by H. T. Kofruk
The book he had chosen was called Decameron by an Italian writer called Boccaccio. The world described in the book seemed more alien than some of the exotic worlds on which he had set foot. Plagues and disease, riots and disorder were abundant in that age, again not too different from some of the alien worlds he had experienced. He read the stories told by the ten young individuals each night after their escape from the pest pandemic in Florence, how they mocked holy men and crooks alike. Bongani had said the translation from Medieval Italian to Modern English, and then the minor conversions necessary to be in line with the One Tongue grammatical structure, had rendered the version an abomination. Terry found the book absorbing nonetheless, especially the story about the corrupt priest. It was as if an itch was being scratched when the young people discussed situations similar to those he had often observed; military officers taking bribes from smugglers; priests sleeping with young girls; government officials backing profit-chasing corporations over the people.
He was reading the third story told on the fourth night of the young group’s refuge when he saw something tugging at the carbon string with the corner of his eye. “You got something” he cried to David who was chatting with Bongani.
The smuggler started reeling in the catch. Judging from the movement, it was a big fish, perhaps a foot long. The three men were more delighted by the catch rather than by the prospect of eating it. On Earth, fishing had been banned both for sport and for food following the disastrous collapse of marine life in the twenty-second century. That helped marine recovery but the bio-diversity of the oceans was lost forever. Pre-Disaster hobbies involving the sea such as scuba-diving and sea fishing stopped being enjoyed altogether while sea food became a black-market delicacy only enjoyed by the extremely rich. When marine bio-mass had recovered, humans were already hooked to v-reality experiences and many couldn’t see the point of actually doing outdoor activities anymore. The three men, stranded on a planet thousands of light years from Earth and just about surviving the excruciating boredom, had made a pact to try out fishing if they ever went back home.
The fish emerged from the hole and, as they expected, was almost a foot long, struggling frantically to get loose of the metal hook that had pierced its lip. David took it off the hook and lifted it up to his face to get a better look at the beautiful catch. He had done so just in time.
A white snowball about double the size of a man’s fist hit the fish. But instead of breaking at impact, it stuck to the fish. David hastily threw it on the ice. Momentarily dumbfounded by the flying snowball, the three men just looked at the snowball that refused to come off. The fish continued to struggle but as the men watched, the side where the snowball had stuck was slowly turning black.
“What the fuck is that thing?” said David. He became suddenly aware that the snowball had actually aimed for his face and shuddered.
The blackened parts of the fish were becoming transparent and a myriad of writhing pink tentacles became partially visible. “It’s digesting the fish” said Terry. “It’s throwing out its guts and digesting the fish from the inside. The black probably means it’s highly poisonous.”
He got out his laser and commenced burning the snowball which starting making an unbearable high-pitched sound. Terry could see it bring in its extruded guts. Soon almost black from being burned alive, it still managed to unfold two legs, all the while making the screeching sound.
“This thing doesn’t die easily does it?” remarked Bongani.
Suddenly the snowball, looking more like a piece of charcoal now, jumped. It was a surprising move from a half-burned organism. This time it didn’t miss its mark and landed on David’s left cheek. David didn’t even realise what was going on until he felt the creature’s tentacles in his mouth through the new hole in his face. The left side of his pale brown skin suddenly turned black as it pumped toxic digestive liquids through its guts.
David screamed but soon stopped and fell to the floor immobile, suggesting the creature’s arsenal of chemicals included neural toxins. The two men, though highly trained in emergency situations concerning extra-terrestrial life forms, were momentarily dumbfounded.
The laser, meanwhile, had fallen to the ground with the red beam still on and was rapidly melting the ice. Bongani ran and grabbed it before it melted its way to into the water and then grabbed the large piece of charcoal eating his partner’s face. Terry ran to the scene and put his coat to David’s face. The creature was writhing in Bongani’s grip and attempted to send its toxic tentacles to the Afrikan’s hand. When he turned it so its soft underside was facing him, the tentacles shot out towards his face.
“You ugly mother fucker” he exclaimed before using the laser to burn the tentacles. A foul, acrid smell similar to burning rubber filled the immediate area, as well as the same high-pitched screech.
“We have to get him back to the shack” said Terry. David had passed out with the left side of his face completely black with a hole the size of a ping pong ball.
Bongani continued to burn the strange organism until he was sure it was completely dead. He tossed the blackened creature to the ground.
“Let’s go” cried Terry. “There may be more of those things around here.”
Bongani lifted David and slung him over his powerful shoulder and started jogging to the shack. Terry grabbed the laser and started looking around for other moving snowballs. A blizzard had started, however, and he couldn’t see whether anything white was moving. Besides, he doubted that the small laser would be useful in deterring more attacks from such an impressively tough organism.
He saw something pink fly towards him and dodged just in time. Another one of the creatures landed six feet from him after missing his head by two inches, its pink tentacles outstretched. Between gusts of snowy wind, he could see dozens of snowballs that he would have otherwise ignored, all approaching them to get within jumping distance.
The two men jogged on taking turns carrying David until Terry finally yelled stop. “There aren’t any more around us” he said.
Bongani, who was again carrying his partner, looked around, sweat streaming down his still-swollen face. “We have to get David to the ship and get him some medical attention.”
“Yes, but the creatures were waiting for us at the lake. Those things may be smarter than they look.”
Bongani started jogging again. “I don’t care if they’re all fucking little Einsteins.”
They reached the shack in a few more minutes. After closing and securing the door, they laid David down and Bongani went to get a med-kit and a diagnosis slate. Terry gently lifted his coat off David’s face to expose the black wound. The flesh around the hole had become liquid and started to run as it became exposed. He then checked his pulse, heartbeat and temperature as he was taught in Marine training. Breathing was irregular, the pulse was weak and he was burning.
Bongani came with the diagnosis slate and the smell of ionized air soon permeated the shack interior as a scan was performed. The vital signs confirmed what Terry was thinking; David would die if they didn’t work fast. Suddenly David awoke and started coughing uncontrollably, spitting out pieces of digested flesh and blood as he did so. After several minutes, he fell back into unconsciousness.
“The wound needs to be cleaned fast. The liquid that thing secreted is still digesting his flesh” said Terry. “And the digested flesh is blocking his wind pipe.”
Bongani took out a large cleaning tab from the med-kit and wiped David’s face around the hole. He then opened his partner’s mouth and started to clean the inside as well. He saw that the roof of David’s mouth as well as half his tongue had disappeared. When he finished cleaning with his two fingers, the cleaning tab came out black and red.
Terry got out a regenerative tab from the kit and applied it to the outside of the face while Bongani did the same to the inside. “He’s burning up” said Bongani. Terry nodded.
The diagnosis slate hadn’t mentioned any foreign bacteria or viruses but th
e immune system was fighting a foreign substance. Terry took a small blood sample and fed it to the diagnosis slate which then converted it to a sort of vaccine. He re-injected the vaccine into David’s blood stream after mixing it with a cooling solution to bring down his temperature.
When Terry confirmed that David’s vital signs had entered the normal zone, the two men finally relaxed. Both of them were exhausted by the intensity of the past hour.
“I could really use a drink right now” exclaimed Terry.
“I could really use a good joint” replied Bongani.
“If we ever get off this freezing hell, I’ll perhaps give some of that Devil’s Weed a try.”
After a brief silence Bongani said “Terry, what do you think those were?”
Terry didn’t reply immediately. “The reason terraforming stopped on this planet. This hell hole is already only just about a suitable candidate but I guess the presence of those little monsters tipped the balance.”
“Why didn’t we see them before? We’ve been here for weeks” said Bongani.
Before, Terry‘s reply would have been messianic or citing some sort of intention of God. In the recent weeks, however, he enjoyed his mind’s ability to find rational answers to problems, something he thought had been Heera’s strong point. “My guess is they hibernate until they detect prey. They were probably asleep when we first came but our heat signature, our smell, perhaps the noise we generate attracted them. They probably even knew the shack was impregnable so they chose to approach us at the lake.”
“Thinking, carnivorous snowballs. I thought I had seen it all during my years in space” sighed Bongani.
“They move very slowly normally. I think each jump is almost a death sentence to them unless they succeed.”
“We only just managed to burn one with a laser. Do you think pulse rifles will be more effective?”
“No idea. Probably yes. But using the rifles on such small targets could really deplete our power source. I don’t know if these things will show up on thermal sighting, and they sure as hell aren’t very visible with just the naked eye either.” said Terry.
“We have just one amplifier suit, only one pulse weapon and two incinerator-grenades that probably won’t work on those things. Dammit.”
“You know what this means, right?”
“What?”
“We can’t go out of the shack anymore. Unless we’re rescued, the moment we step outside of this place, we risk getting digested alive by snowballs.”
Bongani laughed at the ludicrous thought but then stopped when he realized how serious the idea was. “We could put up a containment perimeter. I have a good amount of containment cables that are still pretty good.”
“But that will drain our energy much quicker than we planned. And besides, seeing those things take laser burns, I’m not sure containment shocks will deter them if they’re really intent on eating us.”
“Do you think David will be alright?” asked Bongani, shifting his gaze to his partner with a worried expression on his face.
“We’ll just have to wait and see. That regeneration tab we put on will only help a bit. He won’t grow back all the damage unless we put him in a regeneration cell and we don’t have one. He may have ingested some of the toxic digestive liquids. I hope they haven’t done any permanent damage to his insides. My guess is that he’ll survive for a while but without proper treatment, I can’t say anything for sure. At least the paralysis doesn’t seem to be too deep as to affect his breathing or circulation.”
Bongani went to the unconscious David and laid his hand on his forehead. “Damn it. I thought we had already been through hell but we just fell into another one.”
Terry could see the formidable soldier fighting back tears. “Don’t worry. That never solved anything.”
“I should have told you this before but I’m really sorry for what happened to Heera. She was a good woman.”
Terry was taken aback by the sudden apology and it stabbed him in the heart. After a brief silence he said “It wasn’t your fault.” Saying it was somehow liberating. “We’re not going to lose any more of us. We’re going to get help.” He didn’t have any idea how.
Chapter 7: Desperation
‘Every era has its homeless nation; the Jews, the Hmong, the Palestinians, the Tutsi and the Cherokee among many have filled this role at different points of history. In our current age, we will soon see entire homeless races of intelligent aliens.’ – Dai-ho Ryoo, Pacific Federation Member of Parliament,
Paul looked down at the body of Sir Adam Balo, the man who had raised him to be a knight, the man who later served him well as a planning officer on the first Catholic return to Earth in centuries. The body had been washed and the gaping wound exiting from his chest had been filled with organic matter and covered as best as possible. He touched his former mentor’s cold face and muttered a prayer under his breath. The body was then covered with a simple grey cotton cloth and lowered into the hole dug out by the Grey Monks. There was no ceremony, no decorated wooden coffin, and no saintly costume. Each man who had known, loved and respected Adam said their prayers quietly before Paul shovelled the first soil. Others followed.
The Grey Army had suffered its first defeat in the Earth campaign. This time the enemy had been well prepared in the mountains of Lebanon and he could feel their strengthened will. The plan to use parachutes to decelerate the free fall from lower orbit before cutting free two hundred feet above the ground had almost seemed to work. Thousands of grey-clad troops landed behind enemy lines and the enemy forces’ reaction was slow. But this time there was a mental dimension that had changed; something or someone had convinced them that there would be no more defeat. Paul knew instinctively that future battles would be ten times more difficult with the confidence gained by the enemy. The invincible aura of the Grey Army was broken.
After the funeral was finished, Paul retired to his tent. Despite the Catholic insistence on not using camouflage in battle, the tents all used environment-detecting material, making them almost invisible from afar. He knelt in front of the wooden crucifix he had brought from Constantine and started to pray. The loss of Adam saddened him immensely and he felt a ball in his throat as he prayed for his easy entry into Heaven.
He had seen the face of Adam’s killer clearly despite the heat of the battle. Adam was charging towards him on Abraham and the mighty beast had even rendered the killer immobile with the thick secretion. But the enemy soldier had somehow broken free and leapt to his right, just about dodging Adam’s geratinium whip. When the dranipede turned quickly to get his mandibles around Adam’s nemesis, he shot a pulse-grenade into the great beast’s open mouth, effectively blowing it up from the inside.
Adam had been thrown off, shaken and dazed. Paul had tried to get to him before the killer shot him in the back but he was too far away. The knight’s death ignited a roar of thousands of battle cries, giving a surge of strength to the enemy troops. Paul had wanted to get to the killer and split him from head to crotch but the tide of battle changed too rapidly. His troops had also viewed the death of one of their most decorated knights and many stood motionless, unable to believe what they had just seen.
He continued his prayer. “Please give me the strength to defeat this new demonic enemy. Permit me to carry your glory on the tip of my sword to punish the Saracens.” He finished with the Sign of the Cross before throwing himself on his inflated bunk. The enemy soldier who had killed Adam was a veteran with good reflexes. Paul’s pride wanted a one-on-one fight to the death with the Arab-looking man with no interference. In fact, his muscles itched for the confrontation.
When he woke it was already dark. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep but felt refreshed from the battle-fatigue and the emotional toll of Adam’s death. He splashed cold water on his face before putting on his woollen cloak to set out.
The first snow was falling. Paul had never seen snow fall before though he had seen
accumulations on the mountain icecaps. The vertical axis of Tolsgrad, the Grey Catholic home planet for the last few centuries, didn’t permit any seasons. The Continent of Constantine was found in the southern temperate areas where the weather was almost perpetually on the chilly side, but not cold enough for snow. He had seen pictures and holographs of snow but hadn’t realized how magical it could be. The pure white colour, the soft crunching sound as he walked on it, the lazy way it fell were all alien to him. He had heard somewhere that the snowflakes were all tiny complex hexagonal shapes, each one unique. Yes, Earth was divine.
He slipped out of his solemnness and wanted to touch the snow like a child. The loss of Adam, the shock of defeat, even the anxiety over the precarious Catholic position between the Orthodox and Chinese Empires melted in his mind like the tiny snowflakes that landed on his hand. His mood was either contagious or the snow had the same primal effect on all humans; his defeated troops came out to stare in wonder at the innocent white flakes falling from the sky. It felt like God was telling them to forget their pains and enjoy the day.
A familiar face told him otherwise. Colonel Alexander Aramian came storming through the snow with a squad of his troops. Paul had disliked the Orthodox liaison officer from their first meeting; he had a thoroughly opportunistic, bureaucratic streak. He seldom made effort to hide his contempt of the Catholics and enjoyed the use of threats to get what he wanted.
“General Camileri” he addressed the knight, refusing as usual to use the knightly title ‘sir’.
“Colonel” he nodded at the pudgy Orthodox officer who always managed to forget to salute.
Alexander smirked as he gazed at Paul. “So, first defeat?” he said, imitating Paul’s Russian accent that was undoubtedly influenced by the Grey Catholic use of New Esperanto as their official language.
