by J G Cressey
“Problem,” Orisho boomed. “My problem is that we’ve been saddled with an inexperienced, snot-nosed pup who doesn’t even know when or where to piss. Probably get half of us killed. You don’t have a clue, green as cow puke. You’re a bug, and I’ll squash you like one.”
“You can bloody try,” Couter practically growled back. Once again, he seemed to match Orisho’s height.
Cal watched on, impressed by his new recruit. The young man might have been easily flustered, but it seemed he wasn’t easily intimidated—and few were more intimidating than Orisho. Despite the big man’s looming proximity, Couter hadn’t retreated an inch. Quite the contrary, he’d even shifted toward him, and not once had he looked to Cal or any of the rest of the team for help.
“Maybe I’ll just put you over my knee like a troublesome little kid deserves,” Orisho suggested, his barrel chest seeming to expand his armor.
This time, Couter didn’t answer; he just raised his fists, jaw clenched, and took a fighting stance.
“Those fists won’t do you any good,” Orisho said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “This isn’t a damn schoolyard. We don’t settle such things with bare hands.” With that, the big man reached behind his back and in one swift, clean motion unsheathed a gleaming sword that had been concealed within his armor.
Couter reacted instantly, leaping sideways, his eyes briefly darting toward Wilson’s sword.
There was a long, silent pause, as if everyone had been frozen on the spot. Then, Orisho’s face cracked into a wide grin that instantly extinguished his menacing aura. Pointing the tip of his sword toward the ground, the big man let loose his familiar booming laugh, which abruptly filled every inch of the shield.
Reluctantly, Couter dropped his fists, the anger in his eyes gradually subsiding to be replaced with confusion. He looked around at the rest of the team, who, bar the ever glum Poots, all wore wide grins. Finally, he looked at Cal, who gave the bewildered young man an approving nod.
“Good lad,” Orisho said once he’d gained control of his mirth. “I think we’ve got a good one here, Cal.” He sheathed his sword and stepped forward to give Couter a hard clap on the back.
Still looking a little unsure that the big man wasn’t about to try and twist his head off, Couter flinched and hesitantly smiled. “This was some kind of test?” he asked, looking around.
“Of course,” Orisho said. “You think we’d trust the Academy to tell us what you’re made of?”
Sergeant Becker stood up and looked at Couter as if for the first time. “I thought you might have a duel on your hands this time, Orisho. For a moment there, it looked like our new recruit was going to make a grab for Wilson’s sword.”
“How many times have you done this?” Couter asked, still looking perplexed.
“More than a few,” Orisho said as he moved back to his original position and sat back down.
“You should have seen Corporal Franco,” Becker said. “Damn near wet himself.”
“Hey, what you talking about?” Franco said defensively. “I did alright. At least until he pulled that bloody sword out.”
Becker smiled. “The way I remember it, you were trying your best to hide behind Max.”
“It was… I was trying for a tactical…”
Becker just continued to smile.
The corporal scowled. “I need to get some bloody sleep,” he announced and began disengaging his armor.
Cal looked at him and shook his head. Keeping armor on at all times when out in the field, even when sleeping, was a rule that he happened to agree with. When Franco had first joined the team, he’d been ordered to keep it on. But after countless nights filled with complaints that he couldn’t get comfortable, the order had been retracted. If Franco didn’t sleep, none of them did.
Before he settled down himself, Cal turned back to Couter. The young man seemed rooted to the spot, looking lost in thought and deflated. Bewilderment still lingered. “Sorry about the test, Private.”
Couter snapped out of his brooding and stared at Cal for a moment. Then, he shrugged. “It’s fine. I understand its purpose.”
Cal wasn’t sure how he felt about the young man’s response. He was usually met with anger after the test. But Couter seemed more of a calm contemplator—which in this line of work could turn out to be a good thing or bad depending on how deep it ran. Only time would tell. “You did well,” Cal said sincerely. “We’re all glad to have you on the team.”
“Glad to be on it,” Couter replied and managed a tight smile. “I think.”
“Don’t worry; someday, you’ll get to enjoy watching some other poor bugger go through it,” Cal said. “And they’ll be lucky to do half as well as you.”
“I don’t know about that…but thanks,” Couter said, his tight smile loosening up some.
Cal was glad to see it; he didn’t want his new recruit up all night fretting, not on a mission like this. “You’re welcome,” he replied then indicated the grassy ground with the muzzle of his rifle. “I know your blood’s probably up, but try and get some rest. We’ve got a long trek tomorrow.”
And with luck, very little else.
CHAPTER FIVE
“What the hell… What the bloody hell…”
Cal’s eyes blinked open. He was pretty sure that someone was shouting.
“Fricking son of a…”
Someone was definitely shouting. A rush of adrenaline brought him quickly to his feet, rifle in hand.
The night was dark. Too dark. The shield was emanating nothing but a weird buzzing noise.
“Shit… shit…”
The shouting continued. Someone really wasn’t happy; that much was clear. Cal hit the light on his weapon and set it to wide beam. Seconds later, six other lights flicked on and were all directed at the source of the commotion; Franco was dancing around like a lunatic, grabbing desperately at the crotch of his pants.
“What the hell, Corporal?” Becker shouted.
Cal couldn’t have said it better himself.
“Something’s got me. Some little bastard’s bloody got me.” Franco barked the words as he clumsily shoved his hands into his pants. After a good deal of wincing, he pulled out a thin, wriggling form. “It’s a goddamned snake!”
“Did it bite you?” Forester asked.
“Yes, it goddamned bit me, right on the… Yes, it bit me.” Franco held the wriggling creature at arm’s length and stared at it like it was his lifelong mortal enemy.
“Looks like you’ve made a close friend to me,” Becker said. “Maybe you should just shove it back in there.”
The suggestion set off Orisho’s big laugh.
Despite himself, Franco managed something close to a grin. “Hey, there’s only room for one snake in these pants, baby.”
Becker shrugged. “Looks more like a worm if you ask me.”
“It’s a snake, goddamn it,” Franco said, moving toward her and holding it to the light.
“I wasn’t talking about the thing in your hands.”
“Don’t let it go, Corporal,” Forester said. “I’ll need to check it’s not venomous.”
“What! But it bit me right on the…”
“Perhaps Wilson should use his sword to stop the poison spreading?” Becker suggested.
This made Orisho laugh even louder.
Catching movement in his peripheral vision, Cal directed his light to the ground on his left. Another tiny snake was slithering across the ground. What the hell was wrong with the shield? Tracking his light further to his left, he saw two more snakes before he reached the shield’s perimeter, then the number jumped up alarmingly. Holy… Sweeping his light from side to side, he saw what looked like hundreds of pale snakes writhing around the perimeter of the shield—something that made little sense as the shield had obviously stopped functioning and should no longer be keeping them at bay. Some of the snakes were quite large, close to the size of an Earth python, but for some reason, only the very smallest were crossing the n
on-existent barrier.
“Corporal Franco,” Cal shouted. “Hand that snake to Forester, and get the shield up and running. And do it quickly.” As he knew it would, his tone triggered action. As Franco hurried—albeit awkwardly—to the shield’s central device, the rest of the team directed their light beams toward the perimeter.
“Why aren’t they moving in?” Poots asked as she took up a protective position over Franco.
“Some of them are,” Couter answered. “The small ones at least.”
“That one isn’t so small,” Wilson pointed out as he directed his light toward a snake that was a good three times thicker and longer than Franco’s little attacker. The beast had spilled past the perimeter and was slithering around Max’s big left foot.
“Max, back up toward us; there’s a good chap,” Cal said as he kicked away another of the smaller snakes that was doing its best to become acquainted with his leg. “Okay, let’s all try and remain bite-free. I doubt their teeth can get through combat boots or webbing, so kick them away, and refrain from shooting any for now.” Cal heard Orisho and Wilson unsheathe their swords. Turning on the spot, he swept his beam around the entire circumference of the now imaginary shield. It was a strange sight. The snakes were ghostly pale and almost seemed one entity: a writhing mass of intertwining forms maintaining an imaginary circular perimeter.
“I don’t think they’re venomous.”
Cal turned to Forester, who had forced open the mouth of Franco’s little attacker and practically had his light beam shoved down its throat.
“I don’t see any glands.”
“Thank fuck for that,” Franco said without looking up from his work on the shield.
“Of course, they’re probably harboring bacteria that could cause a nasty infection.”
“What kind of infection?”
“Franco, stop worrying about your prick, and get that shield up,” Cal said as he booted away another small snake. The strange, contorting perimeter was starting to lose its structure now. Some of the larger creatures were overcoming whatever fear or dislike they had of the circle and were breaking through.
“Think I’ve found the issue,” Franco announced. “God knows how, but the power supply’s malfunctioned. Couter, grab me a fresh power pack. And some surge tubing.”
Couter was quick to respond.
Cal sucked in a sharp breath as a large snake darted straight for him. He had faced off against some pretty nasty aliens in his time, some that appeared straight from hell with teeth as long as he was tall, but there was something about snakes that put him on edge—not a phobia, just a strong dislike. To top it off, these beasts seemed particularly aggressive, and the larger ones were a fair bit faster than their smaller kin. He booted his attacker away and then swore audibly as it coiled up and came straight back at him. He wasn’t the only one being attacked. Many of the beasts were moving in now, and the sound of swishing swords, kicking feet, and swearing filled the air. Cal stamped on his attacker, which to his amazement didn’t kill it. It had slowed it down, but its aggressive tendencies weren’t affected in the least. Opening its mouth wide, it managed to latch onto his boot. Seriously tough, he thought as he activated the blade at the end of his rifle and put it to use.
Cal looked over at Franco. The corporal appeared composed and was working fast while Couter and Poots stood on either side of him, kicking away snakes. Max was standing nearby, doing nothing whatsoever. “Max, you wanna help us out here?” Cal shouted. The big battle robot slowly twisted its domed head toward him and seemed to contemplate for a few seconds—which for an AI such as he was far too long—and then began bringing its big, solid feet down on the slithering attackers. Cal shook his head. What the hell is wrong with him? he thought as he turned from the robot and thrust his rifle’s blade at another advancing snake. He made sure the creature was dead before looking up. The strange, circular barrier had pretty much lost all of its structure now, and the snakes were advancing in swarms. “Okay, fire at will,” he shouted.
The pulse blasts were short and controlled, and by the time Franco had the shield operational, the ground was littered with mangled, pale flesh, which oozed dark blue blood.
Cal assessed the new, softly glowing barrier. Already, more snakes were pressing up against its perimeter. Where the hell were they coming from? Had they unwittingly camped within a nest? But the site had seemed so clear in the light of day. He looked around at the team. “Anyone hurt?”
“Unclear,” Franco answered. He was pulling at his pants and doing his best to shine a light down them.
“Get your bloody armor back on,” Cal said. “Forester, see to his injury, will you?”
Not looking overly happy about it, Forester nodded and went to aid his comrade.
“Couter.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gather any tools and spare components we have for the shield, and set yourself up next to the central device. If it fails again, I want it fixed fast.”
With a nod, Couter went about his duty.
Cal looked toward Orisho and Wilson; they were already cleaning the strange, blue blood off their swords. Both looked entirely calm, their expressions suggesting they’d seen it all before—which they probably had. Taking a leaf out of their book, Cal took a seat and set about cleaning the blade on his rifle. The blood was particularly sticky and would probably be difficult to remove once dry.
“So, snakes, eh,” Becker said as she came to sit next to him. “Your favorite.”
Cal shot her a half grin. “Not quite a hellhole, but it’s fast losing its paradise rating.”
“I’ve never known a shield to fail like that. You?”
Cal shook his head. “Shouldn’t happen, not without prior warning. This is definitely not a tech-friendly planet.”
“You think Sinclair and Malloy will be okay?”
“Sinclair knows what she’s doing,” Cal replied confidently. “Plus, they have the safety of the ship. If that shield continues to fail, we’ll be exposed. Bottom line, I don’t think we’ll be getting a great deal of sleep tonight.” Cal looked toward the shield. There was already a twenty-inch-deep, writhing mass pressed against its entire circumference. “Assuming our admirers have gone by the morning, we’ll head directly for the research base. If we don’t hit any major obstacles, we should make it before the first sun goes down. God knows what we’ll find, but I’d rather not spend a second night out in the open.”
“Agreed.” Becker nudged the mouth of a nearby carcass and after a moment said, “Teeth aren’t big, but there’s plenty of them.”
Cal stared at it. The snake was almost completely white, its scales partially translucent like smoky glass, giving it a distinctly alien look. It had black, lifeless eyes, and the teeth that Becker referred to were cone-shaped like those of an orca whale but set in rows like those of a shark. Every snake appeared the same, the only variation being the size difference.
“Seems we’re not the only ones intrigued,” Becker said, pulling Cal’s attention from the carcass with a nod in Max’s direction.
Cal looked up to see the big robot standing a few meters away. One of his long arms was stretched out in front of him, and he was grasping the tip of a snake’s tail. The robot’s domed head rocked from side to side ever so slightly as it watched the dead snake swing gently in his grasp like a pendulum.
“I have a nasty feeling that our mechanized comrade might be losing the plot a little,” Becker suggested.
Cal rubbed at his jaw and shook his head. “So what do you suppose a combat robot built for death and destruction would look like if he lost the plot a lot?”
Becker gave him a friendly pat on the leg. “You’re the boss,” she said, lying back and turning on her side. “You figure it out while I get some sleep.”
“Sweet bloody dreams,” Cal replied. Sometimes, he really missed being a sergeant.
CHAPTER SIX
Thankfully, the snakes had dispersed shortly before the dawn of the first sun.
Cal had wasted no time getting his team on the move. If they were going to make it to the research base before sundown, they’d have to make the most out of every minute. So far, that daylight was proving every bit as pleasant as the previous day. The skies were clear, and the temperature remained warm without ever becoming overly hot. The terrain had also remained unchallenging with only gentle inclines and thick, soft grass underfoot. Small flocks of birds occasionally passed overhead, swift and elegant in their flight as they painted ever changing patterns in the vibrant sky. Far in the distance, herds of deer-like animals could be seen lazily crossing the meadows, their pace suggesting a collective calm, blessedly free from peril. Cal took comfort in that. He was also encouraged that he’d not yet seen any snakes, but to be on the safe side, he’d done his best to avoid the worst of the shrubland.
“Lieutenant…”
Cal turned to see Couter jogging to catch up with him. “Private Couter, how you holding up?”
“Just fine, sir,” he said, falling alongside Cal and matching his pace.
“Something on your mind?”
“Actually, sir, there is. I’ve been pondering the snakes that attacked last night, and I think I might have a theory. I thought I should let you know.”
“Theories can be helpful.”
Couter looked serious, but there was a level of enthusiasm in his eyes that was rarely seen in anyone but the young. “It occurred to me this morning, after the snakes dispersed, that perhaps they don’t like the heat.”
Cal nodded. The very same thought had occurred to him. “Oh yes?” he said, encouraging the private to continue.
“It’s been fairly warm during the day, and the snakes didn’t arrive until a while into the night…once the ground had cooled. They had no trouble pressing up against the outside of our shield because it’s designed not to give off an external heat signature. But once it went down, there was that weird perimeter thing. I think the shield’s internal temperature control had warmed the ground… Once it malfunctioned, the snakes were waiting for the ground to cool before they moved in.”
