Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  But it was a long time before Renn took on any monsters. There was a great deal to learn first. Boater's lessons began with swamp ecology. Renn soon discovered his employer had memorized every word of the original survey team's bio scans, had added his own experiences and observations to that considerable body of knowledge, and was determined that his assistant do likewise.

  First Renn learned about stinks. From the shots in Boater's little hand-held holo tank, Renn decided they looked like large rubber balls. Adult specimens grew to be twenty or thirty feet in diameter. Boater explained that their external appearance stemmed from the large air bladder which surrounded their internal organs. The air bladder allowed them to roll across large bodies of water, and to use rivers the same way ground cars use highways. They could move freely wherever there was water, including marshy areas, but couldn't move through dense undergrowth. By expelling air through the vents spaced across the surface of their bodies, stinks could control both the direction and speed of their movements. Boater said he'd also seen them take advantage of the wind, allowing themselves to be blown across larger lakes, content to go wherever the wind took them.

  “Still,” Renn said lightly, “one shot and they must pop like balloons.”

  “That would be nice,” Boater agreed dryly. “Unfortunately mother nature wasn't that kind. Instead of just one chamber, their air bladders contain millions of little air tight compartments. You could shoot ’em all day long and they'd still float. No, you've got to hit something vital, preferably the fifth subbrain which provides their motor control.”

  “And how the hell do you manage that?” Renn asked, trying to figure out how someone could hit a single organ within such a large body.

  “Very carefully,” Boater replied with a grin. “Now let's take a look at their diet.”

  Though quite large, stinks were vegetarians, existing on a diet consisting of three main plants. One by one Boater showed Renn each plant, described its life cycle, and forced him to eat portions of the two that were nontoxic. All three plants lived in marshy areas, where the stinks could roll up to them, extrude up to four tubular feeding organs, and inhale a few hundred pounds of the dripping stuff. Boater couldn't prove it, but felt sure the stinks played some role in the reproductive cycle of at least one of the plants, similar to the relationship between bees and some Terran plants.

  “So they're hard to sink, eat a lot, and cross-pollinate plants,” Renn said. “They still sound like easy pickings.”

  Boater took the holo unit, ran the recording ahead, and handed it back. “Take a look at that, lad.”

  Renn held the unit up and gave it a gentle squeeze. Obediently it played back. What he saw was a large stink rolling up a narrow channel of water towards the camera. In its path was a small inflatable boat. A woman was paddling with short desperate strokes, trying to outrun the stink, and steadily losing ground. She looked back over her shoulder, and then back towards the camera, and Renn could see the horror on her face. “Go to either side!” Renn urged. “It can't follow you into the undergrowth.”

  But of course she didn't. As the stink came up behind her, it extruded thousands of needle sharp spines and rolled right over her. Renn winced as she threw up her hands and the spines came out through her chest, tipped with red. Then she was gone, rolled under by the advancing monster, reappearing moments later as the stink's forward motion brought her up and over the top. She was crucified on a hundred spines, her eyes bulging, her mouth open in a silent scream. Then the viewer went black as the stink rolled over the holo cam and destroyed it.

  “My God, Boater, that was horrible!” Renn said, as he handed over the viewer. “Why didn't the camera operator do something to help her?”

  Boater accepted the viewer with a philosophical shrug. “There wasn't any camera operator. She was a xeno biologist attached to the first survey team. The camera was running on automatic. Now let's take a look at some skins.”

  Skins, it turned out, came in a number of shapes and sizes. And although Boater assured him they were all related, Renn found it hard to believe since they looked so dissimilar. One type appeared quite snake-like, having a long sinuous body, and an evil-looking bulbous head. Unlike Terran snakes, however, it came equipped with ugly-looking suckers, which helped it climb trees, and also served as tiny mouths. Another looked like a Terran kangaroo, about the same size, with a long tail and large hind legs. Except it had a mouth full of needle sharp teeth, walked rather than jumped, and didn't really have a tail. The tail was actually another skin, linked with the roo monster through symbiosis, and quite dangerous itself. And there were others, too, even airborne variations—like the lifter which had attacked Renn earlier.

  Different though these creatures were, Renn eventually began to see the similarities. They all shared the chameleon-like ability to match their surroundings, and they were all carnivorous, oviparous land dwellers. As with the stinks, Boater insisted next that Renn understand the food chain which supported them.

  His lessons began with a microscopic examination of swamp water. Boater's microscope was a primitive instrument, far from powerful, and relied on reflected light. Still, it was more than adequate for the task at hand. Carefully preparing a slide with a drop of swamp water, Boater looked through the eyepiece, made a fine adjustment, and grunted his satisfaction. “There they are ... the little critters who make skins possible.”

  Looking through the scope, Renn saw the water was teeming with small almost transparent creatures. They seemed to come in three or four basic shapes and sizes. They wiggled this way and that, bumping into each other, busily filtering the water for nutrients.

  It was their role to nourish small marine creatures, which provided sustenance to larger marine creatures, which were eaten by airborne and land dwelling lifeforms, who in turn were consumed by the skins.

  “So,” Boater concluded, “those little mites are a hunter's best friend. If you hurt ’em you hurt yourself.”

  And the lessons continued. Boater gradually introduced Renn to the swamp itself. Through the older man's eyes, Renn learned to see both its beauty and ugliness. He learned that while it could kill, it could also nourish and protect. And he learned the skills which would enable him to survive there.

  In spite of the older man's considerable bulk, Boater could glide through the swamp like a ghost. He showed Renn how to move so that the thick carpet of dead vegetation would muffle his foot steps, how to pause every few yards to look and listen, how to fade into the background, allowing his monster skin clothing to conceal him.

  Gradually Renn learned how to tell firm ground from weak, good plants from bad, and harmless life forms from those which could kill. His fat melted away to reveal hard flat muscle, his movements became smoother, and more coordinated. He learned to trust nothing but himself, to kill without compunction, to place survival before all else. Gradually, without fully realizing it, he started to welcome his time in the swamp and even seek it out. Seeing this, Boater decided his pupil was ready for one final test. He delivered the news over breakfast the next morning. As usual he was sitting down while Renn was up and doing the dishes.

  “Well, Jonnie we've wasted enough time and ammunition on your training. It's time to get some work out of you.”

  Renn didn't bother to point out that he already had done most of the work. He knew from experience the irony would be lost on Boater. “Good,” Renn replied. “It's about time. When do we go after some monsters?”

  “Soon,” Boater promised. “But first I have a little errand for you. I've got an emergency cache about twenty miles from here. It hasn't been checked out for a year or more. Who knows? By now it could've been flooded out, or looted. Anyway here's a map. Take the skiff, some supplies, and see if everything's still there.”

  Renn dried his hands on a rag and accepted the map. There was something about the expression in Boater's beady little eyes he didn't like, but he wasn't quite sure what it was, so he just nodded and tucked the map into an inside pock
et. No matter what his employer might be cooking up, the idea of getting out on his own for a few days sounded very good indeed. “Fine, Boater. I'll get ready.”

  A few hours later Renn poled the loaded skiff away from the dock, as Boater stood on the shore, and smiled. He even waved goodbye. Renn was very suspicious as he waved in return. Boater smiling? Boater never smiled unless he was getting the best of somebody. But how did that apply here? The question continued to plague him as he entered the main channel, took a compass bearing, and headed north.

  Much to his own surprise Renn felt quite comfortable as the skiff slipped silently through the swamp. It was a warm, humid day. Dappled sunlight found its way down through the lush green foliage to splash the skiff with light. Colorful insects, some the size of small birds, flitted from one tree to another, their wings humming. Somewhere a lifter croaked its victory cry. And every now and then, a light breeze stirred the branches overhead, causing them to rustle gently. In fact there were noises all around him, but he knew what made each of them, and knowing made all the difference. He wasn't afraid. Well, not much anyway. Besides he had his weapons. They were part of him now. The blast rifle in its back scabbard, the .75 on his hip, the hand blaster in its shoulder holster. Thanks to them he could take on whatever the swamp had to offer, stinks and skins included.

  A short time later Renn steered the skiff over to the bank, brushed aside some branches, and pushed his way into a small, tight channel. As the branches fell into place behind him, he became invisible from the main channel. Then, by rearranging his supplies a little, Renn created a comfortable place to lay down. Shrugging off the rifle and scabbard, he made sure the weapon was close to hand, and stretched out. Placing his hands behind his head, he looked up through the branches towards the distant sun, and smiled. This sure beat hell out of running and fetching for Boater. He closed his eyes but didn't go to sleep.

  Time passed, and then, right in a middle of a rather pleasant daydream, he heard it, the gentle putt-putt of Fred's engine. Sitting up he peered through the branches. The noise got gradually louder until Fred's familiar shape slid into view, Boater and all. So the old bastard was up to something after all! Renn grinned. Well, all right, whatever the game was, two could play as well as one.

  Renn waited until Boater had disappeared from sight, eased the skiff out into the main channel, and followed. Normally it would be impossible to keep up, but Boater was barely moving, apparently afraid he'd overrun Renn, so Renn managed to tag along behind.

  And so it went for the rest of the day, Boater putt-putting along, with Renn bringing up the rear. Boater paused twice, to fix something to eat, Renn decided, and both times he almost blew it. But luck was with him on both occasions and he managed to pull back without being seen.

  After the second such occurrence, Renn made it a habit to peer around curves first, and that solved the problem. When night fell, Boater pulled into a side channel, fixed himself an elaborate dinner, and retired early. Renn knew this, because he was watching from the undergrowth as it happened. Crouched there in the darkness, he had mixed emotions. He was proud of his ability to watch Boater undetected, ashamed of doing so, and scared that it was so easy. The old man looked so vulnerable as he moved around inside his cabin, humming a Terran tune, and cooking his dinner. For the second time Renn realized his employer wasn't young any more. Suddenly he felt like a child, who, used to seeing his’ parents as all powerful, is suddenly confronted with obvious weakness. Careful not to make any noise, Renn stood, and faded back into the night. As he left, Boater looked up and smiled into the darkness.

  The next morning Renn awoke early, cooked a simple meal on a chemical stove, and followed when Boater headed up channel. The second day passed much like the first. Good weather, easy progress, and occasional stops while Boater prepared a snack. Renn used these breaks to consult the map Boater had given him, saw they were sticking to the original route, and should arrive by mid-afternoon. But why the charade? What was the old geezer up to anyway? Was he following along in case Renn got into trouble, or was there some other reason? Renn heard Fred's motor start up. He shrugged. Only one way to find out. Tucking the map back into his inner pocket, he picked up his pole, and pushed away from the bank.

  Three hours later they reached the destination Boater had marked on the map. Peeking through some thick vegetation, Renn saw a large lake, with an island towards the middle of it. Even without a look at the map Renn knew that Boater's squiggly line ended at the island. What the hell? He watched as Boater steered Fred towards the island. Just when it appeared certain that he'd run Fred aground, the boat suddenly disappeared.

  Renn pushed off and headed for the spot where Fred had vanished. As he got closer Renn decided the island had a spooky feeling. He couldn't put his finger on the reason, but he knew it was different somehow, and didn't like it.

  The vegetation grew thick and heavy along the shoreline, and even though he knew approximately where the channel was, it was still hard to find. In fact if it weren't for the freshly broken branches he would've gone right by it. They practically screamed at Renn to follow. Why? Did Boater know he was following along behind, instead of leading the way? But how could he? Troubled, Renn forced his way through the foliage and into the narrow channel.

  As he poled along, his earlier feelings became even stronger: spookiness, mixed with something else, danger of some kind. He unconsciously reached back to touch the stock of his blast rifle, his eyes scanning right and left, his ears attuned to the slightest sound. Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Gone was the humming of insect wings, the distant call of swamp birds, the rustle of small animals. Probably just Fred's recent passage he told himself.

  Then he noticed it. Pushing over to the side of the channel, he grabbed a machete, and used it to scrape away the thick layer of vegetation that slanted down to the water. It couldn't be! Running his hand over the smooth surface thus exposed, Renn knew he was touching an artificial surface, something like duracrete, only different, more finely textured. The symmetry of the channel had given it away. The damned thing was as uniform as an Imperial expressway!

  Except no Imperial engineer had constructed this. Before its designation as a prison planet, Swamp had been an undeveloped frontier world. Everyone knew that. And Swamp didn't have any indigenous sentient life forms. Suddenly Renn realized what that meant. Swamp was an artifact world!

  He knew there were others of course, many had been discovered during the early days of space exploration. In most cases they weren't much to look at, empty ruins mostly, worn down by the effects of weather and the passage of time. Commonalties in architecture, and other archeological similarities, made it certain that all the ruins were the remnants of a single galactic culture. But what of the Builders? Where had they gone? Artifact planets were always devoid of intelligent life, except where native life forms had evolved into sentience, long after the Builders had departed. Whatever the answer, the Builders had once lived here, and Boater had known about it for some time.

  The feeling of danger persisted as Renn poled his way up the channel. A few moments later he saw Fred's homely shape and pulled up alongside.

  “Boater? Hey Boater, what the hell is this all about?” No answer. Climbing over the side Renn checked the cabin. Nothing. Boater had evidently gone ashore.

  Stepping up onto the bank Renn saw a narrow path which led off into the jungle. A game trail from the looks of it. Something was using it on a regular basis, and unless the Builders were still hanging around, game was the most likely answer.

  Pulling the rifle from its scabbard, Renn started up the path. Around him there was only the brooding silence and humid stench of the jungle. Not knowing what to expect, he tried to look for everything. Ambush sites, trip wires across the path, tree monsters, anything that might attack from above or either side. Then something reached up through the surface of the path and pulled him under.

  Renn had a brief glimpse of his attacker as he fell, an eyeless head, searching
white tentacles, and a vast slug-like body. No doubt the thing regarded the trail as its own personal buffet, reaching up occasionally to pluck whatever tasty morsels happened by. Except this morsel didn't want to be plucked.

  Renn landed on his back, but the thick layer of humus carpeting the tunnel's floor cushioned his fall, allowing him to aim and fire. Bolts of coherent energy punched through the soft-skinned creature to splash against the wall. A high-pitched scream filled the tunnel, and the thing split open like rotten fruit, spilling half a ton of its blue-black guts into the small space.

  Renn scrabbled at the side of the tunnel trying to get up and away from the rising tide of stinking viscera. But his searching fingers found nothing but the smooth featureless walls left by the Builders thousands of years before. Overhead he saw the green of the jungle, and beyond that, patches of blue sky. He jumped. It was hopeless.

  To his right he heard a distant gibbering noise, then another, and another, blending into a single chorus from hell. The dead monster was attracting guests for dinner. Looking left Renn verified that the huge, slug-like body had completely blocked the tunnel. He couldn't go up, and he couldn't go left, so he turned to the right and prepared to face whatever was coming.

  “All right,” Renn thought grimly, “come and get it.” Sloshing through the monster's putrid guts he flicked on the rifle's laser sight. It threw a disc of red light up the tunnel. It wasn't much, but it would help. Seconds later they appeared, dark shadowy figures moving forward with short jerky movements. From what he could see they had elongated bodies, three or four pairs of short stubby legs, and lots of teeth. Each time the red disc touched one of the things, he pressed the firing stud, and a pulse of blue light raced up the tunnel to destroy it. Soon their death screams and gibbering mixed together to create a horrible cacophony. But for each one he killed two more soon arrived.