Vorpal Blade (ARC)

by John Ringo

  "Any idea about the species involved?" the CO asked. "Not Dreen?"

  "Definitely not Dreen," Julia said. "We found one trace of a Class Three life form. Just a soil fungus. Apparently there was some life here before whoever terraformed it got going. And Class Three is the class that Dreen derive from. But it isn't close to Dreen form. And the species that terraformed the world is Class Four. But that's all that we know about them. Except that they liked crabpus. I think that they put down one or more species of crabpus that was some sort of organic clearing system and it's evolved into about ten or twelve, all closely related."

  "And what are we going to do about those?" the XO asked.

  "Depends on what you mean, Commander," Julia said, grinning. "Wouldn't suggest eatin' 'em."

  "I'm more worried about them eating us," the XO noted, dryly.

  "That's security's job," the CO said, looking over at Captain MacDonald. "Mac?"

  "I'm not positive we can ensure security," the captain said frankly. "The things half ate PFC Bergstresser's armor. The first thing we're going to have to do is deploy all three platoons; one isn't going to cut it. We might think about putting in defenses around the air lock; waiting to cycle everybody through was pretty stressful. For that matter, I'd like some way to get the Wyverns up on the hull if we have to. That way if we get hit by a bunch of those things, we can get people out of the way."

  "I figure they ain't gonna like fire," Julia pointed out. "Just putting some fires out will probably keep them off. Gotta be careful with them, though; we really don't want a big grass fire getting going. Take a suggestion, Captain?"

  "Yes," the CO replied.

  "Move the boat to somewhere rockier," Julia said. "That makes Geo happy; he can get more sampling done. Rocky hill or something, somewhere with clear lines of sight and not much cover. I'm gonna have to go forward into the brush, but if the Marines are up for it, we are. If we can find someplace sort of elevated, snipers can cover our backs. Think safari here."

  "Captain MacDonald?" the CO said.

  "Fits in well with my view, sir," the Marine said. "Something so that there are limited lines of approach sounds good. Frankly, I'd as well get the boat out of this environment. Anything happens to it, we're stranded."

  * * *

  "Congratulations, Jaen," the first sergeant said. "You just got a species named after you. Jaen's Lion Crabpus."

  "Cool," Jaen said, yanking on the leg of the suit. "This mothergrapper is stuck."

  "Wait," Lyle said, leaning in to look at the joint. "Some of that acid got into the mechanism. Work it back and forth, slowly. I might have to Dremel it out."

  "When is it going to be back on line?" Top asked.

  "No more than an hour, first sergeant," the armorer said. "I've got spares."

  "How you doing, Two-Gun?" Top asked.

  "One hundred percent, First Sergeant," Berg replied. "Ready to rock and roll." He had his Gatling spread out in pieces on a tarp.

  "Glad to hear it," Powell replied. "Because we're going back down."

  "Maulk," Hattelstad snorted. "I knew this wasn't just a social call."

  "They're looking for a safe spot to settle so we can keep doing the survey," the first sergeant continued. "As soon as they do, we're going to redeploy. All of us. Second will have ground security around the ship. First and Third will accompany the science teams."

  "Great," Staff Sergeant Summerlin said. "Let 'em. We've taken point the last two deployments."

  "And you're on point on this one," Top said. "Because you're guarding the ship."

  "Ouch," Berg said. "Top, about that whole Two-Gun thing?"

  "Yes, Two-Gun?" the first sergeant said.

  "I wonder if I could use an experimental system that Corporal Lyle developed," Berg said uncomfortably. "The 7.62 mms don't have the penetration power you need for these things. I would like to request to draw a special weapon."

  The first sergeant looked at him blank-faced for a moment, then nodded.

  "Lyle, when you get a moment, would you care to show me this . . . 'special weapon?' "

  "Yes, First Sergeant," Lyle said with a gulp.

  * * *

  "I am not going to say 'Are you kidding me . . .' " Top said when he saw the pistols.

  "I haven't gotten a chance to try them out," Berg admitted. "And I'd rather have a 12.7 mounted. But this is what's available, First Sergeant. At least if we're not ground mount. When we were fighting those crabs, all I could think was that I wished I had a couple of Colt magnums. But you can't use those in armor, so . . ."

  "I'm considering the implications," the first sergeant said. "Among others, I know that everybody is going to want these. Chief Miller is going to be extremely envious and want to know why you got to carry them and he didn't."

  "I only really need one . . ." Berg said.

  "Oh, no, you are known as Two-Gun for a reason," the first sergeant said. "As long as you continue to use that technique and do not, in fact, go all two-gun mojo on me, I will overlook Lyle's unauthorized use of spares, not to mention severe damage to said spares. Do these things have anything like normal velocity, though?"

  "The barrels are fourteen inches long, Top," Corporal Lyle said. "They're more like a carbine version than a pistol. Based on specs, that should give them about eighty percent of normal velocity. No recoil system so it's going to have a hell of a kick. That's the reason for the special grip."

  "Looks like an elephant Mauser," the first sergeant mused. "Okay, Two-Gun. Take them both. How you're going to mount them, though—"

  "I made holsters," Lyle said, setting them on the counter.

  "Welcome to the Space Mushrooms," Berg said with a grin.

  * * *

  "You sure that's gonna hold us?" the CO asked.

  By cruising along just off the coast, they had found a point of rock that jutted out into the ocean. It was nearly an island with only a narrow neck connected to the mainland. The top was broad and mostly flat and appeared to be covered in red lichen.

  The trees had crowded in, though, and the plain narrowed so there was less than a kilometer from the point the land opened out and the plains started.

  "It's a granitic basolith," Dr. Dean said with a sigh. "The surrounding material was lighter volcanic stuff that degraded and left the basolithic structure in place. Also very boring. I saw some sandstone on the scans from our way in; no chance of getting up into the mountains any time soon, is there?"

  "Prior to deconfliction of the battlespace, enhancement of mission architecture is derecommended," the CO said.

  "What?" Dr. Dean asked.

  "You scientists keep trotting out technobabble," Spectre said dryly. "So I thought I'd pay you back in mil-speak. It's strong enough?"

  "Yes," Dr. Dean said. "It is very strong. It should handle the weight of the boat."

  "In that case," the CO responded. "I don't think we should plan any big adventures until we figure out how to handle the crabpus, Doctor. Okay, lower away. You okay, pilot?"

  "Tricky winds, sir," the pilot replied. "But I got it."

  The piloting controls had adjustments for yaw, and the seaman expertly adjusted them to lower the boat down. The shape of the granite protrusion meant that the boat ended up parallel to the shoreline, with the starboard side inland.

  "Contact."

  "COB, level the boat," the CO said.

  "Level, aye," the chief said, hitting the adjustment. The boat rocked back and forth, then leveled. "Boat is leveled. Jacks locked."

  "Captain MacDonald, Marines out, first. Then the science security personnel. Then the science personnel," the CO said over the communicator. "Spectre, out. Dr. Dean, it will be at least an hour before your turn to deploy. Why don't you see if you can figure out any samples worth taking in the area while you wait."

  * * *

  "That thing is just plain cute," Miriam said, looking over Julia's shoulder.

  "I wouldn't go that far," Julia said. One of the Marine teams had managed to
catch a crabpus before everyone was recalled to the boat. She was using a rubber pad from the waldo to rub the back of the captured crabpus. The plant-eating crabpus looked not unlike the predators that had damaged Bergstresser's and Jaenisch's armor. But it was far less aggressive, even timid. The back scratching seemed to have it calmed down.

  "Can I?" Miriam asked.

  "Go ahead," Julia replied. "Do you know how to use . . . ?"

  "I did it when I was in college," Miriam said, taking over the controls. She rubbed the thing on the back, then picked up a piece of the grass and started playing with it.

  After a while the thing rolled over on its back, waving all eight tentacles in the air. Miriam stroked its belly, then worked up towards the mouth. The underside of the beast was segmented, unlike the top but very much like a crab.

  Near the mouth there was a broad, flat plate. When the woman rubbed on that, the thing's arms spasmed then went limp.

  "Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "Did I kill it?"

  "No, no," Julia said, looking over at her monitors. The thing's heart was still going, but it had slowed. Then the heart rate picked back up and it started waving its arms again, grabbing at the ground to flip itself over.

  "Try it again," Julia said. "Before it gets up."

  Rubbing the same patch caused the same reaction. The crabpus appeared to go to sleep. Not for long, but for a few seconds.

  "Huh," Julia said. "Crabs have the same reaction. It's supposed to be something about mating, but I'd have to look it up to be sure. Tickle them in that one spot, and they go to sleep."

  "That's cute," Miriam said, still playing with the beast.

  "Yes, but it's not getting us anywhere," Julia said, sighing. "Want to name it?"

  "Okay," Miriam said, smiling. "I hereby name you Tickly."

  "No, silly, I meant the species," Julia replied.

  * * *

  "Hey, look at that," Staff Sergeant Roberts said, looking over the edge of the cliff at the water.

  The Marines had formed a solid defense zone down at the narrow neck and were working on setting up defensive positions. The problem with that was that they were on solid rock. They'd settled for gathering large rocks—the Wyverns were easily capable of picking up two hundred kilo boulders—and stacking them. Thus far there hadn't been any sign of predators but the nearest grass was nearly a hundred meters from the sangers.

  While waiting for their principals to arrive, the SF science teams had been wandering around the area looking for samples. Roberts had found a different form of lichen or fungus, he wasn't sure which to call it, over by the edge of the rocks and then glanced at the water.

  "Whatcha got?" Bartlett asked.

  "Crabs," Roberts said, then snorted. "More of them crabpus things. But swimming."

  Bartlett cautiously got down on the Wyvern's knee and elbow wheels and shimmied forward until he could sensor pod over the edge.

  He saw what Roberts had exclaimed about quickly enough. A school of the crab things were riding the surf that pounded the rocks, apparently feeding on something.

  "We got any fishing poles?" Roberts asked. "I bet one of them would go for a little crabpus meat on a hook."

  Suddenly the school scattered, some of them darting off to sea while others jumped up on the rocks and held on like limpets. A larger form could be seen in the depths, but the waves and foam made it impossible to get any details. He couldn't even figure out if it was a bigger crabpus or some other form.

  What got Bartlett was that he couldn't figure out how the things swam. He couldn't see the tentacles propelling them that fast. But zooming in on the ones on the rocks he could see that there were inlets along their sides.

  "Huh," Roberts said. "Jet propulsion?"

  "Like a squid, yeah," Bartlett said, rolling back and standing up. "Tuck their legs up and shoot along. We'll try to figure out a way to get some samples, later. Even if we don't have any poles, a hand-line would work."

  "Bio Two, Bio One is on the way down," the Marine sergeant handling the transfer said. "Paging Bio Babysitters, Bio Babysitters to the lift, if you please."

  "I hate Marines," Bartlett muttered.

  "Why are Marines like bananas?" Roberts said, following him to the boat.

  "I dunno," Bartlett said, turning on his external speaker as they approached the lift. "Why are Marines like bananas?"

  "Because they start out green, turn yellow and die in bunches," Roberts said, laughing.

  "That ain't funny," the Recon sergeant growled.

  * * *

  "Dig in, they said," Jaen said, rolling a rock into position. "Make some fighting positions they said . . ."

  "At least it gives us some cover," Berg pointed out.

  "Why do we need cover?" Drago called from over by the ship. "We have Two-Gun guarding us! Complete with giant pistols."

  "Quit crossing chatter," Gunnery Sergeant Hocieniec said. He didn't step on inter-team chatter but he was death on cross-team. "Get ready for personnel to pass lines."

  "You know, I'm perfectly comfortable staying here," Berg said.

  "Me, too," Hatt replied. "Let somebody else get all the fun."

  "Shut up and move rocks," Jaen growled. "If we do get in the busy, I want something to hide behind while Berg saves my ass."

  * * *

  "Bio, Geo, you ready?" Captain MacDonald asked.

  "Geo's up," Master Sergeant Runner said. He'd drawn one of the 30mm cannons for this mission.

  "Bio's up," Bartlett said.

  "We're going to take this slow and careful," Captain MacDonald said. "There are some big guys moving in from the south. Elephant big. We don't know how they're going to act. Bio, do your sampling in a straight line. Forget the ring toss. Just get your samples and keep moving. We're going to head towards the treeline, maybe do a delta if we don't turn into anything, and then head back. Second Platoon is going to stay here to cover our retreat if we have to unass. Are there any questions?"

  "If we see any exposed rock can we head for it?" Dr. Dean asked, raising one of the arms of his suit. "Maybe a small hill?"

  "I just hope we don't make our last stand on one, Doctor," MacDonald said. "We're on an alien planet eleven light-years from home surrounded by an alien biology we can't eat and there aren't any boats capable of coming to pick us up if we screw up. Let's just try this easy one time before we get fancy."

  * * *

  Sergeant Terry Lovelace was glad when the last of the science teams was unassed the boat. Playing door man was no job for a good Marine.

  "Join the corps," Crowley muttered. "Travel to exotic lands, meet interesting people . . ."

  "And kill them," Corporal Lujan finished, reciting a motto that had probably started with Sargon's army. "Interesting things in this case. Exotic planets."

  "Looks like they found something," Lovelace said, watching the group, which was most of the way to the woodline, stopped. "Wonder what it is."

  "A world of hurt," Lujan said. "I'd just as soon stay here."

  "Where were we?" Lovelace asked, the suit shifting as he reached for something on the inside.

  "Level Four," Crowley replied. "Just about to enter the treasure room."

  "Got it," Lovelace said. "Okay . . . We ready . . . ?"

  "I'm on-line," Drago said, the arms of his suit windmilling. There was no way to take the actuators for the suits off short of exiting the suit, so when you played a Gameboy in one, the suit arms moved with yours. Drago's lifted towards his sensor array and paused.

  "Watch your grapping arm, man," Crowley said. "You nearly punched me."

  "Sorry, dude," Drago said. He coughed suddenly, the arms and legs of his suit spasming.

  "Drago, are you smoking in your suit again?" Lovelace snapped. "I swear to God . . ."

  "Hey, Sarge, I got Lurch to install a smokeless ashtray!" Drago said. "And spare filters. Smoke just went down the wrong way!"

  "No wonder you don't have a girlfriend," Lovelace said. "You're too stupid to pick up
chicks."

  "I got a girl back home," Crowley said. "And when we get back, I'm gonna get down on one knee and ask her to marry me." The dome on his armor swiveled back and forth rapidly and he laughed. "Heh. Just checking."

  "Damn, man, don't do that to me," Drago said, his own sensor dome swiveling. "You know not to say maulk like that. It jinxes the mission. Never talk about your romantic plans!"

  "That's just a stupid superstition," Lovelace said, looking around nonetheless. "Holy Grapping God WHAT IS THAT?!"

  20

  Gargala-WHAT?

  "COMMAND, COMMAND, COMING OVER THE—"

  "Who the hell was—" the CO said, looking up from the video screen that was following the security and science team as it approached the woodline. A herd of large herbivores was moving fast enough that the group was going to have a hard time heading straight back to the boat.

  "I don't know; we don't have any indicators . . ." Tactical said as the boat suddenly shuddered. "What . . . ?"

  "Command, Second Bravo!" a half hysterical voice said over the tac-net. "There's a giant . . . AAAGH!"

  "That was Drago," Captain MacDonald said, breaking in. "He's on elevator guar . . . Oh My God! Command! There's a giant grapping tentacle attached to the boat!"

  * * *

  The leviathan made a living off of the predators that ate the smaller swimmers around the point. Occasionally it managed to snag one of the dumber land beasts that got too close to the shore.

  In this case it wasn't sure what it had. But it was big, it moved and it had armor so it was probably something to eat. A couple of tentacles had snagged smallish beasts. Their armor had been quite tasty but the insides were gagging. It had eaten them anyway. Food was food.

  Now it had big food. It had eaten a couple of large swimmers and the smaller land beasts already so it wasn't particularly hungry. However, waste not, want not. It just had to get this thing wedged somewhere and wait for it to drown. Then it could feed on it at leisure.