by John Ringo
“How we doing on comestibles, XO?” the CO asked.
“We’re getting low on water and O2 again,” the XO said. “But if we can get down to the planet any time soon, that’s not an issue. And we’re getting hot. But same thing.”
“Miss Moon?” the CO asked. “Have you completed the cultural survey?”
“I’m not sure that it’ll be done any time soon,” Miriam replied. “Probably not in my lifetime. But I’ve identified several civilizations. I can’t get much of an idea of borders, if this society even has those, but there are basically five large civilizations on the planet. Two of them seem to be about the same technology level and might be in contact. But there are large gaps that look undeveloped between them. The other three are separated from those two, and each other, by big oceans. We’ve gotten some looks at their boats and the COB said he didn’t think they could go across oceans. Based on Earth history, I’d say we should contact one of the two groups that is close to each other on the big main continent.”
“After initial survey and limited communications group contact,” the XO pointed out.
“Agreed,” the CO said. “Commander Weaver, recommendations on initial survey?”
“There is a group of islands in the temperate zone of the planet,” Bill replied. “One of them is quite extensive and has what appears to be a stable zone near both a river and an ocean. That is on the southeastern tip of the island. While a scan of the island did show some fires on the northern portions, the southeast appears clear of natives. There is one anomaly, though.”
“What’s that?” the XO asked.
“There is a high level of neutrino emission on the planet,” Bill said. “And it’s concentrated in the ‘civilized’ areas. But the emissions are all over the place. I’m not sure what’s causing it, but it seems as if something down there is a neutrino emitter.”
“Neutrinos are what drive the warp,” the CO said, puzzled. “They’re only generated by a nuclear reaction normally, right?”
“Yes, sir,” Bill said. “Fission or fusion. We get them from generating mesons out of the boson particle in the cannon. But in nature they’re fairly rare and only generated by stars or nuclear reactors. Slippery suckers, too. Until the Adar came along the only detectors we had were massive. But you don’t even get this sort of emission with really massive radioactive ores. As I said, sir, I’m not sure what’s causing the emissions.”
“But there’s no apparent hazard?” the CO asked.
“It may indicate a high local radioactive background, sir,” Bill said, shrugging. “But my guess is that the only way we’re going to find out what’s causing it is to go down there and find the emitters.”
“Very well,” the CO said. “Let’s get cracking.”
“I’m going to let Chief Miller handle the brief on this one,” the first sergeant said. The reduced company had gathered on level two, missile compartment, at word of a new habitable planet. “Mister Miller?”
“It’s another moon,” Miller said. “Pretty much Earth size, gravity a bit higher ’cause it’s denser than Earth. Tectonically active, deep oceans. Cold but not frozen solid. Earth standard biology type, so there might even be stuff we can eat, sort of. And it’s inhabited.”
“What?” Guppy asked.
“At ease!” Staff Sergeant Driscoll snapped. “Warrant officer is speaking!”
Golupski had definitely drawn the short straw on the cruise. Not only had the rest of his team been wiped out but in the reorganization he’d gotten Driscoll, who after all had nothing better to do, as his team leader. The XO’s RTO, Charles “Chuckie” Seeley had been brought in to round out what was now Second Bravo.
The CO had reorganized by combining the remains of First and Second into one platoon, designated Second. The company was based on teams and the only team that had been only partially wiped out was Guppy’s when Summerlin and Chandler were eaten by the ship-eating crabpus. All the other teams had lost all three members or been unscathed. Gunny Frandsen had been moved to Ops sergeant, Lieutenant Berisford and Gunny Hocieniec had absorbed the survivors, Alpha Team from First, and the unit moved on.
But it meant, among other things, that Driscoll was now a team leader and Guppy had to put up with him.
“Sorry, Staff Sergeant,” Guppy said balefully.
“We don’t have much of a read on the inhabitants,” Miller continued as if there had been no interruption. “We don’t have that resolution. But they’re down there. Most of the indicators say that they are very low-tech but there are a large number of strange particle emissions from the planet. They may simply seem low-tech. The command group is working on a plan for survey and contact. That’s all I’ve got.”
“Basically, sit tight, do your missions and wait for the word,” Top said. “That’s all. Get back to work. Staff Sergeant Driscoll, if I could have a moment of your time…”
“Jacks locked,” the COB said.
“Initial scans show no major life-forms in the area,” Tactical reported.
“Deploy the security team.”
“So how come we always have to be first?” Hattelstad asked.
“Just lucky,” Jaenisch replied as the elevator reached ground level. “Now shut up and watch your sector.”
“Got nothing, so far,” Bergstresser said as the trio moved forward from the elevator, weapons swinging from side to side. “Small life-forms. Lots of those. Nothing big.”
“Hold it up for full spectrum scan,” Jaenisch said.
“Security, hold in place,” the radio crackled. “We’re getting a weird reading from the woodline.”
“It just popped up,” the tactical officer said, pointing at the screen. “Neutrino emissions. A lot.”
“Commander Weaver, your input at Tactical please,” the CO said.
“I’ve got the same thing, sir,” Bill replied in a puzzled tone. “And it’s a moving emitter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody had an active boson. Or maybe a nuclear reactor. But all I’m getting is neutrinos. And I think it’s multiple sources. This appears to be the source of those strange neutrino emissions we saw from orbit. Whatever it is. I’d advise holding the security team in place. Other than neutrinos, I’m not getting anything else. And neutrinos aren’t hazardous.”
“Very well,” the CO said. “Security team. Hold your position.”
“Oh… wow,” the TACO said a moment later, looking at the picture on the main viewscreen.
“Now that is… odd,” the CO admitted.
“Go figure,” Bill replied.
“Holy Hanna,” Jaenisch muttered.
“What?” Bergstresser asked without turning around. “I’m getting lots of neutrino emissions from your direction and now there’s some baryons. What the grapp is it?”
“Go ahead and take a look,” Jaenisch replied. “This you gotta see.”
Flying above the grass was a group of, presumably, locals. They were rotund and either wearing fur coats or covered in fur in a wild variety of colors and patterns. As they approached, Jaenisch confirmed that they were, in fact, covered in fur. The base color was mostly a light brown with darker patches on the shoulders and face but that was only a median. Some of them were nearly white with random spots of black or brown, others were nearly black with patches of lighter patterns.
Physically they resembled bipedal rodents with long snouts and small ears. Their hands were undersized and tucked in close to their bodies but they had massive hindquarters, possibly designed for hopping.
He wasn’t sure how they “walked” because each of the group was riding something that looked like a broad surfboard, colored brilliant gold, that was jetting along over the ground. They weren’t at equal heights, either. Some were just over the grass while others were floating along ten meters over the seed-tops.
As the group approached the armor-clad Marines it spread out, the riders hefting spears and shaking them at the trio. The spears were simple in the extreme, nothing more than long sticks with
sharpened points.
“Okay, this is grapping weird,” Hattelstad muttered. “Giant crabs I can handle. Giant acid-spitting crabs even. But I’m not real sure about giant spear-wielding, surfer hamsters.”
“Command, Security Team One,” Jaenisch said. “Orders?”
“They’re so cute,” Miriam squealed as the elevator descended.
“They’re six-foot tall, spear-wielding hamsters,” Weaver reminded her. “And just because we have a brief truce doesn’t mean they won’t fill you full of spears. Please be careful.”
“I will,” Miriam said. “But they’re so cute! And they don’t really look like hamsters. More like chinchillas. Chinchillas have opposable thumbs.”
“Fine, spear-wielding surfer chinchillas,” Bill said. “Just be careful.”
He and Miller followed the linguist towards where the trio of Marines were lined up facing the locals. The natives had mostly grounded their boards when it became apparent that the visitors weren’t going anywhere. A few of them had flown around the ship, much to the consternation of the captain, but otherwise they seemed fine with just watching for the time being.
“Lots of body language,” Miriam said as she approached the trio. “The way they’re moving their ears and noses seems to almost be part of their language.”
“Have you picked up anything from the squeaks?” Bill asked.
“Lots,” Miriam said as she strode past the Marines. “Eegle, eegle, meek!” she squeaked over the external speakers.
The apparent leader of the group, mottled in patches of brown over a dark coat, stood up and squeaked back at her.
This went on for about three minutes, with Miriam occasionally waving her arms, then paused. Before Weaver could react, the front of the suit opened up and Miriam stepped out wearing only the skin-tight coverall that was necessary to pilot the suit.
“Eegle, sreek!” Miriam said, waving to the group of locals.
“Oh, maulk,” Weaver said. “Command, we have contamination.”
“I saw,” the CO said. “We also have some large forms moving in from the northeast.”
“We’re on it,” Jaenisch said. “Hattelstad, echelon right.”
“Heat forms,” Hattelstad said, vectoring his cannon in the direction of the threat.
“Miss Miriam,” Jaenisch boomed over the external speakers. “We have heat forms moving in from the northeast. Please reenter your armor.”
“I’m on it,” Miller said, his Wyvern bounding into a trot to the northeast. “Marines, ensure local security.”
Miriam squeaked at the leader and pointed to the northeast. The leader didn’t appear to understand at first then gestured for two of the group to head that way. They passed the bounding Wyvern, then turned back, squeaking and whistling at the group of locals. They, in turn, began scrambling on their boards and clawing for altitude.
“She’s not listening,” Berg said, striding forward. He lightly tapped Miriam on the shoulder and pointed for her to get behind him.
“I’m fine right here,” Miriam said. “If they get close, I’ll get in my armor.”
“Ma’am,” Berg said, trying not to pick the silly twit up and toss her back on the ship. “The armor doesn’t always work. Would you at least stand behind me?”
“Okay,” Miriam said with a pout. She squeaked at the leader and then pointed.
“Grapp,” Miller said, sliding to a stop at the sight of the pack of obvious predators. The things looked like some sort of dragon or giant lizard, their backs and shoulders armored in broad plates with narrow spines sticking up along their back. They were about the size of a male lion, with triangular shaped heads that appeared to be almost entirely bone and teeth. And there were eight of them.
As soon as they saw the Wyvern, they charged.
Miller knew that backing away was not an option, so he took a knee and opened fire.
Fortunately, unlike that on the crabpus, the armoring of these predators was not resistant to 7.62 mm high-velocity bullets nor were the creatures stupid. The scything fire of the Gatling gun tore into the group, splashing three of them on the ground and scattering the rest into retreat.
The locals had initially approached the pack, keeping high with their spears angled down to throw. But at the chainsaw blast of fire from the Gatling gun they turned tail and ran as well, heading for the treeline.
“Meek, eek!” Miriam yelled. “Eegle neek, neek! Sccccrrkk!”
“Do you actually know what you’re saying?” Weaver asked.
“Yes,” Miriam snapped. “See?”
The group of locals had paused and were now returning, slowly. The leader gestured and squeaked and two of the group flew towards the Wyvern, then outwards. They evidently found the pack and traced it as it circled. The predators had only been driven off momentarily.
“Command, Ground,” Weaver said. “Can we get some more security out here?”
“On the way,” the CO said. “Another set of Marines. We’re going to cycle them through as fast as we can.”
“Roger,” Weaver said. “Miss Moon, if you could tell the locals that more of us are coming out and that it’s for protection not a threat to them, please?”
“I’ll try,” Miriam said, breaking into more squeaks.
The group of locals came to a hover over the human detachment as Miller rejoined the group.
“Those two out there mean what I think it means?” Miller asked, following the two locals as they came around to the north and started, slowly, closing on the humans.
“I’m presuming they’re tracking the predators,” Weaver said. “How tough are they?”
“Pretty easy, really,” Miller said. “Scary looking as hell, but a 7.62 mm takes them down just fine. Jaenisch, you get that?”
“You got automatically switched to local,” Sergeant Jaenisch said. “We got it. I guess Two-Gun can’t show off.”
Berg ground his teeth but remained silent.
The leader of the locals suddenly swooped down, causing Bergstresser to raise his Gatling gun. It annoyed him that his first action had actually been to drop his hand towards his side.
“Wait,” Miriam said as the local settled close to her and squeaked, holding out his hand.
“He’s figured out that I’m the only one that’s vulnerable,” Miriam said. “He wants me to get on his board.”
“Don’t,” the CO said over the circuit. “Do not go with them. They appear marginally friendly, but if you get scooped up, we’re going to have a hard time tracking you down. They can move faster than we can.”
She squeaked and pointed, then pointed back at her armor. The local squeaked at her, then jumped off the board, offering it to her.
“Holy maulk,” Bill said. “Security, priority is to ensure the survival of the local. Is that clear?”
“Clear, sir,” Jaenisch said. “Bergstresser, Hattelstad, close on the local and ensure his protection.”
“I don’t know how to ride one of those things,” Miriam said nervously.
“Figure it out, fast,” Bill replied. “They apparently don’t want you back in armor. We’ll go with that for now if you can get up to altitude.”
“Okay,” Miriam replied, stepping on the board. “Whoa!” she shouted as the board rapidly ascended then banked. “Hey, this is fun!”
The two Marines had stepped over to the local and then forward, between him — and the local was definitely a “he” — and the threat.
“Grapp this,” Miller muttered. “Command, permission to exit armor.”
“Warrant officer, if you exit armor you will be required to maintain one month quarantine,” the CO pointed out. “That means you’ll still be in quarantine after we get back.”
“Understood, sir,” the SEAL replied. “I think it would be useful for purposes of local contact.”
“Agreed,” the CO said. “Permission granted.”
“Oorah,” Miller said, hitting the release on his armor and stepping out. The fresh air felt wonderful a
fter over a month on the boat. It seemed like the clearest air he’d ever breathed. However, he didn’t have much time for sight-seeing. He quickly opened up the bail-out pack on the armor and donned his body armor, grabbed a pair of combat glasses and pulled out an M-10.
“Eegle meek,” he tried to squeak as he walked over to take a position by the local leader and slid on the glasses. “Whatever the grapp that means.”
“Eeg, eeg, neek,” the local responded, looking the SEAL up and down. “Neek ga-srreeee.”
“Yeah,” Miller said, rubbing his head. “Ga-sree. I hope I didn’t just insult his mother.”
“There they are,” Jaenisch said.
* * *
The heat forms were evident in the combat glasses, even through the screening vegetation. Miller lifted the M-10 to his shoulder and got a good solid position.
“You better get ready to ga-sree,” he said to the local.
“Neek, sreeeeee,” the local responded, dropping his spear to hip level and crouching. “Meee, snaaa.” The local lifted his nose and sniffed aggressively.
“Not sure if I smell ’em or not,” Miller said, sniffing. There were just too many unfamiliar smells. Strangely, he wasn’t sure he was getting any scent from the local, even though they were in touching distance. Maybe a sort of mustiness, but that was about it.
The pack had paused at what Miller figured was its charging distance. It probably thought it was out of sight.
“Should we open fire, sir?” Sergeant Jaenisch asked.
The question was over radio but it was transmitted to the SEAL’s earplugs.
“Negative,” Miller said. “Wait until they are in view. Pick your targets. I get full left. You take left center, Two-Gun right center, Hatt full right.”
The pack broke cover just as he finished and he targeted his chosen beasts, firing three-round bursts into the chest region. The M-10 didn’t have the authority of one of the Gatlings, but the 7.62 mm rounds punched the first lizard center of the target zone, and it stumbled to its knees, then rolled over, kicking in death throes.
