Shifter Planet: The Return

by Reynolds, D. B.

  Checking the location of the sun one more time, noting the direction of its afternoon motion, she set a punishing pace for herself. The deeper she went into the forest, the darker it became, until she walked in a permanent twilight. The sun was still overhead—she caught glimpses now and again, just enough to tell her she was moving in the right direction. But the trees were so dense, so intertwined with vines, that it was cool and shady on the forest floor. She welcomed the cooler air, but worried that it would translate into an early darkness, forcing her to stop much sooner than she would otherwise. She’d clearly been far too optimistic in judging how long her journey would take, and that was assuming—

  A huge roar filled the air, so loud that the trees themselves seemed to tremble with its ferocity. Rachel didn’t hesitate. She spun for the nearest tree and began climbing. Whatever that was, whatever creature had sent the entire forest into a frozen silence, she’d be better off up in the trees. The sound came again, but it was even more terrifying as human screams rose above even the thundering howls of the attacking beast. Her mind, which had been drowning in her body’s adrenaline reaction the first time, was ready for it this time and she realized something. It wasn’t one howl, but many, as if an entire pack of great beasts were sounding off as one. It was difficult to pinpoint the direction of the noise, but the higher she went, the easier it became. Because the growls didn’t stop, and the screams only grew louder.

  And then she heard the unmistakable sound of a plasma weapon being fired and her own terror grew. She’d read Admiral Nakata’s official briefing on the tragedy that had caused Harp’s break with the fleet. A single weapon could cause untold devastation. She waited for the explosion, but it never came. The weapon went silent, and the screams continued.

  She kept climbing, frantic now to see what was happening. Finally, she was high enough to see beyond the trees, high enough that when she twisted around, following the horrific furor, she found herself looking back toward the clearing where her ship was located. Digging into her pack, she pulled out a pair of small but extremely powerful binoculars and trained them on the distant site. A sick feeling was growing in her gut. She’d suspected all along that her cat was more than a typical predator. There had to be a reason Wolfrum and his crew wanted them captured, a reason someone back on Earth was willing to pay so much money, to finance such an expensive mission, just to get their hands on even one of the big cats.

  Zooming in on the ship—which was closer than she expected; she hadn’t traveled nearly as far as she’d thought—she saw two big men standing on the ramp below the belly hatch. They were only half dressed, and barely that, wearing loose drawstring trousers and nothing else. The feminine part of her appreciated the view—they were big men in excellent condition with broad chests and beautifully defined shoulders. The rest of her wanted to know who the hell they were and where had they come from. At least until three huge cats, just like her cat, prowled down the ramp as if they belonged there, as if…

  Rachel’s stomach surrendered to the horror of what she was seeing. It was only years of expeditionary experience that forced her to swallow the bile pushing its way up her throat. The big cats were looking like victorious conquerors because they were. The howls she’d heard, the screams…

  More cats appeared, and the two men turned as if talking to the cats. Were they domesticated then? Had Ripper and her crew attacked someone’s personal stretch of forest and captured not a wild animal, but someone’s…guard animal? Like the giant working dogs of old earth who’d guarded the livestock herds?

  But to attack the ship and kill everyone on it—because she had no doubt that everyone on that ship was dead—it seemed an extreme reaction for the capture of one animal, who’d managed to escape anyway, thanks to her.

  Rachel stared through the binoculars until her eyes watered, but there were no answers. She saw a cat that might have been hers, but she couldn’t know for sure. There were at least three others with similar coloring, or so she thought. The cats moved so swiftly through the high grasses that it was difficult to identify individuals, or even count their numbers with any surety.

  Finally, she stopped trying. Putting away the binoculars, she stared at the distant ship with her own eyes, seeing nothing, trying to decide what she was feeling. She’d traveled across space with those people, spent weeks in their company. And, sure, none of them were in the running to be her best friends, but they’d been her crew.

  She drew a deep breath, held it for a moment, then blew it out. It didn’t help. She was going to need more than meditative breathing to deal with this one.

  “This isn’t your planet, Rachel,” she whispered to herself. “Maybe Ripper and the others broke some religious taboo by capturing one of the cats. Maybe the locals believed the souls of their ancestors resided in the animals. Or something.”

  It sounded unlikely, given the background of the original colonists, but stranger things had happened. Whatever their reasons, the massacre of her former crew only added to her urgency to get to the other ship. There was nothing she could do for her crew. Their own actions had brought on their deaths. But maybe the crew of the other ship didn’t have to die.

  She turned and shimmied to the ground, the action almost automatic now, as if she’d been on Harp much longer than she had. She only hoped that familiarity held for the rest of her journey.

  …

  “I have to go after her.” Aidan didn’t look at Rhodry when he said it, his attention was on the forest, scanning the trees, listening to their song for any hint of Rachel’s presence. He told himself she was okay, that she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t inexperienced. And if something had happened, if she’d been attacked, the forest would be singing of it. After all, killing a human—even one of the invading Earthers—was worth a note or two.

  “Where’s she going? Or where does she believe she’s going, because we both know she won’t get there alone.”

  Aidan gave his cousin a sharp look. “You think she’s—”

  “I don’t think anything,” Rhodry said quietly. “You hear the trees the same as I do.”

  He sighed, not at all sure that was true. Yes, he heard the trees. He’d been listening to their song all his life, from when he’d been a tiny babe, still in his mother’s womb. But Rhodry was their clan leader, born to rule. Maybe he heard—

  “We hear it exactly the same, Aidan,” Rhodry said, as if reading his thoughts. “She can’t have gone far.”

  Aidan grimaced. “She has some experience, but—”

  “But no one’s ready for the Green.”

  “Exactly. I think she’ll head for the city. She said someone on Harp had arranged all of this.” He indicated the ship and the dead bodies it now contained. “She wanted to find him and demand answers.”

  “No name?”

  “No. That’s another reason to track her down.”

  Rhodry nodded. “And when you find her?”

  Aidan grinned. “I’ll charm her into telling me what I need to know.”

  …

  Darkness fell in the Green between one moment and the next. The phenomenon was mostly due to Harp’s distance from its sun and a severe axial tilt, but the heavy shadows beneath the trees didn’t help. Rachel knew the planet had three moons, all named after ancient Gaelic goddesses, but none of them were much help tonight. The largest of the three dwarfed the planet itself and appeared only once every few months. The second largest was a more manageable size, but she was visible only one night a month, and it wasn’t tonight. The third was the smallest and most regular, rising in the sky three weeks out of every four, but at such a distance that one could be fooled into thinking she was a planet instead of a moon. The upshot of all this lunar activity was that there was no moonlight for Rachel to continue by. She could have used her LED flashlight, but she’d been walking all day over ground that was deceptively treacherous. At first glance, the forest floor was a carpet of decaying leaves and other small vegetation. In reality, that c
arpet concealed a myriad of burrow holes and uneven terrain, not to mention the vines that could trap an ankle in an instant. Rachel had tumbled more than once before she identified the markers of that particular vine and learned to avoid them. She was more than grateful for her sturdy hiking boots, which had seen service on several planets. They were worn to such a perfect fit on her foot and ankle that she’d had them resoled to avoid buying a new pair.

  But far more taxing than the ground conditions were the trees themselves. The Green was impossibly dense in places, with heavy growth in between the trunks that was spun with such intricacy and, in its own way, beauty, that there was nothing for her to do except walk around. Which would have been simple if there’d been anything resembling a path. But there wasn’t even an animal trail for her to follow.

  And so when night fell, Rachel pulled the flashlight from her pocket, turned it on, and contemplated her choices. The flash illuminated an area roughly three feet in every direction. Enough to keep her company, but little else. She shined it up the nearest tree, trying to decide if she wanted to spend another night in the branches, or if she should roll out her high-tech sleeping pad and stay on the ground. Her stomach growled, deciding for her. Or more accurately, it postponed the decision in favor of food. She’d made it through the day on energy bars, which met all of her nutritional needs without even the pretense of satisfying the psychological demands of hunger. Strictly speaking, Rachel was only as hungry as was normal for dinner after a physically active day. But her brain didn’t give a fuck about what her stomach had to say. She was ravenous for something more than a damn granola bar.

  If she’d been on a planet she knew well, she’d have hunted, skinned, and cooked her own meal. But since Harp was a complete unknown, she stuck with the six-pack of Meals Ready to Eat, or MREs, that was a standard component of her backpack survival gear. Since the things had an expiration date that encompassed years, rather than months, the one in her pack had been there for…a while. She wasn’t sure when she’d originally packed it, but she was certain that it was still edible. Standard operating procedure for her before setting off on any expedition, whether for a day or a month, included checking the date on her MREs. They weren’t the tastiest meals in the universe, but they were hot and better than an energy bar.

  Dropping her pack where she stood, she started pulling gear. First was a small laser-driven fire pack that she immediately set aside. No lasers on Harp. She knew that and thought she’d removed anything laser-related from her gear, but apparently there were a few pieces that she took so much for granted they’d slipped through.

  No problem. She had old-fashioned matches, and God knew there was plenty of kindling around. And if she removed the laser mechanism, she could still use the metal box of the pack to contain her fire and prevent it from spreading to the entire forest. She set about disassembling the fire pack and was so focused on her task that she almost missed the first signs of danger.

  Almost.

  Like a hot breath against the back of her neck, she was suddenly aware that silence had fallen as deeply as the dark. Moving slowly, forcing herself to breathe despite the pounding of her heart, she set the fire pack down and flipped the safety strap off her belt knife. She slid the knife two inches free of its leather scabbard but didn’t pull it yet. Aware of every muscle in her body, and what it would take to launch herself into action if demanded, she pulled her backpack to her side and began untying the crossbow and bolts she had secured there. The bolts came first. In a pinch, if she was forced to fight in close quarters, the heavy iron bolts could serve as weapons. The bow itself was heavy enough to use as a bludgeon, but also awkward enough to require two hands.

  She’d just loosed the sheath and was working on the bow when she heard the first rustle of something big moving through the trees. She glanced up but kept working. If it was big, she’d rather shoot from a distance than fight it nose to nose.

  There wasn’t the slightest tremble in her fingers as she untied the final leather strap and pulled the bow free. If anything, at times like this she felt preternaturally calm, as if she’d been born to live in the wild and fight for survival. Adrenaline kicked in with a rush, making everything more clear. Her hearing was more acute, bringing into focus the soft susurration of leaves as the creature drew close. Even the shadows in the Green gained definition, painted in blacks and grays instead of a monochrome palette of darkness.

  She notched first one bolt, then the second, and raised the bow, turning slightly as she tracked the animal’s progress by sound. She stepped back from the tree she’d been resting against and aimed higher. The creature was right above her, if not in her tree, then very close, jumping down through the branches with no attempt at stealth, as if completely undeterred by her presence. The realization that it didn’t fear her or her weapon gave her pause at last. If it hadn’t learned to fear humans…

  She didn’t have time to finish the thought as at least three hundred pounds of something big and hairy, with a mouthful of dangerous teeth suddenly flashed through the beam of her LED, moving through the web of tree branches with a speed that belied its huge size. Without a moment’s pause, it let out a deep-throated bellow, pounding its chest so hard that she could hear the impact of every fist. And a fist it was, because the creature was much like Earth’s primates, with four long limbs, opposable thumbs on the hands, and long-toed feet that gripped branches nearly as well.

  Rachel sucked in a shocked breath and regretted it almost immediately, nearly gagging on the animal’s stink. Her eyes watered as she blinked to clear them, but she didn’t need to see the creature to know she was in a fight for her life. She’d seen enough predators on enough planets to know that this one was a killer. She raised her bow. In a flash the animal moved. Faster than she could react, it threw out a long arm from several feet away and knocked the weapon from her hand, raking its claws along her forearm as it did so.

  She cried out as much in shock as in pain, but she didn’t cower, didn’t try to escape. She knew predators, knew how they thought. If you ran, they chased. The best way to deal with them, the only way, if you hoped to survive, was to stand fast. The animal was blindingly quick, its attack nothing but a blur of motion. Her arm was agony, a constant shriek of pain and a distinctive heat that told her the wound might be poisoned, which left her with only one good option.

  The creature opened its mouth in a cackling cry. She gripped her blade, holding it low to her side.

  Confident of its victory, the creature swung to the ground and stalked closer, its eyes a nictitating gleam of green in the darkness, its arms waving back and forth in wide feints. It was playing with its food, she realized.

  She watched its approach, waiting for her chance. The animal didn’t know it yet, but she was no easy prey. Even so, she’d have only one shot at this, one shot at survival.

  The beast slowed, some instinct warning it at the last minute that it should use caution. Rachel grinned, letting the animal see her teeth. Blunt as they were, it was a provocation to the primitive creature before her. It roared, blasting her with a wave of hot, fetid breath, and then it moved, blindingly fast. There was no time to aim, no time to consider strategy or even target. She simply reacted, stabbing out with seven inches of the best carbon steel. She didn’t stop when she encountered resistance. She pushed harder until her fist slammed into a furry chest, and then she gripped the blade tighter and jammed it upward, nearly suffocated by the long hair and unbearable stench of the animal as it screeched in her ear and fought back. Its arms closed around her and squeezed. Rachel’s lungs emptied, crushed beneath the pressure, as her heart fought to keep beating. Hot blood coated her hand, nearly buried along with her blade in the creature’s chest, but still it kept squeezing, its arms growing tighter. She fought grimly for air but couldn’t move. Her mind raced for a solution. She’d never faced a predator like this. She’d hunted before, she’d defended herself and others. But she’d never fought a battle that was life and death, neve
r had her hand so close to the animal’s heart that she could feel it beating against her own flesh.

  Beating heart. She blinked in confusion as clarity slowly dawned. The creature’s heart was so close. If she could just… She wrenched her left hand up between their bodies, fingers meeting on the sturdy handle of the blade. Closing her eyes as she sucked in a final desperate breath, she let go of everything except the need to survive. Both hands gripping the blade, slick fingers twisted with each other, she gave a hard, upward shove.

  Blood gushed, hot and toxic, burning her skin as the animal’s heart pumped ferociously, trying to function despite the fatal wound. The creature—whatever it was—slumped forward, which shoved the blade deeper into its chest, shredding more of its heart and severing critical arteries and veins. Rachel stumbled back under the weight, grunting as she hit the ground, thick roots digging into her spine as the full heft of her attacker pressed her into the dirt. She gasped for air, thinking how ironic it would be for her to have killed the animal only to have its dead carcass crush the air from her lungs.

  “Oh hell no,” she muttered, spitting out a mouthful of the beast’s hair.

  Putting her shoulder into it, she shoved up and rolled, throwing the dead animal to the ground with her on top.

  “Disgusting.” She fought the desire to vomit, suddenly glad she’d had so little to eat that day. She remained there for a few minutes, straddling the creature, letting fresh air fill her lungs. A sudden wracking cough reminded her that there was no such thing as fresh air within five feet of this thing, dead or alive.

  Finally pushing herself upright, she staggered far enough away that she could draw breath and sank to the forest floor. She’d move in a minute. She had to get up, had to get away from the carcass. The scavengers would come soon enough, and they wouldn’t be picky about whether the meat they munched was dead or alive. It was one thing to fight off a lone, big hairy thing, but it was something else entirely to survive a swarm of tiny, vicious biters. She didn’t know what kind of scavengers they had on Harp, but she knew, whatever they were, she didn’t want to deal with them tonight.