Wally and the Dark Colony

By Pat Scaramuzza

On a newly settled world, a thirteen-year-old finds a pair of gravity boots and becomes the wall-walking thief known as Wally.

 

But aliens land on their world and upset the delicate colony.  Some humans, led by a mysterious policy known as the Dark Colony plan, seek to goad the aliens into a war against Earth.  An ambassador from Earth arrives to prevent that and find the truth about the Dark Colonies.  Meanwhile, Wally's thieving friends use the chaos to make a play for their independence.  When the aliens encounter Wally, they see him as a gravitational anomaly and choose him as humanity's representative.  Suddenly everyone's plans depend on him.

 

If the Dark Colony plan activates, Wally and his friends are doomed.  If negotiations fail, the aliens will destroy the colony and wage war with Earth.  Wally needs to sneak, jump, and think his way through all of this, when all he wanted was three meals a day.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pat Scaramuzza
• Release date: Jul 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9780996133975

Pat Scaramuzza

Pat is a self-described scientist, artist, writer, and madman.  He lives in the central Midwest of the United States with his wife and many dogs.

Book preview

Chapter 1

In an alleyway between pink and yellow plastic buildings, the boy hopped onto the one gray metal wall and clung there.  His oversized boots were wrapped in real Earth-made cloth, and the glacial silt covering them shook loose and drifted in complex curls when the boots activated.  He stood outward from the wall, scanning the overcast night for witnesses, although nobody in Shiptown knew his identity.  On the ground his name was Ezekiel.  When he walked on the side of the buildings all the kids called him Wally.

The ground now pretended to be a wall, a dim stretch of greenish silt and gravel lifting to the 'ceiling' of the next building 'above' his head.  Beneath his feet the gray metal colony ship was firm and solid.  A cool night breeze broke against his dingy plastic coveralls.  Wally paused a moment and checked that his hack belt was operating before he began to run.

A sprint of ten meters straight 'across'—straight up the wall—brought him to the lowest layer of balconies.  He crouched beneath them and waited, scanning the ground for movement, until he was sure no colonists were about.  'Check twice', his boss Franklin always said, 'before you steal once.'

The giant cylindrical colony ship towered over the faded colors and tepid window lights of the plastic houses below.  Dim blue street lights dotted the narrow roadways, and he could see the headlights of the third shift transport that he had ridden into Shiptown.  A shift load of seeders were in there, thirteen and eighteen-year-olds riding to their late night jobs at the plastic refineries.  Wally could still smell the transport's ozone exhaust, mingled in the breeze with the vinegary taint of planet Cleo.

Above him was an instrument sponson, a giant fin of the colony ship.  Wally's boots, muffled in their thick wrapping, made hardly any noise as he ran to the more angular side of the sponson and hid himself in its crevices.

The wind was stronger and cooler here, thirty meters up.  Wally let the breeze whisk the first droplets of sweat away from his face before pulling his work goggles over his eyes.  He stepped away from the sponson just in time to nearly bump into a surveillance drone.

Teardrop-shaped, hanging in the air under a pair of whirring propellers, the drone was almost silent.  Wally tensed and held still.  Even after the drone fixed its camera on him, he knew his hack belt could handle it.  Yet the drone's meter-long copter blades were a danger, if it moved and he did not.

After a few tense seconds the lights on the drone flickered as it rebooted into safe mode.

Wally reached out to touch the smooth curves of the drone.  Its propellers swung in a vertical arc to one side, and on the other side hung a silver projection, the barrel of a stun maser.  Except he was standing horizontal, straight out from the building, and the drone was balanced underneath its main propeller, with the weapon slung beneath.  It blinked, rebooting again.  The tech in Franklin's hack belt erased a few seconds of the drone's memory and sent it into a repeating cycle of reboots as long as Wally was near.

He stepped carefully around the spotter drone, then ran across the curve of the wall to a darkened apartment.  With a hop he landed on their balcony, and the boots shifted gravity back to true 'down'.  Wally peered through the windows past the beige vinyl drapes.  When he was satisfied nobody was home, he opened the door and went inside.

Only the richest family colonists lived in the upturned colony ships—the 'shipscrapers'.  That's where Wally found the best loot.  In the faux marble computer terminal he found data crystals containing movies from Earth.  In a compartment of the fuzzy plastic couch there was a roll of sweet candies and a rare prize, a chocolate bar.  The kitchen held mostly vegetables too bulky to steal, although he wanted to bring them back to his hungry seeder colonist friends.  But in a datapad on an endtable he found what the seeders were really hungry for; a textbook data crystal, along with a stored news feed from Earth.

Family colonists arrived on Cleo in colony ships, or were born there.  Seeder colonists arrived as frozen zygotes, to fill out the population without taking precious space during the trip.  The curriculum for seeder colonists focused on manual skills such as refinery labor and maintenance tasks.  The lessons bored Ezekiel.  He knew Franklin found them insulting.  The seeders wanted to learn more.

Storing the loot in his belt pouches, Wally switched his boots to low-gravity mode and hopped from the balcony back to the wall of the shipscraper.  Two or three more apartments looted and it would be a good night.  He ran to the next balcony, across the curve of the gray metal building.

When he approached to within two meters of the doorway, Wally stopped and peered inside.  He saw stately gold vinyl drapes and furniture patterned after real wood—and a slender figure walking out of the doorway onto the balcony.

Wally crouched and froze.  The girl was not looking at him, but upward, true 'upward' toward the sky.  She was older, maybe twenty, with red hair kept in a long braid and pajamas of pink, Earth-made cloth that did little to hide her figure.  As she clasped the railing of the balcony Wally realized he was staring, and he looked around for a swift and hidden route to escape.  Then he saw what she saw.

Mountains lay west of the colony, massive black shapes in the cloud-covered night.  Above them—to one side, for Wally—sparks fell out of the sky, brilliant white pinpricks that trailed fire as they fell.  Soon Wally could hear the distant thunder as they burned through the air.  As they drew closer to the ground the sparks slowed, and their forms became distinct as glowing, white-hot bipedal creatures, gigantic humanoids almost the size of a colony ship.  They were entering Cleo's atmosphere as swiftly as a comet, then decelerating to a soft landing in the mountains next to Shiptown.

Rasilse, said Wally.  Then he covered his mouth with his hand, and looked toward the girl.  She had heard him.  Her expression moved from fear to puzzlement, tilting her head as she stared at the boy standing sideways on her wall.

Wally knew just one thing about girls.  They were like a grind fabber; if they weren't tended right, they often flew apart.  He'd learned that in the motor pool with Nancy, who had a temper only Franklin could handle.  This frightened girl seemed about to fly apart in all kinds of noisy ways that a thief would not want to be near.

Don't be scared, he said.

She looked between the boy on her wall and the creatures falling from the sky.  What's happening?

They're Rasilse, they're aliens.  Seen them in vids.

Are they dangerous?

Ye-ah, he said, drawing the word out, not sure if honesty was the best way to calm her.

But the girl seemed less frightened.  She took a step toward him, peering across the shadowed wall.  Who are you?

Wally ran.

Chapter 2

As Primarch of Cleo, Stephen Garamont had to be a perfect guest.  It would not do to act impolite in the house of Mr. Queng, the colony's foremost entrepreneur and importer.  But the smell of the Earth-raised turkey roasting in Queng's oven was so distracting,  Primarch Garamont considered making a law against having guests smell their dinner while waiting for it so long.

His phone beeped and he put it on hold, waving off Margaret's concerned look.  She threw herself into the conversation with Mr. Queng, covering for her husband as he excused himself to the foyer.

Primarch Garamont?  Rajnath Sreedhar, the chief of security for Shiptown, insisted on formality.  Are we convening the council?

For what reason?  Garamont caught the tone of his own voice and began counting to ten.  Whatever had happened, snapping at the messenger would not help.

Sir, find a window facing west.  I'll fill you in.

Five minutes later, he had alerted the council members, arranged a flitter to pick him up, retrieved his purple cloak from the storeroom, and made his excuses to Mr. Queng, whose gruff stubbornness melted when the Primarch showed him the view from his window.  Margaret soothed the businessman, talking up how wonderful the evening had been until that point.  Garamont insisted that she and their son, Trevor, stay and enjoy dinner.  It would be the first time young Trevor tasted turkey, and no one knew when he might sample it again.

Garamont saw a flitter descending on automatic just as he stepped out of Queng's house.  The rounded corners of the anti-gravity vehicle bore running lights that blinked orange, white, and blue—official council business.  As it landed, he looked to the west to see another Rasilse descend, a searing white pinprick that threw off red sparks as it broke through the nighttime clouds.  Sreedhar had told him that seventeen had landed so far, all in the Rim mountains west of the colony.

Stephen!  Walking on the gravel street toward him was a bearded man in a too-large wool suit, a coveted heirloom from Earth.  He waved his datapad.  Got anything for me?

Not here, Niklas.  Garamont opened the flitter's door and let the journalist inside.  You're invited.  Couldn't keep you out anyway, if you're tracking down my dinner engagements.

If it were anything less than an invasion, Stephen...

I know, I know.  You're forgiven.  But stay quiet and only publish what we tell you.

The Primarch liked Niklas Burles because the man had no true journalistic ambitions, and because his electronic news bulletins often re-used stock photos from back before Garamont's hair had gone completely gray.  Burles smiled and settled into the back of the flitter, making notes.

Other colonists were emerging from their homes, wearing plastic jumpers or fuzzy rayon pajamas.  Most craned their heads up to watch the aliens drop from the sky.  A few noticed the Primarch's flitter as it rose.  The autodriver lifted the flitter in a parabolic arc over the plastic box houses, heading toward the Grigor'ev shipscraper where the colonial government lived and met.

As they rose, Garamont took the opportunity to watch Shiptown from the air.  The shipscrapers were shadowy towers outlined by apartment lights and blinking sensor beacons against a black sky.  They were spaced out in a pentagon five kilometers per side, with the southwest tower missing.  House lights clustered at the bases of the shipscrapers, becoming fewer in the gap between them where roads and industrial buildings were more prominent.  In the center of town lay the unlit expanse of the park, his great agricultural failure.

He looked back, toward where the missing ship should be.  It had cost so much to turn Cleo into a comfortable home.

The flitter docked in the Primarch's garage on the seventeenth floor of the Grigor'ev, amongst a half dozen other flitters he recognized.  Garamont walked through the rubber-paneled corridors with long strides, letting his cloak billow and pull at his shoulders.  The shuffling Burles struggled to keep pace.

The government of Cleo met in what had been the common room of the colony ship, a broad circular chamber whose gridded metal floor and powered data tables were left intact despite the policy of scavenging the ships for useful building materials.  A planetary map hung on one wall, made of one of the first fabrics created by the colony's plastic refineries, its edges beginning to turn green in spots with native bacterial growths.  The largest data table was lit with scrolling text, and sitting around it were the seven other representatives of Cleo's government.

Primarch, said Rajnath with a nod as Stephen took the head chair.  The thin-featured security chief looked as prim and alert as ever.  Garamont made a mental note to see if he had been working the evening shift, or if he just had an inhuman ability to ready himself for any emergency.

The rest of the council were less organized, and most were wearing casual clothes.  Only Les Alberts, the foreman of Industrial Shore, wore a proper suit, but he often worked evenings.  Garamont's brother Charles, of course, wore his usual laboratory coat and scrubs.  His thinning hair was an unkempt scramble of white, and his coat was wrinkled and stained in patches along the sleeve.  Either he had been sleeping in his scrubs, or his neglect of personal hygiene had been getting worse.

Chief Sreedhar touched the data table and scrolled the text back to the beginning.  "We were reviewing a transmission from the Chevalier, a patrol ship that jumped in-system twenty minutes ago.  They are waiting another seventy, offering to collect any messages we have to send, then they will depart."

What did they have to say about the Rasilse invasion?  Stephen scanned the text.  It contained a list of human colonies, with numbers and one-word status designations.  Most were labeled 'Threatened', with only a few close to Earth bearing a 'Defended' label.  Cleo was one of many designated 'Expendable'.

The Rasilse are not just invading us.  They have landed on every human colony world.  No explanation has been offered, and they have allowed no humans to view their activities.  Our mapping satellite has located a mountain fifty kilometers west of the colony where they are congregating.  From the ejecta, they may have hollowed out the peak of the mountain.  Gravimetric sensors cannot confirm this, of course—the Rasilse themselves are powerful gravitational anomalies.

If they're going to attack us, why haven't they done it?  Stephen tapped the display, finding the more informative news reports in the transmission.  We've defeated the Shano-ay?  I wish someone had told us that the war was over.

Yes, that is the good news.  Our last news drop was three months ago, so we are only now hearing of the final campaign.  But it appears that our allies the Rasilse may be turning against us.

Lin Xiohu, the head of civil engineering, raised her slender hand.  Stephen?  Should we plan for an evacuation?

I don't know, Stephen said.  "The only shipscraper that can be made flightworthy is the Therault..."

"You can't repurpose the Therault!  You'll destroy all the scientific research this colony has performed!"

Stephen glared at his brother.  "Most importantly, Charles, the Therault's hydroponic gardens feed the entire colony.  We wouldn't have time to strip the gardens out, not that they would survive long outside.  And even without the gardens in the ship, the Therault only has berths for 500 passengers.  One out of every six colonists."

One out of every twelve, said Jonah Lamas, Counting the seeder population.

Garamont nodded at the young man.  At only twenty-one years old, Jonah served as councilmember pro tem for his grandmother Dorothy, who ran the seeder dormitory.  It was Jonah's responsibility to remind them of the seeder childrens' needs.  But now was not the time.  Regardless, the Primarch said, There's no way we can evacuate the entire colony.  Not unless we get a transport from Earth to help us.

Help from Earth will not be forthcoming, said Rajnath, stating the obvious.  He began tapping his fingers together as he spoke, ticking off options.  We can disperse around the planet, hoping they only attack the central colony.  We could try to negotiate a peace in this system, disavowing allegiance to Earth.  Or we could attack, using the emergency defense network.

The defense satellite lasers are driven by fusion bombs.  Each can only fire once.  Lin brought up technical specs on her corner of the table.  We only have five shots, and I don't think we'd penetrate the cap of the mountain with them.

With a bored expression, Charles rested his chin on his hands.  They wouldn't damage the Rasilse, anyway.  They were intended to be used against Shano-ay ships.

Let's call it a last resort option.  We should try to negotiate first.  Rajnath, have you made contact?

I was waiting for you, Primarch.

Start sending friendly offers, then.  Tell them that...  He paused, looking around the table.  I know hardly anything about Rasilse.  What can we bargain with?  What frequencies do we use to  talk to them?

The assembled council shrugged at each other.  Then Charles Garamont raised his hand, and all heads turned towards him.

As the colony xenobiologist, he said, sitting up straight in his chair and folding his hands on top of the table.  I can tell you that Rasilse feed on solar wind and asteroid debris, and that's all they need.  They communicate over the entire radio spectrum, so choose any frequency you like.  But I doubt they'll respond, and if they do don't be assertive.  The only things Rasilse fear—if it can be called 'fear'—is the occasional quasar.  Now that they've eliminated the Shano-ay they may well turn against humanity just to avoid the threat of extinction themselves.  But they are communal beings, and whatever decision they make will be unanimous.  Are they still arriving?

Rajnath tapped the table to check his reports.  Yes.  We have seen eight land, including two warlords, and six more are inbound from the transfer points.

They'll have to coordinate decision-making with other congregations on other colony worlds.  As long as there is traffic into the system, they're still passing messages and we're safe.  When they stop traffic, then we can get nervous.  Although how long after that it'll take them to make a decision, who knows?

What defenses can we put up against them?

Charles laughed.  None!  Any one of these creatures could destroy Shiptown in a lazy afternoon.  The warlords are a match for any battleship in the human fleet.  He ran a hand over his thin hair, then shook his head and grinned.  If they want to eliminate humanity, nothing in Cleo's system's going to stop them.  Evacuation is a pipe dream; they'll outrun any refitted colony ship.  You remember bananas?  They'll peel the hull apart like—

Enough, Charles.  Primarch Garamont's voice dropped into a commanding growl.  Let's be constructive.

Oh!  I am, I am.  The scientist spread his hands as if in apology.  I have something to offer.  My research on the native bacteria is at a stage where I might be able to weaponize it.  With your permission, of course.

Stephen gave his brother a warning glare.  We'll talk about this afterwards.  Rajnath, begin hailing the aliens.  Contact all of us if you get any response.  He looked around at the council members and gave each a confident nod.  I don't think there's anything else we can do tonight.  Try to get some sleep, everyone.  Charles...oh, and Niklas, I need to speak to both of you.

As the others filed out, Niklas Burles approached the table, reading its displays while typing on his data pad.  Charles grinned at the man, and lifted his hands off the table to give him a better view.

Stephen reached out and blanked the table.  "I'll get you a copy of the Chevalier's message, Niklas.  But keep it quiet, for now.  Am I right that you're the only private citizen with a deep space receiver?"

Yep, Burles said, They'd cut into my news market, otherwise.

Good.  So nobody else knows the whole story.  Let's go with a half-truth—we don't know why the Rasilse are here.  But play up the fact that they've been our allies for decades.

The journalist made some notes and nodded.  I can do that.  It'll be on the feed right away.

Thank you.  Schedule an appointment with me tomorrow and we'll plan something more comprehensive.  But you should get some sleep too, Niklas.  We're both going to be busy the next few days.

Burles nodded again.  Then he looked between the Primarch and his brother, excused himself, and shuffled out of the room.

Garamont waited for the door to cycle close before standing up and addressing his brother.  Charles, he said, That was blatant and not appreciated.

What?

You're trying to use this emergency to divert more resources to your research.  Last time it almost caused a fistfight, remember?  You're stretching everyone's patience with this obsession.

But I need more equipment!  We're sitting on an unexplored biome, thanks to you.

Stephen winced at the accusation, but caught himself and made his next words steady and calm.  The Rasilse are inorganic, space-dwelling monsters, Charles.  The native bacteria are inoffensive slime.  Using them as a weapon against the Rasilse is a ridiculous proposal.  If you need resources I will try to funnel more to you, but spare us your hamhanded attempts at politics.

You have no—I—  Charles Garamont's face flushed, and his mouth opened and closed a few times without speech.  Then he clenched his jaw and rose from his seat.  Fine.  I withdraw the offer! he said, stomping toward the doorway.

Charles!  But his brother cycled the door and left.

Chapter 3

Returning from the council meeting in his flitter, Jonah Lamas sighted his fiancée Rosie as he buzzed by the balcony of his apartment.  She waved at him while shivering in her pink silk pajamas.  Jonah landed the flitter in the nearest bay.  There were green spots of native bacteria on the smooth metal parking dock—he reminded himself to lead a citizen cleaning detail, when they had time.

A cleaning crew was about as much as Jonah felt capable of leading.  He and Rosie should have been married, and the stipend all colonists received on their 21st birthday would have allowed him to buy a prefabricated home of his own.  But his father had died soon after the colony was established, and his mother had been missing for three years on her crazed solo exploration of the planet.  His grandmother lived full-time at the seeder dormitory, and in her place Jonah was pulled headlong into the colony government.

Despite Rosie's understanding, and despite all of Stephen Garamont's support and guidance, Jonah felt out of his league.  As if the whole colony wobbled at the edge of collapse, and when it finally fell they would point and blame him.

Rosie?  The lights in the apartment were off, but that was normal.  She often watched vids in the dark, or studied late into the evening by the backlight of her schoolpad.  Jonah worried that she slept half as much as she should.

I'm here, she said, coming in from the balcony, shivering in her thin pajamas.  Getting a bit chilly outside.

Jonah took an acrylic blanket from the sofa and draped it over her shoulders, then pulled the braid of her red hair free.  How many did you see fall?

Five or six.  Is everything all right?

Not really, but I can't say much more than that.

I won't pry.  Except—how much danger are we in?

Honestly, I don't know yet.  Nothing to worry about this minute, anyway.  With a pat on her shoulder, he let her go and stepped over to the chrome-framed wall terminal.  Did my grandmother call?  I left a message for her.

No, she didn't. 

Jonah scrolled through the console's message history.  Rosie watched him for a minute, then plunked down onto the sofa.  I think I saw a seeder boy tonight, she said.

What, when the Rasilse were falling?  He was probably scared and got lost in town.  The spotters will pick him up, he'll make it back home.

Are you going to see your grandmother tomorrow?  I might like to come with you.

There were no messages.  Jonah stepped away from the display and sat beside her.  Have you ever been to the dormitory before?

It's been a long time.  I thought maybe I could take some soil samples for my geology class.

They don't have any more soil than we do.  It's all sandur, waste gravel from the glacier.  But you can come along.  Grandmom hasn't seen you in years.  His shoulders slumped.  Grandmother Dorothy was another problem that needed to be handled quickly.  If only he knew what to do.  We need to convince her to come to Shiptown for medical care.  I'd force her to go, but I don't think the seeders will let me drag her away.

Why is she so stubborn about not coming to Shiptown?

I have no idea.

A light outside the patio made him turn and look.  It was another Rasilse, glowing white-hot as it fell, its light intruding into his apartment and sending shadows across everything.  I'm not going to get much sleep with that going on, he said.

Come on.  Rosie took his hand and stood up, pulling him from the sofa.  He resisted at first, but she smiled and he melted.  I'll throw a blanket over the bedroom window.  We'll find something to blindfold you if we have to.  You need your sleep, Jonah, she said, leading him to the bedroom.

Outside, the alien disappeared behind mountain peaks, its landing site unseen except to the rest of its kind.

Chapter 4

Everyone was awake when Ezekiel got back to the dormitory with the rest of the third shift.  Most of the eighteen-year-old seeders were clustered around vid screens in the common rooms, their faces pale from boredom and reflected newscasts.  A club of nanny seeders, taking it upon themselves to help the younger children, led the eight-year-olds and three-year-olds in games that distracted them from the tension in the air.  Guards were at the exits to the dormitory and in the major intersecting corridors.  It was clear that curfew was off for the night, but nobody was going to be allowed to do anything with their free time.

Ezekiel knew where Franklin would be.  After hiding away his boots and the items he had stolen, he headed for the mess hall.

The northwest mess hall had been part of the loading dock before additions to the dormitory made it into a closed room.  A raised section made an excellent stage for parties and shows.  The mis-matched plastic walls—two that were blue long ago, and two a slightly more recent magenta—were faded enough that they could watch vids on a projected wall screen.  Sometimes Franklin and Nancy would entertain the crowd, Nancy with musical instruments she had cobbled together and Franklin with his atrocious playing and singing.

When Ezekiel arrived, he couldn't tell if a party had been going on or not.  The wallscreen had been activated.  A cluster of seeder children looked up at the face of Primarch Garamont in a news vid.  Franklin and Nancy sat at the front holding hands, a shiny plastic instrument adorned with strings and wires laying across the