Alien Jungle (6 page)

I
mpani and Wilde followed Madsen away from the colonists. She threw a glare at Trace who stood with his father. He wanted to take all the credit for himself. That was why he sent the rest of the team on errands.

Madsen said, “That was Mr. Hanson’s son?”

“That’s our fearless leader,” Impani said, and then more quietly, “giving orders.”

“I’m just glad to get out of there. I don’t need to be privy to a father-son reunion,” said Wilde.

Impani glanced at him. “I forgot. You don’t have a father.”

Madsen glanced back. “No?”

“My mother never married,” Wilde told him. “Life in the Space Corps, you know. She was artificially inseminated.”

“A Corps brat, eh?” Madsen said. “What’s your mother’s rank?”

“Fleet Admiral.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the son of Fleet Admiral Amanda Wilde.” Madsen laughed. “We have ourselves yet another celebrity. And who’s your mother, the Queen of Andromeda?”

“If she is, she owes me a few birthday presents,” Impani said.

Madsen laughed again.

They walked toward a cluster of domes near the far end of camp. The walls were spotless. No purple mold. The ground was flat and hard, devoid of plant life. As if it had been sterilized. Maybe with fire or chemicals.

“Well, I don’t envy Trace his father,” Madsen said. “Mr. Hanson is a tough taskmaster. Although, I will say he puts himself last when it comes to the needs of others.”

“I don’t think Trace felt he did,” Impani murmured.

“Sometimes fathers have less patience with their sons.” He keyed open a hatch. “Go on in.”

They climbed into a narrow vestibule. Madsen pulled the hatch shut. He took off his jacket and the scarf he wore over his nose and hung them both on a rack. There came a clunk, and the light brightened.

She glanced about. “What was that?”

“Radiation,” he said. “Non-lethal.”

“Of course,” she said. “That’s why nothing’s growing on this dome. You irradiated this whole valley.”

Madsen nodded. “We chose the site then bombed it from space.”

No wonder the moss creatures were angry.

The inner door opened. Madsen ushered them inside with a sweep of his hand. They entered a room crammed with computer equipment. Two people looked up.

“These are our meteorologists, Jane Delray and Tungst Einkorn,” Madsen said.

Delray and Einkorn nodded and returned to their work.

Madsen spread his arms. “And this is our weather station.”

Wilde whistled. “Nice setup.”

“As I mentioned earlier, we’ve adapted the Doppler and the main satellite—”

“That’s fine,” said Wilde. “You’re keeping tabs on the things. Good. But what do you have to stop them from storming the camp?”

“Nothing. Our only defense is advanced notice.”

Wilde threw up his hands. “So, you have no security system and the best weapons you came up with are flamethrowers?”

“We’re lucky to have them.” Madsen scowled. “They were tossed into our stores as an afterthought, intended to clear the fields before plowing.”

Impani flashed Wilde a stop-talking-now look then raised her voice. “How about using an energy field?”

“We rigged an electric barrier,” Madsen said, “but the monsters walked right through.”

Her stomach dropped, and her eyes widened. “Then our stat-guns might not have an effect.”

<<>>

N
atica slowed as she approached the maze of Quonset huts. Hopefully, this time the information they’d been given was correct. The colonists they’d asked for directions hadn’t been exactly helpful.

She glanced at Anselmi. “Third time’s the charm.”

“Charm for what?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes then pulled open the door of the nearest hut. The expansive room seemed cramped. Rows of shelves towered from floor to ceiling, all of them stacked to capacity: boxes and canisters and drums. No one was in sight.

“Hello?” called Natica. “Anyone here?”

A chair scraped, and a girl walked toward them. Her hair bobbed from a ponytail high on the side of her head. “New faces. I heard we had visitors.”

“I’m Natica, and this is Anselmi. We’re Colonial Scouts.”

“I’m Farley, head supply clerk by default, and about the only one around here who doesn’t have a degree in something or other.”

Natica grinned. “You’re just the person we need to see. Do you have an inventory we can look at?”

“It’s mostly seeds. Do you want a list of machinery, as well?”

“What machinery?”

“Well, this is a farm, right? So, they have plows and bulldozers, that sort of thing.” Farley pulled a notepad from her overalls and tilted the screen upward.

Natica took the pad and stared at the list. She wished she knew what to look for. “Any weaponry? Explosives?”

“Nothing like that.”

“Are these chemicals combustible?”

“They’re just standard fertilizers.”

Natica felt her cheeks go pink. “I see. Are you low on anything?”

“No. They planned this excursion pretty well. The only item I’m concerned about is gellasene. They use it in their flamethrowers, and they use flamethrowers a lot.”

“Have you told anyone?” Natica asked.

“Mr. Madsen’s aware, but he isn’t concerned. Everyone thought you would come in with your guns blazing and save the day.”

“That so?” Natica smiled as she handed back the notepad. “Thanks for your time.”

“Happy to help,” Farley said.

Natica turned to leave, but Anselmi stepped forward.

“Have any of the colonists mentioned hearing voices?” he asked.

Natica gaped. What kind of question was that? Did he want them to think they were crazy on top of being too young? She looked at Farley’s blank expression.

Anselmi seemed to realize his blunder. “I understand it is a strange question.”

“Actually, it’s not,” Farley said. “My boss, Katelyn, complained of hearing… I don’t know, I guess it was like voices. Used to keep her awake at night.”

“I’d like to speak to Katelyn,” he said.

“So would I. She was the first to come up missing.”

<<>>

T
race paced the anteroom of Cole’s quarters. He was in a bubble tent, connected by tubes to seventy other bubble tents in the residential section. Filtered air hissed into the room, and the walls trembled with pressure.

He waved his arms as he spoke. “I just can’t get through to him. I can’t make him see I don’t need his protection anymore.”

Cole said, “It’s not an easy thing, being reminded you’re no longer needed.”

Trace plopped down on the couch. “I’m not leaving. That’s all. I have a mission.”

“What if your superiors order you back?”

They won’t. Not unless my father comes with me
. He sighed. “Are you going to send another message?”

“If your father insists.” Cole sat next to him. “But if you want to get an initial report together, I can send it at the same time, give them both sides of the issue.”

“That’s fair.”

“Fine, then.” Cole steepled his fingers and tapped his chin.

Trace gazed at the arched ceiling. He removed his mask and tossed it onto a table. The air smelled dank and musty. “What are you two doing out here? It can’t be for the money. Dad has more money than he’ll ever spend.”

“It’s not the money, no. I think your father feels there’s something missing in his life. Ever since your mother died—”

“Am I supposed to feel sorry for him, now?”

Cole looked at him. “I don’t think he’d appreciate it if you did.”

“I’ll never understand him.”

“You expect too much.”

“What do you mean?” Trace said. “He’s the one who expects things from me. He’s never seen me for who I am.”

“Sometimes that can go both ways.”

“So, you’re saying this is my fault?”

Cole smiled. “I’m saying that it might be time to see him not as a father but as a man.”

“An obnoxious, intractable—”

“And dedicated leader. Whom you have to deal with if you are to accomplish this mission of yours.”

Trace ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Your job,” Cole said. “The best that you know how. And let him see the man you’re coming to be.”

Trace looked at him. Words jumbled in his throat, and he realized that he needed to tell Cole his exact orders, needed the advice of someone older. “About my mission—” He cocked his head. “What’s that noise?” He heard it again.

Someone was screaming.

T
race’s eyes widened as he heard the panicked voices. Cole leaped up and grabbed his flamethrower. Without a word, they pushed through the heavy flap that served as the door to Cole’s quarters and darted down the main passage.

The ceiling of the translucent tube barely cleared Trace’s head. Daylight filtered through the sides. Several colonists ran up the corridor behind them. The walls shuddered with their thundering boots.

“Where’s the blasted alarm?” Cole shouted. “We’re supposed to have advanced notice. Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

“Maybe they’re too fast,” a woman said.

Trace followed her gaze. Through the tube’s curved distortion, he saw people dash in every direction. A brilliant plume of flame jetted from a flamethrower. Then he made out the much larger shadow of a moss man.

Cole spurred the colonists to run faster. They ducked sideways through a slotted aperture into what Cole had termed the clean room, a knoblike juncture between tubes. A cyclone roared through vents overhead. It created a barrier against microbes and spores. Trace faltered and lost his balance against the extreme wind. Fighting forward, he leaped outside through another slot in the tube wall.

He recoiled from the pungent reek of the planet. It was like drowning in compost. Cole joined a line of men with flamethrowers. They advanced toward the moss man.

Above the racket, Trace heard the whine of stat-gun fire. Blue flashes outlined a group of huts a short distance away. He glanced around to catch Cole’s eye, to tell him that he would check it out, when he saw Madsen, Wilde, and Impani run toward the melee from a dome at the far end of camp. Trace raised his hand in the hope that they would join him.

Moving so fast it seemed to have teleported, a second creature appeared behind them.

Trace froze, one arm in the air. He was too far away for a clear shot. Impani ran forward. She didn’t see the thing following her.

“Impani,” he wheezed then forced air into his lungs, forced his petrified body into motion. “Impani! Turn around!”

But at that moment, the alarm went off. Its wail added to the bedlam. Trace’s warning went unheard. He dodged through the crowd, waving and yelling.

Impani saw him and stopped. Madsen turned. He raised his flamethrower, but too late. The monster backhanded him and sent him flying. A spout of liquid flame shot upward from the weapon and drew an arc in the air. Madsen fell into an intersection of tubes. They erupted in an orange blaze. Several colonists ran toward him. Others ran away.

Wilde pulled out his stat-gun. The creature swung its long, mossy arm and struck Wilde before he could duck. His head snapped sideways. He spun off his feet and sprawled motionless on the ground.

Impani backed away, her mouth open. The monster towered over her.

Trace fired. Energy crackled over its body. No effect. He fired again. It advanced on Impani as if his stat-gun were less than a mosquito bite.

“No!” He sprinted forward and barreled into the creature with his shoulder.

It was like hitting a tree. Trace planted his feet. His face pressed into its torso. It smelled like rotting meat. With a strangled hiss, the thing swatted him away. He fell at Impani’s feet.

Cole and the line of men appeared. They blanketed the moss man with fire. It stood there, encased in flame, its eyeless face turned toward them. Then it lifted its head and howled.

Trace cringed as its eerie wail rose above the keening alarm. Still aflame, the monster ran from camp into the jungle. The alarm stopped.

Trace leaped up and pulled Impani into his arms. She trembled, and he held her closer. “Are you okay? When I saw that thing come up behind you—”

“I spoke to it, and it hesitated,” she said. “Did you see that? I think it understood.”

“Yes,” he murmured and hugged her tight.

Wilde groaned. With one hand to his head, he staggered to his feet.

Two colonists pulled Madsen from the fire. His face and chest were bright red. Within the burning tubes, Trace heard the pop of fire extinguishers. Puffs of white gas battled the acrid smoke.

Then Trace heard his father’s voice.

“What in God’s name were you thinking,” Aldus yelled, “coming out here like that?”

Trace glanced around. His eyes smarted with soot. With a start, he realized his father was speaking to him. “Sir?”

“Your face is exposed.” His father scowled.

Trace looked at the men with the flamethrowers, at the people fighting the blaze. They all wore neckerchiefs or disposable masks cupped over their mouths—and he remembered leaving his mask on a table in Cole’s quarters.

Aldus approached the colonists who watched over Madsen. “Better get him to the hospital dome.”

“The hospital was hit,” a man said. “I just came from there. The quarantine room was torn up. Like they were looking for something.”

“That’s giving them credit for more intelligence than they have,” Aldus said over the rising voices. “They’re plants.”

Cole asked, “Are the patients all right?”

“Jack Barnes is missing,” the man told him, “but like I said, the thing tore up the place. Jack might be hiding.”

Stifled cries rounded the gathered crowd.

“We need volunteers,” Aldus said. “Jack Barnes was under quarantine. He might be confused or delirious.”

There came a chorus of “I’ll look for him.”

Trace was about to join the search when Anselmi and Natica ran toward him.

“One of those creatures took Farley,” Anselmi said.

Natica panted. “I shot it point blank. It didn’t even flinch.”

“Which direction did they go?” Cole asked.

Natica pointed down the valley.

“Let’s move!” Cole cried to the crowd of colonists. “Steddard, bring some extra gellasene.”

Trace looked at Impani. “I need you to take Wilde to the hospital. Have the doctor check him out.”

“I’m all right,” Wilde said groggily.

“Just a precaution,” Trace said. “While you’re there, look around and try to figure out what the moss men were searching for.” He noticed his father watching and lowered his voice. “If anything.”

“What will you do?” Impani asked.

“I’m going with Cole.”

He turned to leave, but she caught his arm.

“Here.” She unsnapped her mask and handed it to him.

It was a small gesture, but it quickened his heart. He leaned close and brushed her lips with his. Then, motioning for Anselmi and Natica to follow, he rushed after Cole and the search party.

<<>>

I
mpani watched Trace hurry away. Her cheeks warmed, and her lips tingled where he’d kissed her. How long had it been since they’d kissed? It seemed an eternity, but it had only been that morning. Suddenly, her resentment of him seemed petty.

She met his father’s gaze. He watched her quizzically.

Wilde said, “I thought you two lovebirds were mad at each other.”

“Shut. Up.” Impani took his arm and tugged him in the direction that the colonists had carried Madsen.

The grounds were crowded. People stood in twos and fours. They seemed agitated but not panicked. Other than the fire damage, the camp appeared unharmed. Nearer the hospital, they found wreckage.

Impani stopped before a white dome with four smaller bubble domes attached to its sides. One of the bubbles looked ripped apart. Shredded walls flapped in the forced air, exposing an overturned bed and smashed monitoring equipment. Three people in gowns and masks bent over a woman on a gurney.

Behind her, a man said, “We’ve had to double up the bubbles, quarantine two patients at a time.”

She turned to see Trace’s father. “Why do you need to quarantine?”

“A few people have developed an upper respiratory infection. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the original settlers came down with something similar.”

“You knew about that and you still came, still brought all these people?”

“Let me ask you this,” his father said. “When you are sent to a new world, do you know it might be dangerous?”

“Of course. But the benefits far outweigh the risks.”

“Exactly. Given a choice, you would still go. Well, all these people were given a choice.” His eyes crinkled as if he smiled behind his mask. “I’m Aldus Hanson, by the way. We were never introduced.”

“I’m Impani.” She lifted her shoulder where Wilde leaned heavily upon her. “This is Robert.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” He waved down a young blonde woman.

She nearly curtsied. “How can I help you, Mr. Hanson?”

“This man is injured.”

“I’ll see to him, sir.” She held Wilde about the waist as she led him away.

Wilde grinned. “Are we going somewhere?”

“I’m a nurse,” she said in a loud, slow voice. “I’m going to take care of you.”

“That’s good,” he mumbled.

Impani smiled and shook her head—and noticed that Trace’s father still stared. She didn’t mind. She was used to men looking at her. In a way, it made her feel more confident, more in control. Aldus Hanson was like everyone else.

“We should get you inside,” he told her. “You don’t want to breathe this air unprotected. My office is near here.”

She nodded toward the quarantine bubble. “I’m going in there as soon as they move that patient.”

“At least, wear one of these.” He took a disposable mask from his pocket and handed it to her.

She fitted it over her mouth and nose then sealed the straps behind her head. His eyes crinkled again. She liked his eyes. They were light blue and friendly—unlike Trace’s brooding hawk-like gaze. Trace must favor his mother.

The attendants encased the sick woman in a transparent cone and wheeled her into the main dome. Impani entered the shredded room. Wind swirled upward as if caught in a chimney flue. Debris stirred on the floor. She stepped gingerly as she glanced around.

She was not surprised when Mr. Hanson followed her.

“Shouldn’t you ask permission to be here?” he said.

She quirked her lip. “I’m with you. What more authorization do I need?”

He snuffled out what might have been a laugh and looked about. “Grafton was right. The place is torn up.”

“It’s not focused, though. This is more like rage.” She knelt. Gray-green smears stained the underside of the upended bed. “Do they always leave fingerprints?”

“Not that we’ve noticed.”

Impani glanced at him. Then, because she wanted to look knowledgeable, she took a specimen container from her belt and scraped a bit of the residue inside. She turned her attention to the flapping hole in the wall. “There are smears here, too.”

“Sure.” He shrugged. “That’s where the thing broke in.”

“But, look.” She held up a lacerated strip. “These fingerprints are only on the inside.”