by Mark Wandrey
“We need a better way of dealing with those beasts than killing them. How well will the palisade work?”
“It should do fine. I’ve examined a few dozen of Gibson’s photos of the trees the sloths mark during territorial disputes. They don’t seem to have the strength to dig through a tree of more than two feet in diameter.”
“Then why all the effort to move these three-foot trees?”
“Safety margin, same reason we start on a stockade once the palisade is done. Two levels of defense. Even if the lizards get in we can fall back to regroup. At least they can’t climb.”
“Certain of that?”
“Yes. They are aptly named. The Komodo dragons on Earth are quite similar. Long lizard with somewhat short limbs and little vertical flexibility of the spine. They find it incredibly difficult to jump. Even if they could, they would probably die if they fell.”
“And the spikes on the other side?”
“Again, redundancy. We’ve only been here a couple weeks, who’s to say if there are other nasty critters out there?”
“Seems a lot of work without a decent recon.” Wilson looked down at his watch and scratched his head. He had been up early this morning for a scheduled arrival from Earth that had never materialized. They were at a critical junction at Ft. Eden. Without regular resupply of food and ammo, the jungle would reclaim their tiny fort in a short period of time. Between the sloths, howlers, golden moss and scrubbers, he doubted there would be much left inside of a week.
“Supply report,” one of his men said and handed him a Blackberry. He looked it over and made a couple of notes before returning it.
“How long can we hold out without more supplies from Earth?” Amanda asked, reading his mind.
“That depends on the local wildlife,” he replied. “If we have to fight nightly skirmishes with the sloths, a week or so. If not, then it’s up to the food. Water we have no problem with since the new filters are installed, but food is another issue entirely. Aside from some sloth burgers we haven’t explored the plant life.”
“And with Gibson gone we won’t have a pronouncement any time soon on the edibility of the flora. We can’t even practice planting Earth plants. The twit didn’t start working on the greenhouses he brought before rushing off to God knows where. Unfortunately, it really is typical behavior of an honest-to-goodness scientist. He saw some interesting phenomenon and had to run off and verify it.”
“If he wasn’t so important I’d have him locked up in that new stockade you’re building when he gets back.”
She turned and pretended to watch the men installing poles for a while. “I’ll see what I can do with some basic tests if you can get me a couple volunteers.”
“What are you going to do to my men?”
“Oh, nothing to worry about. Right out of the Boy Scout manual, really. Take a bite with a canteen of water, wait an hour and if nothing happens take another bite and wait two hours, if nothing else, wait three more and have several more bites. Wait until the next day and if you’re fine, it’s chow time.”
“Sounds like basic commando field survival, but we were told this alien plant life could be lethal.”
“It could, but there are almost no plants on Earth that can kill you with a few mouthfuls.”
“This isn’t Earth.”
“Good point. Well, I guess we wait for a while before trying that one then.” Wilson nodded his head and they went back to work.
Late in the afternoon, she was inspecting the placement of the last poles of the palisade. Everything looked better than she had hoped. Only the lone doorway awaited her to figure out how to make it work. Amanda walked over to the twenty-foot wide opening and began making some drawings in the dirt when the sound of running feet made her look up. Racing toward the opening was none other than the previously missing Dr. Gibson.
“If there is a door to this thing you better close it,” he said as he ran for the main building. He was somewhat tattered and looked like he needed a shower. There was no sign of the weapon he’d left with and his standard issue military bush hat had been replaced with a hand-woven floppy fedora. It made him look like something out of Robinson Crusoe. The six men who had been manhandling the main part of the gate into position all watched Gibson run by and laughed. Then one of them looked in the direction he came from and gasped.
“Look!” he yelled and all eyes turned. There, at the tree line fifty meters away, were at least a dozen Komodo sloths all watching them intently.
“Quickly, get the gate in place,” Amanda told them.
“But there’s nothing to hold it,” complained the sergeant in charge.
“I don’t think they are going to know the difference,” she said and pointed at the now advancing reptiles. “Quick, get the door up!” As the men yelled and sweated against the half ton door she ran toward another group of men who were trimming logs. “I need both of those logs over by the gate, fast!”
“Why?” asked one of the men as he wiped sweat from his forehead.
“I don’t have time to explain, just move it, damn it!”
“Now listen here, Miss Corps of Engineers-” Amanda stopped him by whipping out her sidearm.
“Are you going to get your ass moving or not?” she growled. All four men’s eyes got big in surprise. When they still didn’t move, she cocked the gun and fired a round into the ground at their feet. “I’ll give you to three,” she said calmly. They never let her get to one. The men quickly got the logs up on their shoulders and jogged toward the gate.
“Kinda like SFAS,” one of them grumbled.
“Complete with logs,” another agreed.
“When I said you’d learn to command, I don’t remember suggesting you threaten them with a gun.” Amanda turned to Wilson with a touch of panic in her eyes.
“Gibson is back; he brought a couple dozen sloths with him!” Just then, the watchman on the tower blew his electronic whistle. Wilson ran over to the opening in the wall where the men were struggling to put the gate into the deep groove that had been cut for it. More than a dozen Komodo sloths were already lumbering toward them and he could see more boiling out of the woods.
“Will this gate hold without all the supports you were going to make for it?”
“We don’t have a choice. Once it’s in place have those men stick the poles into the ground about ten feet out. Lean the blunt ends in against the door and it should hold.
“Like leaning a chair against a door.”
“Exactly, but there is nothing to hold the chair in place. I need some hardware,” she said and ran toward the main building.
“What do we do until you’re back?” he yelled after her.
“Get a couple ropes, wrap them around the top of the poles and get as many men as you can spare to hold them down!” As she ran into the building she stole a look over her shoulder and saw the gate being boosted into place. That same instant, the monster .50 caliber spoke from the tower. Now they had one less round of ammunition.
In the twilight of the supply building, she set about turning over crates and boxes looking for what she needed. There were instruments, binoculars, night vision gear, ammunition, seismological charges; just about everything except what she was looking for.
“What are you doing back there?” The voice made her jump. Amanda squinted in the dark and could see Gibson at the far end where his all but unused work bench was. He had his bulging backpack on the table and was standing in front of it.
“I could ask you the same question. You brought a real Mongol horde down on our heads, and we could use some help out there. I need the supply box with all the nails and spikes in it.” He put a hand on a box and she realized it was what she was looking for. “Are you building something?”
“Yeah, a little experiment but it can wait,” he said and handed her the box. “I’ll be in here. If it gets real bad out there, just come and get me.”
“If it gets bad out there, it won’t be me that will be coming in here
to get you.” She ran out into the bright sunshine just as the men finished securing the gate. As she’d instructed, men with ropes were holding the logs down as the gate was hit repeatedly from the outside. Each time the gate shuddered ominously. “I’m coming!” she called and ran as hard as she could.
Before she reached the gate the .50 caliber spoke twice more. Wilson and a pair of other men were perched on the simple wooden scaffolding that ran around the inside top of the palisades, both watching in wonder as the attack grew in intensity.
“Better make it quick!” he said and fired a couple bursts from his assault rifle. Roars of pain and fury reverberated off the new wooden walls. There was no time for subtlety; the two trees the men were holding down were tipped at a forty-degree angle. Amanda tucked the toolbox under her arm and ran straight at, then up the side of the pole. She hadn’t done a maneuver like that since basic training. Luckily the log was still covered in rough bark that gave her a good purchase.
At the top, Amanda grabbed some of the roping used to hold the gate together; she balanced to the side while sitting the toolbox on the log and using a foot to keep it from sliding down the incline. Next she removed a high power driver and a pair of two foot long lag bolts from the teetering tool box. “No time for subtlety,” she mumbled and fitted a bolt into the driver. With more brute force than she knew she possessed she rammed the end into the bark covered log a foot from the end and triggered the driver. The battery powered machine turned out so much torque that she was nearly catapulted from her perch. She hung on as it whined and spun, driving the lag bolt through the end of the log and into the gate it was supporting. She grimaced at the sound of protesting and popping wood as the bolt was driven home.
The second one went in a little better because she was prepared for the sudden jerk of the driver. When it was done, she yelled down to the men. “Got this one, make sure the other doesn’t come loose!” As if the creatures outside could understand, the gate shuddered from a mighty blow. Her improvised fastening looked sound enough so she fished a couple more lags out and looked toward reaching the other log, more than ten feet away.
“Hang on!” someone yelled as the gate was hit by a sloth again, even harder this time. Amanda squawked and flailed for a better handhold. The toolbox flipped over the side and sent tools clattering to the ground, but somehow she hung onto both her precarious perch and the bolts. She dropped the driver too. Luckily the safety strap was over her wrist so it was still hanging within reach.
“They’re making runs at the gate,” Lt. Colonel Wilson told her from his perch a few yards away. “The damn fifty can’t hit them over the wall.”
“I didn’t take suicidal lizard charges into account when I designed the tower,” she grumbled. The gate was hit with a thunderous crash again. She was pleased to see her work was quite secure, but the other log jumped up a foot with the impact despite the four strong men holding it down. A second later it was hit again, even harder. Not only did the log jump, that entire side of the gate moaned.
“I think they know it’s weak on that side,” she said in disbelief. Wilson leaned over the wall and cut loose with a sustained burst of automatic weapons fire. The attacks stopped for a moment.
She knew she didn’t have time to climb down and then back up the other log. With a grimace for what she had to do, Amanda stuffed the two remaining lag bolts into her waistband and snatched up a loose rope. She bit her lip and jumped, doing her best imitation of Tarzan complete with a little yell. To her surprise she landed, albeit a little low, and ended up straddling the second log. Ignoring the screams of pain from her thighs as they ground against the rough bark, she snatched up the driver and a bolt from her belt. The angle was much better now that she wasn’t balancing tools with every limb. The lag drove home in seconds. She’d just fitted the second bolt into the driver when the door was hit again. The gate jumped up and forward, smashing her head into the rough wood and sending her plummeting to the ground below.
When Amanda opened her eyes she was in the dim interior of the supply hut, now also a laboratory and sick bay. She turned her head and could see the outline of the man who had been mauled last night, his chest slowly rising and falling as a life signs monitor kept watch nearby. “Well, I’m not dead,” she said matter-of-factly.
“I’m surprised. You landed on your head.” She looked over painfully to see their wayward scientist standing by the bench working on some unknown device.
“Are we safe now?”
“You palisade is working fine. We’ve got about thirty sloths stalking around out there. They can’t seem to figure out how to get in. Or what the wall is, other than a confusing puzzle. They really don’t have the brain for that sort of thinking. One or two dug down about a meter, but since you made them dig the logs in so deep, they gave up. We’re stuck in here. At least we haven’t had to shoot any more of them.”
“I’m glad to hear that much at least.” She reached back and felt the back of her head.
“The impact threw you sideways; you landed on your tool box. Bled like a stuck pig until I got you sewed up.” She tried to look past him at what he was doing but he turned around and went back to work.
“So what the hell were you doing while you were AWOL?”
“I can’t go AWOL; I’m not in the military.”
“I suspect Lt. Colonel Wilson will have a different take on that.” The man shrugged his shoulders as he worked. “Like I said, what in the hell were you up to?”
“I was running down a couple theories.” For a minute, he worked without comment.
“Are you going to elaborate?”
“It was two things that drove me to a field trip, but they’re connected. One is why haven’t we seen any juvenile Komodo sloths. Every one we’ve seen is sub adult or adult. As many as there are in this area you’d think we’d be crawling with little baby sloth. Their physiology suggests a relatively short life cycle, but a reptile that big would take a decade or so to grow on Earth. The other question is where are all these lizards coming from? In just the time I’ve been here we saw two dozen or more, which would suggest thousands in the vicinity.
“The Special Forces concentrated on maintaining Ft. Eden and hadn’t explored more than a mile in any direction. I took my equipment, picked a direction, and started walking.”
“How far did you go?”
“Only made it three miles before I ran out of land.”
“Huh?”
“Three miles to the planetary north from here I found a cliff, sheer, about a thousand foot drop. I hadn’t considered having to rappel down a precipice and didn’t bring any climbing gear. I could see a vast grassland below, tropical as opposed to this subtropical surrounding us. I was quite curious, so I began to move along the cliff. Without GPS I had to use those simple inertial navigators we have so I didn’t get nearly as many accurate readings as I would have liked.”
“How far did you go?”
“I started out early that morning. It took about two hours to reach the cliff, then I followed it for the rest of the day. I finally checked my navigator just before making camp. Turned out I covered almost twenty miles.”
“The cliff goes on for seventeen miles?”
“No, it goes on forever.” He turned around to look at Amanda and grinned at the puzzled look on her face. The look turned to anger so he continued. “I was amazed too until the next morning when I checked the navigator again. I’d been going in a circle.”
Amanda realized what that meant immediately. “We’re on a hill, or mountain?”
“More like an atoll, or a plateau. Like those ones in Arizona? Only this is forested, of course. The cliff is more or less uniform all around, Ft. Eden sits in the approximate center. Realizing I’d been walking in circles, I went looking for a way down. I got lucky and found a fairly wide path before noon and took it down. It’s wide enough to be used by a truck and curls along the cliff with only a few switch backs.
“Just before reaching the bott
om I found a stream and was going to refill my canteen. Following the survival training they gave me, I used a chemical analysis kit and it detected human waste.”
“It must feed off that one the men wash the dishes in and use as a latrine occasionally. We never did figure out what feeds that stream.”
“Hmmm, probably an artesian spring. Anyway, in finding that stream I solved another mystery. While I was busy testing the water a Komodo sloth came up behind me and started sniffing the water. I was so scared I just stood there. It used two of its eyes to look me over, looked up the cliff and then walked up the trail. Once I got my wits about me I hid in some bushes and watched. In the next three hours I observed six of the sloths follow that stream up to the base of the mountain and then proceed up the trail.”
“Oh God, you mean we’re bringing them in by crapping in the streams?”
“Without a doubt. I could tell after that necropsy that their sense of smell was almost as developed as a wolf, maybe more so. They probably have no trouble following it all the way here.”
“I’ll tell the commander as soon as I can stand up without puking.” Gibson chuckled and turned away from his tool bench.
“This planet is not as simple as it appears. I need to do a lot more work before I’m certain, but something is definitely not kosher.”
Amanda sat up slowly, fighting the swimming of her head and the churning of her stomach all the way. “You obviously know something, how about letting me in on it? Not much chance of a Nobel here.”
Gibson looked over his shoulder and scratched his head as he thought. “I guess I can talk to you, at least you have some education. I’m certain the commander would think I’m cracked.” He took a deep breath before speaking. “I think this planet is artificial.”
“Come again?”
“I said I think this planet is artificial. It’s either a construct, or it’s been terraformed. Things just don’t add up. Soil samples I took from more than fifty meters down indicate an atmospheric mix vastly different than the current day. This planet once had tons of sulfur and argon swirling around, a few hundred thousand years ago.”
