Abilene’s Paradox | IC
OOC Thread | Discord
Colony 446-7A (“UNNAMED”) | 10:36am ATC3+, 1st Day of the Month of Renewal
OOC Thread | Discord
Colony 446-7A (“UNNAMED”) | 10:36am ATC3+, 1st Day of the Month of Renewal
It was a moody day. Dark clouds were rolling overhead and there was a slow but insistent wind cutting in from the north. The group soared over tracts of untamed wilderness in a VTOL of some kind, a refurbished vessel once intended for transporting military bureaucracy. That was to say that it was a luxury aircraft moonlighting as a troop transport. The interior was unnecessarily spacious, there was a glass floor with which to survey what lay beneath, and there was even powered air conditioning, albeit air conditioning that smelled of antifreeze and glycerol. It was mostly quiet, save for the almost speechlike murmur of the engines.
The landscape was mostly flat grassland, weighed down by dew and a light dusting of frost. There was the occasional flat basin where the earth had sunk about ten metres down, filling with water and fostering the growth of mangroves and ferns. Phosphorescent pollen hovered just above ground, like fairies dancing above flowerbeds. Dark shapes moved through the underbrush. Local fauna, no doubt. It was hard to make out any details through the mist and the moisture clinging to the windscreen.
All of this rested on top of an old city, derelict since some five hundred years ago. Nature had gone to work in the interim, covering it all up in dirt and greenery. There were straight rectangular chasms, in places where the soil had caved in and fallen to the streets down below, some three hundred metres subterranean. Those ravines were lined by the overgrown facades of high rises. Entire sides of skyscrapers had peeled away in their neglect, baring their innards to the outside world. Water dribbled out of old pipes and rotten carpet spores hung in the air. The artefacts of habitation were present: peeling calendars, mouldy stuffing, and empty bed frames. It was anyone’s guess as to how many aberrations inhabited the ruins. Hundreds? Thousands? The entire city’s population? Hopefully that wouldn’t be their problem; the colony would be staying well above ground.
Evelyn stood at the front of the vehicle, beside the pilot. She had declined to sit upon liftoff.
“Within a few minutes, the site should be within viewing distance. The colonists arrived last night, so they should already have a good thing going.” The pilot rubbed his brow with the back of his sleeve. Grains of crust peeled away from the corners of his eyes. “If we’re lucky, we’ll arrive to hot showers and dehydrated meat. Lucky us, right Ms. Retherford?”
Evelyn responded without skipping a beat. “I’m sorry but do I know you?”
“Don’t give me that, I’ve been flying for seven years. I’ve seen you more than my own damn brother in that time. We’re workmates. Shouldn’t we know each other’s names, at least?”
“You’re a pilot. I’m property. It’s not your place to get acquainted with me.”
The pilot tched. “Do you really think of yourself like that? Surely that’s too dehumanising for you. No offence.”
Evelyn patted him on the shoulder. “Eyes ahead.”
The pilot flicked a switch above his head, turning on the intercom. Not that it was necessary; even a conversational volume would be heard from the other side of the plane. “This is your pilot. Arrival in five minutes, sighting in two.” He turned the switch off and looked over his shoulder. His gaze fell upon the crew of retainers and other specialised personnel. “I think I recognise that girl at the back. Guizhen, her name was? Part of a retainer crew, the Three Stars. I might’ve taxicabbed for them back in ‘29. That's a terrible name for a retainer crew, by the way. Three stars makes me think of a three star restaurant or something."
"They probably only had three members to begin with."
"Then just hire two goons to fill out the rest of the roster. Anyway, I also noticed the obvious government shrink next to her, Mr. Moore or something. Then the cultist, Thomas, and that creepy old doctor, Cooperson. Kind of a grab-bag team, don’t you think?”
Evelyn bit her tongue. When she ruminated, she showed it. “I suppose Sartorian, KBIS, The Retainers’ Guild, and the Rotiferists must all be all party to this expedition. That’s why Sartorian sent you and I. It’s why Mr. Moore is slumming it outside city limits instead of pushing pencils. If they’re beholden to outside interests, they can be relied upon to stay.”
The pilot scoffed. “Rotiferists wouldn’t be allowed to contribute to the colony even if they wanted to. Some of these guys might just be escapists who sold themselves cheap to get out of the city. They’ll cut and run as soon as it’s convenient, just wait and see.”
“It’s early to be casting aspersions, don’t you think Riley?”
“So you do know my name.” The pilot chuffed.
Evelyn briefly appraised the man. He was boyish and a little young, maybe in his mid twenties. From his slightly awkward affect, she guessed that he had probably never been rehabilitated. Muscle memory was preserved between rehabs. Those who’d lived for a long time, even those who had recently undergone rehab, tended to have smooth talking voices and slicker, more elegant movements. They were just fundamentally more confident with their bodies.
After a little while, the colony site faded into view through a dense fogbank. It was some five hundred metres away on top of a raised plateau, the rooftop of a building which had yet to be fully buried in the sediment. Though, it was capped by a few feet of soil and vegetation. The colonists had already set part of the settlement up. The edge of the plateau was ringed with electrified fencing, while trucks and tents occupied the centre. The pilot leaned into his onboard mic. “Sartorian Airborne to settlement, we are inbound with specialists aboard. Confirm landing.” He was met with silence. He rapped his fingers on the edge of his seat while they waited. And waited. Finally he breathed out and shrugged. “They must not have set up comms yet.”
Evelyn shook her head, noticing the synthetic orange glow of burning plastic. Soot and burnt light washed over the grass. “I see smoke. Get closer.”
It was obvious that the colony had been attacked. A section of fencing had been crushed, and the hillside leading up to the perimeter was covered in dark burnt patches. Corpses were visible on the ground, alongside discarded weapons and dropped supplies. Gasoline fires burnt under the bonnets of several trucks.
"I can't say I didn't expect this." Evelyn murmured. The pilot’s face blanched, and she noticed that he wasn’t looking at the ground. She tracked his gaze and caught sight of a flat white ball of feathers floating above the ruins. Thirteen downy wings stacked on top of each other, concealing the body of whatever creature they were attached to. The feathers had the albedo of polished marble near their roots, and darkened to a black ivory-like texture upon the tips of the pinions. The bones of humans and large fauna were scattered about beneath the creature: dilated rib cages and braincases emptied of their viscera. Drab, craven birds picked at the remains. The feathered mass shifted around with the same randomness and ethereality as a flash of colour in one's eye, occasionally dropping down to feed on a corpse. It would alight from the air by gliding down, before shivering over whatever it was eating. When it took wing, it left behind pale, scoured bones. It was ponderous and floaty, like something out of a dream.
“The surveyors didn’t mention that there’d be a big cannibal chicken camping the site,” The pilot remarked with an anxious chuckle. Evelyn reached over his shoulder to turn on the intercom. “Colony breached, no visible survivors. Take note, aberration or novel fauna in the air. No visible wounds. Most likely a scavenger. I’ll be searching and rescuing. You’re welcome to join me.” She finished her announcement with a facetious little smirk.
She asked the pilot to take them in, to which he gave her a sidelong squint. “You sure? If the colonists are dead, shouldn’t we just turn back?”
“We’re here to protect them. We should at least look for survivors.”
“Are you saying that because you’re a humanitarian, or because it’s in your contract?”
She didn’t dignify him with an answer. The pilot brought the ship down about two hundred metres away from the plateau. The hot air coming out of the engines rippled outward, flattening the grass. There was a strong stench of chlorophyll. As the side of the ship opened, pellets of water whipped Evelyn’s face. She dropped to the ground and waited for the others, shielding her eyes against the now-falling rain.