A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  The gastropedes had followed the trail of the prowler directly to the opening of the tunnel. The mouth of the nest beckoned. The dark hole was deep and red and wet-looking; it was surrounded by a tangle of limp brown vines. The worms cocked their eyes at each other and chittered noisily.

  "That's gotta be a language," muttered Reilly.

  "If it is, it's a language with large pieces missing," I said. "Oakland's never been able to assign any but the most rudimentary emotional indices to these noises."

  "Still-" said Reilly.

  "For what it's worth, I agree with you. There's obviously some kind of communication at work here."

  "Telepathy?"

  "That's too easy an answer," I said. "I think we're missing the obvious. Maybe they have ultrasonics or something-I don't know. But you might as well say it's magic as telepathy; it's a catch-all answer that closes the door on every other possibility."

  Reilly's response was a noncommittal grunt. He scratched his ear unhappily. He could be sourly unpleasant when he was frustrated-I could see it happening. We weren't getting any answers here, only more questions.

  "Uh-oh. There they go," said Willig.

  Three fuzzy pink worms, their fur sparkling like velvet, slid smoothly into the soft red lips of the nest. The sexual symbolism was inescapable. I found myself simultaneously intrigued and repelled.

  "Siegel, watch your screens. All three worms are on their way down."

  "No problem. Sher Khan is armed and ready."

  "Don't fire unless you're attacked. I want to see how the worms behave at the bottom of the nest."

  "I heard you the first time, Captain," Siegel replied.

  "I know you did. I also know how eager you are to score your first kill." I straightened up and looked around the cabin of the van. "This applies to all of you-we've got an opportunity here to learn more about the Chtorrans in one mission than we've learned in the past five years. Let's not screw it up. Let's have this be a textbook case on how to do it right. All that machinery out there and down in the nest, that's expendable. Unless our own lives are directly in danger, I don't want us doing anything hostile. We've got an EMP-charge in the prowler. We'll detonate it only after we've been picked up-"

  I knew they didn't like what they were hearing. The fact that I felt it necessary to make such a speech implied superiority, distrust, disrespect, and a perception that they didn't fully comprehend the responsibility of their jobs. What they didn't know, was that I was speaking more for the benefit of the autolog module in the tank's black box than for theirs. But I couldn't tell them that. Not here, anyway. Maybe later.

  In a softer tone, I added, "Personally, I'd much rather monitor this nest for a few months to see how the things inside it develop, but we don't have the luxury of that option. You all know what our standing orders say. 'You are directed to destroy any and every concentration of alien infestation that presents either an immediate or long-term ecological threat'-that means everything Chtorran." I quoted the other half of the orders: " 'All investigations of the Chtorran ecology, all studies, all observations, can only be undertaken where such actions do not interfere with the military mandate of the mission.' In this situation, we have that opportunity. Let's please make the most of it. In the long run, it could be the most important thing we do here. Any questions?"

  There were none. Good. "Reilly?"

  "The worms are nearly halfway down. We have a remote in the tunnel to monitor traffic. We should be seeing them pass any minute now … Uh-huh, here comes the first one. Uh-oh-" Reilly clucked his tongue unhappily at the display. "-Shit. The bastard found the probe." One of the gastropedes had picked up the remote in its mandibles. We were looking straight down a Chtorran maw. It looked like concentric circles of teeth all the way down the creature's throat.

  "This is not a view I want to see more than once in my lifetime," Reilly remarked.

  "It's not a view you're likely to see more than once," I replied. "Hit the taser button," I suggested. "See if it drops the unit."

  Reilly tapped his keyboard-the image flickered once, then the screen went suddenly blank. He checked the system analysis display with a sad shake of his head. "The unit's dead," he reported. "Crunched."

  "Mm," I said thoughtfully. "I hope that worm bit the probe in anger. I'd really hate to discover that Chtorrans consider high voltage shocks a delicious spice."

  "Maybe it's the same response we saw in the slugs-" Siegel suggested over the comlink.

  I adjusted my headset. "Say again?"

  "The slugs in the nest. When startled or distressed, attack. The probe hurts the worm, the worm bites it. Maybe these things don't have fear. At least, not as we know it. They don't know how to panic and run, all they can do is bite."

  "Hm. Now that's an interesting thought. I wish we had more statistical evidence. Underline that in the log, will you? It merits a lot more investigation."

  "Will do."

  Reilly pointed to the schematic of the nest. The worms were moving down the tunnel again. "They're almost to the bottom."

  "Now we find out if they're tenants or landlords or whatever-" The displays in front of us changed to show the interior of the nest. The first of the worms came sliding wetly down out of the tunnel. Most of the pink frosting on its fur had rubbed off on the way down; only a few sticky streaks remained on its sides, leaving the colors of its stripes showing bright and clear. The worm was flaring an angry red. Acrimonious patches stippled its sides; strident orange clashed with violet and purple intensities. It looked furious. It came thrashing down into the main chamber of the nest, an enraged horror. The second worm poured in after it. It too wore the same violent colors. The last gastropede-the smallest of the three-was not quite as vividly striped, but the combination of colors painted across its sides was essentially the same.

  "Not a happy-looking group of campers, are they-?" Reilly said.

  Before I could answer-

  There are a number of ways in which houses and other structures can be hardened against stingfly infestation. Ordinary window screens are simply not fine enough to keep the gnat sized predators out.

  The simplest solution is to cover all doors and windows with repellent flycloth, taking care to seal and cover all loose edges with quick-hardening foam. Multiple flaps of flycloth can be overlapped to create a "flylock," allowing a person to enter a structure without allowing stingflies to enter with him.

  A more sophisticated defense is to cover the entire structure with polymer aerogels, creating an impassable barrier to the predaceous insects. This solution may not be practical in areas with high humidity, rain, snow, or wind, unless the aerogel barrier is regularly maintained.

  Larger structures, such as office buildings, hangars, factories, storage facilities, and underground shelters, should maintain a slightly higher internal air pressure. Because the air will flow steadily outward, any open door will represent an impassable barrier to a stingfly.

  Repellents and other scent-barriers will provide some deterrent effect, but they must be renewed on a regular basis. It is recommended that aromatics be used only in addition to other defenses, and not as a substitute for them.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 24

  Guardians of the Grove

  "The early worm gets the bird."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  -the biggest of the three monsters opened its mouth and let loose one of the most blood-chilling screams I'd ever heard from any living thing-Chhttttaarrrrrrrgghhh!-it was a scream of many simultaneous sounds and intentions. I heard elemental rage in it. I heard soulful anguish and heart-stopping horror. The creature's cry was beyond comprehension or explanation; its meaning was conveyed entirely by the incredible depth of its expression. It was a sound of betrayal and madness and dissolution. It ripped through me like a physical attack. I heard emotions in that cry that still haven't been named. All of us in the van recoiled.

  And then—the worms attacked. All
three of them moved at once. They plunged into the thick rubbery flesh of the nest like things possessed. They tore into the red blubbers, they swallowed up the squirming slugs, they ripped down the pulsing arteries, slashing them and leaving them spurting dark syrupy liquid all over everything. The three worms chewed through all the connecting tangles and webs, pulling them apart and shredding them like confetti-and all the time, they screamed and roared and howled in madness.

  The thick black blood of the shambler roots flowed like oil. It came from everywhere, it dripped from the ceiling, it flowed down the walls, it poured from the loose hanging veins. The slugs on the floor were screaming again-screaming and biting one another madly. The red blubbers were thrashing and twisting in epileptic seizures. The entire nest churned like a maelstrom. The images on the screens were confused and fragmentary. The cameras were bouncing angrily. Unnerving sounds poured from the speakers. The frenzy went on forever. On and on and on. The fury of these creatures was merciless and unending. Nausea seized me-I was grateful that I wasn't wearing a VR helmet.

  "Siegel," I gasped. "Are you all right?"

  "I'm not in the circuit, if that's what you mean."

  "Good-"

  "What's happening?" Lopez cried. "What are they doing?"

  "They're definitely not tenants," I said. "And probably not landlords either." I was gripping the back of Reilly's chair with both hands. "I think they're marauders-the Chtorran equivalent of renegades. For some reason, they don't want this nest to survive and produce-"

  "Competition," interrupted Reilly, shouting. "That's it! They're killing the competition."

  "Oh, shit-you're right. That's exactly what's happening." A terrible thought occurred to me. "That dead worm we found-? These are the killers. It all fits! These are probably intelligent worms. The dead one was feral. They couldn't risk having a wild worm running loose in the same territory that they're trying to colonize. This is more of the same. What we're seeing here is deliberate."

  "No-" Willig protested. "That can't be right. It doesn't make sense for worms to kill each other and destroy each other's nests-" Her expression betrayed her confusion. She was clearly prepared to argue the point.

  "Yes, it does. They're preventing the development of other worm families. It happens all the time in nature. They're competing for genetic advantage; more food, more breeding opportunities-ultimately more children. Humans do it all the time."

  "No, we don't!" The idea angered and upset her.

  I looked at her sharply. "Have you ever worked for a corporation?"

  "Uh-" Her anger collapsed. "Never mind. I take it back." She withdrew into a troubled silence.

  The images on the screen tilted and jerked and bounced. Reilly switched from one monitor to another, but the fury within the nest was absolute. The entire chamber was convulsing-trying to expel the invaders. The schematic view flickered in confusion, unable to keep up with all the conflicting streams of information from the probes.

  "Shouldn't we try to stop them?" Lopez asked.

  "Why?" I glanced sideways at her. "How?"

  "Uh-" She flustered for an answer. She couldn't find one.

  "Let 'em go," I said. "Everything is useful information. We just found out that worms can be as nasty to each other as they are to humans."

  "But this is-I don't know—disgusting."

  "I know. You have the same reverence for life as the rest of us. Most professional soldiers do. It doesn't matter what kind of life, you hate to see it wasted."

  "Uh, yeah-" she admitted, with a rare flush of embarrassment. She had the longest dark eyelashes. She smiled gently at me, then looked away, even more confused. Lopez tried so hard to be the perfect warrior and to keep people from seeing her sweet side that she didn't know how to react when someone pointed to her secret self and said, "Aha! I see you being compassionate." It wasn't hard to recognize. Sometimes I still had the same feelings myself. Not as often as I used to, but still sometimes

  It was hard to look away from the horror on the screens. The soupy flow was ebbing now; the veins of the nest had emptied themselves. The blood of the sharnblers was puddling up in the chamber. Dark pools widened and spread across the uneven floor. The image on the screen looked like dusk in a dying swamp. Gobbets of twitching gore could be seen splashing feverishly in the gooey liquid mess. But at last-finally-the convulsive furies of the struggle began to ease. The nest had lost its battle and was dying; its uncoordinated thrashing was subsiding into occasional twitches and jerks.

  The three worms were oblivious to their victory. Blackstreaked, horrible, and ferocious, they still plunged about; feeding now, they gulped down the richest organs of the womb-chamber in a ravenous orgy. Their sides bulged visibly. The Chtorran stomach was alleged to be infinitely expandable, with slightly more capacity for storage than the average black hole. We were seeing proof of that now.

  Siegel interrupted suddenly. "Captain? Incoming message."

  "Huh? From who? Never mind-" I switched channels. "Captain James Edward McCarthy here. Who am I talking to?"

  A man's voice. A lazy Texas drawl. "You called for a pickup?"

  "Yes, we did. Who are you?"

  "Uh-let's just say a good friend sent me."

  "That's impossible. I don't have any friends."

  "Well, probably not-but your equipment is still valuable as salvage. Do you want this pickup or not?"

  "Yes!" I said-maybe a little too quickly.

  "All right. Pay attention." His tone was deceptively casual. "In about seven minutes, we'll be directly overhead-"

  "We've got nothing on our radar. What are you flying?" I demanded. "Do you know how thick this pink is?"

  "We're a high-altitude cargo-screamer. We're about a mile above the dust. Now, listen up. We're dropping a rescue pod, so keep this channel open. The pod will follow your beam down and hit as close to you as it can."

  "We don't have a lot of mobility here," I said. "We're glued in. We'll have to get to it on foot. How close is close?"

  "We'll try to put it down on your doorstep," he said. "We've got a live operator working the chute. Depending on the wind, we should be able to put it within twenty or thirty meters."

  I closed my eyes for a moment and tried to visualize what that would look like. It didn't matter. We didn't have a choice. I opened my eyes again and looked at my crew. Their expressions were uniformly concerned and anxious. The hard part of the decision wasn't the withdrawal.

  "All right!" I barked. "What are you waiting for? Scramble! 0-masks and hoods! Siegel, you're responsible for the sample cases. Take everything. Locke, Valada-you help Siegel. Lopez, you carry the memories. Reilly, you're in charge of fire control. Cold-explosives only. You and Willig will cover the withdrawal." To the headset I said, "We'll be ready."

  "Pack light," the voice said. "There's seven of you, right? You don't have a lot of weight allowance."

  "I'll worry about the weight. You just make sure you catch us on the first bounce. How long have we got to load?"

  "It's a short window. We want you off the ground in three minutes or less."

  "We'll make it," I said. I turned back to my crew

  Siegel was already protesting. "Why are Reilly and Willig on fire control-?"

  "Because you can carry more than they can, that's why. You'll get your chance, Kurt. Just not today. Now, move!"

  He looked hurt, but he moved.

  He was right about one thing, though. He was better qualified to handle the weaponry if we were attacked. He was stronger and he was faster. But if the worms came up from the nest and attacked us while we were trying to get to the pickup pod, they'd go first for the ones firing the guns.

  Like it or not, I had to make the decision. Who was expendable? And who could be trusted not to panic?

  The answer was obvious.

  Reilly and Willig were more expendable than Siegel, Locke, Lopez, or Valada, for the simple reason that they could stand in one place a lot better than they could run.

&n
bsp; When it first hatches, the stingfly is smaller than a gnat. It must feed within three hours or it will die; it must also feed before it can mate.

  The stingfly mates after every feeding. It lays its eggs immediately and must then feed again. Every time it feeds, it grows. The larger a stingfly is, the more mates it attracts. Adult stingflies have been found as large as bumblebees.

  The stingfly feeds and breeds continually until it dies. The life span of the average stingfly in a Chtorran mandala is usually less than a week.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 25

  "Let it go!"

  "If you can't stand the heat, stay out of the firestorm."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  The pod came floating down like an angel. Beautiful and graceful-Glinda the Good never made such a welcome appearance.

  We watched it first on radar, then on video. The telephoto view revealed it first as a glowing presence behind a pink veil-gradually, as it descended, it became clearer and ever more distinct. It was a round thing-bright and glimmering. It hung suspended from its triple chutes like the gondola of an aerial tram.

  The operator guiding it was obviously a pro. He circled the pod overhead in ever-contracting circles, using sharp tugs on the guidelines and small puffs from the module's cold-rockets to stay within the target cone.

  "He'd better land close," Reilly said. "That muck is thick. It's going to be a slog."

  "Even worse, we're going to have to tiptoe through it-aren't we?" Valada looked at me, worried.

  "I don't know," I replied after a bit. The thought was frightening. "I don't know what tenants do when everything has been pinked. Nobody does." They were all looking at me now.

  Siegel spoke first. "You're the expert, Captain-what do you think?"

  "I honestly don't know." I could see by their faces that wasn't good enough. "I can speculate… there's no need for tenants to swarm when there's food everywhere, maybe the dust lets them feed as individuals… on the other hand, tenants don't think, they just react to stimuli. The question is, can they be triggered when there's big drifts of pink all over the ground?" I rubbed my unshaven chin uncomfortably. I knew they wanted a decision, not a lecture.