Vorpal Blade votsb-2

by John Ringo

  “Negative,” MacDonald said. “Watch your ass, Master Sergeant. I want everyone back alive.”

  The captain switched frequencies and looked at his locator system.

  “Tony, detach one team to screen the geo guys again,” he said, punching in the point that Geo was heading for. “Make sure they take point this time. Tell them to watch their ass.”

  “Charlie team. Geo is moving to marked point. Screen on point. Platoon is redeploying in support.”

  “Okay, why do we always get grapping point?” Hattelstad asked. “First out of the grapping ship, always screening grapping Geo…”

  “Luck of the draw,” Jaen said. “Now shut up and keep your grapping eyes open. We’re going into the long grass…”

  * * *

  “Where’s Charlie going?” Weaver asked interestedly.

  “Charlie, Miller, where you going?” Miller asked.

  “Geo wants to go check out those rocks about a klick away, Chief Warrant Officer,” the Marine team leader replied, pinging the location on Miller’s map system. “Guess who gets to nursemaid.”

  “I’m in on that,” Weaver said. “But does the CO know?”

  “Not sure,” Miller admitted.

  “I’d better get permission,” Weaver said disgustedly.

  “Welcome to the chain of command.”

  Random botany sampling is one of the more tedious jobs in the universe.

  The simplest method in an open grassy area such as the area the boat had landed in was to simply toss a one-meter diameter ring over the shoulder. Then the one-meter area was more or less scoured, all the plant and animal material inside being collected and sorted.

  Do this ten or twelve times and you have a bio sampling of the area.

  “Tell security that if they shoot anything I want it,” Julia said, down on the knees of the suit pulling up grasses. “Tell them to try not to chew it up too much.” She paused and held up the selection of grasses. “Hmmm. That’s odd.”

  “Here we go…” Jaenisch said as they approached the long grass. This wasn’t the area where they’d seen predators, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

  “Charlie, hold up,” Runner said. “Putting in a seismic monitor.”

  The seismic monitor was simply a long spike. The Wyvern drove it into the ground until the sensor pod was flush with the ground.

  “Okay, Jaen,” Runner said. “We’re going to be doing that every few hundred meters.”

  “Got it,” Jaenisch said. “You picking up anything?”

  “On seismic?” Runner asked, humorously. “No. Nothing on any channel. Bio wants us to shoot anything that moves, by the way. And ‘try not to chew it up too much.’ ”

  “Right,” Jaenisch said, setting his Gatling to single fire. “Hattelstad, point.”

  “Roger,” Hattelstad said, cycling in a shot round to the shoulder mounted auto-cannon. “If it’s small, though, there ain’t gonna be much left.”

  The team slid into the grass smoothly, tracking for threats. The grass only came up to the “hips” of the suits but just about anything could be hidden in it.

  “Got movement,” Hattelstad said. “Two o’clock.”

  “Mine,” Jaenisch said, tracking the heat form. He fired one round and the form tumbled. But he didn’t see the expected hot flash from flying blood.

  “Nice shot,” Berg said just as the form got up and started scuttling away.

  “What the hell?” Jaen said, firing two more rounds and heading towards the form.

  The two rounds had managed to kill it. The thing, yeah, looked something like a crab. A bright red crab. But the legs instead of being exoskeletal were long tentacles with footpads. It had no visible eyes, but it was pretty smashed up. They might have been in the smashed area.

  “That’s grapping strange looking,” Hattelstad said. “Looks like a cross between a crab and an octopus.”

  “Keep an eye on your sector,” Jaenisch said, pulling out a sampling bag, a heavy-duty zipper-lock the size of a trash bag. He dropped the… crabpus in the bag and got back in position.

  “Movement,” Bergstresser said. “Multiple forms. Big. Nine o’clock.”

  “Back up,” Jaenisch said, switching to full auto. “Geo, we are leaving.”

  “Maulk,” Runner said, grabbing Dr. Dean’s Wyvern. “We need to get out of here, Doctor.”

  “Nonsense,” the scientist said, pulling away from the master sergeant. “We’re in armor, you idiot.”

  “Charlie is pulling back,” Runner said. “My orders are to keep you inside the security perimeter. I cannot force you to leave, but I strongly recommend it. I am pulling back. You can stay here on your own or you can leave. Up to you.”

  With that Runner turned towards the boat and started trotting.

  “Hey!” Dean shouted. “You can’t just leave me here!” The planetologist started running after him.

  “As they say in Africa, Doctor, you don’t have to be faster than the lion, just faster than your companions,” Runner replied, still trotting. “Why don’t you try to be faster than me.”

  “Charlie’s headed back,” Miller said, stopping as the team started pulling back and the two Geo members turned to run to the rear.

  “Then I think we should stop, don’t you?” Weaver said, taking a knee and bringing up his .338 caliber machine gun. The gun fired hypervelocity scramjet rounds with an accurate range of over a mile. Given that they were essentially mini rocket engines, though, they had a theoretical range of anywhere in atmosphere.

  “Charlie, Miller,” Miller said in reply. “We will screen your retreat.”

  “Roger, Master Chief,” the team leader said. “We have multiple—”

  “Grapp,” Hatt said, firing a 30mm shot round as the heat forms closed. The first form shuddered to the side, then came back up as its fellows ran past. “Switching to exploding shot.”

  “Go,” Jaen said, opening fire. The minigun scythed down the grass between him and the target, giving them their first clear view of the animals.

  Like the first one, they were crabpus but much larger. And whereas the mouth and “face” portion of the one Jaenisch shot had been mangled, these were clear. The things had huge mandibles, clearly designed to crunch through the crabpus armor. And they were less than ten meters away.

  “Ugly things,” Two-Gun said, firing a burst from his minigun. Several of the rounds seemed to bounce off the armor, but the rounds that went under it cut the thing’s legs out and it tumbled to the side.

  “Now is when I wish you had your pistols, Two-Gun,” Jaen panted.

  “Cannon… on-line,” Hatt said in a deep voice, then opened fire.

  The 30mm rounds landed in the midst of the pack of predators in flashes of purple fire and dust, flinging them through the air. A direct hit on one shattered the armor and splashed violet blood across the red grass.

  The pack continued through the fire, spreading out and closing in in a pincer movement. The threesome went back to back, firing at the darting forms. Unfortunately, much of their fire was missing or bouncing off and the crabpus finally closed.

  “Grapp,” Two-Gun shouted as one of the things grabbed the leg of the Wyvern in its mandibles. He couldn’t look down very well in the armor and felt himself swaying. “I’m going down!”

  As one of the things leapt on his back, Jaenisch knelt and drove the armored fist of his suit into the top of the crabpus that had Berg by the leg. The thing had wrapped its tentacles around the suit and was chewing at the refractory armor which, incredibly enough, was smoking. Then he saw that the thing was “foaming” at the mouth. The foam was, apparently, some sort of acid.

  The punch bounced.

  “Mothergrapper,” he said, extending a sampling drill. The security Wyverns had some of the same equipment as the scientists’, just not as extensive. But the sampling drill was designed to cut through rock or metal. He laid it just behind the thing’s mandibles and turned on the drill as he heard a crunching sou
nd over his shoulder.

  “Grappers!” Hatt shouted, laying down point-blank cannon fire. The crabs were thrown through the air but most of them got back up. It was only when he hit one dead center that the cannon rounds would kill. Some of them were thrown fifteen or twenty meters and still got up and came back. “How do you kill these grappers?”

  “Drill works,” Jaenisch said, reversing the drill as the crab’s tentacles spasmed into its body and then went limp.

  “Jaen,” Hattelstad said, “hold still. One of those things is eating into your back.”

  “Get it off!” Jaenisch said. “Get it off me!”

  “Like I said, hold still,” Hattelstad replied.

  Jaen was suddenly slammed to the ground by a massive explosion.

  “You could have used the drill, behanchod!” Jaenisch shouted, his ears ringing.

  “It wasn’t an armor penetrator,” Hattelstad pointed out reasonably.

  The pack was now scattered in bits in the artificial clearing made by the small skirmish. A few were still waving tentacles, but most were in too many bits.

  “I guess we got one sample for bio,” Jaenisch said, holding up the crabpus that had been eating Berg’s leg. “Maybe we should pick up a couple more.”

  “Uh, boss,” Bergstresser said as Hattelstad poured water on the foam. His leg armor was partially eaten away and very bent. “I’ve got movement popping up all over the place. Most of it’s going away but a bunch of it is headed this way.”

  “So much for samples,” Jaenisch said. “In the words of King Arthur—”

  “Run away! Run away!” Hattelstad crowed.

  “We are so out of here.”

  “All teams report to the boat for decon,” the CO said as Charlie Second cleared the long grass. From the conn he had an eagle-eye view of all the activity around the boat and had monitored the small battle carefully. He also noted that Weaver and Miller let Charlie retreat behind them before backing up. “Security commander, pull all science teams in first, then security.”

  “Roger, Command,” Captain MacDonald said.

  “Commander Weaver,” the CO continued. “I want you in first.”

  19

  Never Talk About Romantic Plans

  “What is that thing?” Weaver asked, looking through the armored glass of a sampling cage.

  “I’m with the Marines,” Julia answered. She was carefully dissecting the thing inside the cage using a waldo system. “Crab octopus. Crabpus Jaenischa, Jaenisch’s Lion Crabpus. It’s less like a standard exoskeletal species than a turtle. The body is endo-exoskeletal while the legs are askeletal tentacles. They extend from eight openings in the shell on the underside. The spit is probably an enzyme designed to cut through or weaken the armor of its prey. From the damage to the Marines’ armor, I’d say it’s a weakening agent. I’m surprised it worked on the armor; you’d think an enzyme would be tailored to the material of the exoskeletons.”

  “After the Marines pulled out, a bunch more of these things, some of them bigger, descended on the skirmish site,” Weaver said. “All that’s left is some shells.”

  “Not surprising,” Julia said distractedly. “In an area like this, any disturbance is a chance for food for scavengers or predators.”

  “So we going to be able to move around?” Weaver asked. “The CO would like to know.”

  “Not easily,” Julia said, delicately picking up a gland and laying it in a dish. “These things are nasty. I’ll be able to tell him more in a few hours.”

  “I’ll take the hint,” Bill replied.

  “Not much of a core,” Dr. Dean said looking through the glass. “Where’s the soil?”

  “That is the soil, Doctor,” Staff Sergeant Kristopher said. “There was only about a meter of soil, then I hit the rock. And that was pretty straightforward granite. It was hard to cut so that’s all I could get before they pulled in the teams.”

  “Only a meter of soil?” Dean said, frowning. “That’s not right. An area like this should have had a fairly extensive lay-down. You can see the traces of uplift so this area was probably under the ocean at one point. Where’s the silt? I’d have anticipated at least fifty meters of soil.”

  “Well, Doctor, what you got was one,” Kristopher said. “And then granite. What got me was I expected some sedimentary rocks.”

  “I wish we could have landed in the mountains,” Dean said, frowning. “This just doesn’t make sense.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Staff Sergeant Roberts said.

  “What you got?” Bartlett asked tiredly. Okay, while doing field sampling was boring, the lab portion was just tedious. All that collected material had to be sorted, counted, weighed and analyzed. While Dr. Robertson got the fun of dissecting the crabpus, he and Roberts were doing the sorting of the collected botany samples.

  “I’m only getting about three species,” Roberts said. “All this grass stuff. I mean, you get fifteen or twenty in the most worked-over areas in Africa or original Great Plains prairie. I’m only getting three species of plant life. Four more of a pseudo-insect. Even the soil’s only got two worms in it. This stuff is cleaner than my lawn.”

  “You’re right; that’s not right,” Bartlett said. “I guess we need to talk to Dr. Robertson.”

  “Bio is still pondering,” Dr. Beach said. “But Geo has some items to bring up.”

  “There is something wrong with this world,” Dr. Dean said, frowning. “The soil in this area is far too thin for the observed conditions. And I took a look at the video taken of the surface on the way in. There are no traces of certain forms of sedimentary rock. Notably, I couldn’t find a single trace of shale, oil shale or coal. Sandstone, yes. But nothing organic. No limestone, even. You’d expect to see some of that somewhere. But none of the views showed any. Anywhere…”

  “That’s because the world’s been terraformed,” Julia said, walking into the meeting followed by Bartlett. “Recently. Well, geologically and biologically recently. Not sure if we’re talking about a million years or fifty million, but I’d guess closer to a million. Maybe less. We may even be talking about recent.”

  “That’s interesting,” Weaver said, frowning. “Very interesting. It also explains what an advanced biosphere is doing on a moon of an F 5. Any clue by whom?”

  “Only that they liked crabpusses,” Julia said, sitting down. “Crabpussies, crabpus, crabpi… Not sure what the plural should be, frankly. Ain’t my department. Bio is. Bartlett?”

  “The botany samples are incredibly sparse,” Master Sergeant Bartlett said. “Very limited biodiversity. The soil is very thin with an igneous understructure, indicating that soil has only been being caught by biological processes quite recently. Even the various animals caught in the video are all so similar that they indicate no more than at most a few dozen original species. And an analysis of the enzyme that ate Bergstresser’s armor shows that it’s designed to break down a wide range of compounds into edible materials. It won’t just eat armor; it eats most plastics and does a hell of a job on the crabpus armor.”

  “That’s the sort of thing I’d expect to see if a very advanced race was sending down some pioneer species,” Julia said. “Most of the species we’ve found show traces of being pioneer species. They’re all very hardy, probably fast spreading. There are actually fewer species than I’d expect to find in a good terraforming. I’d say that someone got started on terraforming this world and got interrupted.”

  “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.”