakly.
“Checking ship’s systems,” Hazzard said. “Nobody get up yet.”
“Everything’s fine,” said Brandon, scanning the control panel. “All green lights.”
After a few seconds Hazzard agreed. “You’re clear to leave your seats.”
Thornberry spoke up from another of the display screens. “The ship’s sensors are sampling the air. Looks grand, so far.”
“Let’s suit up and go outside,” said Brandon.
“By all means,” Meek agreed.
He and de Falla unbuckled, got out of their seats, and headed aft. Jordan thought they made an almost laughably odd couple: Meek bone thin, all gawky arms and legs, so tall he had to bend over; de Falla barely as high as Meek’s shoulder, built as solidly as a little truck.
Brandon swung around and got up from his seat before Jordan could. With a placating smile, Jordan made a sweeping gesture and said, “After you, little brother.”
They clumped down to the cargo hold, where their six-wheeled excursion buggy waited. Two humanform robots, gleaming metal, sat silent and inert on the rearmost seats. De Falla handed out the nanofabric transparent biohazard suits, which looked to Jordan like plastic raincoats that included leggings, booties, gloves, and inflatable bubble helmets. They began to pull them on, over their clothes.
As he closed the neck seal on his suit, Brandon asked, “When do we decide that we can breathe the air out there?”
Meek said, “Not until we’ve done a thorough analysis.”
“The ship’s sensors are sending data up to Longyear,” de Falla added. “He’ll analyze the data and give us a decision as quickly as he can.”
As he picked up one of the air cylinders, Meek said, “It will be far better to be cautious about breathing the local air. Far better to err on the side of caution.”
Jordan took the cylinder from his hands and helped Meek to worm his arms through the shoulder straps.
“Damned inconvenient, these suits,” Brandon complained.
“Better inconvenient than dead,” said Meek, as Jordan connected the cylinder’s air hose to the plug in the biosuit’s neck ring.
“Besides,” said Jordan, picking up another cylinder and gesturing Brandon to turn around, “these suits aren’t all that bad. They’re flexible, easy to move around in. They even smell rather flowery, don’t you think?”
Brandon, his back to his brother, grumbled, “I don’t like them, perfumed or not.”
Jordan helped de Falla get his air tank connected, then let Brandon connect his for him. At last they were all ready.
De Falla scrambled into the driver’s seat of the buggy; Jordan sat beside him while Brandon and Meek took the next two seats, in front of the stolid robots. The rear deck of the buggy was already packed with sensors and field equipment.
While de Falla checked out the buggy’s drive motors, Jordan turned on the communications link. Thornberry’s face took form on the control panel’s central screen.
“All your buggy’s readouts are in the green, Jordan,” the roboticist reported.
“Good,” said Jordan. “Thanks.” Turning to the others, he asked, “Everyone ready?”
“We’re ready!” Brandon exclaimed.
“Mitch, we’re ready to go outside,” Jordan said into the microphone built into his suit’s neck ring.
“Godspeed, lads,” said Thornberry’s tiny image on the display screen.
De Falla pressed a gloved thumb against the keypad that controlled the air lock. The hatch swung slowly open. The four men saw a beautiful green swath of grass and, beyond its edge, tall straight-boled trees swaying gently in a slight breeze. Through the trees, in the distance, rose steep mountains, green with forest growth almost to their bare, rocky peaks. A waterfall tumbled brightly down the sheer flank of one of the mountains.