Descent

	Ship's Admiral Harms stood silently at the center of the bridge of the U.N.S. Liberator, contemplating the massive blue-green planet below.  A thousand miles of unsullied land flourished beneath him, natural resources plentiful beyond belief.  And Earth, all those light years away, shriveling like a fish out of water, dying a slow and painful death.  There was no doubt in his mind that this was the perfect solution, a godsend.  The planet could be prosperous once again.
	And it was up to him to make sure that happened.
	A lieutenant strode up, saluting briskly.  "Word from the Hope, sir.  They're beginning the descent.  All systems primed and ready."
	"Take her down," Harms ordered, the words sounding distant in his ears.  Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes.  "Order the Protector to take point."  There had been a time, not long ago, when Earth had been preparing to ration all food and supplies to its citizens.  Despite the enormous leaps in technology that had taken place over the past few centuries, fuel had been ever-dwindling, the planet drawing a few last ragged breaths.  All because of the terrible, terrible mistakes that had been made at the start of the industrial revolution over a thousand years ago.
	The Liberator jolted downward, and Harms seated himself, reaching up past his shoulders to grasp the restraint belts.  Descents like this were not always as smooth and romantic a ride as they were depicted in the regurgitated filth that was dumped from Hollywood's gizzard on a regular basis.  The film industry helped people forget, Harms knew, the troubles that had befallen them.  The plague that afflicted Earth, and forever would.
	The problem, Harms had realized, was not with humanity's discoveries themselves, but with its inability to adapt to new ideas if no immediate consequences existed.  Methods had improved greatly in recent years, and could likely sustain this new planet for millenia, should the politicians and corporate officers shoulder their responsibilities and handle their part of the plans.
	Harms was confident that, this time, they would.  The fate of Earth was certainly fresh in everyone's minds, and anybody with half an ounce of gray matter could see that it was crucial that it never happen again.
	Yes, this was a new start for them.  A clean slate, a new age they were all entering.  The windows began to emit a pale orange glow as the atmosphere thickened, casting a subtle light across the bridge.  As Harms saw the enormous, bulbous clouds rushing up towards the ship, he wondered how much this new world would resemble Earth.  He thought of his home, back on the hillside in Michigan...

	The colony transport Hope plunged into the swirling dark clouds ahead, swinging its nose up to align the ship with the planetary surface.  Lightning crackled and flashed off in the distance, and Governor Douglas Arnolds, formerly of Virginia, once again gaped at how Earth-like everything seemed.  There was a kind of purity to everything, like an ethereal abstraction of Earth ground down to its elements.
	It was the most beautiful thing Arnolds had ever seen.
	Unexpectedly, the force of gravity seemed to vanish, taking with it Arnolds' sense of balance, and reality.  There was a terrible, hateful scream of metal strained beyond its capacity that shattered his eardrums, sending his mind reeling.  He was in free fall.
	Arnolds was slammed back into his seat like a lead brick, swearing he could feel his vertebrae push down against each other with a crushing force.
	"Collision!  Collision!" someone was screaming.  People began to shriek and cry in panic, looking about frantically for someone--anyone--to tell them what to do.  Arnolds tried to yell for everyone to keep calm, but the words never even reached his own ears, and he would never be sure whether he managed to say them or not.
	The soldier statiomed at the front of the cabin was clutching at any handholds within reach, trying to make his way to a seat with restraints.  Out the windows, smoke and fire blazed.  The ship's protective casing was ruptured, and the atmosphere was starting to burn away the outer hull.
	But the intense pressure from behind he was beginning to feel indicated that the pilot had had his foot on the brake from the beginning, and it was just now starting to have some effect.  The transport fishtailed and wobbled, mottled rock and vegetation whizzing past below.  Growing ever closer.
	Arnolds had never been a particularly religious man, but as he looked around him, at this mighty starship falling to pieces, at the complete and total mercy of nature, and as he thought of how it might end...Douglas Arnolds squeezed his eyes shut, bowed his head, and prayed for his life.

	"I'm sorry sir," the distorted voice of the Protector's sensors officer came over the screen, the image of a terrified young man torn and tossed about by jagged black and white lines, the tight-beam signal struggling to find its way though the storm clouds to the Liberator.  "We're getting no reading of them, anywhere."
	Harms spat something vile.  In a heartbeat, this whole operation had gone from grand visions of a new future to total and disastrous fiasco.  With potentially deadly results.
	"Find them." he ordered emphatically.  "I don't care if Harris wants to land the ship and search the whole planet, just find them."
	"Sir."  The screen went blank.  Admiral Harms glared darkly out into the fog.  The colony ship could be hundreds of miles off-course, could be forced to make an emergency landing in totally uncharted territory.  Even if they got an emergency transmitter working, it could take months, even years, to find them.  And this was all a best-case scenario.  The ship could even now be plummeting earthward, torn to shreds as it fell.  The colonists could all be dead.
	Harms hoped to God they were safe.