Alien Jungle

by Roxanne Smolen

  Trace nodded. “How many of the original scientists returned?”

  “All of them,” Madsen said, “although only twenty-four survived. One died shortly after being released. Five others seemed to have been dead for a while. Their bodies were decomposed. The doctor assumes they were still able to move because moss continued to fire electric impulses into their nerves.”

  “The walking dead.” Wilde chuckled.

  “I’m amazed the survivors could live in stasis like that for ten years,” Trace said.

  “Apparently, the plants gave them everything they needed,” Aldus told him. “Oxygen. Nutrients.”

  Natica leaned forward, her gaze darting about the table. “None of them remember what happened?”

  “Cole?” Impani said. “Do you remember?”

  Cole recoiled as if surprised at being addressed. “Not really. It was like time had stopped, caught me in mid-breath. Yet there was a sense of belonging. I remember thinking about my kid brother. I haven’t seen him and his family for years. And I wanted to go home.”

  “Now’s your chance,” Aldus said. “Trace and his team plan to take the twenty-four scientists back with them. They have room for one more.”

  Cole shook his head. “I’ll stay. There’s a lot of work to be done.”

  Trace looked at his father. “I was still hoping to convince you to return with us, sir. You were the mission. The President won’t be happy if I fail to bring you back.”

  Aldus chuckled. “Just remind Jules that a good captain doesn’t desert his ship. He’ll know what you mean.”

  He stood, and Trace stood with him.

  “Well, boy, you solved it. Your mother would be proud. And so am I.” Aldus held out his hand.

  Trace blinked then smiled, feeling suddenly taller. He shook his father’s hand.

  “See you in six months,” Aldus said.

  Trace watched him leave. His cheeks grew hot, and the warmth constricted his throat and settled in his chest. He glanced at Impani who beamed at him. A grin tugged his cheeks. “Time to go.”

  He led his team through the cafeteria, which was already stacked with crates of food. One of the colonists looked up as they passed and waved. Ducking through the hatch, the Scouts went outside.

  The camp appeared hushed beneath a pall of smoke from the burning trenches. People whispered in groups, looking discomfited and shocked. The only sound came from the remaining forklifts and bulldozers being retrieved from the jungle. They rumbled in a slow line across the bridge toward the warehouse district.

  Higher on the hillside, Trace saw several large yellow drums. As he watched, balls of plant sludge slid along the ridge’s edge, rose into humanoid form, and dipped their hands into the containers. A few rolled back into balls and glided away—but others remained human shaped. They stood as if gossiping around a water cooler.

  Wilde jerked his thumb in their direction. “Fertilizer number four. It was Celeste Meade’s idea. Makes a good peace offering.”

  Natica shuddered. “Let’s hope there’s enough to keep them pacified until the colonists are picked up. I don’t trust those things.”

  “I do,” said Anselmi. “Now.”

  Trace grinned and clapped him on the back. “So do I.”

  He looked again at the humanoid moss men, still amazed at the sight. He was witnessing the birth of a new species. The way plants grew on this planet, fifty generations could pass in a single year. What would they evolve into with all that time?

  He sent a mental farewell, hoping they could hear him. Then he led his team toward the hospital dome where they would pick up the scientists waiting to transport. No doubt, a lot of friends and family members would be happy to see them again. Trace hoped their retrieval would make up for the fact that the famous Aldus Hanson was not among them. He still wished he had talked his father into returning.

  He thought of what his father had said about him solving everything. But there was one more question he had to answer. He had the necessary samples. All he needed now was a location.

  More to himself, he said, “Wish I knew of a planet with no vegetation and lots of rain.”

  To his surprise, Impani laughed. “Anselmi and I know just the place.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes.” Her emerald eyes sparkled. “And I’ll tell you all about it—over the lunch you still owe me.”

  “Lunch? No, no, not me. I plan to sleep for the next three days.”

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I’ll wait.”

  Trace smiled and took Impani’s hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Six months later

  Trace grinned as his father joined him in the mirrored room at Colonial Bureau Central.

  Aldus appraised the image of himself wearing a skinsuit. “Not too shabby for an old man.”

  Trace said, “We call this the Impellic Chamber, our jump point to other worlds.”

  “I’m still not sure about this.”

  “You’ll do fine. Just step up here and press back against the cylinder.” Trace helped Aldus get situated then called to the unseen technician. “Any time you’re ready.”

  The lights brightened. Trace hurried into position. In the many reflections, he saw his father grimace.

  “This had better be good,” Aldus muttered.

  Laughing, Trace said, “You’ll see when we get there.”

  The Impellic ring descended. Trace felt a familiar tug in his stomach. He closed his eyes against the dizzying sensation of traveling fast without moving. There was a slight drop as the second ring engaged, and he knew he had changed direction. Then a barrier slowed his progress.

  Rain struck his mask.

  His father gave a shout. “That was some ride.”

  “And here we are on another world.” Trace stretched his arm toward the craggy, scabrous land. “Planet 1186-9 HH30. It rains most of the time.”

  “This is what you wanted to show me?”

  Trace held back a grin. “Are you up for a walk?”

  “A question for a question.” Aldus shook his head. “You get more like your mother every day.”

  They followed the rough terrain. Trace hummed. He found that he always hummed when he came to this world. It was the most beautiful planet he’d ever seen. Constant rain had sculpted the blade-sharp rock into steppes and gorges. Everything was gray—the sky, the ground—but with a palette full of shades.

  Of course, the landscape could use a touch of color. He smiled. “Impani found this world. There are merfolk in the lakes, but I don’t think they’ll mind us being up here. With all the precipitation, I figured this would be the perfect spot for your feed-the-universe project.”

  “It takes more than rain.” Aldus scuffed his boots as he walked. “There isn’t any soil.”

  “You can grow things without soil.”

  “Hydroponics? You can do that anywhere. Look, what’s this all about? What is it you want to show me?”

  “My science project. You remember. When I was thirteen years old.”

  “Ah, yes.” Aldus chuckled. “The infamous electrical stimulation theory.”

  “I was a laughingstock. And you were mortified.”

  “You have to admit, it was farfetched.”

  Trace grinned. “Watch your step.”

  “Ugh. Moss. I’ve seen enough of that to last me. It even looks like the same stuff.”

  “It is. I brought a sample from the planet. I think it likes its new home.”

  Aldus stared at him. “You brought a sentient life form—”

  “I had to have special permission. But with the food crisis, that wasn’t too hard. Besides, Anselmi assures me the moss itself isn’t sentient. It’s a growing medium, chock full of nutrients.”

  “Edible?”

  Trace nodded. “Tastes a bit like spinach.”

  His father’s eyes lit. “You got all this from a single sample?”

  “It grows as fast as ever. Before you kn
ow it, you’ll be feeding the hungry.”

  Aldus whooped and caught Trace in a swift hug. Then he knelt beside the patch of moss, his voice choked. “And to think I was throwing it away by the wheelbarrow full.”

  “That’s only part of it, Dad. Look up there on that ledge.”

  Aldus stood slowly. “Is that…? Oh, Trace.”

  Trace laughed, watching him, seeing it all again through his father’s eyes. He took his arm. “Let’s climb.”

  Aldus gave a shaky nod, his face slack.

  Together they ascended the steep path. Trace felt euphoric. He’d spent the past month in anticipation of his father’s reaction. He looked up. Light rain pelted his mask. The misty drizzle shrouded the plant growing on the ledge, but as they neared it, features came into view—broad flat leaves, red seed pods.

  “Susan’s Gift,” Aldus murmured. “How can this be?”

  “Keep climbing, Dad. To the top of the ridge.”

  “This is a fully mature plant.” He looked at Trace. “How did you do it?”

  “The trick was integrating the sludge so the roots could protect themselves.”

  “Moss,” Aldus whispered. “It’s growing in moss.”

  “Come on. We’ll talk at the top.” Trace edged along the narrowing path, arms spread wide, hugging the rock. At last, he heaved himself onto the ridge. He pulled his father up.

  Aldus gasped.

  A valley of multi-tiered stone opened before them. Moss hung in thick clumps, cascading from ledges, enveloping the walls. Among the green patches rose the dark leaves of Susan’s Gift, thousands of plants, as far as the eye could see.

  Trace stood tall, warmed by pride and satisfaction. Here was his mother’s legacy. No one ever need die of Maramus again.

  His father wept unrestrainedly. He put his arm about Trace’s shoulders.

  They stood together, gazing out at the field of Susan’s Gift.

  Read These Other Books

  by Roxanne Smolen

  The Amazing Wolf Boy

  A bumbling nerd becomes a werewolf.

  The Amazing Wolf Boy

  Werewolf Asylum

  Wolfsbane Brew

  Werewolf Apocalypse

  Dark Angel

  A woman breaks into hell to save her daughter.

  Satan’s Mirror

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Alien Jungle, Colonial Scouts Book 2. It’s kind of cliché to say I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it—but I really did have fun writing it.

  If you enjoyed Alien Jungle too, please don’t let it fall to obscurity. Leave a review, no matter how brief, at Amazon, Goodreads, or even on your blog.

  You have the power. I hope you will wield it. And I hope you will look for other books in the Colonial Scouts series.

  Sincerely,

  Roxanne

  www.roxannesmolen.com

  Excerpt from Colonial Scouts 3

  Alien Seas

  PLANET 3459-3 SR7

  Clear magenta skies. Bright white sun. Palm trees rustling in a breeze. A tropical paradise, thought Natica Galos. At least, it would be if not for the ground-rending quakes and rivers of molten rock.

  She motioned at the steaming fissure that cut across her path. “Looks like another dead end.”

  Her partner, Davrileo Mas, consulted his sonic resonator. “We’ll have to split up. See if the fault narrows. If it does, we can use our jet packs to get to the other side.”

  “Great. I’ve always wanted to fly over flowing lava with a combustible device upon my back.”

  He looked at her. His facemask reflected the orange-tinged steam rising from the rift, hiding his ever-present scowl. As he often said, he didn’t much care for her brand of sarcasm, and she didn’t care that he didn’t care. But he was team leader of this excursion, so she turned and followed the fissure’s edge.

  “Keep your com open,” Davrileo called after her.

  She waved to show she understood. She didn’t like Davrileo Mas, and the prospect of spending a three-day mission with him frayed her nerves.

  They’d arrived on the planet the previous night, traveling via an Impellic ring, a programmable wormhole. Interstellar probes reported a wealth of minerals on this world. As Colonial Scouts, Natica and Davrileo were dispatched to determine whether colonists could survive the planet’s violent upheavals.

  Already Natica had endured showers of acid rain and blizzards of volcanic ash. She marveled that such an environment could spawn a rain forest—but no one need convince her of a planet’s will to live. A previous assignment took her to a fungus world that rose against her team in the form of indestructible mold monsters. The memory still brought a shudder.

  With a grimace, she forced the image away. Think happy thoughts. Fungus World is behind you. Time to move on.

  Bushes with large purple flowers leaned over the bank. Their wilted petals and blackened leaves confirmed her guess that the fissure was a recent addition to the landscape. As she jogged past, clouds of yellow butterflies rose then resettled among the branches. Natica walked backward to watch them.

  Within her mask, she heard erratic panting; Davrileo was breathing into the open com. Perhaps his path took an uphill turn. She smiled and pictured a tortuous track up a sheer cliff with obstacles blocking his way.

  A sudden low-pitched rumble shook the forest. A quake hurled her to her knees. Trees toppled. The land lurched. Behind her, the purple bushes she’d passed slid over the crumbling bank.

  With a yelp, she scrambled to her feet. She’d go over next if she didn’t move. But the ground heaved, and her boots skidded. She sprawled back, her head hitting with a thud.

  A tree fell into the rift, and lava splashed like a tsunami. A creature rose from the molten rock. It stood over five meters tall. Sheeting lava exposed a body of soot and stone. Rocks bulged from its torso like muscles. Flames sprang from its head like hair. Natica gasped, and it turned.

  At first, its face was a mere lump of rock. Then features emerged.

  It was the face of the man she’d helped climb a barrier of logs—an injured man who slipped from her grasp and slid into a burning pit.

  The man on Fungus World.

  “But you can’t be.” Panic edged up her throat. “You’re dead. I saw you die.”

  The creature waded toward her as if it were fording a stream. The quake ended—yet the ground continued to tremble with its steps.

  Natica skittered back. She had to get to her feet. She had to run. But she could only stare at the burning face.

  The magma creature stepped onto the bank. Flaming footprints dotted the grass. It lumbered forward.

  Her mind reeled. He was coming for her. He wanted retribution. It was her fault he died. She killed him. She let him go.

  Hands fell upon her, and she fought them, batting them away before realizing Davrileo Mas knelt beside her. His voice echoed through the com. She couldn’t understand his words.

  The magma creature advanced, looming over them. Davrileo aimed his stat-gun. The beam struck the thing mid-chest. It paused, dripping fire. He shot again.

  It exploded. Chunks of rock flew through the air. The creature’s face landed before Natica. Its mouth gaped. Fire consumed its eyes.

  Natica screamed. She screamed as if the sound were tearing her inside out, as if it could purge the horror within. Vaguely, she was aware of a wrenching sensation, of moving very fast, and then falling forward onto the Chamber floor.

  Someone yelled, “Get her mask off.”

  She felt her body turn, felt her facemask pop. Cold air bit her fear-drenched skin.

  “Natica! Stop screaming!”

  But her mind still held the burning face before her. She couldn’t let go.

  “Get her to the infirmary.”

  * * *

  Impani stared at Natica across the cafeteria table. “You’re overworked?”

  Natica sighed. “That’s what the doctor called it. Stress and fatigue due to th
e job.”

  Impani sipped a hot cup of chai, watching her friend. Natica looked awful—dark circles, trembling hands. “But that was your first assignment in over a week. How can you be overworked?”

  “I don’t know. I think I’m losing my mind.” She rubbed her eyes then lowered her voice. “I swear that lava monster had a face.”

  “Davrileo says it was made of silicon not lava.”

  “Whatever.”

  “He’s telling everyone it was no threat and that the reason he had to ring back early was you.”

  “It’s the injured man I let die on Fungus World. He’s in all my dreams. I can’t sleep anymore. I think I see him everywhere. Glimpses from the corner of my eye.”

  “Stop it.” Impani leaned forward. “This isn’t you. You’ve always been the stable one.”

  “But I—”

  “It’s been ages since we left the fungus planet. You can’t keep blaming yourself for something you didn’t mean to happen. If you keep this up, it could jeopardize your job.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You never watched anyone die because of you.”

  Impani swallowed her answer. Once, she watched a hundred people die in an abandoned shopping mall. Members of a street gang she infiltrated. She led authorities to them not realizing they planned to wipe out everyone with flamethrowers. How long did it take her to accept that mistake?

  “I have to go.” Natica gathered her uneaten breakfast onto a tray. “I’m meeting Anselmi. We ring out in an hour.”

  “Another mission? What about being overworked?”

  “I insisted. Have to prove myself. You know.”

  Impani nodded. “At least this time you’ll be with a friend. Anselmi will watch out for you.”

  Natica offered a fleeting smile, picked up the tray, and left.

  Impani slouched in her chair. Her thoughts returned to the shopping mall massacre, dragging up images so real she felt she were living it all again. She saw people running, shadows in smoke, and the pounding flash of gunfire. She heard screams, children crying. Smelled the horrible reek of fuel.