The Galactic Circle Veterinary Service

by Stephen Benjamin

After further examination, Fur cried, “That’s it. These cells are similar to mammalian chemoreceptors. They’re on the tongue and around the inside of the mouths. A white filament from each of them goes straight down and merges into the nerve bundles. That’s the olfactory system.”

  I nodded. “But why do they go from a sluggish beast to a stage capable of relatively rapid movement? And then why do they become comatose and die?”

  Fur added, “And why do they go from a creature that did not even recognize humans, to one that attacks and kills people?”

  I hoped we could learn that without the need for first-hand experience.

  ***

  We arranged for the field trip to observe the active hydras. Two men in uniform carrying laser rifles accompanied us. Grof was our pilot again. More paint flaked off the side of the whirlydrone as I climbed in. The rotors were dull, pitted metal, rather than the gleaming graphsteel of new blades. We crammed too many people into the old bird for my comfort.

  We headed in a different direction than we had taken on our first trip. The cleared fields were not as extensive, and we flew over the jungle within minutes. When we landed, Petor briefed us.

  “We have located a hydra that is in the, um, active stage of its problem. We will view that specimen first. Then we will go to an area that has a high concentration of normal adult hydras. It should not be difficult to find some that are in, um, feeding mode.”

  “Sounds like a good plan.” I hoped that would be true. “Thanks for the help in this.”

  I glanced at the soldiers with their weapons. Tran was middle-aged and a bit paunchy. Worden looked fit and maybe ten years younger.

  I asked, “Is there any real danger? After all, these things move like a snail. As long as we keep out of reach of the tongues, we’ll be okay, right?”

  Tran answered. “No doubt, Doctor, but we’re charged with your safety and don’t want to leave anything to chance. There are other predators on the planet, you know.”

  I looked at Petor with raised eyebrows. “Besides the spitting trumpet plants?”

  “Well, yes,” he replied. He would not meet my eyes. “There are two other mobile predators, but they are not, um, usually dangerous to humans.”

  “What the fuck does ‘usually’ mean?” My pulse pounded in my temple.

  Fur muttered something under his breath. For all his lack of fear of animals and his ability to handle them, these alien plant forms spooked him maybe more than they did me.

  Petor was silent for a few moments before he responded. “There is the creeper. It lives where the heavy undergrowth gives it a place to hide. It is mobile, but moves only to find a place where an ambush might be successful. Its vines can, um, whip out and grab a passing prey item.”

  “A ‘passing prey item’,” I mused. “And, pray tell, what might this prey be?”

  Fur groaned.

  Petor said, “Well, their favorite prey is the hydra.”

  “The hydra? You tell me there’s a beast that preys on the hydra? Good Lord. Next you’ll tell me that some creature preys on the creeper.” I looked at his face. “No!”

  “Well, um, yes. The other mobile predator does feed on the creeper.”

  Now, I groaned.

  Petor continued. “But it is a smaller beast that gnaws away at the creeper vine, ultimately killing it.”

  “How does it avoid the creeper tentacles—or whatever you call them?” Fur asked.

  “The untouchable—that is our name for it because it is very poisonous—is avoided by the creeper. Its touch is deadly to both plants and animals.”

  “And I presume ‘animals’ includes humans?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “And you know this how?”

  “Well, there have been a few unfortunate instances where an untouchable has come in contact with a domestic animal or a human. Those were, um, fatal.”

  I drew a deep breath before I spoke. “And the creepers? Have there been attacks by those, as well?”

  “Yes, but those have been less, um, injurious. If the people have companions, they are able to cut the victim loose.”

  I followed up with the obvious question. “What about if they’re alone?”

  “Well, then they are in more difficulty. You see, the creeper has a toxin, too, and it paralyzes the prey. But if released, the paralysis wears off quickly.”

  “Great,” I muttered. I looked at Fur, whose face was a shade I had never seen before: sort of avocado with peach overtones. My stomach felt like he looked.

  I glanced back at Petor. “And tell me where we are headed. To the deep, thick jungle, where these creatures are most numerous and at home, right?”

  Petor said nothing, nodded, and averted his gaze.

  “Petor, you’ve been dribbling out these bits of information—critical bits to me, by the way—instead of giving us the whole story. I’m fed up. I’m ready to say screw you and your planet. We don’t need this kind of shit.”

  Fur muttered, “Hear, hear.”

  Petor’s face turned red as he cleared his throat and looked at me. “Dr. Berger, you have a valid complaint. I will be honest. I was ordered not to tell you about our, um, dangerous Ulmian flora for fear that you would not agree to help. That you would find it too hazardous a duty and leave.”

  “That sounds good to me,” Fur said.

  “I understand your feeling, Mr. Cohen. It seems that this approach has had just the opposite effect. Our withholding of information may be what drives you away. I apologize and promise to cooperate henceforth.”

  “Just who is it that gave you these instructions?” I asked.

  “The military commander.” He colored again. “We have a rather, er, authoritative military on our world.”

  As I took that in, Steckel and the soldiers headed into the jungle. Fur and I followed with Grof in the rear again. Fur’s head swiveled like a weathervane as he surveyed the multicolored undergrowth.

  Petor turned to me and Fur. “The, um, active hydra was seen a short distance from here. We should be able to find it with little difficulty.”

  He directed the soldiers to move off to the north. I must admit that I now viewed the jungle with different eyes than I had on our first trip to see the hydra. I flinched at every movement in the tangle of alien plants. Again, I felt a strange, almost subliminal rustling in my brain and buzzing in my ears. I shook my head and muttered, “These things have me so spooked I’m hearing things.” With what I just learned, no surprise that my guts felt like a nest of snakes.

  “What was that?” Fur asked.

  “Nothing”.

  Petor stopped our escort at several points and had them laser plants he felt were too close to our path. None was a creeper or an untouchable, he’d assured us. I really did not want to know what they were.

  After the third such incident, I asked, “Those rifles are fully charged, right?”

  “Yes, Doctor. There’s plenty of charge to handle whatever we might meet,” Tran said.

  Fur muttered, “Can I go home now?”

  Our escort stopped suddenly, as did Petor, and I nearly ran him down. Fur almost obliterated me, in turn.

  “There’s a feeding hydra, Doctor.” Worden pointed.

  I peered over his shoulder at a hydra that was dismembering a bush covered with plump, glistening leaves.

  Petor commented, “They prefer the plants that store the most water.”

  My acquaintance with immobile hydras did not prepare me for what I saw now. The hydra stood with four of its necks bent over the unfortunate shrub. A tongue shot out, wrapped around a branch, and ripped it off. It retracted, carrying the foliage to its mouth. The grinding sounds were gruesome. While that mouth chomped, another tongue fired out and repeated the process for a different mouth. The process continued like that. From what I could tell, the tongues seemed to trigger in sequence. After one latched onto a branch, another tongue discharged. I wondered if it ripped off a human limb, like the branches of the bush, or if it
lifted the entire human to its mouths. I would see this during my sleeping hours for the rest of my life, even if it was only a plant that it dismembered.

  I whispered, “It can’t hear us, can it?”

  Petor looked at me. “Well, no. Didn’t you tell me that it has no, um organs of hearing?”

  “Yeah, but...right.”

  Fur grinned at me. He enjoyed my discomfort. It took the attention away from his.

  Petor cleared his throat. “This is an active hydra, and its feeding behavior is not typical. A normal hydra would be much more deliberate, much slower.”

  “How fast will they move when they are like this?” I asked.

  “Perhaps as fast as a very slow human walk, much faster than their usual, um, ambulatory mode.”

  “Would it be dangerous to get it to move?”

  Petor looked at the officers with a raised eyebrow.

  Tran replied. “I don’t think it will be a problem, Doctor. But how will we do that?”

  In response, Fur stooped and picked up a rock the size of a grapefruit that sat by his right foot. He hefted it a couple of times and then hurled it at the hydra. His aim was excellent and he hit one of the mouths dead center.

  The hydra froze. That showed the nervous system could respond instantaneously. It stood that way for about three or four minutes, and then the mouths resumed munching on their repast.

  Fur found several more rocks in the undergrowth. He carefully examined their locale and questioned Petor as to whether there was anything hazardous within reach before he picked them up. He pitched three more sizeable stones, hitting the hydra in two necks and one head.

  This time, the beast pulled all its heads upright and held them there, shivering in the slight breeze. Then it began to move. For a fearsome creature more than twice as big as a large man, the locomotion should have been comical, but it only added to its repugnance. The root tendrils writhed as they reached forward and grasped at the ground. Then another set would move forward as the first set moved back, pulling the trunk with them. I shuddered as I backed up. I wanted plenty of space between those tongues and me.

  “Remember those larger hairs on the roots, Fur? I’ll bet internal fluid pressure activates those to grab the ground and help it move.”

  In the time we watched, the hydra moved almost two meters away from us. It did not seem to recognize the source of its torment.

  “I wonder,” I mused. “There’s not much wind, but we are downwind here. Let’s move upwind and see if it responds.”

  “Is that a good idea?” Fur asked.

  “We’ll stay back so it can’t reach us. But I’d like to test your chemoreception theory.”

  When we moved upwind, the response was almost immediate. The hydra stopped its movement, then, after a delay of a minute or so, it began to crawl in our direction. It definitely recognized human scent.

  “Enough,” Fur cried as he backed up, both hands in front of him as if to push the hydra away. “Point proven. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  We did.

  CHAPTER 17

  Invited to a dinner with the local dignitaries, Petor ushered Fur, Levi, and me into a large dining hall. A different host appropriated each of us and trundled us off to separate tables. Petor took my arm and waved me to a chair next to a well-endowed woman bedecked with a profusion of what had to be costume jewelry. If real, it might have equaled the gross national product of Ulm.

  Petor looked at the woman and said, “My dear, this is Dr. Berger, whom I have told you about.” He turned to me. “Doc—um, Cy, this is my wife, Belinka.”

  I made a brief bow. “Delighted to meet you, Belinka, if I may be so bold as to be familiar.”

  Her eyes crinkled and crows’ feet tracked outward as she smiled. “Oooh, Doctor Berger, you are just as gallant as I imagined. I have so wanted to meet you since Petor told me of your arrival.” She turned to her husband, her lips twisted in a sneer, and said, “Took you long enough, didn’t it.”

  “I did my best, my, um, sweet.” Petor’s smile went rigid.

  “Please sit, Doctor Berger,” Belinka cooed. She leaned toward me, baring cleavage that rivaled an oceanic abyss. “Doctor—ooh, may I call you Cy?” She gave me no chance to respond. “Cy, I have a question for you. It’s about Punkums.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Punkums?”

  “Oh, yes. You see, he has this problem.”

  “Punkums. Problem. I’m not quite sure that I—”

  “Yes. He has been scooting. On all our rugs, you see.”

  I groaned inwardly. A server who deposited a warm roll before each of the diners interrupted us. Before she spoke again, Belinka buttered her roll, then nibbled daintily at the edges. When done, she smiled at me and said, “Punkums?”

  “Ah, yes,” I said. “Punkums. Scooting.” Why is it that every pet owner that meets me thinks I desire nothing more than to talk about his or her pet and that free consultation goes with social events?

  “This happens all the time, Doctor—ooh, I mean Cy.”

  The way she oozed out my name gave me the shivers. I wished I had never used her first name to begin with.

  “It looks very uncomfortable. Is it uncomfortable, Cy? Punkums, I mean.”

  I shook my head to clear my thoughts. “Um, yes, it can be uncomfortable, Mrs. Steckel.” Maybe I could get a bit of distance back.

  “Oh, please let’s not be formal. I just love when you call me Belinka.”

  I imagined that the look on her face might have been an attempt at coyness. I looked away. I tried my damnedest to block out her emotions with only partial success.

  “Well, I just knew it had to be uncomfortable.” She straightened her back and lifted her head, eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I tell you that, Petor? I told you poor Punkums was in pain. Just swooning with pain.”

  Petor did not respond. He gazed around the room as if looking for a path by which to escape. The delivery of a bowl of purple soup kept Petor in his place. Borscht, I wondered? I tasted mine. Definitely not borscht. The strange flavor was like nothing I recalled. I ate it, if for no other reason than to put our conversation on hold.

  “Quite nice,” I said to Petor to fill the silence that had descended as Belinka finished her soup.

  Belinka sat back and sighed. “Now, back to Punkums. His pain must be excruciating, mustn’t it?”

  “Well, Mrs. Steckel, if Punkums is your dog, I don’t think ‘pain’ is the right description. Discomfort would be more accurate.”

  “But severe discomfort.” The corners of her full mouth turned down before she smiled again. “And, of course, Punkums is my little doggie. You are so perceptive, Cy. Punkums is my Antarean Ploofle. Don’t you think they’re the most adorable breed? So much better than those awful Cockriers and Shihtzhunds. Don’t you agree?”

  “Um, certainly. They’re quite delightful.” Disagreeing would accomplish nothing. In fact, mini-Ploofles were vile creatures with a nasty temperament. I hated the little bastards with a passion. A couple had used my hand for a chew toy in vet school.

  “Wonderful,” Belinka said. “Then you will have no problem if Petor brings you home to take care of Punkums.” She glared at her husband. “Soon,” she barked. Then she smiled at me again. “Our regular vet only checks Punkums once a year for his physical and that’s surely not enough to relieve the poor dear. He always says it’s his—” She shuddered theatrically, then whispered “—anal sacs.”

  The main course arrived, Ulmian prime rib, surrounded by unidentifiable mashed orange and wilted greens. Conversation ceased as everyone tucked into their meals. I stared at mine as my stomach squirmed. Belinka, and the soup, whatever it was, disagreed with me. When dessert came, I excused myself.

  “I apologize, but I am feeling a bit poorly tonight. I need to return to my quarters.”

  I had never even met the person who sat on the other side of me. When I glanced at him, he could not suppress a smile. I nodded and stood.

  “Oh, do take
care, Cy.” Belinka’s obsequious voice pulled my attention back to her. “Petor will bring you to take care of Punkums.” She turned to her husband, voice dripping with acid, and said, “You will do that, Petor, won’t you?”

  “Yes, dear,” was his toneless reply.

  I made my way to the exit. I had gained some insight into Petor’s diffident and indecisive personality.

  ***

  Petor’s face was a mask of indifference, but his thoughts were in turmoil, embarrassed over his wife’s performance the previous evening. I could tell that he wanted nothing more than to retreat to his work and block the entire incident out of his mind. He radiated that thought so clearly that I almost glanced around me to see if others were aware.

  He looked at the floor as he spoke. “Cy, I apologize for last evening—”

  “Hey. No apologies necessary, Petor.”

  “Yes, they are. Belinka can be, er, intimidating. But I must ask you for one more thing.”

  I knew what was coming and cringed inwardly.

  “If you would do me the great kindness of seeing to Punkums, I will be indebted to you.”

  I could not refuse. It was a small enough favor, and Petor was trying his best to help us now, so I followed him to his home.

  Belinka answered the door. A huge smile cracked her face when she saw me. “Oooh, Cy. You’re here for Punkums, aren’t you?” She beamed at Petor, and said, “Thank you, dear.” Those were the first civil words I had heard from her toward her husband.

  She led us back to the kitchen where the Antarean Ploofle lay on a gold-embroidered cushion next to his food and water bowls. As I approached the dog, he growled softly, a warning I did not need. I kicked myself mentally. Why in hell didn’t I think to bring Fur along?

  “It’s okay, Punkums,” I spoke in my most soothing voice while I tried to calm the little beast with my empathic ability, but he got even nastier. Wouldn’t you know he would be one of those where my talent had the opposite effect? I turned to Petor. “Could you please pick up Punkums and put him on the table?” I motioned with my head to the kitchen table.

  Petor paled. “Um, I don’t think...” He looked at his frowning wife.