Prison Planet

by William C. Dietz

  So, after looking at a number of potential sites, they chose a small island, one of many located towards the center of a large lake. By building low to the ground, using lots of camouflage, and being careful not to leave any signs of their visit, they made the shed almost impossible to spot. Once it was complete, they filled it half full of skins, locked up, and took off for some more hunting.

  But the rainy season was in full force so they wound up doing a lot less hunting, and a lot more sitting inside Fred's snug cabin. For hours on end a lead-gray sky would dump water on the planet below, beating the roof of Fred's cabin like a drum, and then, just when it seemed the rain would never stop, the downpour would cease suddenly, as if someone had turned off a gigantic faucet. Then a thick mist would slowly rise, making it hard to see more than a few feet away.

  It was such a time when they heard the sounds of distant combat. The sounds were muffled by jungle and mist, but there was no mistaking the rattle of slug throwers on full automatic. At first Renn thought it was a hunter, someone new and inexperienced with more ammunition than brains. But he soon changed his mind. For one thing, it sounded like several weapons were being fired at once. He turned to Marla for confirmation. “Am I losing my mind ... or is someone fighting a war out there?”

  Marla's head was cocked to one side, as she stared into the mist, and turned her audio receptors up to max. “No ... I'd say there's six ... maybe seven auto slug throwers ... and some kind of heavy duty handgun. The guy with the handgun fires twelve times ... probably a full magazine ... reloads and then does it all over again.”

  Renn's mind was racing as he steered Fred in towards the shore. What the hell was going on? If this was some kind of territorial feud between a couple of hunters he wanted no part of it. On the other hand, if some poor bastard was fighting the likes of Cyclops and his gang, then he'd want to lend a hand. Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.

  Renn moored Fred to a convenient tree, and grabbed his blast rifle, an extra energy pack, plus a fistful of magazines for the .75. Then, with Marla ranging ahead, he slipped into the jungle. Water squished and gurgled under his boots, plants made a swishing sound as they slid along his skins, and the gunfire grew louder. Ahead he caught glimpses of Marla, weaving in and out of the mist, like an elemental wolf spirit fleeing the light of day.

  Abruptly, everything changed. At first Renn thought he'd stepped into a clearing. Then he realized it wasn't a clearing at all, but a broad swath of flattened jungle. Except for adult trees, every piece of vegetation had been pounded flat, and then trampled into green paste. If he hadn't known better, he would have assumed some sort of huge machine had rolled through the jungle, leaving a path the size of a super highway behind. But a glance at the ground showed otherwise. Thousands, maybe even millions, of long three-toed feet had flattened everything in sight. They looked like roo tracks, but that couldn't be, since roos were loners. Still, tracks didn't lie, and here were a zillion tracks, all telling him that roos like to come together and tromp jungles. And from the sound of the gunfire, some poor bastards had managed to get in their way.

  He moved quickly, staying towards the edge of the roo path. If he ran into trouble the jungle would offer some cover. Because of the ground mist, he couldn't see more than ten or twenty feet ahead, so he damned near tripped over the bodies. Roos all right. A cluster of six or eight. They'd been riddled with automatic fire. He moved on, and found more dead roos, some in clumps of four and five, others strung out in lines of fifteen or more. Gradually, a picture was emerging. The hunters would run for awhile, stop and make a stand, and then be forced to run once again.

  Now he was running too, or trying to, constantly fighting the accumulations of mud, which quickly built up on his boots. Up ahead, he saw something in the mud. It wasn't roos. Quickly looking left and right, he decided to take a chance, and dashed out into the middle of the churned up muck. Damn! Human bodies ... or what was left of them. Razor-sharp teeth had left little more than a few broken bones, scraps of cloth, and pieces of light body armor. Body armor. Renn thought to himself, hunters don't wear body armor, they wear skins. He picked up a large piece. The camo pattern looked familiar somehow, but it couldn't be. It looked like standard marine issue! Imperial Marines on Swamp? Stampeding roos, Imperial Marines, what next? The poor bastards had apparently tried to make another stand and were overrun.

  Renn started off once again, making for the side of the trail, unlimbering his blast title as he ran. Now the gunfire was a long rippling roar from just ahead. And there was something else, a horrible gibbering sound, as thousands of roos screamed in unison. The sound made Renn's blood run cold.

  Suddenly Marla materialized at his side, yelling, “Quick, over here.”

  Seconds later they were crouched behind a tangle of fallen trees, looking out on a scene straight from hell. In front of them was a seething mass of roo monsters. They filled the clearing to overflowing. And slithering all around and in between them were their snake-like tails, separate now, and eager to be in on the kill.

  Facing this churning mass of hostile flesh were five men and two women. They stood back to back on a small rise, their weapons spewing death, mowing down wave after wave of ravenous monsters.

  One, a huge black man wearing the tattered remains of a section leader's uniform, was firing a heavy tri-barreled machine gun as though it were a machine pistol. As the weapon's recoil shook his body into a blur, the front rank of roo monsters danced and fell, but was soon replaced from behind. Renn could see the marine's mouth open and his lips move as he screamed defiance at the oncoming horde. His voice, however, was completely lost in the hammering roar of gunfire and the gibbering demands of the roos.

  Suddenly a too tail wrapped itself around the section leader's right leg, and slithered upwards towards his throat. Seeing this, a blonde woman took careful aim with a large-caliber hand gun and blew the thing's head off. The section leader didn't even notice.

  No doubt about it, this was a last stand. The situation called for a brilliant plan. But Renn didn't have one so he did the only thing he could.

  Resting his blast rifle on a convenient log, he turned to Marla and yelled, “Cover my back!” She nodded, and a second later he opened up with the weapon. He started with the rearmost rank of too monsters, and picked them off with almost mechanical precision. It was tempting to just hose them down, but then he would probably wound more roos than he killed and draw attention to himself right off the top. He hoped to kill quite a few before they realized what was happening. So it was aim—fire, aim—fire, aim—fire.

  As they were hit, the roos would jerk, fall, and lay kicking in the mud. If uninjured, their symbiotic tails immediately went after a new host, and often wound up in fights, as two or more snakes tried to link up with the same roo. This added still another strange element to the scene. As auto slug throwers beat out a hellish rhythm, roos fell, their skins shifting to match the mud, their tails slithering this way and that, while a wispy white mist drifted slowly upwards, now revealing, now concealing the insane orgy of death.

  It went on and on. Just as Renn had hoped, it took the roos awhile to figure out what was happening, but when they did, it seemed as if they were controlled by a single mind. Suddenly they divided their forces into two. The first half continued to attack the seven humans, or was it six now, Renn couldn't tell, while the rest turned, and headed straight at him.

  Seeing this, the marines were heartened, and fought even harder. But Renn had little chance to notice because the gibbering horde was almost on him. There was no need to aim now. He held the firing stud down and simply swept the blast rifle back and forth across the oncoming wall of flesh. Bodies were cut in half, limbs amputated, and still they came. They were only yards away when the blast rifle's energy pack registered empty.

  Dropping the rifle, Renn drew the .75, shifted it to his left hand, and used his right to pull the hand blaster. As the roos swept around him Renn alternated the two weapons, firing one
and then the other, each shot killing or maiming a crazed monster.

  As the surviving roos circled Renn, and turned inwards, Marla was there to defend his back. Fangs and claws tore futilely at the metal and plastic of her body while she ripped the creatures apart. But even as she killed them, Marla knew the roos would win. Any moment now they'd overwhelm her with sheer numbers. And then they'd take Renn from behind. No! she thought. That mustn't happen. A new wave of roos hit and Marla fought with renewed vigor. She became a whirling dervish, a killing machine that ripped and tore, slashed and cut, on and on.

  And then the battle was over. As if responding to some invisible signal the roos turned and ran, disappearing into the jungle, leaving a whole host of tail-snakes to slither after them. Apparently they'd had enough.

  Marla looked at Renn and saw that he was bleeding from a dozen small wounds. But that didn't concern her as much as the dull preoccupied look in his eyes. He released the empty magazine from the .75 and inserted a fresh one like an automaton. It was as though his spirit had gone somewhere else and left his body to carry on alone. There were roo monsters piled three and four high around him. Some were still twitching. He holstered the .75 and used the hand blaster to shoot each one in the head.

  “Jonathan?”

  Renn turned as if surprised to see her. He smiled, and suddenly life flooded back into his face. “There you are Marla ... is everything all right?”

  Marla heaved a silent sigh of relief, and looked back along a scarred flank. “I guess so. There's nothing a little plastic and some wire mesh won't fix up.” She looked up at Renn. “You, however, are leaking.”

  “And that's for damn sure,” a basso voice said, as the big section leader stepped out of the clearing. Turning slightly, he cupped his hands and yelled, “Hey Doc, get your ass over here. This guys leakin’ red stuff all over my boots.”

  Turning back to Renn the marine stuck out a massive paw and said, “Section Leader Marvin Jumo, Imperial Marines. Next time I play baby sitter to a bunch of biologists ... I'll bring an armored division.”

  'Renn laughed. As they shook hands Renn took an instant liking to the big marine. He had intelligent brown eyes, high cheek bones, a flat nose pounded even flatter no doubt in countless bar room fights, a huge grin, and teeth so white they positively sparkled. “Jonathan Renn at your service, and may I present my partner, Marla Marie Mendez.”

  “Glad to meet you both,” Jumo said, accepting Marla's raised paw without the slightest hesitation. “Real glad. If it wasn't for you, I'd be meeting my ancestors right now, and from what Pappy said, they're some mean sonsabitches.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of another marine, this one as little as the section leader was big. She had a small pixie face, short brown hair, and an incredible load of gear. An auto slug thrower was slung over one shoulder, an ammo carrier over the other, and the straps of a class two med kit were gathered in her right hand. Jumo pointed at Renn. “There's your patient, Doc ... go to it.”

  Doc nodded, her bright little eyes quickly sorting Renn's wounds by severity, as she dumped the slug thrower and ammo carrier on the ground. She opened the med kit and pointed to a fallen tree trunk. Renn obeyed her silent orders to sit down.

  “The doc don't talk much,” Jumo said with a smile, “which works out just fine ... cause I do.”

  “Truer words were never uttered,” a male voice said. Turning slightly, Renn saw a pleasant looking man in tattered camos step out of the clearing. He had Euro-asian features, and thick black hair, which was parted in the middle, and combed straight back. Good-natured intelligence gleamed in his brown eyes. His right arm was encased in a bloodstained sling.

  Jumo made a face. “Look who's talking. This is Doctor George Chin. Chin, I'd like you to meet the folks who saved our bacon. That's Jonathan Renn over there, and the short furry one is Marla Mendez. Don't mess with her ... she bites.”

  Marla laughed in spite of herself. She'd have killed most people who called her short and furry, but something about the way Jumo said it made Marla feel included, different but accepted. She wasn't even embarrassed as Chin bent to shake her paw. “It's a pleasure, Doctor Chin. Welcome to Swamp.”

  Straightening up, Chin gestured towards the nearest pile of corpses and said, “They gave us one hell of a welcome, all right. “What's the deal? Are they always like that?”

  Renn raised one eyebrow. “That's a good question Doctor, one I was planning to ask you. We've never seen this particular species behave like this, but isn't that your job? Studying the local fauna?”

  Chin looked sheepish, and then glanced at Jumo who smiled and shook his head. The sound of approaching voices gave Chin a perfect excuse to run off and greet the newcomers.

  Renn got the distinct feeling the scientist had something to hide, and whatever it was, Jumo was in on it, too. For a moment Renn considered asking Jumo what was going on, but quickly rejected the notion, sensing he'd never get anything out of the marine that way. So he tried another tack. “No offense, but aren't you folks traveling a bit light? There's a lot more than just roos to worry about here, you know.”

  “Like dangerous criminals,” Marla added dryly.

  Jumo nodded soberly and tactfully ignored Marla's remark. “Roos? Is that what you call ’em? Well, I guess the name fits. They do look a bit like homicidal kangaroos. In answer to your question we didn't plan to land. As you probably guessed, we're from the space station. This was supposed to be a low-level photo recon, but we had a power failure, and went down like a rock. What's left of the shuttle is a few miles thataway.” Jumo pointed east.

  Renn nodded, wondering why a photo recon mission would carry a team of marines, but knowing it wouldn't do any good to ask.

  “I'm still not sure what the problem was,” the marine said, “since both our pilots were killed in the crash. Anyway, we were still pulling survival gear out of the wreckage when the roos hit us. We weren't very well prepared, so we ran.” He shrugged. “Turns out that wasn't a very good idea.”

  Renn knew Jumo was right. They should have stayed with the wreckage and used it as a fort. And from the expression on Jumo's face, Renn got the distinct impression someone else had given the orders to run.

  “They picked us off one at a time as we ran,” Jumo continued. “That's how we lost Sanchez and Goldman. Then we made a stand about a half mile back. That slowed ’em down ... but cost us Corporal Burns and Lieutenant Costello.”

  Doc looked up from bandaging Renn's leg and said, “Silly bitch.”

  “Keep it zipped, Doc,” Jumo said sternly.

  Doc shrugged as if to say, “So sue me,” and went back to work.

  Renn remembered finding the pathetic remains in the middle of the roo path, and knew who'd given the orders to run. Lieutenant Costello. Well, she'd paid a heavy price for her mistake. Too bad Sanchez, Goldman and Burns had paid it too.

  Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of two more marines supporting a woman between them. There was a fresh bandage around her right thigh. Chin brought up the rear.

  Marla's heart sank. Even smeared with mud and patches of dried blood the woman was beautiful. She had blonde hair, bright blue eyes, high cheekbones, and full red lips. And Marla could tell that, in spite of her baggy camos, she had a nice figure as well. A single glance at Renn confirmed her worst fears. He was looking at the woman with an expression of mixed hunger and adoration. It made Marla sick. Anyone could see the blonde hair was permatreated. But, she told herself resignedly, so what. Every thing else she's got is real ... and that's more than you can say.”

  The two marines eased the woman down onto the tree trunk next to Renn. “Thanks guys,” she said cheerfully. “You make a great taxi.” Then she turned to Renn and stuck out his hand. Renn noticed she had the firm grip and short fingernails of someone who works with their hands. Not what you'd expect from a person who spends the day peering into a microscope, or running programs on a computer. Her voice was warm and frie
ndly. “Hello. I'm Vanessa Cooper-Smith.”

  "Doctor Vanessa Cooper-Smith,” Chin added playfully. “And even though she looks like a holo hostess she's got a few smarts.”

  “More than he does,” Doc added getting to her feet.

  “Doc...” Jumo cautioned, but stopped when Chin waved a negligent hand.

  “Jonathan Renn. It's a pleasure to meet you,” Renn said. He wanted to say more, but was suddenly aware that he hadn't been around women for a long time, and was afraid he'd make a fool of himself. Well, that wasn't quite true. There was Marla, but outside of his fantasies that didn't count. He suddenly realized he hadn't introduced her.

  “Dr. Cooper-Smith, may I present Marla Marie Mendez. Marla, Dr. Cooper-Smith.”

  The scientist lifted an eyebrow as she nodded in Marla's direction, as if to say, “What have we here?” Renn missed it, but the little byplay cut through Marla like a knife. “It's a pleasure, Marla. I hope you'll call me Vanessa. Thanks for your help.”

  Marla nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. Neither made an attempt to shake “hands.”

  “Much as I hate to interrupt these pleasantries,” Jumo said, “I think we should get out of here. With all this meat laying around we could have uninvited guests any minute.”

  Chin and Vanessa looked towards Renn, who nodded his agreement. “The section leader's right. This much food is going to attract some ugly customers.” He shook his head regretfully. “To bad we don't have time to skin ’em. There's a fortune in skins laying around out there.”

  Vanessa wrinkled her nose at the thought. “If you'd be kind enough to act as our guide, I'm sure we could compensate you for the loss.”

  “Oh goody,” Marla said sarcastically. “She's going to compensate us for our loss. How generous.”

  Renn frowned, and Marla realized her comment had backfired on her. “Come on Marla ... I think that's a very generous offer. Vanessa will too—once we tell her what all those skins were worth.”