Hunting Sky Shark
The World of We Were Heroes.
Logan House Publishing Presents.
The World of We Were Heroes.
Hunting Sky Shark
By J.R. Logan.
This story, set in 3033, follows Bailey Ritter, a Park Ranger in the Jovian Subsystem. She is a woman cursed with eternal life from her time as a super soldier on Old Earth. At this time, Bailey is 1063 years old.
The following is a segment from her journal. It’s a better, slower time for Bailey when human life spans are measured in hundreds of years. A time when there was no rush to wealth. And looking like a seventeen-year-old girl is not uncommon.
***
I spent years in the realm of the Sky Lords of Jupiter as a Park Ranger in the Northern Archipelagos. A ring of terraformed floating islands along the northern tropic. A place built by unknown aliens long ago. I would do this work off and on. Leaving can be hard when someone becomes addicted to a dangerous job. I tried to do other work, but it was shallow and pointless. I hated the work when I was doing it, but I miss the danger when it’s gone. I’ve left and returned many times in the last century to the life of a Ranger.
One of my days as a Park Ranger started on a lazy afternoon. The height of my third summer this time on the islands. I lounged on the office porch to avoid the sun and drink barley tea. But the Chief of Station, a portly man who balded early, called me to his office for new orders. He was a direct and blunt man who had been on the islands for a long time.
“Two plantation workers on the Island of Saint Charles have disappeared. The other workers didn’t see what happened to the victims,” The Chief said.
“Is this a matter for Rangers? It’s a disappearance.” I said.
“I’d agree, but a Zeppelin saw a sky shark near the sugar cane fields. The Zeppelin Master estimated it at ten meters long,” the Chief said. “Kill that shark before it takes another life.”
A “Yes, Sir,” and two hours later, I left Port Jove by day ferry. I had three men with me. Two Park Trackers, Narek and Enzo, were familiar with the animals and their territory. And my Gun Bearer Hiroto, a man known to have a level head, who could remain calm under pressure.
The day ferry was an old starship that could no longer make the crossing to Earth. The ship could make trips anywhere on Jupiter and did so with the same frequency as a bus route. She skipped up to the edge of space, passed over the North Pole, and back down to the tropics on the other side. The ferry brought us to Saint Charles by late afternoon.
The island’s plantations came into view, a mix of high-tech and traditional agriculture. The island was sparsely populated. The dominant crop was sugar cane. These plantations remained primitive and rustic, with an eternal sense of colonialism. A place for many in those first few centuries of life to save money.
Port Saint Charles was a company town on the island’s edge. It had a spaceport, sparse downtown office buildings, and the midtown warehouses and services gave way to a suburb of worker housing. Beyond where the roads ended was the patchwork of fields.
After we landed, I sent Enzo and Narek to hire a local zeppelin for the hunt. Enzo came back with an old beet hauler that made local runs. The Zeppelin Master knew the islands and every village in two days’ travel. The Zeppelin had an open gondola; Narek saw it and said it would make a suitable shooting platform.
Hiroto and I spoke to the local Island Police. The Police lieutenant sat at his desk in an air-conditioned office. Sweat covered his shirt and face despite this luxury.
“I’m glad you made it in. We received a call that a third worker had been killed. None of my men will deal with this problem.” He wiped his face with a handkerchief.
“Here? Saint Charles is a city of two thousand. A shark wouldn’t come in here,” I said.
“No. The attack was in a village on the far side of the island.”
“Did anyone see it happen this time?” I said.
“The whole work crew. Biggest shark the locals ever saw.”
A sky shark, and it was my problem now.
We stored our luggage at the police hostel and took our guns on the Zeppelin. The solar electric engines whirred above Saint Charles. The afternoon sun threw long shadows off the high islands. The Zeppelin stayed under the floating islands for shade and a clear line of sight to look for the shark.
I read the police report on the flight. The witness accounts made it clear it was a sky shark. Healthy sharks hunted whales and other large prey, as well as eagles and rocs. Sky shark kills are horrible to witness. A fatal bite rips open a whale’s air sac. Young sharks were known to fall with their prey and rip off chunks of flesh. Gorging until both crashed into an island or froze in the deep clouds.
Experienced sharks hunted close to land. Let the prey crash and eat at their leisure. But on the islands where the sharks hunted, men could be found. Old sharks became man-eaters. Too old to hunt whales and slow to hunt the rocs or eagles. A man is an easy kill, but he doesn’t have much meat for a large animal. The shark would have to kill often.
We came to the village by early evening. A couple of hours of sunlight would remain. A mob of plantation workers surged to the landing field. Sun-browned faces looked at us and waved their hands to the cane fields. I jumped down. The local supervisor spoke to me quickly, eyes open and bloodshot in a lost gaze.
“We saw it. A shark. My god, it took one of my men. I could hear the screams from its mouth.”
“Out in the cane fields?” I said.
“Yes. Please kill it.”
The laborers who circled me nodded in agreement. The man continued to beg me to kill the shark. I climbed back into the Zeppelin.
“Master, take us into the cane fields low to the ground,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am.”
We found the kill site. A trampled cane field splashed with blood—torn scraps of flesh and part of a foot. A shark could take an adult with a shake of its head. Teeth would chew and slash with hundreds of paper-thin cuts. Tumbling between the jaws, a victim screamed for minutes while the teeth minced flesh.
Enzo pointed where the tail had moved through the cane, cracked stems slashed out in a zigzag. Narek held his arms out and was able to walk the path, though he could not touch the standing cane.
“This is a large shark,” Enzo said.
“How big?”
“All ten meters or more.”
Hiroto handed me a rifle, a Grellman over/under in .457 Magnum. Two steel shells sat in the breech. Two ounces of copper would become liquid bolts of hypersonic death when I pulled the trigger. The .457 mag’s reliability is unquestioned, and it was never far from me while I worked on the islands.
I snapped the rifle closed and set the breech lock. The three men loaded their rifles. Enzo and Hiroto had single-shot .500 Plasma Express rifles, and Narek had a .300 magnum kinetic auto-loader.
Hiroto saw it first; the tail was a broad fan of color and spines. It disappeared in a stand of trees. I ran up to the bow ramp. We saw it on the edge of the trees, four-meter-long fins, its hide sparkled in a scaly mix of colors. The erect back spines arched up into a high dorsal fin. Long ventral fins stretched a dozen meters.
Nose to tail, it measured twelve meters long and moved in a slow grace, without a care in the world. The shark glided on the tips of the long grass and in the tree branches that blanketed the central foothills. We saw glimpses for an hour; then it came into the open. The shark drifted on the breeze, mouth open, cycling air in its buoyancy sacs.
I couldn’t let this go another day. “The sun is going down. We need to take a chance,” I said.
“We need a clean shot. It’s four hundred meters away, and I don’t like the angle,” Hiroto said.
“We may not find him tomorrow. We’re taking it now,” I said.
Our luck seemed to change in a moment. The shark turned to us. The blood pounded in my ears. Hiroto said something, but I didn’t catch what. My eyes narrowed on the teeth. Row after row of paper-thin teeth filled the mouth. The dead black eyes above the jaw, tiny onyx buttons that looked at me, dared me to act.
My hands started to shake. The gun came up to my shoulder. I aimed at the most dangerous predator in the solar system. Hiroto shouldered his weapon. Narek and Enzo stood, guns ready if the shark charged.
I fired too soon. I didn’t hear the shot or feel the rifle butt slam into my shoulder. Too quick, I hadn’t set the gun to my shoulder. The recoil rocked the barrel up two feet. The bruise would swell up after the adrenaline subsided. I didn’t hear Hiroto’s shot. I saw a bolt hit the creature’s flank. It was too far away, but I could swear I heard the thump as the .500 hit.
Its body shuddered, and the tail whipped to knock aside trees and grass. It came for the Zeppelin. Mouth wide, I saw the rows of teeth. Narek and Enzo raised their rifles. I brought my rifle sights back on the shark. I followed it in the iron sites; my finger took forever to find the trigger, and the teeth came for me. I hesitated.
Before we could shoot, the Zeppelin Master panicked. He turned hard. Narek’s two bolts passed the shark. Enzo lost his footing as the gondola listed from the turn. His shot brushed the edge of the superstructure. A jet of helium sprayed from the gas bladder. The shark was feet away when Hiroto stumbled with the tipping airship to pull me off the bow ramp.
The shark hit the side of the gondola and knocked us off our feet. The four of us slid down the tilted deck, rifles in hand. The bow ramp crumpled under its weight. The shark turned into the tall grass and gave us a parting slap with its tail. The Master struggled to control the Zeppelin as the structure bent from the hit.
The Zeppelin righted itself. We got back on our feet, and my sense of place returned. As the shock wore off, my mind was filled with the sight of the teeth.
Enzo charged at the Zeppelin Master. “You idiot. You almost killed us. Where did you learn to fly?” Enzo said. Narek pulled Enzo back to the edge of the twisted gondola.
“Look at the blood on the side of the boat. Hiroto scored a solid hit,” Narek said. Slick, deep red blood streaked the ruined side of the gondola.
Enzo slapped Hiroto on the back in congratulations. I waited by the ruined bow ramp and looked out. The Grellman’s breech snapped open to eject the steel shells, and both flipped out of the gun and over the side. The shells glowed a cherry red as they were ejected into the tall grass.
“We still needed a kill. Wounded animals were more dangerous,” I said as I dropped fresh rounds into the gun.
I looked at the blood. “Master, bring us down. He’s not going far,” I said.
On the ground, we saw the blood trail leading into the tall grass, which swayed in the breeze. I felt the rush and still thought of the teeth.
“Enzo, Hiroto, follow behind me. Narek watches us from the air.” I took the lead into the grass. The sun started to set.
I pushed over the stems a step at a time, able to see a foot in the grass. The Zeppelin circled the grass. Narek looked down but couldn’t see the shark. The smell of blood filled the air. Wavy blades of grass reached eight meters. My vision narrowed to pinpoints. I could count each blade of grass. The blood trail led us deeper and deeper into the woods.
Flies buzzed louder and louder. I couldn’t hear them. I could smell the blood in the air and noticed a pool at my feet. I listened to a deep huff of breath and a labored gasp. The rifle came to my shoulder. The shark was through this wall of grass. It would charge. The teeth, I could see the teeth again. I slowed my breath and controlled the air, in and out.
The light faded. We have to finish this. I needed a brain shot. The blood swished in my ears. I tried to focus my breath on taking a shot above the jaw. To roll in its mouth. A thousand slices. I held my breath, let it out, and stepped through.
It had deflated. I lowered my rifle. Hiroto’s shot had blown a melon-sized wound in the dorsal air sacs below the spine. The molten copper had splattered into droplets and solidified. Flesh on the other side ripped open in jagged strips.
Hollow spines, delicate boned fins, and thin teeth limp on the ground. The long fins struggled to move. Breath labored in its mouth. The creature’s natural grace had ended. The eyes looked at me in a way I can never describe; its pride was gone. All that remained was to wait for death.
The adrenaline rush faded, and my hands started to shake. The narrow vision in my eyes passed. Clarity turned to hazy floater-filled dehydration. My shoulder started to stiffen. The flies bounced off my neck and face.
I saw myself reflected in the creature’s eye, the gun raised at its head. I took a superstitious step to the right to avoid shooting my reflection. The shark deserved a clean kill. We had failed, and now we were paying the price with butcher’s work. I lined up a final shot to its skull and waited for it to exhale.
Thank You for Reading.
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