10. Enter the Debian Raiders II
Rod called his comrades to order. It would be time to get to work soon, and a good leader always made sure that his troops were well prepared. Sal insisted that he was the leader of the outfit due to his superior military training, but Rod knew in his heart that he was the real leader. After all, he had been the first of their batch out of the cloning vats, and it should be evident to anybody that this meant that he had more experience than the others did - even if it was by a few seconds. Even a few seconds had to count for something, right[1]?
This bickering about leadership had resulted in several botched jobs and had been the main cause of the semi-retirement from which the group was now emerging. Rod was determined that the mistakes of the past should not be repeated again and that the Debian Raiders should rise from the ashes like the Pyrobirds of legend, to take their rightful place in the mercenary annals of the Fifty Galaxies. To this end, he and Sal had discussed matters and divvied up their individual responsibilities. Rod would defer to Sal when it came to matters strategic - Sal had absolute command when they were in the field of battle. Rod would lead at all other times. This arrangement appeared to work fine so far - at least as far as Rod was concerned. Sal might not be so sanguine since he hadn't received the mantle of leadership yet.
"Okay, guys, let's go over the job one more time to make sure we are clear on the details!" said Sal's disembodied voice over the intercom while the ship shuddered like a man with the ten-day Ligian fever on the tenth day[2].
"Umm ... shouldn't we be worrying about the ship instead of going over plans?" replied Sax, looking out one of the viewscreens nervously. "Besides, we all know the details, Sal. Come on, how hard can it be? We go in, meet the guy, get the package and then deliver it to our client's representatives on Merx IX!"
"Sax, careful planning is the only way to do a job right! We need this job if we are to leave our mark and make some credits. When will you get it through your head?" snapped Rod, looking at his brother as if Sax needed a few more brain cells to start a neuron party.
"As long as we don't leave a mark on the planet's surface on landing ..." muttered Alb, munching on a sandwich.
"We've already gone through all the plans, everything's in place, and we don't have anything else to discuss! Come on, Rod, be reasonable!" said Cal, looking at Rod like a kid pleading for one last ride on the merry-go-round.
"You guys are impossible! So what if we've already discussed the plans? We should also plan for the unexpected!" Rod always thought planning would solve everything and blamed lack of planning whenever anything went wrong.
"And how do you propose to do that? Consult a priest? Read some borra-borra leaves? Gut a devil-lizard and read its entrails?" snapped Rus.
"Mmm ... devil-lizards... I'm hungry!" interjected Alb, who'd already wolfed down his sandwich, heading towards the auto-chef.
"You're always hungry, Alb!" chorused half a dozen voices in unison.
"Oh, fine! Just don't expect me to watch your backs when the unexpected catches us off guard! Don't say I didn't warn you!" said Rod, giving up any attempts to plan further. Sal chose that particular moment to chime in over the intercom.
"If you're not strapped in, better do so now! We are in orbit around the planet and I am about to go in for the landing. This crate's not in the best of shape and it might be a bit of a bumpy ride. Just hang on tight!"
The others checked their seat belts and straps while still muttering and complaining about Rod and Sal and the duo's obsession with plans. Alb was the last one to strap down since he had to first wash down the last bits of his latest sandwich with a drink. The ship settled down a bit once it entered the atmosphere, and the Raiders were beginning to heave sighs of relief and unclench their fists when things took a turn for the worse in a rather abrupt fashion.
At first, it was just an imperceptible shuddering of the framework, but bit by bit, the shuddering spread to every strut, metal plate, nut, bolt and welding seal on the craft. The Raiders found themselves shaking along with the ship like dolls in a dryer, sliding down a flight of steps, which in turn was being dragged along the railway tracks. At least, that was as close an approximation as anything was.
"Oh boy, this doesn't look too good. Maybe we should stop?" asked Tre, holding on tight to his seat's armrests and looking straight ahead.
"What, right in the middle of entering atmosphere and just hope to hang around?" replied Rod, trying to turn around to stare at Tre. For his pains, he almost had his head snapped off due to the shaking of the ship.
"Well, hanging around sounds much better than being blown to a million pieces," retorted Tre. He appeared to be praying in between talking - or at least, his lips were moving silently even when he wasn't talking.
"Who bought this pile of junk anyway?" asked Rlo from the back, perhaps in an effort to divert everybody's attention.
"Don't knock it. It got us this far, didn't it?" Rod scowled.
"Yeah, but what's the point of coming this far if we can't make it to the planet's surface?" replied Tre, still staring straight ahead.
"Guys, it's possible that it just got a teensy weensy bit worse than a bumpy ride," interrupted Sal over the intercom.
"How much worse?" asked Rod, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.
"Depends on how much more could go wrong. But I'd suggest that you prepare for a crash landing or even ejecting out."
"Can we do anything to help?" It was Rlo again.
"Well, you can do what every mercenary does when in a tight spot. You can start praying! Talk to you in a bit, I got a ship to land ..."
Prayers looked to be in order as the ship juddered and shuddered its way through the atmosphere like an ailing patient for what seemed like aeons to the apprehensive Raiders. At last, the ship stumbled through the cloud cover and the Raiders could see the ground below on the viewscreens. It looked as if they might make it after all and the Raiders collectively began releasing that one breath that they'd been holding ...
Sometimes, fate leaves the death card hidden till the last possible moment - it makes for better dramatics that way. The poor craft, which had held up under all that was thrown its way with such bravery till now, gave up the ghost at the last moment and fell apart moments before touching the ground.
The Raiders had landed.
[1] The Sekhunds of Clocca would certainly have agreed. They spent their lives counting the multitudes of Sekhunds, believing that when each and every Sekhund was counted and tabulated, their world would end.
[2] The shuddering and shivering stopped on the eleventh day because the patient was one of two things - cured or dead.
