by Hugh Howey
“That bug—it doesn’t really look like a bug. It’s too big,” Rogers said. Beckwith noted the familiar tone of disgusted fascination in his voice—the tone non-biologists always used when discussing insects. “It looks more like a hermit crab, maybe, but with a tougher shell.”
Beckwith decided to try again to impress the captain with the importance of the mission. He had tried many times in the past few days, and he knew he had begun to annoy Rogers with the point, but he had to try again.
“As horrible as it is, Captain,” he began, making an effort to start from a point that the man could understand, “and it is a terrible thing, I agree… but the mere fact that these insects can coexist with us, with human beings, is actually a great discovery.”
Rogers made a dismissing gesture. “Yes, yes, I know. Their proteins—”
“That’s it exactly, Captain,” interrupted Beckwith, unable to contain himself. He rubbed the joints and flesh of his left hand, letting the rough fabric of his pressure suit do the scratching for him. “The proteins. Of all the thousands of molecular structures for proteins life can take, Earth has evolved only a few—”
“And this planet has more or less the same set,” Rogers finished for him. “I told you I know.”
Beckwith was not to be stifled, however. “Jade is, in fact, the only planet yet to be found that has organic compounds so closely compatible with ours. Think of it! Men can live here without being poisoned by every living thing they come in contact with. You can roast a bird or dig up a root and chew on it without expecting a dozen fatal allergic reactions.”
Inside his suit, Beckwith thought about it, and his face twisted with a grin. Just a little adapting to be done, and then an entire planet waited to be molded into a new world. A million new species of life to study in the field. A biologist’s dream.
Bleep, bleep. Mom applied a tiny amount of pressure to the doctor’s ankles with a foam-padded fender. Startled, Beckwith hopped out of her way and let the machine pass.
“You’re talking about colonization, Beckwith.”
“Yes, certainly,” he replied, steeling himself for another round of an old argument.
“But colonization on any realistically large scale is impractical. Everyone knows that.”
“Wrong. Everyone is told that. And they are told that because there has never been a planet suitable for mass colonization.” Here Rogers started to retort, but Beckwith overrode him, unusually assertive due to his excited state. “Of course there are miners on several high-ore planets and numerous scientific stations and outposts strung out within thirty light-years of Earth. There even a few large stations on bleak rocks called colonies.” He paused to drag in a gasp of breath. “But there is nothing compared to what Jade could become.”
“Look, Beckwith,” said Rogers, turning to face him squarely. A large gloved finger extended toward the doctor’s faceplate, jabbing at him in time with Rogers’s words. “I know how important this discovery is, and I know how much you need to complete your tests—to get your proof—but I have a mission to run. Out of a crew of eight, you and I are the only men still standing—”
“But without conclusive proof, we’ll have trouble getting a fully equipped survey vessel to come out here.”
“And with a dead crew, doctor, Earth would never learn about this planet to begin with. Besides, I find it difficult to believe that if you bring back enough samples, Earth labs couldn’t come to the same conclusions that you have just as quickly. I am beginning to believe that you want to hog the credit for the discovery.”
Beckwith shook his head vehemently. “False, sir. Positively false. Personal notoriety is my last concern,” he lied. He quickly decided that he’d better switch the topic of the discussion to something else. Rogers was quite correct about not needing to collect additional samples to prove that the proteins were compatible. But Beckwith had another reason for waiting. A vital reason. “Besides which, we now are out of reach of the insects and are in no further danger. There is no reason to leave prematurely.”
“I do not relish the idea spending another several weeks living inside this pressure suit. With only two of us left, the grounds for aborting the mission are surpassed. We’re leaving as soon as we stow the equipment.”
Dr. Beckwith shook his head sharply inside his helmet. A droplet of sweat flew from his forehead and struck the inside of his quartz faceplate. His neck muscles pulled and twinged violently. He wanted to tell the captain why they didn’t need to leave. He was all but bursting with the facts, but he contained himself. He knew that the truth would be misunderstood, that it would get him nowhere. He said nothing.
Thirty-one hours later, Dr. Beckwith and Captain Rogers were working outside the ship. They had stowed approximately three-quarters of the scientific equipment and supplies. Dr. Beckwith looked up through the shielded faceplate of his helmet. The shimmering image of the K-class star overhead burned purple blotches in his retinas and glowed on his eyelids when he blinked. They would be finished before nightfall, which was less than nine hours away. He knew that if he was going to act, it must be soon.
He removed his helmet. Rogers was safely out of sight, packing the meteorological mini-lab on the other side of the ship. With his helmet off, the world he had watched from the inside of it came to full color and life. It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to Jade’s daytime glare. His other senses, too, were overwhelmed by the surging, frothing ocean of life that assaulted them.
A hundred as-yet-unclassified beasts roared, screamed, and growled, sounding as if they crouched behind every bush. Flying, cold-blooded, bat-like creatures screeched in the trees, and unseen things rustled under moldering leaves. The air was heavy with odors that seemed particularly powerful to him. He’d had nothing to smell other than his own moist body trapped in his pressure suit for days. His nose detected rotting fruit, various types of dung, and a pleasant scent like that of crushed grass mingled with the smell of danker vegetation. When the ship landed it had burned a steaming wound in the foliage, and the smell of it still hung in the air. Dr. Beckwith stood in the midst of this black wound, but he hardly noticed it. His eyes were only focused on the vibrant forest that engulfed him and his tiny ship. He filled his lungs with the cleansing, oxygen-rich air.
He watched as an animal about the weight and height of a large dog investigated the unprecedented phenomenon of open ground. It sniffed with an elongated trunk-like protuberance at a blackened and twisted plant. Fires were rare things on Jade’s wet surface. The creature acted uncertain and cautious. Dr. Beckwith watched quietly as it tested the air and picked at clods of blackened ground.
Like all the animals that had been discovered on Jade thus far, it lacked fur of any kind. Dr. Beckwith had speculated that furred creatures had probably died out because of the prevalence of parasites: on Jade, fur did little other than provide homes for insects. Instead, the animal had a tough hide of layered, armor-like gray skin, similar to that of Earth’s rhinoceros. Parasites resembling barnacles were visible on one of its flanks and in clusters about its throat.
Dr. Beckwith took an immediate interest in the insects it carried. He did not recognize the species. He pondered killing the animal and examining them. He fingered the pistol on his hip, but rejected the idea. There was no more time.
He set down his helmet and began searching a rubbish pile of scorched bushes and trash from the ship. He found it difficult to use his left hand, as it was now stiff and throbbing all the way up to his elbow. Fortunately, he believed it had now reached its worst stage and would soon begin to heal. He dug through discarded cartons and used bits of plastic that held pockets of wriggling larvae. When he moved the cartons, one of them broke, and he found himself holding two moving handfuls of pinkish scavenging insects about the size of twelve-year molars. Finding them to be of a familiar species, he shook them unconcernedly from his gloves and continued his search. At last he found what he was looking for: a hefty length of steel-plex with a solid core.
Holding the piece of steel-plex like a club, Beckwith approached the hull of the ship. He stood before the microwave navigational sensor. The sensor was a four-pointed dish with gold foil wrapped around it. The delicate instrument was presently exposed in its pod, as Captain Rogers planned to check it before liftoff.
Dr. Beckwith had discarded his helmet, but not his radio headset. He had only to speak to be heard by Rogers.
“Captain, could you give me a hand with this?”
“With what?”
“One of my experiments. I need your help to get it aboard.”
He heard Rogers sigh. It sounded like a windstorm over the mike. “Shit. All right, sure.”
Dr. Beckwith glanced about furtively before beginning. He felt a slight movement in the humid air, not quite enough to be called a breeze. It touched and cooled the sweat on his brow and lifted a few locks of his hair. To have this world, to live in the open on Jade as men should, was something that he knew would mean much to his race.
He patted the comforting bulge in his suit’s hip pocket. He had to do this right. Rogers was not going to give him a second chance.
Delaying no longer, he raised his improvised club and crashed it down into the delicate navigational sensor. Gold foil bent and tore. Steel-plex clanged against real metal. The force of the blow jarred his slight body. He jerked his club loose from the tangled ruin and struck again. Copper-trace circuits and microprocessors were smashed to fragments.
There was a shout in his earphones—Rogers had come around the corner of the ship. Beckwith paid no heed and struck again. Fresh beads of sweat welled up on his forehead and clung to his skin. His left hand throbbed, but he continued to destroy the sensor.
“What the hell—” yelled Rogers as he came closer. Dr. Beckwith could hear his labored breathing as he trotted over to him in his heavy suit. “I’ve got my needler on you, Beckwith!”
Dr. Beckwith took another swing, missing clumsily this time, managing only to gouge the protective plate that covered the sensor when it was not in use. His left arm was giving out, becoming useless. He ignored Rogers’s approach, keeping his back to the man. He gambled that Rogers wouldn’t burn down a lunatic with his back turned to him.
“You’re crazy!” buzzed his earphones. “You’re absolutely, goddamn crazy!”
Dr. Beckwith was relieved when he found Rogers’s powerful hands wrapping around him. He was yanked back from the crumpled sensor. There was a brief struggle for possession of the steel-plex club. Dr. Beckwith kicked and twisted. Both men were hampered by their pressure-suits, Rogers having the added handicap of wearing a helmet. Finally, Rogers simply grappled with the smaller man, wrapping him up in a powerful bear hug. He managed to restrain Beckwith’s flailing limbs. It was precisely this proximity that Beckwith had been waiting for.
Rogers’s powerful arms hugged his shoulders, but that didn’t stop Dr. Beckwith from slipping the hypodermic he had gotten from Mom out of his pocket. If he had tried to sneak up on Rogers, the man might have seen the hypodermic and stopped him. But now Rogers had no chance. With an underhand thrust, Beckwith stabbed the needle through the tough layers of fabric and into Rogers’s solar plexus. The pliant bulb at the other end pumped automatically, injecting its contents in rhythmic surges, like the poison sacs of a wasp.
Captain Rogers folded like a popped balloon.
* * *
The day of the liftoff was unbearably hot. Jade had transformed into a wet green hell. Perspiration itched as it flowed out of Dr. Beckwith’s pores to run in tiny streams down his body. He stood in a clearing he had burned in the jungle with his needler, several hundred meters from the ship. He had stacked a considerable store of survival equipment and medical supplies in the clearing. Included in the equipment were two cots, an air-conditioned tent, and the nursing unit, Mom. Dr. Beckwith wished only to maroon the two men, not murder them.
“It’s all very simple,” he explained. “I, as a biologist, understood it almost immediately.”
There was no response. Neither of his two listeners was capable of making one. Both Rogers and Foster were strapped to their cots and gagged. Beckwith had gagged them after tiring of their endless threats, pleas, and complaints. Mom moved between them, attending faithfully to the needs of her patients. The left hands of both were in restraining casts of fiberglass. Their fingers, protruding from the casts, were red and swollen as if infected.
They were, in fact, infested.
Enjoying the coolness of the air-conditioned tent and the novelty of an attentive audience, Beckwith lectured on. “Because of Jade’s parasitic ecological system, it is simply a requirement for all its native life forms to maintain a personal colony of one of the more dominant species of insect. You see, you need them here, for your own protection. One colony of a more easily endured species will keep other, more harmful types at bay.
“That is just how I got rid of the particularly malevolent insect that had you in its death grip, Paul. All that was necessary was the introduction of another species to get it to retreat.”
In order to continue his lecture, Dr. Beckwith needed a model. He removed his glove and carefully rolled up his sleeve, as though peeling a delicate fruit. His left arm had healed almost completely, and it looked puffy and sore only around his knuckles.
He took a pen out of his breast pocket and used it as a pointer while he talked. “You see, the particular species that seems easiest to live with requires certain compounds, such as calcium, that are most easily reached at the joints.” Here he indicated his swollen knuckles with the tip of his pen. “Since the hand has many accessible joints just below the skin, it is an ideal breeding site for them.”
Scurrying creatures resembling fleas the size of small sow bugs moved about on his arm, making their way through his body hair as men travel through bushes. The holes they had burrowed in his flesh to get to the joints of his hands were in the process of healing into permanent scar tissue.
“Now, of course, I simply leave appropriate amounts of calcium powder around the area, so that they no longer irritate the flesh and joints.”
Dr. Beckwith concluded his lecture and saw to it that Mom had things well in control and was programmed to release her wards after liftoff. He left the coolness of the survival tent and headed for the ship. All around him the green flames of Jade’s countless leafy plants burned brightly with life. He almost envied the men he was abandoning and the freedom they would have here. He knew that they would not agree with his feelings, but he had to leave them. He would be incinerated as a mutineer if he returned to Earth with them. He preferred to be the sole heroic explorer bringing the wonderful news concerning Jade.
He replaced the damaged microwave navigational sensor with an auxiliary unit, then began powering up the ship for liftoff. While he searched a manual for the proper control sequence to operate the ship’s stabilizing computer, an exploring insect on a scouting mission rustled its way out of his hair. It came out beneath his ear and made its way up his cheek. He felt its numerous churning feet grip his face and its feelers making feather-light contact with his skin. He held still while it investigated his eyelashes. After a few moments, the insect crawled down across his mouth and along his neck to disappear under his collar line.
He wondered if his fellow Earth-born men would put up with that sort of thing. A twist of cold fear touched his stomach; what if men refused to come to such a place? But then he relaxed and smiled. He was confident that once Earth’s colonization companies had an organically compatible planet to send people to, careful advertising would omit such nasty details. The promise of a jungle paradise with an open sky overhead, instead of a filtered environment beneath a dead gray dome, would be irresistible.
They would come. Others would adjust to Jade just as he had. Adaptability was one of mankind’s greatest survival traits.
And of course, there was nowhere else to go.
He finished with the manual and set the ship into motion. Bass-voiced jets
rumbled as the ship rose through the atmosphere. Dr. Beckwith watched the aft view of Jade as it telescoped rapidly. The freshly scorched clearing shrank to a black dot swimming in a green sea. Finally, it vanished as if swallowed by a wave.
Something tickled among the hairs of Dr. Beckwith’s armpit. He found it difficult to ignore. He made a mental note to develop some sort of skin desensitizer for the comfort of the new immigrants.
About B. V. Larson
B. V. Larson is the bestselling author of more than thirty novels, many of which have reached the Amazon/Kindle Top 100 bestseller list. He writes in several genres, spanning from military science fiction to epic fantasy.
As a California native, B. V. Larson writes stories that often take place on sunny beaches and in cities such as Las Vegas. He has three kids living at home and currently teaches college. He writes college textbooks as well as fiction.
For more information check out his home page at BVLarson.com.
Hanging with Humans
by Patrice Fitzgerald
Planet Zeldar
“Ladies, gentlemen, and qualtrids, welcome to today’s live broadcast! Here at The Zeldar Show, we know how to entertain. I’m your host, Trazil Krang, and I’ve been voted Funnest Guy in the Galaxy five years in a row. So be ready for some fun! Every day a different planet, and every day a different willing victim. Ahem… I mean, contestant!”
[Laughter]
“Let’s jump right in and introduce you to today’s new player. Please welcome Glendorp Freundzap!”
[Applause]
Glendorp appears, wearing purple and orange shorts on all twelve legs.
“Ha ha! Glendorp here is a real snappy dresser, isn’t he, folks? But we’re going to put him into another shape altogether for his trip down to the third planet in a system far away from here. And you can’t believe what they look like there!”
