by GARY DARBY
The team went forward with Dason hanging back, his Life Sensor on free search and his eyes switching between watching his LS and the team’s rear.
Even with having to keep a watch out for XT predators, the five made quick work of the short haul through the soggy woodlands to their first search site. They stepped from the shady, damp forest to stand at the fringe of a several-kilometer-wide area of waist-high, slender reed like grass.
Dason knelt to run his hand lightly over the blue stems and ebony tips of the grass and watched as a soft, gentle breeze moved the stalky plants in a wavelike fashion.
Sami surveyed the meadow’s expanse before ordering, “Spread out, line formation. Nase, TJ, right flank. Shanon, you take the center. I and what’s-his-name will take the left.
“Twenty-meter intervals between bodies and watch where you plant your feet, this stuff is thick. Shanon, your LS on free search, the rest of us on the target quarry setting. Let’s go.”
The five formed an irregular skirmish line. Dason found himself as the far left flanker, which suited him. Satisfied with the setup, Sami waved them forward. Dason eased into the grass, carefully watching where he stepped while monitoring his LS display.
Even though Cygnus Magna, Alistar’s bright sun, dipped toward the horizon, the field seemed to have trapped the day’s warmth and what little breeze there was did little to cool Dason off.
As a punishment for their poor performance on their last outing, their instructor Star Scout had taken away their KwikKool under suits and now the five novices sweated under the cloudless sky.
Of course, when Cyngus Beta, Alistar’s second sun did it’s sunrise, sunset dance later on, it would get even hotter, adding to their woes.
Dason brushed at a few nagging insects that buzzed around his head, trying to make his face their personal buffet.
His line took him to the edge of a wide, muddy drainage. Meandering in the middle of a broad, shallow gully was a sluggish, lime-green-colored stream. A dozen meters upstream lay a jumbled ridgeline of small, dark gray boulders topped by a line of tall juniper-looking trees.
In his earpiece, he heard Sami say, “Hey, I might have something here.”
Dason glanced over to see Sami, with an intent expression, peering at the hand-sized device. He raised the LS a little higher and motioned for the two of them to angle off toward the stream.
Moving through the waist-high grass, the two stepped out onto the watercourse’s broad, muddy bank. As Dason edged further out, he checked his LS, but the display was empty. “You sure you got a hit?”
“Yeah,” Sami answered with a scornful attitude. “I got a hit.” He gestured toward the outcropping. “But I think it went behind the rocks.”
Sami glanced over and saw that Shanon would swing to the right of the rocks, so he motioned that he and Dason would veer to the left, between the creek and a small up thrust of boulders.
They had just passed by the first clumping of bushes with Dason in the lead when he stopped in his tracks. Several times in the past, never knowing why or how, he’d get a feeling of imminent danger.
Like now.
Whirling around, his eyes went big and round as he caught sight of three meters of winged death slicing through the air, headed straight at a totally unaware Sami.
Chapter Two
Star Date 2433.055
The Planet Alistar, the Borman, Lovell, and Anders Training Grounds
Hurling himself at the unsuspecting Sami, Dason put a shoulder into Sami’s slightly pudgy paunch and sending him flying off to one side.
Sprawling on the ground, Dason only had only a fraction of a second to fling his own body backward before wicked, curved fangs, extending from a plum-colored mouth snapped mere centimeters away from his face.
A dual pair of fan-like wings swept against him as the thing tried to wrap its scaled, elongated body around Dason but missed.
His clumsy leap away from the serpent’s crimson head ended with a muffled “Oomph!” when he landed on his hindquarters and skidded in the slick slime-covered mud.
Gathering itself on the muddy ground, the creature undulated in long S-strokes right at Dason. He crab-legged rearward, trying to get away from the aggressive reptile-like creature, but his feet kept slipping in the wet muck and goo.
Hissing, the thing slithered close and began to rise, its scarlet-tipped wings extending outward, vibrating in agitation. The head bent back, unblinking black eyes in a ring of red centered on Dason.
Grabbing at his stunner, Dason’s mud-spattered hands fumbled with the smooth metal handle. In desperation, he lifted one of his Blue-Lipped Dragon boots toward the viper in the hope that the dragon skin might provide some protection.
He heard Sami yell something unintelligible but just at that instant the snake slammed downward and sank four venom-tipped fangs into the top of Dason’s boot.
In a reflexive action, Dason kicked at the V-shaped head several times, only to stop and gape wide-eyed.
Lashing back and forth, the alien reptile’s fangs were caught in the tough leather. It pulled and tugged trying to free its needle-like teeth.
The thing’s dark mouth opened and shut on the dragon hide that held it fast. Dason pushed his foot down against the boot’s inner sole, afraid that the fangs would penetrate and puncture his skin.
Sami ran toward Dason before sliding to a stop in the slimy goo. He brought his stunner up partway before pushing it back down into his waist holster and pulling out his long field knife instead.
With one slashing stroke of the razor-sharp blade, he sliced through the creature's arm-sized neck. The beheaded body curled in on itself while milky mucus spurted out the severed end.
After wiping green blood off his knife on the nearby grass, Sami slid the blade back into his thigh scabbard. He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the frothy alien blood coupled with the stench rising from the torn up mud.
“Whew, Thorne, you stink.”
Peering up at Sami, Dason mumbled, “Thanks for asking if I’m all right.”
He glanced at the reptilian body which had unwound from its death coils and now twitched in the mud-covered grass. In clipped tones, he said to Sami, “Gracias.”
“De nada,” Sami replied in a matter-of-fact voice holding out his Life Sensor for a second as if to take a reading before turning to Dason. He glanced around to make sure no one was listening and muttered, “Thanks for the push.”
As if embarrassed by his sign of gratitude, Sami rumbled, “C’mon, get up and beat feet. We got a bird to catch.”
Motioning toward the jumbled rocks, he muttered, “I still think there’s a Seer-Roc in there, though it might be halfway to Vega by now, thanks to you.”
“Sami,” Dason muttered and motioned toward the serpent’s body. “It could be that your LS reading was that thing.”
“Are you serious?” Sami replied, his eyes wide as if couldn’t believe that Dason would accuse him of making such a mistake.
“I think I can tell the difference between the two and no, I didn’t get a hit on that,” he asserted while pointing at the contracting snake body.
Sami turned away from Dason and swept the Life Sensor in a slow arc, trying to pick up the Seer-Roc’s bio-signature.
Shaking the slimy muck off his hands, Dason ran a sleeve across his mouth and straightaway regretted it when the smell of rotten eggs assaulted his nose. He let out a sigh and muttered under his breath, “Snakes, slime, stink, and Sami. Super day so far.”
With the point of his knife, Dason dug at the white-tipped fangs. Almost accusatory, the serpent’s open eyes stared at him. “Don’t blame me,” he muttered, “you started this fracas.”
Sami laughed. “Talking to snakes now, Thorne? Be careful that Grolson doesn’t see you, you might wind up as the team’s official snake interpreter.”
He bent down and made a hissing sound at Dason. “Try interpreting that, serpent head,” he laughed.
A rustling of bushes caused Da
son to twist around in time to see four scouts step through the thick vegetation. Dason clenched his jaws tight, and his shoulders slumped.
The four stared at him, and their expressions said it all.
Shanon, TJ, and Nase wore bemused expressions while Instructor Star Scout Grolson stood with arms folded, and with the Grand Canyon of all frowns on his face.
He strode over, squatted down, and with the point of his knife lifted the serpent’s head. “Winged Demon Viper,” he observed. “Bad tempered and with a big dose of venom. Since you’re not writhing in pain, I take it you weren’t bit?”
“No, sir,” Dason replied. “My team leader cut the head off before it could pull its fangs out and strike again.”
“Couldn’t use my stunner,” Sami explained. “The beam would’ve caught snake-man here, and I wasn’t about to go lugging his carcass around in this stinkin’ heat.”
After considering Sami’s reasoning, Grolson remarked, “Taking action, any action, is usually better than taking none at all. In this case, it seems to have worked.”
“Sir,” Shanon asked, “humans aren’t the typical prey of Demon Vipers. Why did it attack?”
Grolson looked over his shoulder at the three novices. “Good question, Hsu. Can anyone give me an answer?”
None replied until Nase uttered softly, “Nester.”
Grolson nodded assent. “Like Terran crocs and gators, Demon Vipers lay eggs and then stick around until they hatch.”
He waved a hand at the neighboring ridgeline and trees. “My guess is that the nest is among those rocks, and you,” he remarked to Dason, “got too close.”
Dason shot a glance at Sami but kept his mouth closed. It wouldn’t do any good to blame Sami. It would just cause the youth to dislike him even more; if that were even possible.
Grolson furrowed his brow. “How did you . . .”
He stopped in midsentence and held up a hand. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. It’s going to be hard enough to explain to the Master Scout why one of my novices failed to heed his warning. So, get it out of your boot, Thorne, we’re on a schedule.”
At the mention of the Master Scout, Dason winced. Master Scout Tarracas had indeed given them precautionary instructions about this very thing during the mission out brief.
His exact words were: “This particular exercise area has several extraterrestrial species of venomous serpentine animals, similar to Terran vipers such as cobras and mambas but even more poisonous. I suggest you brush up on their habits during your transit to Alistar.
“If a novice allows one of these creatures to bite him or her, and self-aid proves ineffective, the support team will provide medical aid, but neither I nor your Instructor Scout will accept a debilitating bite as grounds for failure to finish the mission.”
His eyes had hardened and in a no-nonsense voice concluded, “It just indicates stupidity on your part for not getting out of the snake’s way.”
Dason turned his attention to the embedded fangs. Careful not to touch the white needle-like teeth, he dug them out with his knife, speared the snake’s head and buried it in the mossy earth.
He would leave the twisted, patterned body, which glistened from roiling in its own life fluid, for jungle scavengers.
As Dason rose to his feet, Sami took a deep whiff, wrinkled his nose and pronounced, “Whew, and I thought you smelled bad before.”
Looking Dason up and down, Grolson commented, “I guess we could make you ride outside the scouter on the way back, or have you wear a P-suit inside.”
At seeing Dason’s apparent dismay at the thought of having to wear a pressure suit all the way back to Earth, Grolson’s mouth turned up in a brief smile.
“Guess, you’ll just have to make do with the scouter’s hygieno unit and stay in the back.”
“Waaay in the back,” Sami muttered.
Grolson’s voice grew stern. “We’re heading back to the scouter, now. Wek, take the point.”
Gesturing at Dason, he said, “Naturally, Thorne, you’ll be covering our six. That way we’ll be able to stay upwind of your distinct and unique aroma.”
Nase led out, and the rest fell in behind, with Dason last in line, his face a bit red from Grolson’s comments in front of the others. He let the others get ahead of him but after a short while, TJ and Shanon dropped back.
The two young women gave Dason the once-over before Shanon reached out to remove a big glob of runny, brown mud from his hair. “Well, one good thing, since you don’t stardust or bling your hair, the mud blends right in to your natural shade.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” TJ commented from the other side. “I’ve heard that if you stripe or flash your hair, a good mud bath brings out the luminescence.”
She smiled wide. “And it sure looks like you took a good mud bath, Dason.”
Both girls giggled and pushed ahead. What was a slight blush before now turned into a scarlet burning on Dason’s cheeks and neck.
Dason picked at the runny muck that smeared itself across the camo colors of his field uniform, though that did little good for his appearance or smell.
He didn’t respond to their light-hearted chiding or explain that he wore his hair natural in deference to his mother’s philosophy, “It’s not what’s on top of your head that counts—it’s what lies between the ears that matters.”
Less than an hour later, Grolson had them at the scouter. He glanced at Dason before turning to the whole group.
“I’ve received a recall message from the Scoutmaster. Before we up-ship, I need to use the communicator. Go to defensive mode, stay focused, and don’t forget where we are.”
The older scout turned and entered the scout craft while the five novices spread out in a rough semicircle and went to one knee.
TJ glanced around and with a low whistle murmured, “Something’s going on. To be recalled so soon and judging from Grolson’s expression, whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
Dason wiped perspiration away from his forehead with the back of his hand. Grolson had glanced at Dason when he mentioned the recall. Were the two somehow connected? Was it because of him that the Scoutmaster had directed the recall?
If that were true, there was only one reason that could be so important that the Scoutmaster would end their training mission and order them back to Earth.
If so, this very well could be the last time he had suited up for an off-world mission as a novice scout.
TJ tossed a pebble in Dason’s direction to get his attention. “Hey,” she began, “kinda weird back there, the snake head stuck in the boot business.”
Before Dason could reply, Sami answered loudly, “For show and tell when we get back to school. Look what I caught . . . Oh wait, look what caught me.”
“You’re lucky to be alive,” Shanon remarked to Dason. “It’s rare for those things to miss. From above or on the ground.”
Dason glanced Sami’s way and mumbled, “Yeah, I guess I was lucky.”
Sami met Dason’s eyes for just a second before he lowered his gaze and pulled at the grass at his feet.
A few minutes later, they heard Grolson through their earpieces, “Load up.” With Dason last, the five scrambled up the ramp and through the airlock into the little vessel.
Grolson was waiting for them. With a small frown, he said, “Since Scoutmaster Tarracas personally halted this mission, I’ll log it as ‘terminated by Scoutmaster without cause’ in your training files, which means you don’t get dinged for a mission incomplete.”
His voice had a sarcastic ring to it as he spoke. “Which, from what I saw of your performance, is a good thing, a very good thing.”
Almost with an air of resignation, he pointed out, “I’m reminding you that as fourth-semester novices it’s critical that you complete these last few remaining training missions not just to minimum standards, but to excel.
“You’re now in the window for the no-notice final field exam. Once that test starts, there will be no instructors to hold
your hand, no second chances, no way of correcting minor down checks or working off demerits.”
Grolson’s eyes narrowed and he punctuated his remarks with quick jabs of his finger. “Remember, if you fail the no-notice, that’s it. You’re out; gone from the program. And that means no enlistment in the Star Scout Corps except as a civilian exploring the inside of a desk.”
Taking a deep breath, he raised himself up just a bit. “So, if you want to go Out There as a Star Scout, then get your heads off the swivel stick, lash them down tight, and get with the program.”
Gesturing at Shanon, TJ, Sami, and Nase, Grolson ordered, “Once at home base, you four resupply, recheck your equipment and prepare for another mission within twenty-four hours.”
The veteran Star Scout fixed stern eyes on Dason. “Thorne, once we land you and I are to report to the Scoutmaster’s office.”
He started to turn away, but stopped to say in a stern manner, “And I suggest we not make him wait.”
Chapter Three
Star Date 2433.055
Aboard Scout Craft Two Niner, Earthbound
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Dason sat alone, his head down. He knows, Dason kept thinking to himself. He knows . . .
From his spot in the spacecraft’s troop bay, he could see the other novices sitting up forward, but he avoided their glances and whispered looks. Grolson’s statement had confirmed his worst fears.
They were going back because of him, and the reason must be so severe that the Scoutmaster had halted their training mission; an occurrence that was almost unheard of with Scoutmaster Isreal Tarracas.
To Dason, it was obvious why Tarracas wanted him back. He had found out Dason’s secret. Discovered who and what Dason was.
Sitting with his eyes staring at the floor, Dason had no doubt that he had finished his last training mission as a novice scout. Bile churned in his stomach from his anxiety and his distress from realizing that he had gotten this far, this close, but here it ended.
There was no tomorrow for him as a novice, no chance to find the answers to his questions.
