First Descent

First Descent

The black cutter ghosted in from the west on swept-back wings, twin fins carving the air as it chased the fiery first edge of dawn across rolling grasslands. Behind, the alien sun was beginning to make its presence known—smaller and dimmer than Sol, but in this sky about the same size as the sun in Earth’s sky.

Marine Sergeant Jordan “Jordy” Bingham was in his element. He glanced at the sensor—plentty of life. Perfect for the mission’s goal of gathering samples to help determine whether this planet could be a second Earth.

“Touchdown in four mikes,” came the murmur from his neural implant’s personal artificial intelligence—his PAI.

He pulled up an image of their target: a depression behind a shelf of volcanic rock. They were about four kilometers west of a nearby river. The caldera provided a protected landing zone and the slow-moving nearby river a gathering place for the local fauna.

“Franklin, you are clear to descend,” Sara, the TacNet AI, spoke in a flat, precise voice that he had come to appreciate. “Vector three-two-zero, sink rate point-six grav, touchdown zone verified cold. Acknowledge.”

Jordy nodded, Landing zone cold—no predators and no herds of herbivores that could panic and stampede. The planet had no intelligent life, so that wasn’t a problem.

“Acknowledged,” Jordy replied, his hands steady on the controls.

He grinned to himself. Sara was a tactical net AI, created for combat situations. She was doing her thing, even if it seemed a bit like an overreaction.

“Telemetry stable. Atmospheric shear within tolerance. Take her in,” Sara concluded. Then, after a fractional pause just long enough to sound almost human she added, “Good hunting, Franklin.”

He drew back on the joystick, flaring the nose to bleed off velocity. “Thirty seconds,” he sang out. The cutter hovered on its gravitics as he performed a final visual sweep. Then he cut the grav and the cutter settled. “We’re down.”

Cheers and whoops rose in the cabin. A clean landing, no casualties. Soon to be first boots on an untouched world. Hell of a thing.

“Oxygen twenty point two percent. Air pressure nine-eighty-seven hectas. Temperature thirty-one degrees,” Kimmela reported through her link, already in science-lead mode. “Feels like a summer at home.”

This was her first ground survey. Still, as an Oglala Sioux who’d grown up in the hills of South Dakota, long days on open grassland had prepared her for this—just not on a world thirty-six light-years from Earth and not for dropping like a fiery rock from thirty-six thousand kilometers in orbit.

“Yeah. A warm summer’s day,” Gunnery Sergeant Jack Morrison, mission tactical lead, said. “All right—saddle up. The fun begins now. Our skinsuits will handle the atmosphere, but don’t rely on them alone.”

The planet’s atmosphere was breathable, but protocol demanded sealed skinsuits—protecting both the landing team and the pristine world from contamination. He swept his gaze across the cabin.

“Once we step out, we’re not coming back in until tonight. Remember the briefing. Those hexapods may be herbivores, but they mass half a ton, carry a tail like a battering ram, and a nose horn they know how to use. One armor-piercing round from an M12 won’t stop one if it’s angry or cornered.”

He tapped his knuckles against his helmet. “We’ve got predators out there too. Something like a wolf. Your armor will help, but don’t bet your life on it. No one moves more than ten meters from the group unless you’re paired—one scientist, one Marine. That’s why we’re here.”

“We’re here to collect samples, not bring home body bags,” Kim snapped, backing him up. She turned to the scientists on the team. “You’ve all completed SEAR and the shortened Ranger course. Use your training. Keep your heads. And rely on the Marines. That’s why they’re here.”

Gunny grinned at her. “And if you ever get tired of being a science geek, Doc, my squad’s always hiring.”

He checked his e-window opened by his PAI. Spirit and Opportunity, the wheeled carrier robots, reported green. Same for Charlie and Irving, the two hawk drones.

Kim and two other Marines joined him in the airlock. He hit the inner lock close. A hiss from the sanitizing spray and the pressure light turned green. He hit release. Heat rolled in like breath from a furnace. A distant avian screech echoed across the Rift.

Kim stepped out and let her eyes travel to the horizon, where the first sliver of sunrise crested the rim of the world, casting red fire across a sky just beginning to brighten. Instinct brought her head down in a brief bow to Wí: the Sun Spirit, giver of life. Then she hesitated. Was this Wí? Or was Wí still shining far behind her, across a gulf of stars and over the lands of her birth? The corner of her mouth lifted. It didn’t matter. The respect did.

She reached up out of habit to brush back her hair, forgetting the helmet and rebreather. “Damn. So Western,” she muttered, half-laughing. Caught again between old ways and new tech.

Thirty-six light-years from Earth, on a world untouched by human hands. A triumph for her species. But all she could think about was breathing the air and feeling sun and wind on her face—even the sun and wind of an alien world. Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ—we are all related. The Lakota teaching about the connectedness of all parts of the world from mountains and rivers to to all forms of life. Should it be different on this world? An image flashed of her clinging to Starwind’s back—his chestnut coat gleaming while racing through the golden grass of childhood South Dakota. Not now. Not here. But why not?

This connection with this world only increased her obligation to protect this world. To ensure that it was not ravaged and exploited like Earth but respected and shared between humans and all its life forms.

A hand gently rested on her shoulder. It was Gunny.

“Time to move out as soon as Jae gets back from scouting a path up the bank. Should be any moment.”

She smiled and nodded.

He turned to the team behind him. “Sharpen up, people. We’ve got work to do. We ain’t tourists.”

“Gunny,” Kim said, her eyes twinkling, “you know, what we’re doing is really a glorified sightseeing tour.”

He laughed. “Yeah. An old expression out of habit.”

Almost on cue, a low roar echoed from the horizon—part foghorn, part elephant. It sounded big. And hopefully herbivorous.

She suppressed a shiver and moved closer to the group, glancing overhead at the reassuring sight of two red-tailed hawk drones, their broad wings barely flexing as they circled. Irving and Charlie. Marine humor.

She spoke into her implant to her PAI, “Zinny, hawk feed.”

A small e-window opened as her PAI, Zinny—short for Zintkála, “bird”—pulled up Irving’s video feed. The grasslands unfolded before her in all directions.

She exhaled slowly. Still quiet. For now. Her ancestors would love this view. Eyes of the eagle.

Corporal Jae Carlson moved carefully through the dry streambed, using it as a shortcut up the rocky slope of the old lakebed. Easier than scrambling straight up the sides of the depression. The stones in the bed had been worn smooth by rushing water sometime in the past. Still better than climbing up over sharp volcanic rocks.

He took a deep breath to smell the terrain—then remembered the air breather. Habit.

He’d grown up on a ranch in Montana, raised on wide prairies and pine-shadowed hills. Terrain like this felt familiar—open, wild, unforgiving—but he couldn’t smell it through the breather. He joined the Marines aiming for Recon. Those skills, plus a lifetime of backcountry wandering, had landed him in Space Command’s exploration branch—close enough to satisfy him.

“Warning! Contact!” came across the TacNet. “Large quadruped, canine morphology. Visual estimate: 100–105 cm at shoulder, mottled coat. Mass approximated at 70-75 kilos. Moving with fluid, predatory gait. Visual signature resembles Earth Canis dirus—colloquial: ‘dire wolf.’ Recommend caution.”

An e-window image of the dire wolf appeared. It was nose up—smelling, seeking.

“Does it look like it spotted me?” Jae asked.

“Unclear.” Sara replied.

“What direction is it moving?”

“Just standing there,” Sara answered. “Sending Charlie’s feed.”

Jae’s PAI snapped an e-window open, filling with the image. The animal stood nose up, motionless.

Yeah. He could see the resemblance. He’d seen the reconstructions of the dire wolf in old Earth museums, fossil halls. Same build. Same posture.

Three hundred meters. Not far. Not for a predator that size. And it hadn’t bolted. Wasn’t charging either. Just… there.

He eased a breath and instinctively checked his rifle.

A lone wolf, nose up, locked on the scent of a bellowing six-legger wasn’t going to break focus unless something looked dangerous.

At least that’s what the grays would do back in Montana.

But this wasn’t Montana. And it sure as hell wasn’t Earth.

Instincts ran deeper than planets. Or did they?

Best no to count on it.

“Jae, status!” It was Gunny.

“You heard Sara?”

“Yes.”

“The dire wolf is motionless, sniffing. Probably locked on to one of those six-legged herbivores. Back home, wolves are wary of strange scents—especially when focused on prey. If it hunts by scent and has caught mine, it probably doesn’t classify me as a threat. Not yet, anyway.” He paused. “This streambed is still the best way out of the caldera. I recommend we move out as planned. I’ll keep eyes on our friend. Have Irving or Charlie expand the search radius—see if it’s part of a pack.”

Gunny didn’t answer right away. “Kim, you got this?”

“Of course,” she replied, excitement threading her voice. “How could I miss it? The chance to witness a predator hunt and compare it to one on Earth.”

“And the risk of getting involved if the dire wolves decide we’re an issue—or dinner?” Gunny asked.

“I agree with Jae’s read. On Earth, my people see the wolf differently than the Western view. Šung’manitu tȟáŋka—Great Wolf. A relative of the wild places. If this is truly a wolf analog, its behavior makes sense.”

She paused. “But as a scientist, I’ll add this: pack predators don’t all follow the same playbook. Wolves tend to be cautious around unfamiliar scents—watchers. Lions are different—territorial, more likely to test an unknown. If this species leans feline in its ancestry, or converged toward that behavior, we could see a very different outcome.”

“I’m hoping it’s a watcher,” Gunny said. “But we prepare for a challenger.”

“We have me and the hawks as watchers watching the watcher,” Jae said, unable to resist a grin at his own wordplay. “Coming in, Jordy didn’t see any other way up out of the caldera, other than climbing over volcanic rocks which could be dangerous. My recommendation is to bring the team along here and we watchers will keep an eye on our friend over there.”

“Ok, let’s move out,” Gunny ordered.

Above them, Charlie expanded its spiral, sweeping LIDAR and heat wake sensors over the terrain. It banked and kicked on low-frequency pattern tracking. Sara flagged a faint movement—just a flicker behind a boulder, a flick of a tail—then nothing.

Jae exhaled slowly, the hunter in him recognizing the rhythm. Watching the watcher. He stepped off and led them up the riverbed.

Two more steps for Kim and she was at the top of the caldera, Gunny and Jae already cresting ahead. A deep breath—then another. The rebreather cooled the air she drew in, which helped, but only somewhat.

She paused to take in the landscape. The season’s shifting. In her mind she smelled it. Life was on the edge here. The Thumpers, as the Marines were calling the hexapods, were likely migrating toward the last of the water, and the predators following. Both hungry. Both wary. She exhaled slowly. This was a lean time when the world held its breath waiting for the first rains.

On Earth, her elders had taught her to read such signs. When the buffalo moved, the wolves followed. And here, too, the same story played out. A new world, but the same rules. Scarcity. Migration. Predators waiting for the weak to falter. Nature wasn’t cruel. Just efficient.

She counseled the team. “This is dry season. The predators are hungry and maybe desperate. Despite our unfamiliar scent, we might look like a convenient snack. So, to quote Gunny—on your toes.”

“No one goes anywhere alone,” Gunny cut in. “Remember, we stay together, pair off—one Marine, one scientist. No more than ten meters between each of you. No one breaks line of sight — not for a second. Remember your situational awareness from training. Behind you. Ahead. To your flanks. Even underfoot. Be aware.” He drew a breath. “Okay, move out.”

Kim gripped her rifle a little tighter, finger brushing the guard. Rolling grassland stretched in every direction—parched, waist-high, rippling with the faintest breeze. The few green patches left were fading, clinging to the last of the groundwater. Dry season, no question. Fauna barely holding on.

Overhead came an eerie, high-pitched trill—more whale than bird. Kim looked up.

“Irving learned a new call,” she said, smiling faintly as the drone circled overhead.

Jae’s voice came through next. “Our wolf friend’s heading east. Must be after that herd.”

“Irving confirms,” Sara added. “Pack forming a klick to the east, approaching a herd of Thumpers. Prey density high.”

“Keep eyes on them,” Gunny ordered. “We get out of the way when Thumpers dance.”

They continued on. Slow and steady, pausing to allow the scientists to take a sample. The day wore on as the temperature peaked and began to drop.

Kim glanced up. The sun—she had to call it that—hung lower in the sky. Only a few hours of daylight left. Behind her, the Opportunity rover, now packed with samples, lumbered the five klicks back to the cutter and had already disappeared into the distance behind some shallow rolling hills. Spirit, the other rover, was already back at the cutter unloading. Once in the streambed, its pace would slow.

She hadn’t been this tired since the national gymnastics championships fifteen years ago.

Gunny sauntered over. “Long day, eh?”

“But a productive one. We accomplished a lot. You guys might laugh at it, but we bagged some fresh scat from thumpers and dire wolves—a goldmine of biological data. And those five small animals we captured, tagged, that are destined for release after their turn in the lab.”

Irving interrupted them. “Contact: wolves now moving in from the east. Distance: 600 meters. Vector indicatesintercept with team position.”

Gunny yelled, “Heads up! We may have some visitors! Gather your gear. Everyone tighten up.” He unslung his rifle and gave Kim a quick nod: get ready.

She hesitated. Those poor beasts didn’t stand a chance if they decided we were prey. But where could the team go? It certainly couldn’t outrun them.

Captain Michael Grove, captain of the exploration cruiser overhead, came over Sara’s connection. “We’ve got what we need. Return to cutter and depart. Well done.”

They turned and began their trek back to the cutter, following the path they had cut in the waist-high grass.

They hadn’t marched that long when Irving’s voice came over the TacNet again. “Four more wolves moving in your direction. Almost looks like they’re trying to cut you off from the caldera.

“We need to move fast!” Gunny snapped. “Jae on point. Three klicks to the wash. Irving and Charlie overwatch, full three-sixty. Charlie at 500 meters counterclockwise, Irving at 200 meters clockwise.”

His tone hardened. “Double time to the streambed. Push it while the terrain’s easy. We’ll slow in the rocks.”

Three minutes later Charlie reported over the TacNet link: “Eight wolves, possibly nine, moving in from the east at 500 meters, moving on an intercept course a little ahead of you.”

“Irving Charlie, activate your charge capacitors,” Gunny ordered the drones.

The drones’ claws and beak tips could deliver a 15,000-volt, low-amp stun at less than a meter.

“Hold! Form a defensive perimeter, rifles at the ready,” Gunny ordered sharply. “Keep your eyes open and use your IR augments. They’re going to be hard to see in this grass!”

Kim dropped to one knee. Hands steady. Rifle raised. Is this how settlers felt, waiting for her people’s warriors? Only she wasn’t the hunter today. She was the outsider. Just like they had been.

A loud howl from the wolves. One of the hawks must have struck. Kim’s rifle seemed to double in weight.

More howls and screeches.

A blur.

A wolf burst from the grass. Right at her. A rifle cracked—three rounds, rapid. No silencer. The wolf dropped midair. She scrambled aside, face pale.

“Wolves are pulling back!” Irving called.

Kim exhaled hard. Her first combat. A shiver—adrenaline rush. She moved over to the dead animal. “It’s probably a young adult,” she said. “Maybe ninety kilos.”

She knelt beside the fallen dire wolf, touched two fingers to its fur, and whispered, “Wóphila, tȟatȟáŋka oyáte.” Thank you, buffalo nation.”

Gunny’s voice softened. “We’re leaving. Now.”

They didn’t run. They moved with discipline—because panic was a kind of contagion too. As the cutter’s dark shape appeared from behind the rock shelf, Kim looked back once more at the endless grasslands, the fading light, the life that had never asked to be measured.

Mitákuye Oyás’iŋ, she thought. Not as a slogan but as a warning—and a responsibility.

As they sealed the airlock and the decon spray hissed over their skinsuits, Kim understood the real mission wasn’t just collecting samples. Even a simple, peaceful mission like this went wrong. An image of the dead wolf in her mind’s eye.

It was learning how to arrive without taking.