The Meridian's Edge shuddered as we hit the outer atmosphere, and I gripped the armrest of my acceleration seat hard enough that my knuckles went white. Around me, the other members of the extraction team sat strapped in, faces illuminated by the cold blue glow of their datapads. No one spoke. The only sounds were the groan of the hull under atmospheric stress and the steady beep of the descent computer counting down our altitude.
I was a geological surveyor. That's what my contract said, anyway. My job was to identify mineral deposits, assess extraction viability, and provide topographical analysis for the drilling teams. I was good at it—good enough that UOE had paid for my transport from three systems away, good enough that they'd promised me a percentage of the gross if we hit the projected yields.
And we would hit them. The preliminary scans had been clear. This planet—officially designated as GJ-1214c in the corporate databases, though the natives apparently called it something else—was rich in rare earth elements. Iridium, platinum, osmium. The kind of concentrations that made executives salivate and shareholders approve budgets without question.
The fact that the planet was inhabited was, in the words of our mission commander, "a logistical consideration, not a moral one."
I'd nodded when he said that during the briefing. We all had.
"Thirty thousand meters," the pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Approaching primary landing zone. Weather looks clear. No aerial contacts."
Across from me, Chen—one of the security contractors—let out a breath. "Good. Last thing we need is those things swarming us on approach."
"They're not aggressive unless provoked," I said, not looking up from my datapad. I'd been reviewing the xenobiological reports during the descent. "The briefing said—"
"The briefing said a lot of things," Chen interrupted. "It also said the natives were 'primitive and non-threatening.' You see the size of some of them in those surveillance images? I've seen smaller combat mechs."
I had seen the images. The Sorathi—that's what they called themselves—were humanoid, bipedal, and came in a bewildering array of colors. The females were particularly large, some standing well over eight feet tall. They had tails, which the xenobiologists found fascinating and I found irrelevant. They lived in scattered settlements, mostly in mountainous regions. No industrial technology. No weapons beyond blades and bows.
Non-threatening.
"They won't be a problem," I said, with the confidence of someone who'd never actually met one. "We're setting up in the lowlands, away from their primary population centers. By the time they realize we're here, we'll have the infrastructure in place."
"And if they do realize?" Chen asked.
I shrugged. "That's what you're here for."
He didn't look reassured.
The ship shuddered again, harder this time, and I felt my stomach drop as we descended through a layer of turbulence. Through the small viewport to my left, I caught my first real glimpse of the planet's surface. Mountains—jagged and impossibly tall, their peaks wreathed in clouds. Forests that stretched like dark green oceans. Rivers that caught the light of the system's star and gleamed like molten silver.
It was beautiful.
I remember thinking that, even then. It was beautiful.
I also remember thinking that beauty didn't pay the bills.
"Ten thousand meters," the pilot announced. "Beginning final approach. Landing in five minutes."
Around me, the team began checking their equipment. Chen and the other security personnel ran diagnostics on their weapons. The engineers reviewed the construction schedules for the initial drilling platform. The xenobiologist—a nervous woman named Reeves—muttered something about wanting to collect samples before we "disturbed the ecosystem too much."
I pulled up the geological surveys on my datapad one more time, studying the topographical maps, the mineral density readings, the projected extraction sites. Everything looked perfect. This was going to be a textbook operation. Six months to establish the base, another year to reach full production capacity. After that, I could retire if I wanted to.
The ship's landing gear deployed with a heavy clunk that I felt through the deck plating.
"Touchdown in sixty seconds," the pilot said. "Welcome to GJ-1214c, people. Let's make some money."
There was a smattering of tired laughter from the team. I didn't join in. I was watching through the viewport as the ground rushed up to meet us—alien soil, alien plants, an alien sky that was just a shade too purple to feel like home.
The landing struts made contact with a jolt that rattled my teeth.
We had arrived.
Chen assigned me to Field Unit Three within an hour of landing. "You'll do the initial survey of the northern ridge," he said, not looking up from his tablet. "Vargas, Kowalski, and Trent will escort you. Standard protocol—they handle security, you handle the rocks."
Vargas was a thick-necked security contractor who looked at me like I was something he'd scraped off his boot. Kowalski and Trent weren't much better. When I met them at the equipment bay, Vargas was already complaining.
"A fucking surveyor," he muttered to Kowalski. "Dead weight with a rock hammer."
"Company policy," Kowalski said with a shrug. "Can't extract what we can't map."
"Could've sent a drone."
"Drones don't sign liability waivers."
They laughed. I pretended not to hear, checking my gear. Standard field pack, geological scanner, sample containers, water. The atmospheric readings had flagged some irregularities, but the briefing had been rushed and I'd missed half of it while reviewing the mineral surveys.
"Let's move," Vargas said. "I want to be back before dark. This place gives me the creeps."
The landscape outside the ship was breathtaking in a way that made my chest tight. Rolling hills covered in vegetation that shimmered between blue and violet, strange trees with bark that looked like flowing water, frozen mid-cascade. The air smelled sweet, almost floral, with an underlying sharpness I couldn't place.
We hiked for two hours. Vargas set a brutal pace, and I struggled to keep up. My lungs felt tight, like I couldn't quite get a full breath, but I assumed it was just the exertion. The altitude, maybe. I didn't want to complain and prove them right about the dead weight comment.
"Contact," Trent said suddenly, his hand going to his weapon. "Movement, three o'clock."
I saw it then—something large moving through the trees about fifty meters away. Dark shape, low to the ground.
"Probably nothing," Kowalski said. "Let's keep moving."
But Vargas had gone tense. "No. That's—fuck, that's one of those things from the briefing. The wolf-things."
"Leasion," I said, my mouth dry. "They hunt in packs."
"Then we move. Now." Vargas started walking faster. Then jogging.
"Wait," I called out, my scanner still in my hand. "We haven't finished the—"
"Leave it," Vargas snapped over his shoulder. "Move your ass, surveyor."
They were running now. Actually running. I shoved the scanner into my pack and tried to follow, but my lungs were burning, each breath feeling like I was sucking air through a wet cloth. What the hell was wrong with me?
"Wait!" I shouted, but they were already disappearing over a rise.
I crested the hill thirty seconds later, gasping, and they were gone. Just gone. The landscape stretched out before me, empty except for the alien vegetation swaying in a breeze I could barely feel.
"Vargas!" I called out. "Kowalski!"
Nothing. They'd left me.
The realization hit like a physical blow. They'd deliberately left me behind. Dead weight. Not worth the trouble