A Season For Slaughter Part 54

All the way forward, we could see the bright lights of the Vegas-like display that the captain had arranged for the benefit of he worms. Even at this-distance, we could see them climbing over each other. The bow of the airship was nowhere near the central clearing of the mandala; this corral was in an outlying tendril of he settlement; so there was no large open area for the worms to gather. Instead, they climbed over corral walls, clambered up on top of nests, trampled gardens, splashed through watering ponds, filled up the ca.n.a.ls, piled up in the avenues, formed mountains of glutinous red flesh. I couldn't help myself, I shuddered at the sight.

Just ahead, we could see three other cargo bays open in the belly of the ship; pods and probes, spybirds and mechanimals were dropping out of the hatches in a steady stream and buzzing off across the mandala.

"I'm gonna look down now, Cap'n."

"Ten-four."

Below us, the corral was strangely quiet. Several of the children were standing and staring up at us. They were dumbfounded. One or two were pointing. Several were stretching out both hands as if trying to reach up to us. There were a few worms cl.u.s.tered outside of the corral, but most of them were moving northward to be under the loud bright nose of the airship.

"I don't see any adults," Siegel said.

"Neither do I," Lopez replied.

"Wait a minute. I think I do. Four o'clock. In the shadow. He's on his knees with a little girl. The one who's crying."

"I got her," Siegel said. "Is that human?"

"I think so," I answered. Lizard patted my shoulder in a confirming gesture.

"a.n.a.lysis says yes." I zoomed in on the man. He was naked. He was thin. He had those strange swirling lines all over his body, all over his face as well. He had a light coat of pink fur. And he had a wild, deranged look in his eyes. "He doesn't look hostile to me," I said, "but don't take any chances."

"Go down?"

Lizard patted my shoulder again. "Go down," I confirmed.

"Here come the spiders," said Lopez. The view shifted upward with Siegel's glance. The baskets with the defensive robots came dropping rapidly down. We dropped down with them. I readjusted my display to wide angle again.

Several remote units had already been dropped and were now spraying a thick haze of polymer-aerogel around the outside of the circular corral. The little machines whizzed and whirred and puffed out smoky clouds of the stuff. One or two worms were already tangled in it. Because aerogel,was the least-dense substance ever created, a single barrel of it was enough to cover an acre. The remote units had enough to blanket the mandala, if necessary, and they'd keep replenishing the soft hazy barrier around the corral until they ran out.

The corral itself was identical in construction to the one at the first Chtorran nest I'd ever seen. The walls were made of some kind of hardened pulp. We had lots of pictures of worms chewing up trees to make this Chtorran papier-mache. They worked like bees, building up the domes of their nest entrances one layer at a time.

Their corrals were domes without roofs.

The children moved out of the way fearfully as Siegel and Lopez winched down into the center of the corral. The baskets humped hard against the ground; the image jarred; the spiders around us unfolded their legs and rose to their full height, moving out to form a tall defensive perimeter. Their ominous bodies towered up over the top of the corral walls; their torches unslung, their cameras focused, their range finders locked onto possible targets, their sighting lasers armed; their readiness signals beeped in my ears, one after the other.

"Spiders are green," I reported.

Siegel and Lopez didn't acknowledge. They were already scooping up children and putting them into the baskets.

Some of the children were backing away, cowering in fear against each other, or against the corral walls. The baskets were broadcasting a prerecorded message in several languages, one of which we hoped would match the dialect of the home village of these Indian children. Lopez was making cooing sounds at the babies as she locked them into safety harnesses. Some of the babies were crying.

Four more team members came sliding down. the ropes to help them. They grabbed the toddlers next. A couple tried to fight, but some of them were beginning to realize that this was a rescue operation, and they began trying to climb into the baskets by themselves. They even tried to help the team members fasten their harnesses. The harnesses were as much to keep the children from climbing out as they were to keep them from falling out.

Some of the children resisted. They ran from the giant white strangers who dropped from the sky-whale. The soldiers sprayed them, caught them as they collapsed, carried them back to the baskets.

A wild laugh behind me like a cold hand on my neck-a hand on Siegel's shoulder jerked us around. A man's voice. English accented. "Are you feeding the sky?

Where are you taking the Irrrtttt?" The image focused. A tattooed brown face.

Vertical quills rising up out of his head like a topknot. I thought of Queequeg, Melville's mysterious alien in our midst. The image cleared. The lines on the face were ridges under the skin. As if it had been plowed or burrowed or chewed. The face tilted sideways, curiously, as if the being behind it couldn't focus perpendicularly. It cackled. It pointed upward. "Who is your rrrlllnncctt?"

The first of the baskets was already rising up into the looming airship. Two more were dropping down. I couldn't see it, I could only feel it, but Siegel made a hand signal to the rest of the team to keep loading. "Who are you?" he demanded of the apparition that stood before him.

"Guyer, I be. John, Dr. Harvard tribe. Research nest." More wild laughter. The thing slapped its knee several times, as if this were the most amusing joke it had ever heard. "Research! Research!" it shouted. "I be research."

"Background!" I shouted, mike off. "Dr. John Guyer. Harvard Research."

"It's already working," Lizard said. "Stand by-"

The metal voice of the LI cut her off. "Dr. John Guyer, Harvard Research Mission. Disappeared ten months ago. Amazon exploration. Body and voice characteristics, seventy percent match."

A window opened up in my vision. Dr. Guyer as he looked two days before he disappeared. Handsome. Tall. Curly light brown hair. Blue eyes. Laughing. Smiling.

His eyes twinkled. He was standing in a garden, wearing T-shirt and shorts, holding a hoe. He was talking to someone off camera, whistling and making ludicrous whooping noises. Finally, he waved us off and turned back to his hoeing.

The window closed, and I was looking at Dr. John Guyer as he looked today-smaller somehow, bent and hunched, but still grinning; the smile was the same.

The eyes were bright. He bobbed and bounced and cackled gleefully. His hands clenched and unclenched like little claws. The lines that swirled up and down his body gave his skin a rough and scaly appearance-lizard-like, reptilian. The red fur that hung off him was a patchy fringe. Ben Gumm! His curly brown hair was gone; the quills on his head made him look like a mohawk. He circled Siegel, poking at him curiously. "Where be your stripes? What be your nest?" Something about his posture. Something about his eyes "He's blind!" I said abruptly. "Or he's drugged to the gills. Or both."

"Bring him up?" Siegel asked.

A pat on my shoulder from Lizard. Yes.

"Do it," I advised. "Spray him if you have to."

Siegel was pointing to the basket over and over. "Come with us, Dr. Guyer.

We're here to save you." The image panned quickly around the corral-all the children were gone; rising up into the sky. One last basket waited. Something outside the corral was screaming. One of the spiders fired a missile. Something exploded. There was an orange flash, a thud, and a pattering of small rocks.

Guyer looked alarmed. Frightened. His eyes went wild. He hunched and swiveled his glance from side to side. "The king will not like this!" he screamed. "Frenzy!

Frenzy! Run and hide! Hide!" He scampered for the wall, started climbing his way up it.

The image jerked as Siegel ran after him. I heard the sound of the spray. Guyer kept climbing, laughing and screaming in terror, almost made it to the top, climbed halfway over-Siegel leapt, grabbed his leg, pulled him back this way. He toppled, fell on top of us, pinning us for a moment.

"G.o.dd.a.m.n-" Siegel said.

Something on the other side of the wall was screaming purple epithets. Siegel rolled Guyer off him and pulled the now-limp goblin-form toward the last basket, perched lopsidedly in the middle of the corral. He lifted Guyer with difficulty, toppling him into the basket, just as a giant red worm came battering its way through the wall-not enough aerogel had been sprayed to stop this one; it trailed smoke along its entire body; both aerogel and flames-it was on fire too!

The basket jerked as Siegel fell into it, and we rose upward. Screaming and laughing.

"We got him! Go!"

The airship was already rising away from the j.a.puran nest. We could see things falling out of all the hatches as we rose into its silent belly.

The question arises almost immediately-who digs these tunnels and chambers and reservoirs? What agency of the infestation is responsible for the removal and transportation of such large amounts of soil?

The a.s.sumption until now has been that the gastropedes themselves are responsible for the construction of the extensive subterranean nests. But this a.s.sumption is mostly inaccurate. A gastropede family is responsible only for the initial construction phases of its nest. This includes the dome entrances, some corrals, the primary chambers and their connecting tunnels, and occasionally even the first of the spirals that will corkscrew down to the large reservoir that will eventually appear at the bottom of the nest.

But very quickly, as the family establishes itself within its nest, expanding and growing into a tribe, a new symbiont appears-one that seems specifically designed for tunneling and maintenance. For lack of a better name, the creature is called a "jellypig." It has been described as "an obese, blobby thing with a mouth on one end and not much else in the way of distinguishing characteristics."

In actuality, the jellypig is a fat gray slug with many rudimentary feet. It resembles nothing so much as a hairless gastropede mounted on a millipede cha.s.sis, leading some observers to suggest that it is closely related to either one or the other of these species. If either of these cases is true, then it is most likely a metamorphosed millipede. Some evidence exists to validate this possibility.

-The Red Book, (Release 22.19A)

Chapter 67.

Sameshima "You can believe anything you want. The universe is not obligated to keep a straight face."

-SOLOMON SHORT.

-yanked the headset off and ran for the hatch. The retrieval crew-all wearing safety lines-slid the basket sideways onto the Il< p="">

The baskets were unloading. The children, some of them still crying, were being carried or led to detox. Siegel and Lopez carried Guyer between them-this close, and in the flesh, he was even a more startling apparition. Cadaverous. Something out of Poe. "The Masque of the Red Death."

I stopped myself at the red line, tracked with them while they walked their burden to the showers. "Get him monitored. Full pack. Give him to Shreiber. She does people. This is her specialty. I'll catch you on the other side."

Lopez flashed me a thumbs-up, and the three of them disappeared into the detox tube.

Turned back to Lizard, grinning. "We got 'em!"

She looked pleased, but not triumphant. She didn't have to say It aloud. Her expression was enough. But did we get them fast enough? Are they infected? We wouldn't know until we got the lab monitors into them.

She held up one hand to silence me. She was listening to her phone. "Yes, Captain? No problem. I'll give the orders immediately. Thank you, Captain Harbaugh." She closed the phone and clipped it back to her belt, raised her eyes to mine. "That was a very expensive operation. You don't want to know how much helium we lost."

"Code Blue?"

She nodded grimly. "I want you to run with the starboard team. Manage them!

Nose to tail. Every cabin. Dump everything. Beds. Chairs. Terminals. Refrigerators.

Lamps. Bathtubs. Sinks. Cabinets. Clothing. Roll up the carpets. Floorboards. Wall panels. The stewards have the tools for pulling down the living quarters. They've already started. As soon as we secure here, I'll send more people to join you.

Twenty minutes per cabin, Jim. No more. Keep them moving as fast as you can.

This is going to be close."

"I'm on my way, I love you-!"

"I love you too!"

Up the stairs as fast as I could run. On the slidewalk, running anyway. St.i.tch in side, clutching chest. Jogging. Swearing. Is it my imagination or is this ship tilting upward?

Caught up with the team, just as they were finishing the second cabin. Didn't get in their way, followed them into the third cabin. Still gasping for breath, helped them with the couch. Used it as a battering ram to break the railing of the balcony, then shoved it out and over the jungle canopy. Watched it fall, end over end, down into the terrible trees below. It crashed down into the green foliage, sending startled birds up into the sky.

Jumped out of the way as chairs came flying after. Lamps, a table, a mattress-Someone shouted, "You here to work or watch?"

Didn't try to explain or apologize. Still clutching chest, I turned and started helping the team roll up the carpet. Sideways. Can't roll it out the window. Too wide.

Roll it into a cylinder and battering ram the cylinder straight out after the couch.

Nothing for me to manage. The stewards are self-organizing. I keep out of their way and grab and carry as much as I can. Bathtub came unbolted easier than I thought. Sink too. Shaun and I carried it out to the balcony and pushed it over. Be careful, he said. Don't fall.

Armloads of clothes. I recognize the blue nightgown. It flutters away. Oh. This was our cabin.

No matter. The bar follows. All those bottles. All that liquor. I want to cry.

Wall panels. Lightweight. Almost too light to do us any good. But it all adds up.

They flutter and turn and spin into the dark green sea of vegetation. Already the mandala is far behind us.

How fast are we going?

We're taking too long! The next room and the next. We're six minutes behind schedule!

Siegel and Lopez join the team, with two of the new kids right behind them. We split into two teams; the first to start a room, dumping the easy items, furniture and clothes; the second to roll up the carpets, dismantle the bathtubs and sinks, take down the walls. We start catching up.

My phone beeps. Jim, please come forward to the captain's garden Oh s.h.i.t. Sameshima's beautiful little slice of heaven! I take off at a run, terrified of what I might find.

The garden is gone. Instead, an empty cavern. The forward window... gone.

Everything just pushed out. Everything. The koi ponds. The banana palms. The purple wandering Jew. The white poinsettias. The bridges. The gazebo. Everything is gone.

Alone, in the center of the empty warehouse-sized s.p.a.ce... is Harry Sameshima.

Wearing only a loincloth. Sitting on a mat. Facing his sword. Shiny-bright death.

Chanting to himself.

Lizard sitting opposite him. Talking. Captain Harbaugh watching.

"-Harry, listen to me. The garden isn't gone. Only the physical manifestation of it has been discarded. The real garden lives on, in here." She touches her heart. He ignores her. "It still lives here." She touches his naked heart-He pushes her hand away, keeps chanting. Lizard looks back, sees me. Her expression is helpless. What do I do now?

I remember Foreman in the training. Ruthless compa.s.sion. Without stopping to think, I walk over to them. "We don't have the time to waste on this," I say to Lizard.

I step between them. I kick the sword aside, the mat as well. I grab Harry by the arm and yank him to his feet, slapping his face. Hard. As hard as I can. Probably dangerous-but I'm too elevated with adrenaline to worry about the risk.

"You G.o.dd.a.m.n little coward-" I shout in his face. "Just because you lose a few water lilies you think it's the end of the world and you're ready to throw yourself overboard. Well, I'm glad we found this out now before we trusted you with any real responsibility." I drag him toward the gaping front window. "You want to die? Yes or no?" I hold him out over the edge. The wind tugs at both of us. "Quit wasting valuable helium. Let's settle this right now-shut up, Lizard!" She hadn't said anything, but Captain Harbaugh had started to protest. "Yes or no, Harry?" I turned him so he could look down at the blighted Amazon.

Harry Sameshima retched. A thin strand of spittle drooled from his lips. Whipped away into the darkening jungle below.

I yanked him back inside. "I thought not," I said with all the disgust I could muster. "f.u.c.king coward! Won't pull your weight. Run and hide. Crying like a puny little girl. You're a disgrace. I should throw you overboard. You're a useless little j.a.p-"