Return To Xylanthia

By Thomas Stone

Return to Xylanthia follows Mackenzie Maguire and her nemesis, Tyra Yasmin, back to Xylanthia. Together, the two explorers try to figure out how to survive, return to Earth, and get rich in the process.

The erstwhile plans of space pilgrims are fraught with peril as well as the disregard of a proper diet. Our intrepid explorers once again find themselves transported through time and space as they battle the elements on Xylanthia, the always present threat of the Anandii, and one another.

Return to Xylanthia is intended to be read by a general audience.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas Stone
• Release date: Jul 5, 2017
• ISBN: 9781877557385

Thomas Stone

Indie Author Thomas C. Stone developed a fascination for science fiction early in life, reading most of the modern-day masters by fourteen years of age. As a student, Stone studied writing, classical literature, philosophy, linguistics, and computer science, obtaining degrees in linguistics, literature, education, and computer science. To support his writing, Stone has worked as a school teacher, technical writer, systems analyst, martial arts instructor, and various other odd jobs. Today, Stone writes both mainstream fiction and science fiction. Additionally, Stone has completed twenty novels and, by his own admission, is more interested in the depiction of characters under stressful and extraordinary settings. Stone’s take on the world can be observed at his personal website and blog, http://www.thomascstone.com.

Book preview

Prologue

It happened so quickly and in such isolation that there were no accountable witnesses, not another human, nor some swamp creature intent on finding its next meal; rather, the actual event was more akin to the proverbial tree falling in the forest. Unlike that event, however, Caspar’s first recollection was the certainty he had fallen onto his back from a great height and subsequently knocked silly.

He had no idea how long he’d lain sprawled on the ground, unconscious, and even now sliding back into darkness while trying to tally up the damage done. Could he move? Did he want to?

Like a passing thought, consciousness moved on and he slept, knocked so hard his concussed brain needed time to recover. When he awoke again it was with the thought that his name was Caspar. It came to him from the closing mists of a dream before he was fully awake. Yet, that was all he could gather of his wits. His memories, his recollections, were gone. Nothing there at all.

Wondering if his back was broken, he moved his arms and discovered he wore a padded vest atop an insulated undergarment. Strapped to his back was a lumpy pack which likely served to cushion his initial fall. He sat up and his head suddenly felt as though he had immersed himself into a bucket of pain and confusion. He lay down again and the vertigo eased as he recalled a quick glimpse of tall trees swaying gently in a breeze he could not feel. He suddenly felt nauseous and flipped onto his stomach as he retched.

On completion, he rolled away and opened one eye. The sun was ferocious and Caspar realized he needed to move into the soothing confines of shadows mere feet away. In two efforts, he pulled himself over the straw grass, discovering the ability to crawl with sprawled knees as an infant might and growing weary of that finally rolled under a shield of leaves at his destination. Breathing heavily, Caspar stared out from under the leafy canopy at an open area of grass.

It was a yellowing patch of nothing much until the water’s edge. Beyond was a pond, maybe, or a swamp, thought Caspar. Yes, that was it, he was in a swamp. It was hot and dank and filled with peculiar smells. He’d fallen and hurt himself somewhere in the midst of the wilderness. He’d knocked his head… he felt along the top of his skull and found nothing, then reached back and winced with pain as he discovered a large knot at the rear.

Caspar pushed himself to a sitting position and looked around. Thick, elephant leaves as long as he was tall shielded him from the withering sunshine. He’d left a trail where he’d crawled from a depression in the ground to the vegetation he presently sat beneath. The depression was where he had fallen and lay for so long. What had happened? Caspar couldn’t remember why he was in the swamp. He craned his neck and stared upward in search of the height from which he had fallen, but there was nothing, only towering trees with glimpses of clouds and clear azure skies and then more, behind the highest clouds, beyond the atmosphere and yet appearing close enough to touch, a panorama of an entire planet filling a good portion of the sky. It was enormous and the angry clouds that churned and rolled were an artist’s palette of colors. It was a breathtaking sight, but he still didn’t know where he was – certainly somewhere he’d never been before; he was sure of that much.

How had he gotten there? He looked at the depression where he had clearly landed, yet there was nothing. Perhaps he had fallen from a vehicle.

He couldn’t remember anything before the fall. Even falling was problematic. Caspar squinted, took a deep breath, and tried to think of something, but there was nothing: a total blank. Where did he come from?

Wherever he was, the air temperature was hot; stifling, actually, with a humidity that would have made him gasp for air had he not been prepared, which apparently, he was. On inspection, he realized he wore a peculiar outfit especially suited to the environment. For instance, the close-fitting garment he wore under the body armor had a cooling system pumping chilled liquid throughout. While the ambient temperature was oppressively humid and hot, he remained relatively comfortable.

A quick search of his pockets revealed a number of interesting items but no identification, nothing to indicate who he was or what he might be doing there. His back was sore where he had landed but fortunately no broken bones. His vest held eight magazines of fletchette-type ammunition, but no weapon was in sight. There was a small flashlight, a compass pinned to his lapel, some nutrition bars, a P-38 can opener, a long, fixed blade Bowie knife in a scabbard, another three inch folding blade, and in one pocket an assortment of smaller, specialty blades. A spray bottle hung in a pouch at his waist. Upon inspection, Caspar assumed it was some type of spray chemical for anti-personnel uses. At the small of his back, below the pack, he found a pistol situated neatly in its holster and out of sight. For the time being, he decided to leave it there.

With renewed effort, Caspar shielded his eyes and searched the open space surrounding the depression where he had landed. The terrain was basically covered in grass that had grown sere and weathered under the abundant sunlight. As he had noted prior, water lapped at a muddy beach where the yellowed grass ended. He spotted the rifle within twenty seconds. It lay on its side three meters from the hole, its metallic grey exterior contrasting starkly with the grass.

Caspar knew he should get up, test his legs and go pick up the rifle so he would have it with him, just in case of, well, anything. He took a breath and in the moment prior to rising, a sound came from his right rear and he froze.

It was the sound of a tree branch breaking, yet it cracked like a whip doubling on itself at supersonic speed, or perhaps even a rifle shot at a distance. An instant later, something hit the ground as if it too had fallen from one of the many towering branches overhead and then the unmistakable thumping of bipedal footsteps. It sounded as if some animal – possibly stalking him -- was in a tree when the branch upon which it clung, gave way and broke. The creature hit the ground but quickly recovered and was now headed in Caspar’s direction. All of that is what Caspar’s senses and reasoning told him even before he caught sight of the thing loping towards him, eyes ablaze.

The small hairs at the base of Caspar’s skull stood on end and armies of goose bumps marched up his back and spine as he decided to go for the rifle. In the air whooshed the sound of something big coming closer through the brush.

Caspar’s feet propelled him forward and he was up, staggering, stumbling in his weakened state to where the weapon had fallen. When he lifted it from the straw, there was a feeling of familiarity but mostly it just felt good to hold it probably because he no longer felt helpless. His hands moved of their own accord and when the creature burst through the leaves at the exact spot Caspar had occupied a moment before, he brought it up to bear just in time to catch the monster in its charge. In that instant, it was not a matter of a well-aimed shot or any overt marksmanship on Caspar’s part. The hapless victim, a wild animal of some unknown ferocious variety, charged directly at Caspar and Caspar shot it point blank. The creature had succeeded in coming so close it would have been more difficult to miss.

Caspar gripped the weapon tighter as he fired a series of triplets into the animal’s mid-section and chest. The creature responded by losing consciousness, life, and equilibrium as it fell at Caspar’s feet. Smoke rose from the end of the rifle barrel.

Caspar bent to take a closer look. The flechettes had entered its torso and passed through entirely, slicing through mass, sinew, and barely slowed by bone. The creature had the characteristics of an amphibian, an aquatic animal by nature but suited for walking on dry land by the use of muscular legs remarkably similar to humans. Its legs were half again as large as a human leg, which made the creature considerably taller than a man. Caspar couldn’t say exactly what repulsed him the most. Whether it was the stench of the swamp that rose from it, or the scent of an alien death, Caspar was sure it would attract others. The thing had tapering talons for fingers and held them aloft in a deathly pose that exposed the long, serrated undersides of its forearms. And then there was its head.

Its head was a subject all to itself because as has already been stated, the creature generally had some characteristics of humans, bipedal with manipulating digits, but the same could not be said of the head. Its head didn’t look mammalian at all. Rather, it exhibited an elongated cranium ending in a mouth full of teeth more suited to an alligator or some nightmarish lizard. Whatever it was, clearly it was to be avoided.

A motion to the left distracted him. Or not? He searched the line where turf met trees and looked across a wide field that separated him from more swamp beyond all that.

Something darted from left to right disappearing as quickly as Caspar saw it back into the foliage from where it had emerged. It was only a dark blur of motion, weaving its way through the edge of the trees in an attempt to remain concealed. And then the faint beat of more approaching footsteps. At that point, Caspar turned and ran the opposite direction.

At first, he only ran under concealment, but after pausing twice and looking back, he ran without interruption. He ran through patches of trees, through open spaces full of sunlight causing discomfort to his already sun-burned face. When he came to the water’s edge, he discovered it was mere inches deep and stretched between him and the next island not two hundred yards away. He cleared the gap in a matter of minutes even though the depth increased halfway there. The new island was much like the other, only smaller, and Caspar continued his pace, wanting to get more distance between himself and the manzards – which is what he decided to call them. Were they hunting him? Would they track him down? Caspar paused and looked at the path he left behind, the bent branches, fallen leaves, and boot prints. Caspar squinted his eyes as he imagined what a pack of the creatures might look like coming out of the bush, headed for him with blood in their eyes.

He tethered the rifle to the vest he wore and noted even more extra clips for the pistol in another compartment of his backpack.

Caspar did a careful one-eighty as he checked out his position. In the distance, across the water, were more islands and more towering trees. Glancing behind yet again, Caspar continued on his way farther from the creatures.

Lush vegetation slowed his progress and caused him to consider another path altogether as he considered an unbroken wall of dense jungle before him. And so he returned to the shore and walked along the edge of the beach while remaining in the shelter of the trees until he came upon a shaded, sandy perch with a view in three directions. He wriggled out of the backpack he’d carried the whole time and settled in at least long enough to take inventory of his goods.

An arm’s length away, a green plant grew. It had tough-looking, thick branches and when Caspar cut it with the tip of his folding knife, the plant leaked a clear liquid, like eucalyptus which Caspar immediately tested on his swollen and sunburned face.

The viscous paste was soothing and offered immediate relief for his burns; unfortunately, its aroma carried somatic qualities as well and after Caspar inhaled the vapors, he soon drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 1

By the mid-22nd century, interstellar travel took on a number of forms, but the most advanced was the Alcubierre Drive. The Braithwaite Conglomerate contributed to its research and was instrumental in its development. When the engineering theory became a physical realization, it didn’t quite work as the scientists and planners had hoped. It worked even better.

Essentially, the Alcubierre Drive represented a spacecraft that could traverse immense distances by contracting space in front of it and (re)expanding space behind, resulting in effective faster-than-light travel. FTL travel was realized because objects cannot accelerate to the speed of light within normal spacetime without necessitating the need to transform anything with mass, including people, into photons, which would be uncomfortable, if not deadly, for most of us. Instead, the Alcubierre Drive transformed the space around a craft enabling it to arrive at its destination faster than light would in normal space.

At least, that was the original idea. However, during trial runs, it became apparent a few adjustments to the navigation computer would enable the craft to bend space and surpass even the velocities involved in faster-than-light travel. It could essentially jump to any location that could be programmed into the nav computer.

Braithwaite engineered the new craft and new colonies of humans began cropping up in diverse places. Although there were others who pioneered FTL, mankind finally left the solar system through the use of the Alcubierre drive.

An unmanned ship guided by onboard AI could travel from Earth to Xylanthia in six weeks and one day. Additionally, any braking requirements at the destinations were reduced to negligible velocities. At the destination, pulse drives were used to manage orbital velocities.

*

The ICS Pleides was leased by Braithwaite and all systems control and comms went through the facilities at Starships Intergalactic, the actual owner of the starship. When a starship popped into local solar space, comms were fully automated, as well as all navigational and environmental systems monitoring. At that point, a status update is sent to Earth and the vessel continues with its program or any contingency operations it may choose to initiate. Authorities back on Earth can intervene via remote instructions at any time. Updates are regularly passed and the time from pop-in to docking normally varied from one day to three weeks. It was a lucrative enterprise for Braithwaite and its associates with enormous potential in a number of areas.

Along with the media’s projected success of the Siriun Survey Mission, a large faction of world citizens demanded the colonization of Xylanthia. Raising the environmentalists’ hopes, Braithwaite had so far refused to consider petitioning for colonization.

*

Mel rolled onto her side but something jabbed her in the ribs and so she moved over a bit and lay on her back. She came around slowly and realized where she was and that it was the barrel end of the shotgun pressing into her side causing the discomfort and why did she have a shotgun in the cryo chamber with her anyway? When she remembered why, she opened her eyes and reached for the release mechanism. She pulled a lever and the top of the chamber lifted in one piece causing a release of air into the cryo compartment aboard the ICS Pleides. She was awake.

Mel pushed on the lid and it slid back and away to reveal the interior of the compartment along with the other pods. Tyra’s was open and empty. Mel sat up and peered around the compartment. Tyra was not immediately visible, but around the corner Mel could hear the sound of running water. She swung her feet to the deck and sat in a state of stupor before the water stopped and Tyra walked into the compartment towel-drying her hair.

Oh, she said, you’re up. How do you feel?

Sleepy. Tired. Nauseous. My back hurts and my legs are cramping.

And we’ve only been asleep for six weeks. Imagine how the deep space teams feel when they come out of cryo.

I’d rather not.

Mel took two acetaminophen and staggered to the shower still holding the shotgun as Tyra began to dress.

She called after Mel. You don’t have to carry that hand cannon around with you, I promise. She listened for a reply but there was none. That thing could put a hole in the side of the ship and we’d be sucked out before we could figure out what was happening. Did you think about that?

Mel made no reply.

Tyra heard the locking mechanism for the enclosed shower followed by the sound of the water pump as it began to spray Melody with fresh water. As hoped, the shower helped to clear Mel’s head and relieve the other physical problems symptomatic to cryosleep. Only when she was showered, coiffed, and dressed, was she ready to deal with Tyra.

Tyra wasn’t in the galley, nor was she at the conn. Instead, Mel found her amidst the storage section tugging duffel bags from one hiding place to another.

I could use some help, she requested.

Mel held up her hands. I don’t want to have any physical contact with whatever it is you’ve got there. I don’t even know what that is or what you’re doing or any of it for that matter.

I’m telling you, we’re partners whether you like it or not. Playing like something is when it isn’t is…

What?

Short-sighted. And that’s the polite term for it.

I’m pretty sure I cannot be any clearer. Leave me out of your schemes.

You say that now, sweetie, but you don't have a vision like I do. Besides, you're in it whether you like it or not.

That's not true. I could just turn you in -- and that's pretty much what I've been considering since I woke from cryo.

Now, you're just being obstinate. Look, I'm telling you we've got to maintain control of this stuff for as long as we can. I told you I'd give you half if you helped out and I meant it. NOM is going to change things forever -- that's how big it is. It's bigger than Braithwaite. Be smart about this, okay?

Tyra strained to lift one of the large bundles. Mel could see the bottom edge was hung up and Tyra could not see it from her perspective. She continued to strain against the load until finally Mel reached down and pushed the bundle until it was free.

"How do you plan on getting it past the technicians and the cleaning crews and all the sensors and cameras and you know what, Tyra?

What?

You’re crazy and you’re going to get the both of us thrown into prison.

Tyra sighed. You need to chill, sister. Everything’s going to be all right.

I’m not your sister and you’re the one who needs to think about what you’re doing.

Oh, I have. Look, just help me move these bags down to the lockers just inside the airlock. That’s all.

Mel frowned but reached down and picked up two of the bags anyway. The two women made their way to the passageway where the main airlock was located. Tyra opened the first locker and somehow jammed two of the wrapped bags inside. It was tight. The next locker was larger but had emergency equipment taking up the entire space. Tyra removed the gear and stuffed three of her packages inside. That left three more and she still had to find a place to stash the equipment which was finally solved when Mel suggested jettisoning the excess out the airlock. We’re not going to need any of that gear anyway, said Mel.

Tyra shook her head. Data logs will tell the story. We can’t open the airlock because the logs will tell on us. Besides, I’m afraid you might try to get rid of the NOM as well.

Not a bad idea. Where are you going to put the rest of it?

In with the trash.

How are you going to retrieve it later?

Let me worry about that. Just help me take these to trash storage.

Where might that be?

As it turned out, access to toxic storage was beyond their reach, but behind a panel in the galley area was a place where kitchen trash was collected prior to automatic storage. It doesn’t work until it’s full, Tyra pointed out as she and Mel held their breath to avoid the vapors. Tyra broke the sensor so the load couldn’t be sent to storage and they stacked the bags with the NOM inside the space.

When they were done, Tyra faced Mel and thanked her for deciding to cooperate. It’s really the best thing, said Tyra. All you have to do is let me take care of things and prepare to be as rich as you want to be. Your biggest problem is going to be deciding where to go shopping.

I haven’t changed my mind.

What?

What you’re doing is wrong. What you plan on doing is wrong. I see no reason to put my job, my career, my freedom, on the line. How many times do I have to tell you?

But you just helped me hide the bags!

I helped you move the bags. We didn’t hide anything.

Please Mel, be rational…

Mel looked at her watch. We have twenty minutes until docking. I suggest you use the time to complete a full digital confession – I’m sure they’ll go far easier on you if you admit to everything.

Tyra didn’t say anything. She looked at Mel for a long moment before turning away and making her way back up the passageway. Mel went the opposite direction and ended up at the conn in the main control chair. She ordered the computer to display the view of the Braithwaite orbital platform and watched as the ship was remotely guided into its docking rendezvous.

The physical link to the Braithwaite orbital platform was accomplished with digital precision and before Mel could rise from her seat in the control room, Braithwaite technicians were already accessing the airlock.

As the first techie entered, she paused at the intercom and punched a button. Her voice floated through the control room speaker. Anybody home?

Mel answered. This is Melody Green. We’re here. I’m in the control room but coming down to greet you.

Welcome back to Earth, Ms. Green.

Thank you. It’s good to be here.

Is anyone with you?

Yes. Tyra Yasmin is aboard but I am uncertain where she is at the moment…

Another voice came over the intercom. This is Tyra. I’m in quarters deciding what to take with me.

Mel stopped and considered what Tyra had just said. The problem was, they had left Xylanthia in a hurry with the clothes on their backs, Tyra’s stash of NOM, and the duffel bags full of processed material. Other than that, they had nothing to transfer to the space station.

The voice of the techie came through the intercom again. We’ll take care of any luggage or personal effects, Ms. Yasmin. Please be advised all crew and passengers are requested to submit themselves to decon procedures immediately upon disembarking. To that purpose, please proceed to the airlock so we may escort you onto the station.

Roger that, said both Tyra and Mel.

Mel made her way down from the control room through the central portion of the ship past the cryo facilities and past accessible storage to the shielding partition that kept the tremendous radiation generated by the Alcubierre Drive to a level that could be tolerated by humans.

The Braithwaite techies were dressed head to toe in full suits to protect them from any chance of biological infection. Their clothing was overkill, of course, because the in vitro cryo juice in which Tyra and Mel had slept for the preceding six weeks was designed to sanitize any and all known forms of pesky alien microbes. Braithwaite decontamination policies still dictated all returning off-planet explorers follow a strict process.

Are you Ms. Green? asked the technician as Mel approached the airlock.

That’s me, Mel replied.

There are two of you. Where is the other crewmember? Tyra Yasmin?

Yes, well… Mel looked up the passageway from which she had just emerged. She’s here someplace.

Three more techies emerged from the airlock. They took their directions from the one addressing Mel and nodded at Mel before slipping past and floating up the passage into the ship.

Are you certain Ms. Yasmin is all right?

As far as I know.

Well, we’ll locate her. For the time being, allow me to escort you off ship to the decon station. The young woman turned and stepped into the airlock.

Mel took another last look up the empty passage that led into the ICS Pleides before following the techie. She wanted to keep an eye on Tyra but there was only so much she could do.

The airlock was attached to the station via an umbilical. When Mel stepped from the ship, she stepped into a blast of cold air designed to prevent any of the ship’s atmosphere from escaping into the station. It reeked of disinfectant.

She was led through the umbilical into another airlock where they waited for the air to cycle before stepping into the station proper.

The station was only one of a number of Braithwaite near –Earth (nE) orbital platforms. Some were enormous, housing thousands of residents; these were the overflow from the crowded cities below who could afford escape from the teeming billions. Life aboard the orbiting cities was good and Mel had contemplated purchasing one of the high dollar condos for herself when it came time to retire – if she survived her employment commitment to Braithwaite.

The trip to Xylanthia and the subsequent stay in the Siriun star system had cost Mel in a number of ways but one unforeseen aspect was in terms of time. Caught within the constraints of interstellar travel and the rules of physics, Mel had aged a little over nineteen months, but back on Earth everyone she had known had grown old and died. There was no one left; no family, no friends, and although she still worked for the same corporate conglomerate, all of her previous scientific, academic, and business associates were likewise gone. All but Tyra Yasmin.

Of all people to be stranded in time with, Tyra Yasmin was not in Melody’s top ten. The truth was, Mel didn’t like Tyra. The two had little in common and Tyra had proven herself both cunning and dangerous. Mel thought she might be mental as well.

Mel glanced behind one last time to see if Tyra had yet made an appearance. She had not. Maybe she thought she was going to bribe one of the techies. Fat chance. They were loyal to the company. Anyone would do the right thing if Tyra tried to bribe them. Right?

The decon station was an airtight space the size of a closet. Mel was told to strip down, which she did, and step inside, which she also did. As soon as the door shut, an ultraviolet light filled the space as sensors began checking for any of the known tell-tale signs of variant organisms. A light mist filled the compartment, collecting in droplets on Mel’s auburn hair, invading her lungs with each breath, working its way into crevices and across surfaces. Within the droplets, nanobots had already commenced sampling and testing Mel’s various chemical levels. The mist was odorless and tasteless and in a moment the process was complete. The door popped open and Mel stepped from the little closet with nothing more than a damp head.

The techie waited and handed Mel a towel. After drying and dressing, the tech took Mel from the compartment and down a narrow hallway filled with sensors where she was instructed to stop and be scanned again. She wondered how many other returning astronauts had walked that same corridor. The lights came on for two seconds as Mel squeezed shut her eyes.

At last, the preliminaries were complete and Mel was taken from the receiving facility into the larger station, into the general population. They followed a wide corridor that took them into the great rotating centrifuge comprising the bulk of the station. It was like being back in the real world again. People went about their affairs, going places, performing some mundane chore or another and others had time to linger and