A break from reality; Sins of the Fathers (Part I)

Presley was amazed the corporation was even bothering with the first contact team. The robotic survey had made it clear that the limited sentient population of the new planet was no more advanced technologically than perhaps middle-ages Europe. There were no transmissions being picked up on any radio spectrum, the air was pretty much clear of any industrial age pollution, and the biggest settlements seemed to be no larger than a large township. Agriculture was evident, but scattered, and there was no evidence of massive engineering on any scale, such as would have been revealed of the Egyptians and Maya. Although optics revealed hominids, whether or not they were even mammalian in nature was not established as of yet. Another-words, this world was ripe for the picking, and mankind had a habit of taking things rather than just getting along. The colonization protocols of 2187 was supposed to prevent any behaviors compared to the concept of "manifest destiny" practiced by the colonial Americans, but corporations had a way to get around the spirit of the law, if not the technicalities.

A suitable landing site had been established not far from what seemed to be a good candidate for a governmental seat. The city, barely large enough to be referred to as one, seemed to be the oldest, with lots of architecture that seemed to speak to culture and authority. The landing craft didn't require a length of clear, flat land that a shuttle called for, so a remote clearing that could at least delay the onset of detection thanks to the surrounding forest was chosen. A clearing out of the landing site that allowed egress of the light recon vehicle made the site perfect.

The contact team was made up of five marines with optic camo and light weapons, an exo-biologist, a geologist, a resources evaluation tech from the company, a linguist, a government chaplain (whom he had argued forcibly against, but was overridden) and himself, the Captain of the contact frigate UNSS Columbus. Since the last great war that pitted Christianity against Islam, the church had insinuated itself so deeply into the Free World Federation that it threatened to do to secular government what the Islamic fundamentalists had done to the Middle East, which was ultimately to turn most of it into a radioactive desert with scattered plates of black glass here and there. It was a constant battle to keep the right wing of the government from gaining enough control to get the FWF into it with the East Asian Republic, that collection of asian nations pretty happy to remain relatively agnostic, if not downright atheistic. So far neither side had infringed on each other's colonies, which was fine with Presley, who was in no hurry to test out his ships actual deep space combat capabilities, which so far was more theoretical than demonstratively practical.

Presley patiently waited for the chaplain to finish up his impromptu prayer session with the Marines, who were always superstitiously happy to receive divine blessing before they embarked into the unknown. At least he knew their Commander to be more of the intellectual than your usual Marine, and no where near as trigger happy. Presley would not be a happy camper if one of the soldiers ended up actually shooting something simply because it moved. He prayed in his own way that their training was as good as he'd been led to believe. The chaplain, well, maybe they'd get lucky and he'd trip over something before he riled up the natives.

At last he was able to order the team to mount up and everybody secured themselves in the lander. The two pilots were not considered part of the survey team, and would remain in the lander at all times, ready to lift off at a moment's notice. Already an electric drone outfitted with an optic cloak was orbiting the landing site, ready to record the landing in case something went wrong or signals had to be amplified back to the orbiting ship. fifteen minutes later the preflight was finished, the airlock secured, and the egress doors opened beneath the lander, which would drop thru the opening and start it's descent burn. This was the part that Presley hated the most; the descent thru the atmosphere which would heat up the exterior of the craft and turn them into a fireball for a short while, since the engines were not efficient enough to provide for a drop slow enough to avoid the friction of the air. Still, it was no where near as hot a trip as that taken by a shuttle, which dropped like a brick at many times the speed of sound.

When the light show was over and he could see the topography below, Presley marveled at how clear the air was and how green and verdant the forests were below them as the craft descended on it's hover jets. He was equally impressed with how relatively quiet these new engines were considering how much thrust they produced, quiet enough he hoped not to herald their arrival to the locals, if there were any living in the immediate vicinity. It was always better to be able to scout the lay of the land before it was decided to walk up to some hapless "person" who wasn't going to be able to understand you and somehow convince them to "take you to their leader". Presley laughed at the irony of it, considering mankind had always assumed it would be aliens asking THEM.

As the lander approached the level of the treetops around the clearing, the copilot turned to Presley and keyed his intercom. "Captain, Sir, I HIGHLY recommend a couple of troopers egress with some fire extinquisers as soon as we kill the jets
, because it looks like were gonna light off a nice grass fire, which is gonna give us away right off the bat if anyone looks in this direction." Presley winced at not having thought of this during the mission planning, and relayed the order to the Marine officer in charge, who was already out of his harness and gathering his squad near the rear door. As his knees felt the pressure of the gentle landing, he shouted the order to exit the craft and secure the landing sight, while making a visual sweep of the field with the exterior camera, switching thru various spectrums to insure he didn't miss anything. Sure enough, he heard the swish of fire extinguishers being deployed as the rear ramp dropped and the Marines immediately tackled the burning grass all around the lander. By the time he'd made his visual sweep and headed back to the exit ramp, they had gotten the fire under control with barely a few wisps of black smoke to betray their landing.

All of them had on full facemasks with rebreathers, just in case, but the onboard air sampler buzzed the all clear and they thankfully removed them and sucked in lungfulls of crisp, clean, virgin air. They were just a handful of humans who had the pleasure of breathing air untainted by centuries of man-made pollution, and it's effect was more invigorating than any of them could have imagined. As the troopers surrounded the craft and swept the treeline for any movement, the pilots of the lander were getting the craft into quiet standby mode, and everybody just listened, to hear what the sounds of a new and alien world sounded like.

It was the most beautiful, gentle symphony of muted, natural sound he had ever heard. Birds, if that was what they were, twittered, tweeted and called all around them, the grasses rustled in the breeze, and raw, wonderful odors assaulted their noses, so different than those they had to endure in the confines of the frigate. The sun was now rising above the treeline, and one could not have seen the difference between this star and the one Earth orbited save for the clarity of the air which made everything seem more vibrant, even the dullest colors to vivid to dismiss. Just experiencing the beauty of this simple open meadow on this "clean" world suddenly made Presley want to get back on the lander and get them the hell off this world before they made any more impact on it. The natives certainly didn't seem to have ruined it, if they were ever going to. Presley knew in his heart what humans would do to it given half the chance. A shot at the mineral resources alone would scar the land and spread it's share of poisons all around.

A good half hour's worth of scanning, listening, plus reports from the drone overhead assured them that if their descent had been detected, the residents were apparently in no hurry to investigate. Either that, or they had been frightened half to death and were staying put in their town. Convinced the landing site was secure so far, Presley ordered the crew to set up the tents and equipment, while the Marine Commander and his motley crew got the runner out and ready to roll.

The planet's rotation was calculated to be twenty hours, 37 minutes, and the programmable watches were approaching 1000 hours, three hours after sunrise. Suddenly, it occurred to Presley that he had no idea what had happened to the Chaplain, whom he assumed must have remained inside the lander all this time. He walked back up the ramp and gazed into the interior, which was not brightly lit to conserve power. He keyed his communicator. "Hey, Franks, the Padre up there with you guys?" "No Sir, Captain, I thought he was out there with you."

"Oh shit", thought Presley as he ran back down the ramp and started looking around for the "extra baggage" he hadn't wanted to bring along to begin with. "All hands, report! I don't see the Chaplain. Where are you, Mossuca?" Silence for a moment, then a voice came back. "Captain, to your two o'clock! Over by the treeline!" The Captain's head whipped around and he scanned the perimeter in the direction directed. The sun was bright and still low, forcing him to squint, but he eventually made out the lone figure kneeling near the treeline, apparently in prayer.....Jesus Allah Christ! "Why in the hell isn't his comlink on? Gunny, get over there and drag his ass back to camp before he gets bit by something!"

The Marine motioned for two of his guys to follow him and they high-tailed it over to the kneeling figure. Presley tried not to laugh as they unceremoniously grabbed him by the arms and legs and carried him back in a run, the Padre kicking and shouting by the rough handling. They brought the angry Chaplain right to Presley and propped him up on his feet and went back to their activities without a word, leaving the fuming officer/baptist preacher shaking and red in the face.

"What in the HELL were you doing off by by yourself without your comlink on, MISTER Mossuca? Are you trying to ruin my perfectly good record at keeping my people alive and in one piece? There's no telling WHAT could have come out of that tree line and killed you! So help me, if you don't have the common sense necessary to keep yourself out of trouble, I WILL keep your ass locked up in the lander until we finish this mission! I might catch some hell for yelling at you back at CENCOM, but at least I won't lose my commission for letting you get bushwhacked, you got that?"

Mossuca's face said outrage and indignity at being dressed down by mere Captain, an atheist no less if his conduct was any indication, but he had been briefed before the mission and it was made clear that Presley was God as far as the chain of command was concerned, at least during the mission. And Presley's reputation and record would mute any complaints the Padre might be tempted to lodge against him, so he simply nodded and mumbled his apologies. There was more than one way to put a heathen in his place, back in the real world. Mossuca could bide his time till then.

Presley accepted the nod and left the Chaplain standing where he was, hoping the man of God would not provide him with any more distractions. The Marine Captain informed him when he got back to the tent that the runner was ready to go and the security team had tested the optic cammo with no problems encountered. Presley gathered up the other three team members, went over the contact procedure with them, and ordered everybody to mount up in the runner. The five Marines plus their Commander would walk ahead and around the runner with their optic cammo engaged, providing the element of surprise should they encounter a hostile response as they approached the town. One by one, the marines shimmered and faded from direct view as their cloaks were activated, which relied on some kind of fancy light bending technologies to make them blend in with whatever background they were viewed against. You could pick them out only if you knew what to look for. Presley was sure that the locals would consider this to be some sort of magic, if they understood the concept as ancient humans had.

With the runner loaded up and the escort deployed, they made their way quietly out of the clearing and through the wide path between the trees which would lead them to a simple dirt road at roughly a quarter mile in distance. Once on the road, the distance was about five miles to the town limits. Presley took out his remote and programmed the drone above them to orbit the contact party, to give him a heads-up on any encounter with a native on the road. Traveling at a leisurely 3 miles an hour, they made their way down the road, which as dirt roads went, was remarkably smooth and lacking in ruts or potholes. There was no sign of horse traffic or evidence of anything more advanced than perhaps a wagon.

The trip down the road was aggravatingly uneventful, for Presley had reasoned that they should have encountered SOME traffic on the way. Perhaps the town HAD been alerted to their presence and was expecting some sort of assault. He reminded the rest to keep alert in case they were walking into some sort of ambush, although the drone above was finding nothing on any spectrum that would indicate that to be in the works. It was about a quarter mile away from the edge of the settlement and just before a bend in the road that things really got surreal.

The surveillance drone buzzed him on the remote console and displayed a view of what seemed to be a small gathering on the road ahead, just out of sight around the bend. He ordered the party to stop and hold position as he zoomed in with the camera and studied the beings which seemed to be waiting for them. The thing that bothered him the most was what seemed to be several of the people (and yes, they pretty much looked like PEOPLE) looking up at the camera as though they could see the drone circling above them. Unless these people could see wavelengths of light that humans couldn't, they shouldn't be able to see the drone.
Powered by solar energy and a fuel cell, the drone was whisper quiet, but these beings might also be able to hear well enough to pick it up. He hoped it was an acoustic giveaway and not optical, if that was the case, for if they could see right thru the optic camo, the security team had lost a valuable advantage.

He shared his concerns with the rest of the team and it was decided that it would be a good idea to send one of the Marines ahead to reconnoiter the group before they came into sight around the bend. The order was barked, and an unseen marine kicked up some dust from the road as he jogged ahead of them. Presley waited for a painful eternity before the comlink crackled. "Captain, Sir, I don't think they see me, but.....well......you might as well come on, I don't know how to explain this......this is so fucking weird....."

"Stay put, Marine; we'll catch up to you. You see any sign of hostile intent, or fear perhaps?"

"No Sir......really, you have to see this for yourself. If I wasn't so weirded out I'd be laughing my ass off."

The runner made it around the bend, and everybody aboard could see what had the scout so flummoxed. Still, it was just about the last thing they could ever had expected to be greeting them on a dirt road on an alien planet...........

It looked alot like an old German Ompah band, complete with tuba's, assorted brass instruments, and people dressed up in short pants and suspenders, complete with the funny hats. The runner stopped, the contact team staring open mouthed at the sight, as the man in front of the welcoming committee turned around and began to conduct the group belting out a not-half-bad rendition of "The Beer Barrel Polka".