Deathworms of Kratos (v1.1)

by Edmund Cooper

  Conrad watched, not understanding, but knowing that he was witnessing an heroic struggle.

  “Cut the pump!” snapped Indira. A robot—which was it?—instantly complied.

  “Run up the heat programme. I want an even thirty-six degrees fast!”

  The donor heart began to fibrillate.

  “Defibrillation—quickly!”

  A robot handed Indira two metal discs with wires attached to them that led to a small metal box.

  Indira placed them on each side of the donor heart.

  As Kurt Kwango received the electric shock, his body arched with a fantastic and instantaneous illusion of independent life. Then suddenly the donor heart began to beat.

  Surgeon-Lieutenant Smith uttered a great sigh. She looked at Matthew. “Pressure and pulse, please.”

  “Pressure 85, pulse 110.”

  “Temperature?”

  “34.4.”

  Surgeon-Lieutenant Smith looked at Conrad once more. “I think we have made it, Commander. All that remains are the mopping up operations.” She glanced at the tiny globules of blood still being sucked up by the vacuum cleaner. “And, of course, I have to close the chest.”

  “Lieutenant,” said Conrad, trying to keep his voice calm. “If we survive, I shall recommend you for D.S.S.C.”

  “Recommend a cup of coffee,” said Indira Smith. “By God, I need it!”

  Later, on the navigation deck, as they sipped coffee and gazed at the enigmatic face of Kratos once more, Conrad said: “You and I have to stop fighting. Otherwise, we put this whole bloody project at risk.”

  “Were we fighting?” she asked drily. “I hadn’t noticed it.”

  “Don’t be stupid. You know damn well what I mean.”

  She appeared to ignore his remark. “There is the planet that will make us or break us, Commander. It looks so tranquil, so beautiful, it is hard to think it could be dangerous.”

  “It will neither make us or break us,” he snapped. “We shall prove it, or it will kill us. And if we are going to prove it, there must be no serious dissension between you and me. Get it into your head that personal feelings don’t matter very much. The only thing that matters is that we try as hard as we can to prove Kratos suitable for colonisation. And that will need discipline. Message ends.”

  Indira Smith gave a great sigh, or a yawn. “I’m sorry if I have been a bit of a cow, Commander. But Kwango lives, does he not?”

  “Yes, thanks to you, Kwango lives.”

  “Good.” And then she fainted. Her body floated gracefully in zero G. She still held the half-empty plastic bulb of coffee limply in her hand. Conrad looked at the lines of fatigue on her face, the dark circles round her eyes. Then, expertly, he took hold of her and cradled her like a child.

  FLASH FOUR

  Proving Ground

  Conrad was proud. They had made the summit of the Matterhorn by the North face. Not a bad achievement. Seven men and women, none of them trained climbers, had taken a crash course, roped themselves together, and placed their trust in each other. The gamble had paid off. So here they were at the summit, with numbed faces and half-frozen limbs, waiting for the chopper to lift them out.

  Conrad surveyed his team. There had been a bad moment when Chantana Le Gros lost her footing and swung out into space with a thousand metre drop below her. But Kurt Kwango—fourth in line and directly above her—had kept his head, using his magnificent strength to haul her to safety.

  “At least we are alive,” said Conrad painfully, as ice formed on his lips. “That’s not bad for amateurs. Kurt you did a great job.”

  Kurt Kwango as shivering and almost exhausted, but he managed to laugh. “Thank you, Massa Boss, I was already calculating her impact velocity. Then I decided she was too pretty to die.”

  Conrad could hear the sound of the chopper coming from behind him. “Next we go fry ourselves in an open boat in the Pacific,” he said. “After that, we’ll try a rest cure in the Malayan jungle. And after that—if we still survive as a team, we’ll familiarise ourselves with some of the hardware we’ll have to use on Kratos.”

  “Commander, this here course looks as if it is going to be a real fun thing,” drawled Lou Andreas. “Don’t we get no leave?”

  “What the hell would you do with leave?” demanded Conrad. “You are an Expendable, Lou. You’ll get leave—if you are still alive and if you still want it— when we have proved Kratos. Now make ready for lift-off in the following order…”

  The chopper came as low as it could.

  Three days without food or fresh water in a standard fibre-glass lifeboat in the middle of the Pacific ocean had revealed many tensions in the team. Fidel Batista, suffering from heat stroke and frequently taunted by Lou Andreas, had tried to kill him with a knife. Conrad had taken the knife blow on his prosthetic arm. On the second day, out of sheer boredom, Liz James had offered herself to any man with the strength left to take her. Kwango had tried; but dehydration was too much for him. Temperamental as ever he jumped overboard in sheer self-disgust. Maybe he just wanted to cool off.

  But the sharks seemed to have anticipated the precise moment. Andreas, Batista and Le Gros went after him—with knives, the only weapons in the boat. Batista had a piece bitten out of his left buttock. But they all managed to get back aboard with Kwango.

  It was a near thing. Conrad was very glad when the chopper appeared and took them out.

  Batista was lucky. While the rest of them were on a six-day crash course in jungle survival, he was having his buttock repaired.

  Chantana Le Gros was very good in the jungle. So was Kurt Kwango. Lou Andreas and Liz James were not. Lou seemed to act as a magnet for wild life, from leeches to snakes. Liz was a casualty to the high temperature and humidity. This time there was no chopper to search them out. They had to make their way through a hundred kilometres of very dense jungle to a pre-arranged take-out point. Twice, Lieutenant Smith had to take snake venom out of Lou. Liz managed to last four days before she succumbed to heat stroke. They made a litter for her. She tried not to use it too much, knowing that most of the others were near to exhaustion. To her credit, she insisted on walking the last fourteen kilometres. Then she went out like a light.

  Conrad wiped his face, swollen and disfigured by insect bites, running with sweat. As the medics lifted Liz on to a stretcher, he said: “I guess we are learning as much about ourselves as about each other. How much longer could you have taken it, Kurt?”

  The Nigerian smiled. “Longer than you, Commander.” But there was no insolence in his voice.

  Conrad grinned. “I guess you could. So could Chantana. How about you, Indira?”

  “I had an advantage. My legs never got tired.”

  “Now let’s go where they serve ice-cold gin and tonics in a civilised fashion. We have proved ourselves to be a team; and the worst that has happened is that Fidel can’t sit down.”

  “He helped save my stupid life,” said Kurt. “I will remember that.”

  “Wrong,” said Conrad lightly. “He saved a stupid ecologist.”

  “You saved my life also, Kurt,” said Chantana, “on that dreadful mountain. I, too, will not forget.”

  Kwango laughed. “I save the woman, not the biologist,” he retorted. “Enlightened self-interest. One has to think of the future.”

  “Yes,” said Conrad, “the time has come to think carefully of the future. Tomorrow, while we blast to Kennedy, I’ll tell you about Kratos.”.

  EVENT FIVE

  Touch Down

  The rocket engines died. There was silence. Everyone except Kurt Kwango, who was confined to the sterile chamber, was lying securely strapped in contour-berths on the navigation deck. The robots, virtually unaffected by the G-stress of touch-down deceleration, were carrying out their appointed tasks. Matthew was in the sterile chamber with Kwango, monitoring his heart reaction, temperature and breathing cycle, and relaying this data to Indira Smith. Mark was in the theatre, readying it for anyone who succumbed to G-str
ess. Luke and John were in the engine-room, available to manually override the computer-controlled touch-down if the Commander should require it. Peter and Paul were already in the air-lock, assembling their equipment for a preliminary survey of the immediate touchdown area.

  Conrad unfastened his belts and got out of his contour-birth. Being a trained spaceman, he was the first to recover from G-stress. The touch-down had been perfect. No problems. He was slightly annoyed that the computer had managed it so well.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, that’s it. We have arrived. I suppose it is—or could be, if our mission is successful —an historic moment. Maybe I ought to make a speech, but I don’t feel like it. There is a lot to be done before any of us gets outside the airlock. First of all, get out of your berths, stand up, try walking.”

  Chantana Le Gros’s legs gave way. She fell on to the deck, a comical look of amazement on her face.

  “Problem one,” said Conrad. “Our muscles have been weakened by S.A. and twenty-three E-days in zero G. I would have liked to touch down much earlier, but Lieutenant Smith advised against it. Kwango’s acceptance of his new heart was good, but obviously he could not take the G-factor necessary for deceleration soon after a heart transplant… What is the latest information from the sterile chamber, Lieutenant?”

  “My patient is still unconscious, but his responses are good. He should regain consciousness. The shot I gave him would knock him out for not more than two hours.”

  “That is all right, then. Kwango will not return to active service until Lieutenant Smith says so. But the rest of you are under starter’s orders, and I am the starter. One, for the first three K-days, no one will venture outside the Santa Maria. Two, all of us will take one-hour work-outs in the gym at six-hour intervals. Three, the robots will shortly make surveys of our immediate vicinity, collecting samples and specimens. Four, those of you with the appropriate skills will study or analyse such objects and present me with preliminary findings as soon as possible. Five, while we are in this phase of intensive make-ready, you will be allowed to eat what you wish when you wish. Afterwards, a ration system will be introduced. Six, no alcohol will be consumed without permission from me. Do you all read me?”

  “We read you loud and clear, Commander.” It was Lou Andreas who spoke. “All work and no play. We get the message.”

  Conrad glanced briefly at Liz James. “Definitely no play. Not yet. We are here to do a job, and, by God, we’ll do it. Which leads me to one other point, which must be dealt with before any of us goes outside. Casualties. There are only seven of us, so we cannot afford to be reckless. No one will put himself or herself at risk without clearance. We cannot afford death or incapacitation by carelessness. However, accidents may happen. We must be prepared for them. In the event of my death or incapacitation, Lieutenant Smith will assume command. In the event of her death or incapacitation, Mr. Andreas will assume command. In the event of his death, Miss Le Gros will assume command, with the instruction—which I will record in the log—to pull out. O.K.?”

  There was a moment or two of silence. Then Chantana Le Gros spoke. “This is fine, in theory, Commander. But I do not know how to handle a space-ship.”

  “Matthew does,” retorted Conrad. “He and his happy band are entirely familiar with recall procedure. Also they are familiar with S.A. techniques. Give the commands, Chantana, and they will be carried out. Next thing you know, you’ll take up in Earth orbit. Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

  Fidel Batista crossed himself. “Let us hope, indeed.”

  “Well, then,” said Conrad. “Let’s take a look at this world we have come sixteen light years to make fit for human habitation.”

  He pressed a stud on the command console. A screen rolled back to reveal the observation panel. Because the Santa Maria was ninety metres high, it was impossible to look straight down. But the panel showed a stretch of what looked to be flat grassland, then forest and, in the distance, a range of hills. In the middle distance a network of the mysterious ruts of Kratos was visible.

  “It’s a fine morning,” said Liz James with a note of incredulity in her voice, as she glanced up at the blue, cloud-flecked sky. “You could almost believe that you were back on Earth. Apart from the ruts.”

  “Apart from the ruts,” echoed Conrad. “I chose this area, which is semi-tropical, because those damned ruts have their densest configurations in the tropical and semi-tropical zones—particularly on this land mass, Continent B.”

  A robot’s voice came over the intercom. “Peter reporting, Commander. Survey equipment ready and checked.”

  “These are my instructions,” said Conrad. “You will proceed through air-lock, release nylon ladder and transfer equipment dirtside. You will then inspect landing torus for possible damage and report back. You will also determine attitude of this vessel and report back. If no damage, and if attitude lies within acceptable parameter, you will proceed as follows: one, you will set up the four vid cameras and test hook-in to command screens; two, you will collect samples as already specified; three, you will sweep an area of one thousand metres radius from the Santa Maria. If any hostile life-form is encountered, you will return without accepting any risk. Execute.”

  “Decisions noted, Commander. Execution proceeding.”

  Damage to the large landing torus with its flexible base was minimal. Some of the titanium cladding had been dented on impact, but it as no more than was expected. The attitude of the vessel was four point five degrees from the vertical, but this also was acceptable.

  No problems there. Conrad was relieved. At touchdown the first duty of a master was to verify the safety of his vessel. Within half an hour the robot had set up the vid cameras, each on a tripod with a variable-speed rotating mechanism on the support head. Conrad ordered two of the cameras to be set on one-minute revolution and two on three-minute revolutions. Thus the immediate vicinity of the Santa Maria would be constantly under surveillance. The pictures were relayed to a bank of four screens on the nav deck.

  So now, while the robots set about their task of collecting samples, it would be possible to study the environs of the ship in detail.

  The six Expendables gazed at the vid screens in fascination—perhaps prepared for anything other than the utter normality which soon became apparent. They had touched down on a planet sixteen light years from Earth. They would have been less surprised if the ground had opened to spew forth monsters than they were at the eerie familiarity of the scenes displayed. The grassland, in the midst of which the Santa Maria sat, looked almost exactly like terrestrial grassland in high summer. There were several birds, obviously not identifiable, but demonstrably birds, lazily circling or gliding in the sky; and there was a number of butterflies flitting neurotically round some small shrubs about fifty metres from touch-down. It was all so abnormally normal. It produced a feeling of anti-climax.

  Conrad sensed the sudden surge of confidence. “Don’t be fooled by the rural setting,” he warned. “Those birds, for all we know, could be lethal to human beings. Those butterflies could be carnivorous or carry a nasty sting in their tails. Until we have collected and analysed samples, we must assume the worst.”

  After the robots had delivered samples of air, vegetation and soil to the vessel’s air-lock, they began their thousand-metre sweep, moving out from the Santa Maria in a spiral path. The birds treated them with total indifference. The butterflies fluttered away at their approach. Two small creatures, observable only by their furry backs as they bounded away from the advancing robots, were the only signs of animal life revealed.

  “They look like hares,” said Liz James. “More like baby kangaroos,” amended Chantana Le Gros. “One had a long spatulate tail that seemed to be used for balance and thrust. Did anyone else see it?” No one had.

  Conrad said: “So far so good, but—I repeat—do not be lulled into complacency by this other Eden… Now, we all have work to do. James and Le Gros, please collect the samples from the air-lock and give me
your findings as soon as possible. Andreas and Batista will continue to monitor the screens. I will hit the paper work. Lieutenant Smith, when you have checked your patient, perhaps you will give any assistance that may be required to James and Le Gros.”

  “Yes, Commander.”

  It was at that point that one of the robots disappeared.

  FLASH FIVE

  Briefing

  The Trans-Terra strato-rocket was fifteen miles up, high enough for the stars to be seen in day-time through a permanent violet twilight. The rocket would cover the ten thousand miles from Singapore to Mexico City in less than two hours. From Mexico City a local sub-strato jet would lift the Expendables across the Gulf of Mexico, over the Florida peninsula to Kennedy Space Port.

  With the exception of Conrad, this was the nearest that the team had ever been to the space frontier. Most of them gazed through the observation panels. Even Kurt Kwango, who was working out a nasty 3D chess problem involving knight and” queen moves near the centre of the cube, cast an occasional glance at the awesome splendour of the starry deeps.

  Conrad thought the time had come.

  “Out there,” he said gesturing to one of the observation panels, “is a star called Altair. It’s sixteen light years away—practically next door, astronomically speaking. A robot probe says it has five planets. The probe inspected all of them in low-level orbit. Finally it concentrated on Altair Four. Altair Four has been designated Earth-type. That is to say, it has an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, its surface temperatures fall within Terran extremes, it has three times as much sea area as land area, and its G-force is one point fifteen, which shouldn’t worry us too much. Most of the land area, except for polar regions, is rich with vegetation. Animal life was detected, but there were no signs of technologically advanced civilisation.

  “It is a tradition among Terran astronomers to assign a classical name, mythological or historical, to new discoveries. So Altair Four has been given the name of Kratos. In mythology, Kratos is the son of Nike, Greek goddess of victory. The word Kratos means strength. Let us assume, then, some clairvoyance on the part of our chairborne friends. Let us assume that Kratos is going to be tough. If so, our task is to lick it into shape, to prove that colonists can survive there and flourish. Some of us may die there—which doesn’t matter too much, since we are all socially expendable. But, as a team, we have to prove the planet one way or the other. We have to prove that it’s O.K. for colonists or that it is certain death.”