Mirikami saw that people had quit going down the ramp, and nobody was moving towards the dome. “Get the hell moving,” he shouted. “These Jazzers have short range, and the power packs have charges for five or six shots. Get to that damned dome now!” They only had four spare power packs.
Those already on the ground moved towards the dome with more purpose and speed now, but clustered near Stewards for protection. More people reluctantly started down the ramp.
“Walters,” he ordered, “have Rigson look at the man down out there, and use the hauler to move all of the injured to the dome now. Ride along as another guard.” He pulled the black bag off the Chief Stewards shoulder.
“Yes Sir.” Walters went carefully down the ramp alone, walking between two human chains.
Maggi walked over to him. “Did we make these?”
“I wish,” stated Mirikami. “These are from our small arms locker. Only nonlethal, non-projectile weapons are permitted on civil transports. They are almost certainly useless against a Krall; they are nearly harmless to a lightly shielded human soldier. I was worried about how a trigger happy Krall might react to seeing a strange weapon in our hands.”
Reaching inside the almost empty bag, he pulled out two larger bell mouthed pistols in holsters, with belts. He handed one to Noreen, and kept the other.
“These are Sonics, multi-frequency audio stunners to repel or subdue rowdy or rioting passengers. On humans, they are less effective than the Jazzers are, but they have twice as many shots per power pack, depending on the intensity setting. These are also short range, perhaps fifteen to twenty feet to subdue a person. We have just three of these. The other hauler driver, Chack has the third one.”
They heard another scream of pain, and saw a flying skeeter flashing around the side of the ship, which it had used as cover to sneak in and sting the neck of a tall man. He let go of the hands ahead and behind him, and dropped to the ramp clutching the back of his neck. He rolled down at an accelerating speed in the heavier gravity, legs flailing and kicking people below.
When he reached the bottom, he was still, limbs and neck at awkward angles.
Those with Jazzer’s were now at the bottom of the ramp or spread along the tarmac, out of range to protect those at the ramp top. Mirikami pulled his weapon, set the Sonic at high intensity, and stepped onto the ramp between the chains of people. He turned to his right, braced with left leg extended down the ramp, watching where the insect had started its dive. He had noticed that they flew in twos and threes, so another one might be looking for its chance.
Two of them were hovering there, and they flew higher and away from the ship when they saw him looking at them. They were clearly more aware than most insects.
“Noreen cover behind me, and give warning if you see any,” he shouted.
Noreen, her gun in hand, took the ramp one chain of people over, and faced the other way.
They promptly were warned of a skeeter coming from Noreen’s front by someone out on the tarmac. It was hugging close to the hull, as if it was using it for cover, and she barely had time to see it and pull the trigger as it appeared around the side. The Sonic’s noise hurt the ears of everyone to her front, but the sound’s focus was along a narrow cone directly in line with the raised barrel, the effects falling off rapidly to the sides.
The bug flew directly into the cone of sound, and rather than drop, it shifted direction and nearly stung another woman in the line behind Noreen. It missed only because the woman ducked as the loud sound startled her.
Mirikami saw and heard it buzz by below him on the ramp. Keeping his eyes on his side, he asked, “Did you hit it?”
“I think I hit it dead center Tet. All it did was shift direction. These Sonics may not work on the bugs as well as the Jazzers.”
The Hauler platform now also held the man that just rolled down the ramp. Mirikami carefully went down the ramp to check on him.
“He’s dead Sir,” Branson said in a low voice, as the Captain approached. “Broken neck.”
He looked at the hauler driver, “Ricco, load this man, and go pick up the two men out on the tarmac and get all of them inside the dome. We still have almost eight hundred people to move, so someone else will have to look after the injured inside. You come back here and send Chack back…,” He looked towards the dome and saw the other hauler was half way back. “Never mind, he’s on his way.”
“Branson, get halfway up the ramp and use your Jazzer for cover. These Sonics may not stop the bugs.” As he said that, he spotted a flight of two skeeters diving towards the hauler and its load of injured.
He shouted a warning, aimed his gun at the close pair, and fired. The ear splitting sound diverted them, but one darted sideways and was hovering next to the shelter of the hauler cage. It looked about to go after the still form of the dead man, who was closest. Mirikami had no shot without risking his driver.
A buzz sounded, and Ricco had seen it too and shot it through a hole in the cage. The insect dropped to the ground, fluttering weakly. Mirikami ran over and stomped the thing. It had a surprisingly resilient body, but he managed to crush the stinger and head flat. The translucent wings definitely resembled those of five-foot wide dragonflies or dartflies. Convergent evolution on multiple worlds had replicated a good design.
Branson climbed carefully up the ramp because the human chains had broken apart. Maggi and her group were getting them organized again. They had to keep people moving down the ramp and away from the ship. He checked his thumbnail watch. It had been nearly fifteen minutes since the evacuation had started, and the first few people were only now reaching the Krall shuttle.
Mirikami, seeing Branson’s time check glanced at his own watch. Every time anything happened, people quit coming down the ramp or stopped to see what was going on. This had to stop.
“People,” he shouted, “If you don’t move like your lives depend on it, and get to that damned dome, more of you are going to die out her like those two men.” He pointed at the dead man on the pallet, and the hopefully only paralyzed man on the tarmac.
Those on the surface started walking in earnest, but running was hard when you weighed fifty percent more than your muscles were accustomed to moving. It was hot and humid as well, so everyone was sweating profusely.
“Link me to Vazquez.”
“Done Sir.”
“Javier, how’s that man with you doing? It looked like they were sucking blood already.”
“He’s dead Sir!”
“What? You got them off of him in seconds; they can’t have drained that much blood.”
“When he was stung, all three of those hit him together. I don’t think it was the blood sucking that killed him. I also shot him when I shot them. Sir, I may have helped kill him. I’m so sorry.” The man sounded miserable.
“Mister Vazquez, stop that sort of thinking. You were trying to save his life, and we were told that multiple stings are fatal. It was already too late to help him.” He couldn’t let the man blame himself.
“Ricco will pick him up on his way to the dome. He has another dead man, and some injuries, so help him load your guy since his hard suit makes it hard to bend over. Mirikami Out.”
“Link to Hanson.”
“Done Sir.”
“Alfon, your sting victim OK?”
“He’s in pain, and his arm is paralyzed, and it’s spreading to the shoulder. But he can talk and stand. I see Ricco coming, so I assume he’s going to ride sir?”
“Yes. And Javier’s victim died. Too many stings. Stay where you are along the line to protect people. I’ll try to get guns spread along the line, but their range is so short we can’t cover the whole route. Mirikami Out.”
“Sir,” Jakes voice was in his ear, “There are some larger animals flying towards the ship, from the north.”
“How many, and how far?” he asked.
“Ten groups, Sir. Only two are close, the rest are ten to fifteen miles away. One contains five animals the other has
eight animals. They are two miles away, but they are flying fast. They will be here in several minutes.”
“You said animals. These are not more insects like we have had attacking us?”
“No Sir. These are larger, and are the size of a medium sized dog or a toddler human. They are the same blue or green color as the forests to the north, where they all seem to have originated.”
“Jake, find a picture of an Earth bat and tell me if these have a similar shape.”
The reply was instant. “The general shape is similar Sir, but these are larger, with bigger heads and ears and have wide wings.”
“Everyone,” he shouted, “we have wolfbats coming from the north, two miles and closing. Over a dozen of them in the first wave and they are a lot bigger than the bugs. We can’t stay on the ship, so you have to get to the dome.”
Now suddenly the people already on the ground really found their legs, and managed a sort of trot or faster shuffle towards the dome. That was the best many of the flabby scientists could manage in the gravity and heat.
At the top of the ramp he now saw Dillon and two other large men, all three in soft suits with faceplates open. They each had two green oxygen tanks strapped to their backs, with a couple of coils of thin black rubber hose over their head and resting on opposite shoulder.
They tossed several thick ropes down the ramp, which were apparently tied off back in the hold. Using those lines as support, they started backing carefully down the ramp, letting the ropes pass through their gloved hands. They were between the now reformed chains of frightened and now hurrying people. Noreen and Cal Branson moved down off the ramp to give them room.
One of Maggi’s organizers for the human chains, Zulma Krat, if Mirikami remembered her name correctly, let out a shout and pointed over the right side of the dome. “There they are!”
Five winged creatures were just passing over the right edge of the dome, about a thousand feet high, and had obviously sighted their potential prey because as one they started a dive, pulling their wings in closer to their bodies.
They didn’t flit about as did the bugs, but they were clearly more massive, and pointed ears were standing up in the wind stream and cupped forward. They had gaping jaws with long yellow looking teeth. These were certainly predators.
Everyone with a weapon, whether Jazzer, Sonic, or club, had them up and ready to use.
As a pack, the five flyers chose a man at the edge of the line of people closest to the dome and arced to swoop down on him from behind, knocking him face down. Two went for his head and shoulders, one on his back, and the other two went for his legs. The man screamed and kicked, and was able to knock one of the animals back when he hit it solidly, but it was back on him in an instant, tearing at the arm that struck it.
The people closest to the man were rapidly backing away from him, and a Steward wasted a Jazzer shot from twenty feet as he ran clumsily to his aid. He snatched a shiny long object right out of the hands of a woman backing away. It turned out to be a long handled steel kitchen ladle with a heavy dipper.
Yelling and swinging the ladle in his left hand, he cracked one of the animals in the back of its head, and fired the Jazzer at the one that was tearing at the man’s exposed right hand.
Mirikami recognized the Steward even from behind, it was Mel Rigson. The wolfbat he jazzed went partly limp, and it was struggling to flap its wings to escape. The one on the victim’s back that Mel had struck in the head shook off the blow and instantly turned on Rigson in a fury, leaping directly at his face, forcing him to raise and cross his arms to hold it back from his eyes. He was barely fast enough to do that, despite the solid hit on the creature’s skull.
The three other animals glanced at the human behind them for a moment, but continued biting and tearing at their screaming victim on the tarmac. The man was keeping his face buried in the crook of his right arm. The one at his left shoulder let go of his hand and snapped at his eyes when he looked that way.
Rigson shoved at the wolfbat attacking him, trying to throw it off to the ground. However, it had hooked claws on its four short limbs, and it had sunk them into his forearms. He couldn’t shake it loose, but it had focused its biting attack on the offending ladle, apparently not aware that what had hurt it wasn’t part of the arm that held it.
Rigson, twisting his right wrist and hand down, despite the tearing of the sharp claws, fired the Jazzer again, almost touching the short teal fur of the thing with his gun’s muzzle.
The animal instantly went limp and would have fallen to the ground, except its claws were embedded in Rigson’s forearms. He dropped the ladle, more because the Jazzer had also grazed his left arm than because of the wolfbat biting at the ladle handle.
Unable to remove the limp creature on his arms without taking the gun out of his good hand, or able to use his dead left hand, Rigson kicked hard at the animal at the man’s right leg chewing at the back of his thigh and buttocks. It squalled loudly as it lifted into the air from the kick to its ribs, but it managed to turn in midair in an impossibly fast reaction to bite Mel’s ankle below his pant leg. Its inch long yellow fangs tore through his flesh down to the bone before losing their grip. Without even hitting the tarmac, it straightened and flapped its wings in a blur of motion and climbed away.
Two people had regained their courage, and now came back to help. One followed Rigson’s example and kicked the wolfbat snapping at the downed man’s left leg directly in the side of its head. This stunned it apparently enough that its answering instant nip missed the man’s foot by a fraction of an inch. It too flapped into the sky with extremely rapid and blurred wing beats.
The final wolfbat, muzzle bloodied from nearly chewing off the man’s left hand, was struck hard on the back by the second rescuer, using what looked like an extruded white plastic table leg. Something she had somehow cut free from a dining table. With a scream and instant backwards snap, the wolfbat caught the table leg in its jaws before the blow had rebounded. It put scour marks on the hard plastic surface.
Seeing several people near it now, the animal released the bite on the club and lunged the other way in a blur of motion that grasped the ragged bloody hand. With a savage twist of its jaws, it tore the scrap free then flapped furiously to get away with its prize, looking over its shoulder at its attacker. A second swipe of the table leg missed its hindquarter by six inches when it pulled them forward at the last second. It was too fast if it saw the blow coming.
Both people then clubbed at the still struggling wolfbat that Rigson had partially stunned with his Jazzer. It wasn’t completely helpless, but couldn’t reach them with its nervous system impaired. The woman hit it with the table leg, the man banging away with the ladle he’d picked up after it fell out of Rigson’s hand. They beat it well after it grew still.
Rigson felt a helping hand steady him, as he staggered, feeling lightheaded from the exertion in the heat and high gravity. A woman helped him sit, but she wasn’t about to touch the unconscious wolfbat still hanging from his left forearm.
The Steward had managed to pull his right arm free, but he had no feeling in his left arm. He could see the other two sets of claws were hooked in his flesh, through the uniform sleeves, but they didn’t hurt. With alarm, he noticed the damned creature appeared to be slowly rousing, moving feebly.
He yelled for the two who were still beating on the now dead animal to help him get his live one off, before it came fully awake. They more or less gently pried it free and dropped it for a repeat of the clubbing they had just administered to the other wolfbat.
Suddenly Branson was there, and he turned over the wolfbat victim, and saw that he was conscious as he clutched at his left wrist, the man only then realizing his hand was missing. Starting first aid, Branson placed a medium smart bandage over the stump of his left wrist, which promptly activated and flowed to seal the wound and stop the bleeding. It would also administer painkillers and antibiotics. The other hand was nearly as bad, missing two fingers, and it
received the same treatment.
Branson recalled the man’s last name was Naguma, but he didn’t recall his first name, only that he was always called “Doctor,” as were more than two thirds of the passengers.
“Doctor Naguma, I have stopped the bleeding on your hands, and sprayed a sealant on the wounds on the back of your head until we get you inside. Are you hurt under your jacket or pants? I could see them biting at you everywhere but I don’t see any blood there.”
In shock but aware, the man shook his head no. He mumbled, “Suit protected me.” Branson noticed for the first time that his patient was wearing an expensive Smart Fabric suit. Only a few of their geeky scientific minded passengers followed fashion enough to spend the money. Of the crew, he thought only Noreen and the Captain did so, using a company uniform allowance. They were required to have considerable social interaction with wealthy passengers, and so they were part of the company image.
The uniforms of the Stewards and other crew were made of sturdy durable synthetic fabric, but he could see that Rigson had suffered some penetrating wounds on his uniformed arms from just one animal, and that Naguma had no clothing penetrations from five. He’d have to mention this clothing benefit to the Captain.
Rigson was being helped, and he needed to get his man into the dome and out of the sun and heat. The hauler had arrived, with Walters with it, so he called for some help to get the man over to it. The pallet was crowded now, limbs over laying one another. Another woman had been stung on her thigh as she had watched the wolfbat attack and ignored her own safety.
Walters stayed behind as the hauler continued on to the dome, with Rigson now sitting on the pallet’s edge, adding his nearly depleted Jazzer to the driver’s gun as cover for the injured. The dead men no longer cared.
Mirikami and Noreen helped Dillon and his two volunteers get their feet firmly on the tarmac and upright when they stepped off the ramp. They had a heavy load to bear under this damned gravity. All three were sweating despite being kept cooler by the soft suits. He had sent Branson to help at the site of the wolfbat attack.
Koban Page 29
