Dominant Species Omnibus Edition

by David Coy

  “Mmm . . . good . . . ” she said just to make it official.

  She ate a couple more. Then, ignoring the objections of the plant, pulled off several bunches and cradled them in her arms. She carried them back and put them in the hole.

  There were some plants with huge broad leaves against the perimeter, and she yanked off some and carried them back and stuffed them through the opening.

  It was getting dark, and she had one more thing to do.

  She found a thin vine coiled around one of the tree’s roots. She tore off a couple meters of it and poked it inside. It was supple and flexible. Just right.

  With darkness approaching, she climbed into her nest. She arranged the leaves under her as flooring and stacked the grapes up in a neat pile off to the side.

  Using her knife, she cut two pieces of vine about a half meter each in length. Then she tied the vine snugly around the cuffs of her cottons to seal them off. She zipped the front of the suit up as high as it would go and checked the fit around her neck. It wasn’t quite tight enough. She cut another length of vine, looped it around her neck under the collar and tightened it.

  That done, she leaned back against a root and had some grapes. By the time she’d eaten her fill, it was nearly dark. She could see glimpses of an occasional flying thing whiz past the shelter. As it got darker, the jungle came alive with a growing cacophony of clicks, hisses and whistles until individual sounds were almost indistinguishable against the background din.

  They weren’t kidding . . .

  She instinctively drew herself up against the noise and fluttering, scampering activity. She put her bare hands between her legs and squirmed back as far from the opening as she could. The darkness increased and, with it, the sound. She’d never heard so much life. It was as if the jungle itself had literally come alive.

  From time to time, she felt something crawl over her then vanish. These intruders she left alone. The ones that crawled or fluttered against her face or neck, however, were greeted with a fretful slap. Once or twice, she was tempted to turn on the light, just to see what it was, but she was afraid the light would attract even more bugs to her position.

  As she watched through the opening she detected an ever so slight brightening to the landscape and was soon able to discern the tangled roots of an adjacent tree. The moonlight brought with it visible trails of flying, darting things that zipped through the air or scampered past. Part of her wished it could have stayed totally dark.

  Finally, she leaned her head against a root, closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Her bones and muscles ached, especially her shoulder, ribs and parts of her back that had been racked the worst by the fall. She put her hands on automatic to brush and whack at anything that got close to her face or neck.

  She dozed only to be awakened time and again, never quite getting any real sleep. Years later, it seemed, she raised her head on a stiff neck and looked outside.

  Now at their zenith, the twin moons’ light illuminated a flurry of moving, flying things.

  At the edge of the clearing, something big and dark moved like a shadow brushing against leaves, making them move.

  She thought it was a shadow at first, but that impression vanished as it moved. It was a monstrous humped thing that seemed to glide over the ground, one end swinging back and forth as if on a scent trail. She tried to retrace her steps, praying that if it were on a trail, it wasn’t hers. She glared wide-eyed at it, praying it would just go away.

  It turned and glided toward her.

  She felt herself stiffen as the thing came to within a meter or two of the shelter. She could feel its mass pounding the ground like some strange and massive machine.

  It stopped.

  She sat as still as stone.

  The thing glided up and rammed into the root shelter, sending a shock through it and shaking debris and bugs loose from above.

  It knows I’m here.

  She tried to cram herself even farther back into the cavity, drawing herself up as tight as she could.

  There was a huffing, puffing sound like the thing was trying to suck her out of the burrow. It turned, first one way then the next, as if trying to decide how best to attack. She got glimpses of its head, a flattened insect-like protuberance tucked up and underneath a thick ridge of rolled chitinous material. She could make out huge clawed feet just under the carapace, mounted on either side of the head. Smaller, sharp-tipped legs ran the length of the carapace. They pounded up and down rhythmically as it moved.

  The thing came forward and bumped the shelter again.

  “Go away!”

  The thing bumped again.

  “Shoo!”

  It started to dig, sending huge shovelfuls of dirt back through the clearing. Each swipe with those enormous claws sent the thing forward with a hollow bump against her sanctuary.

  “Shit!”

  She appraised the roots surrounding her. Most of them were as thick as her waist.

  The creature continued to dig and huff against the refuge, creating an enormous crater right in front of her. She could hear the massive claws ripping and tearing against the roots and could see light-colored shreds of root littering the ground behind it.

  She felt the ground give way under her feet as a big chunk of the floor slumped out into the crater.

  “Shit! Go away!”

  She could see the thing’s huge maw just a meter from her feet, chomping back and forth, waiting for some part of her to fall within reach.

  Another section of floor fell away and the relentless claws were taking a toll on the barrier that separated her from the organic machinery below. The thing showed no hint of tiring and continued to dig like a monstrous engine.

  It' s gonna get me. I’ve got to get out.

  There was a separation in the roots above and behind her head that opened into a dark space. It didn’t look quite big enough for her to fit through, but she had no choice.

  Ignoring the stiffness and pain from the fall, she got up on her haunches and extended her arms up into the crevice. She started up, putting her shoulder and head through, trying to stand up into the space. She pulled her other arm up and through, then exhaled and sawed back and forth until she got her torso through to the waist. She found a hold above her head and pulled up and squirmed until her hips started through.

  Move faster, faster, pull harder—faster!

  The last of the ground fell away under her feet just as her butt slipped through. She twisted onto her side, drawing her feet up through the opening.

  She wiggled around until she could see down through the gap. Where the shelter had been was now an empty cavity surrounded by a lattice of thick roots. The creature was still clawing away at them, shredding chunks off with each swipe. It would be through the cage of roots in a matter of minutes.

  She couldn’t imagine that the thing could get to her now. She was at least two meters off the ground. It would have to dig upwards, and she didn’t think it could do that. There was nothing to do but try to stay calm, hope for the monster to give up, and wait for her body pains to lessen—pains easily forgotten when pursued by grinding terror.

  She munched the last of the aspirin and rested her hand appreciatively on one of the roots in her new sanctuary. It was twice as thick as the ones below.

  She patted it.

  Never, fucker.

  She squirmed around until she got reasonably comfortable. She put her head against her arm and lay there listening to the creature as it scrabbled against the roots below; trying to get her—trying to eat her. She could feel the thing’s power through the tree with each stroke.

  A thin, pale, moonbeam, split into two shades by the larger and smaller moons that were the source of it, came in through a crack above and illuminated a patch on the root across from her. As the minutes passed, she watched the double patch of light creep across the root’s surface. She raised up, leaned over and put her face in the moonlight, trying to see the source.

  She dodged and pee
red up through the hole. Finally, she could see both moons, not all at once, but she knew which one was the big one and which was the small one from their color.

  She smiled. She could clearly see which one was ahead of which.

  She remembered lying in her bed on the first night on Verde. She’d watched the two moons passing over, the small one chasing the large one directly over the clinic, straight across its mid-line. The clinic was sitting parallel to the jungle’s perimeter. That meant that the moons were tracing a path at a right angle, squarely over the installation.

  She got her bearings.

  The moons were guiding her home. She’d been lucky with her little stick compass; she’s been on the right course since she started out.

  All I have to do is stay alive long enough to get back.

  She lay there, safe in her gnarled womb, listening to the huffing, scrabbling machinery under her.

  She closed her eyes and tried to block out the rhythmic, relentless sound of the creature’s scratching. As the hours wore on, she began to doubt her castle walls could withstand the constant grinding. She imagined that the creature could uproot the entire tree, topple it, then grind away at the root ball until it scratched her out, gnawed her out a little at a time, like a bit of meat from thick, tough fruit.

  Sleep, when it finally came, touched her as lightly as a feather.

  * * *

  The absence of sound was an alarm. She opened her eyes into a dim pre-light that bathed the chamber in the softest gray- green. She looked down through the opening to the chamber below and was greeted by a slightly stronger light that came in past the mangled roots like pale water.

  She squirmed around until she could get her head down the hole to get a better look.

  The creature was gone. It had left a pit three or four meters deep and at least as wide. The pit extended under the tree, and the roots below were shredded and hung uselessly as if blasted by an explosion. Two enormous mounds of fresh dirt were piled up behind the pit—tailings from the night’s work.

  She waited until the light was a little stronger, then started down, feet-first. Wincing, she hung there for a moment with her legs kicking the air, then squirmed through a little more and dropped down. The rich scent of freshly dug soil hung in the air.

  She climbed up, stopping just short of the pit’s rim to look around. She saw no sign of the creature.

  She climbed out and limped toward for the grape vine. Everything hurt.

  She sat down on a limb with a large bundle of grape-things and looked back at the devastated tree. Given enough time, the creature would have felled it, she was sure, and would have made a hard-earned meal of her. Time and the pale light of day had been on her side.

  She looked around, just to be sure it was gone.

  The forest’s silence wrapped her like soft cotton. Gone was the virulent buzz and whir of feeding, mating and hunting. The jungle had gone back to sleep.

  12

  Rachel stood outside the clinic and rang the bell again. No answer.

  “It’s early, yet. Maybe she’s asleep,” Joe said.

  “Go around the back. See if you can find a back door to bang on,” Rachel said.

  "Sure."

  A patient came up behind her, assuming Rachel was just the first in the queue. He put one leg on the steps and one on the railing to wait. Rachel turned around and looked at him and through him at the same time. Finding no one home irked her. She shook her head in disgust.

  “Doctor not in, huh?” the man asked.

  “No. Nobody home,” she said with an edge of frustration. “This is the clinic, right?” she asked the man’s shirt.

  “Yep,” the man said.

  “It should be open, right?”

  “I think so,” the man said.

  She pushed the buzzer again and tried the door latch. She shook her head, then turned around and gazed blankly out over the man’s head. She shook her head again.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “You just get in?”

  “Yeah,” she said to the door and pushed the buzzer again.

  “You sick?” he asked.

  She shook her head, this time as an absent response to his question.

  “No,” she muttered.

  Having circumvented the entire facility, Joe approached from the opposite direction he’d left in.

  “No answer,” he said. I even rang the bell on both doors of the shelter. I don’t think anybody’s home.”

  “Where in the hell is she? Out having breakfast?”

  She rang the bell again. “Shit . . . ” she said. “Well, let’s go. We can get my stuff moved to the lab. We’ll come back later.” As the representative of Health and Safety and the clinic’s administrator, Donna Applegate was the first beneficiary of the inventory. The Statement of Work named her specifically as the Special Recipient of Information. It was a goofy and contractual title only, but she was entitled to the results as they were obtained until the final requirements of the inventory were signed off—by Applegate. After that, the remainder of Rachel’s contract could be discharged under any remaining terms. In Rachel’s case, there were no further terms. In essence her contract read: “Satisfy Applegate’s minimum requirement and go home. Use no more than 500 hours to do it.” Since Applegate wasn’t there, it was hard to get clarity about what that minimum requirement might be.

  “Excuse me,” Rachel said, stepping past the man, acknowledging his presence in passing.

  They headed through the morning’s heat to the dock, both suffering from the unaccustomed heat, humidity and slightly stronger gravity.

  Rachel marched right to the Expediter’s office, weaving past stacks of containers and material as if they’d been deliberately placed in her way. Joe trailed behind, following in her exact steps. The door to the office was just another obstruction.

  “I’d like to get my containers delivered to the bio-labs ASAP,” she said bluntly to Joan.

  “Good morning,” Joan answered back with a smile. “Can I offer you some coffee first?”

  Rachel stopped and blinked then buried her face in her hands.

  “I’m sorry. I am just so pissed . . . so pissed.”

  “Welcome to Verde’s Revenge. It has a way of doing that to

  people.”

  Rachel extended her hand. “I’m Rachel Sanders, Biologist Grade III.”

  “Joan Thomas, Chief of Transportation.”

  “I guess you’re the one to talk to, then.”

  Joe stuck his hand out.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. This is Joe Devonshire, my . . . umm . . . "

  "Apprentice,” Joe answered.

  “Hi. Yeah,” Joan said. “I’m the one if you need your goods delivered. Beyond that I’m not much help.”

  “What is it with this place? Is it me? Is it really that strange?” Rachel asked.

  “It’s that strange. Nobody gets a good deal here. My husband did okay, but he’s a hell of a negotiator and a little sneaky besides.”

  “I wish I could make that claim,” Rachel said.

  “Yeah, me too,” Joe said.

  “We sure are glad you’re here,” Joan said, brightening somewhat. “Between you and the nurse and the clinic, we can finally relax a little. This place is crawling with nasty shit. We were beginning to wonder if Health and Safety would ever make a showing.”

  “I don’t get it,” Rachel said. “This was supposed to be a first class project, plenty of financing, profit, good contracts, long deals—that’s what the trades said. What gives anyway?”

  Joan didn’t want to tell her about the accident with the dozer. That incident had put the entire construction schedule back forty-five days. Bill’s accident wasn’t the only thing. The project was screwed up long before that.

  “Well, it’s easy to put the blame on poor management, so I say it’s poor management.”

  “Good enough for me,” Rachel said.

  “Ed Smith’s an asshole,” Joan said snootily in a whi
sper. “That’s what I meant to say.”

  Rachel smiled. “From what I’ve seen, I have to believe it.”

  “Believe it . . . it’s a fact.”

  Joan made two cups of coffee, going on and on about how crappy things had gotten over the last third period. Finally, she tired of her own complaining and gave it a rest.

  “You haven’t seen Donna Applegate today have you?” Rachel asked.

  “The nurse? No. Not since the day before yesterday. She gave me a shot for the rash on my ankle. I know I got it from something on the ground here. Look . . . ”

  She started to strip off her boot and sock. Rachel and Joe exchanged looks. Biologists were a lot like doctors to some people.

  She held her foot out. It had an angry red rash that seemed to wrap all the way around it.

  “Wow,” Rachel said sympathetically. “That’s something.” She had no idea what it could be. “Does it itch?”

  “Stings. You ever seen that before? I’m telling you, this is one nasty place. We’ll be glad when your job is done.”

  Rachel wanted to tell her that her job wouldn’t take long, but held her tongue. There was no sense contributing to the general state of project fucked-up-ness at the moment.

  “I can imagine,” Rachel said.

  * * *

  Joan called Eddie Silk and asked him to get Rachel’s containers delivered pronto. Rachel thanked her, then was on her way, promising to give her a good guess about what caused her rash as soon as possible. She’d seen stress-induced seborrhea that looked like that. She couldn’t rule it out.

  Rachel had counted on the project to supply the lion’s share of required containers, racks, bottles, nets and associated equipment. But she’d brought some of her best stuff along just in case. The Petri dishes, scopes, steel bottles and favorite labware that had traveled with her for the last ten years just had to go along to Verde’s Revenge. She’d left most of the bigger things at home and still had enough to fill three containers. It had taken hours to get it ready. Each time she’d added an item to the pile, it seemed there were several additional ones to be packed. She’d wondered at the time, since the project was so well-funded, if she really needed to bring any of her personal stuff at all.