“Good idea, Master. See to it please.” Taking out his large drawing pad and a pen, Harry drew a rough sketch map. “As I am designated Beach Master, I shall establish myself here. Please be so good as to direct all new arrivals to me.”
“Will do, sir.”
The arrival of several more barges and smaller shuttles demanded Harry’s attention. “I think I am in need of an assistant,” he remarked to the barge pilot, a senior warrant officer.
“Want me to find you one, sir? I won’t need the full team when I take her back aloft for the next load.”
“That would be helpful, Warrant.”
“I’ll detail one of the lads, sir.” He looked up as several more barges arrived. “Better make that two. I can pick up some handlers on Leander.” Turning away, he signalled two of his crew. “Shan, Desiree, get over here. Mr Heron has a job for you.” Saluting Harry, he added, “With your permission, sir, I’ll get airborne.”
Returning the salute, Harry nodded. “Carry on, Warrant. I think the first task is to arrange the traffic control.” He glanced at a pair of TechRates who stood nearby. “Either of you any skill on that?”
“Yes, sir. Air Control handler when I’m not required on the barge crew, sir.”
“Very well, Lead Rate. See Master Warrant Gottschalk over there, and get the equipment you need. Tech Patois, take this sketch plan to Warrant Thomas — he’s somewhere over that way — and tell him I want the domes assigned as I’ve labelled them. Oh, and avoid any vegetation the Royals haven’t blasted away. Some of these plants attack anything that passes too close. Get back as soon as you can.”
The Lead Rate returned with the portable ship communications unit and made a second trip to fetch the power packs. When she had this connected, she tested the equipment then put out a general call. “Ready to go, sir.”
“Commence, please. Is this the best position for you?”
“Highest point around, sir. Not perfect, but I can manage.”
“Excellent.” The stream of new arrivals drew his attention with demands for directions as to where additional domes were to be established, medical units placed, canteens located and supplies stored. With each new arrival he assigned a warrant officer the task of supervising some aspect of establishing the camp, but was very relieved when Lieutenant Commander Dalziel disembarked.
“Well done, Harry. Brief me quickly, and I’ll relieve you of some of the workload.”
Harry explained how he’d divided the site into four sectors with a medical dome and commissariat for each. During his recital, Ferghal and several more officers and midshipmen joined them.
“Excellent. Yes, I like the way you’ve set it out. We’ll keep to that.” Bob Dalziel looked round. “Mr Bredon, take over the Aerial Control, please. Mr O’Connor, the Royals have a couple of digger units. See the QM and get a proper launch zone sorted out.” After assigning other tasks, he said, “Mr Heron, you’ve already got a priorities schedule, I see. Take charge of coordinating the major equipment allocations. There’ll be a lot of officers demanding it, and we’ve too few units to do it all immediately.”
WITHIN A FEW DAYS, THE CAMP HAD TAKEN SHAPE. Laid out along the lines of Harry’s rough plan, it formed a six-pointed star divided into four quadrants. He’d chosen the design based on his recollection of the star-shaped forts he’d seen at the Cape and in the East, and recognised the advantages for defence that such a design afforded. However, the defensive screens didn’t seem to be working properly. The eight-legged creatures that wandered into the camp proved to be the least troublesome.
“These caterpillar things have a taste for plasmetal.” An Engineer Lieutenant watched his squad herding one away from their equipment. “They’ve already damaged some of the survival domes. They started showing up as soon as we had built a few.”
“Determined creatures, aren’t they,” commented Dalziel. “And the damn things stink — you can smell them through the background stench.”
“One party say they were attacked by some sort of ambulant tree. It doesn’t move very fast, but has whip-like tendrils it uses to grab something. The Royals destroyed it.”
“Good. I better have a word with their senior officer. It sounds like we need a bit more than the usual screen to keep them out of our camp. No wonder the miners abandoned the bloody place.” He caught sight of Harry using a sighting device attached to the top of a table to take bearings on various objects.
“What is Mr Heron doing?”
The Lieutenant shrugged. “Said he was making a plan of the camp, sir. He’s using what he calls a plane table. Says it’s how they mapped things back in his day. It’s very accurate, and it’s practically a work of art.”
“That could be useful. Think I’ll go and take a look.” Walking across to where Harry worked, he watched the process, noting the pencil lines and bearings with neat notations of what the target was, but he couldn’t see how this could become a map or a site plan. He was about to ask when Harry realised he was there.
“Sir, I beg pardon, I did not see you approach.”
“No problem, Harry. What are you doing?”
“I’m making a plan of our camp, sir. This is the outline. I shall complete the detail later. As you can see, it is the plan of Sector Alpha. This is the commissariat dome, here the medical centre, these the sleeping accommodation, and here the wardroom.”
To Lieutenant Commander Dalziel, it looked like a finished product. He said so.
“Oh no, sir.” Retrieving a second sheet, Harry spread it out carefully. “I have yet to add the details. This is the landing area for the barges.”
Staring at the clear outlines, the colour shading and detailed annotations — even some profile sketches of prominent features of the surrounding landscape — he asked, “When did you start on this?”
“Three days since, sir. In between the other tasks you gave me and when off watch. Midshipman Sheoba has taken many of the measurements, and Midshipman Kelly of the Daring has taken on the task of collating the sheets with Mr O’Connor.”
“Was this your initiative, Mr Heron? What made you think of doing it?”
“As Beach Master, I thought it might be useful to have an accurate plan of the site, sir.”
The Lieutenant Commander studied the finished plan of the landing area. The setting up of the camp, the constant movement and the landing and taking off of the various barges as they shuttled personnel between the surface and the damaged ships for repair work might draw attention from inhabitants that they were as yet unaware of. “You’re right. It will be useful. I’ll assign more people to assist you, and I want you to make it your task to complete it.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Harry watched the Lieutenant Commander walk away, and was about to return to his task when he heard Midshipman Paula Sarbut exclaim, “Look at the size of that brute!” Harry looked in the direction she pointed and saw a creature very similar to a large caterpillar, its grey and hairless skin undulating as it moved in a humping motion, its odour revolting and powerful enough to penetrate the entire area.
Paula looked about her for an unlucky volunteer. “Corporal, get some men and chase the damned thing out of here. Looks as if it could do some serious damage with that massive beak. I don’t want it anywhere near our campsite!”
“Will do, ma’am,” exclaimed the corporal, muttering that he always got stuck with the rotten jobs.
Midshipman Sarbut heard him. “Well, if you hadn’t been standing around looking like you needed something to do, I wouldn’t have volunteered you!”
Harry struggled to suppress a smile at that comment, and was reminded of a few of his fellow officers on the Spartan.
THE ROYAL MARINE CAPTAIN DELIVERED HIS REPORT of the surrounding area. “We aren’t the only humans here. I sent out some scouting parties, and they found evidence that could suggest another group somewhere. Since all our people are accounted for, it can only mean some of the Consortium’s people are here,
or this planet has inhabitants that none of us are aware of.”
Lieutenant Commander Dalziel nodded. “If they’re survivors, they may need help. If they’re part of a garrison, they will be a problem.”
“I’d like to strengthen our perimeter defences — just in case.” The Marine Major laughed. “That Mid you appointed as Beach Master laid out an interesting perimeter, the classic concept of defence in depth for an area such as a base or a camp. Says he based it on a defensive design he’d seen in Africa and what he calls the Dutch East Indies. Had to look that one up to realise he meant Indonesia. He said the concept was from some French chappie named Vaubon. Looked him up too — military engineer. Europe is still littered with examples of his work. Heron’s sketch plan made sense, so I’ve had my lads dig ditches and build berms, and it seems to be working, at least against some of the creatures here.”
“If we’ve got Consortium troops here, will it work against them?” asked Dalziel.
“Probably, but they’d have to get past those pitcher plants first.”
“Yeah, there’s that bit of fun, isn’t there?” Bob Dalziel would not be sorry to leave this dump of a planet. “To make things even more interesting, our defence screen doesn’t seem to have much effect on them. Some of the damned things seem to like the kick it gives them.”
LIEUTENANT COMMANDER VALLANCE WAS DISAPPOINTED to find Bob Dalziel alive and well, since Bob was his senior on the Fleet List. When he’d learned that two of the Executive Commanders were dead and one was in a medical unit, he’d hoped to be the senior officer in the camp. That would have put him in a position to ensure the survivors would offer little resistance when his paymasters arrived to deal with them. “Bloody awful place this,” he remarked. Lifting his ranging optics, he swept the distant line of a ridge. “Hopefully we won’t have to sit here much longer.”
Bob Dalziel shrugged. “A question of what comes first, the relief force or the Consortium squadron that attacked us.” It hadn’t escaped his notice that Vallance was the sole survivor of Naiad, and the fact that Vallance was reluctant to talk about it made Bob even more suspicious of the man, but he didn’t let this show. Catching sight of Harry, he said, “Ah, Mr Heron. Got the latest plans of our defences?”
“These are the completed ones, sir.” Harry laid the plans out on the table. “We are almost done now, sir.” He acknowledged Lieutenant Commander Vallance then continued. “We have one area left to complete — the south western quadrant.” He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “There is something odd in that direction, sir — a curious anomaly that affects my compass.”
“Your compass? That thing you use to draw circles?” Bob noted that Harry seemed reluctant to speak freely in Vallance’s presence, and he wondered why.
Harry hesitated again, uncertain of how to explain the erratic way the small handheld magnetic compass reacted in the presence of a powerful magnetic field. “No, sir. This one. It has a magnetised needle that aligns to the north-south polarity of the Earth’s magnetic field. I thought perhaps it would function in the same manner on this planet, but here on New Eden, the poles seem unrelated to the axis, so the compass is of little use except in giving an orientation for the plan.”
Bob Dalziel studied the small device Harry held, his mind considering the implications of magnetic fields on any electrical system or force field. “Useful to know. I want to walk along that part of the perimeter anyway. We may as well take a look at this anomaly of yours while we’re at it. Hold the fort here, will you, Vallance? Come on, Harry, let’s see what your compass does then.”
When they had walked a short distance away, Bob said, “I’ve been meaning to ask, Harry. When you set up the initial layout, why did you divide the resources as you did? Why separate the commissariat into three locations, and also the medical units and even our engineering support? And why this star shape? The Marines like it, but it does pose some restrictions. Some of the people grumble about it.”
“Sir, we know not who or what may inhabit this place. If we are attacked, this design makes it unlikely they can so easily destroy all of our resources at one time. The star layout was something I saw when I visited the Cape, and later, Batavia. The fortresses there followed the pattern set out by General Vauban. His principle was to create defensible units within units.” Grinning, he added, “It seemed a good principle to follow, sir.”
“Very good thinking, Harry,” replied the Lieutenant Commander, walking in silence a few paces. “But why do you think there may be other inhabitants?”
“I cannot be certain, sir. But when I am near an AI network, it seems as if someone is whispering in my head. Here, we have no AI and very few uplink modules to any AI, yet every time I am on the western edge of the camp, I can sense a very faint voice as if there were a large network somewhere in this vicinity.”
“Is that so?” Bob Dalziel frowned. “Is this what your compass indicates? A magnetic field where there shouldn’t be one?” He looked at Harry, a thoughtful expression in his eyes, and asked, “Does Ferghal feel it as well?”
“I believe so, sir. He mentioned it to me during supper yesterday evening, and there is another thing. Yon tree appears to be leading others toward us.” Lapsing into the speech pattern of his childhood, Harry indicated a strange-looking copse of trees.
“Tree? What? Oh! Yes — the one that looks as if it’s standing on its head. Damn, a whole lot of them are coming this way.”
“That’s correct, sir. I believe they are moving toward us with deliberate intent. Half an hour ago they were a mile or so from here, and now they are barely a quarter mile from us.”
“Damn.” The Lieutenant Commander glanced about him then called to a Royal Marine passing with a load of bedding piled in his arms. “Royal! Where is your Sergeant? Fetch him or your officer at the double please.”
A Royal Marine Lieutenant and a Sergeant arrived at a fast walk. “Lieutenant Harding, sir, of the Dragon,” said the Lieutenant, saluting, “and Sergeant Bateman.”
Returning the salute, Bob Dalziel identified himself. “Lieutenant, take a good look at those trees — yes, your eyes don’t deceive you. We’ve determined that they’re moving toward us. According to our information, these damned plants eat flesh, and they think they’ve just scored a bonanza of a feast. I want them discouraged permanently. And that goes for any others that attempt to come anywhere near us. And Lieutenant, two things are important about them: one is that they must be totally destroyed, and second, tell your people to stay at least fifty metres away from them. We’ve already had to pry one man loose, and we don’t want to go through that again.”
“Very good, sir.” Saluting, the Lieutenant turned to the NCO. “Sergeant, bring up our field plasma projector. We’ll have to give these tree creatures a very swift distaste for this life.”
“Right you are, sir.” The Sergeant strode away, already bellowing orders at a group of Marines nearby.
Harry noted the way the base of each tree was comprised of a mass of writhing roots that moved it steadily forward. Strange cocoon-shaped bundles dangled from some of the branches, which suggested the idea of a massive insect carrying its young in sacs, ready to deliver them at any moment. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he watched the largest tree advance about twenty feet, and his every instinct screamed a warning.
He quickly calculated how long it would take to get to their position, and glanced at the Lieutenant Commander, wondering if he was also aware they had little time to prepare. Evidently, Bob had been doing the same thing, because he spoke again to the Marine Lieutenant.
“Lieutenant Harding, I suggest that you get your men to shift themselves, or that damned tree will be among us before you can set up your field projector.” The tree was now close enough for the full horror of it to be visible, including what appeared to be the remains of a large animal tightly wrapped in the tendrils dangling from one of its branches. “I calculate we have eight minutes before it’s within
the estimated range of its striking shoots, as the botanists called them.”
“Yes, sir,” responded the Lieutenant, who turned to speak to the Sergeant, who, having glanced at the advancing tree with an expert eye, ordered the field projector wheeled about and set in. A few seconds of adjustment and correction and the sighting laser sprang into view on the tree’s lower trunk.
“Projector ready. Permission to fire?”
“Granted.”
“Fire!”
The incandescent bolt of plasma blazed across the intervening gap and stuck the tree exactly at the aim point. Harry winced as a high-pitched scream filled his head. He tried to block his ears then realised it was in his mind. Worse, no one else seemed to hear it.
The projector fired again, and this time the centre of the tree burst open in a great gout of steam and flaming splinters, even as it lunged toward its attackers. A third burst of plasma struck it as it lashed out at them with long whip-like tendrils, striking the ground only yards from where they stood. Then, the tree erupted in flames as the projector sent bolt after incandescent bolt, each producing a further burst of steam and splinters as the tree toppled.
The tendril writhed as if trying to reach them, and Harry, suddenly aware of Sheoba between him and the tendril, clearly saw the sharp needle thorns at its tip, the means by which it obviously injected poison into its victim.
“Shift target right to the next nearest tree,” the Lieutenant ordered. “Sergeant, call for battery support. The damn things aren’t stopping. We need the full battery.”
“Lieutenant, according to our information, they reproduce by splitting off sections, which means any splinter can become a new tree. Make damned sure it is completely destroyed or we’ll have them swarming all over us in no time.”
“Yes, sir!”
Turning to Harry, Lieutenant Commander Dalziel said, “Mid, get a message to all officers. I want everyone in the Sector Alpha commissariat dome in ten minutes. We need to figure out how to keep these damned trees at bay — quickly.”
Harry Heron: No Quarter Page 28
