by Larry Niven
Zack grunted. “I’m not going to be stupid about it.”
Skeeter Two rounded the bend ahead. Cadmann had just made the turn when Stu’s voice came through the radio. “I’ve spotted wreckage downstream, but no sign of—holy shit! Nine o’clock.”
Cadmann’s eyes flashed to the left, and for a moment all he saw was the sheer rock face of the gorge. Then he focused, and he saw the creature, perched like a house cat on a bookshelf, only a dozen meters above a stranded Carlos.
“Straight in. Surprise. Shoot when you have a target,” Cadmann ordered. It’s not moving. Just sitting there. A little closer—“Zack, make the first shots count. Maybe it will forget about Carlos and head for the river. Stu!” He shouted into the radio. “You check the river! Look for other monsters.”
“Look for Elliot and La Donna and Bobbi, too,” Zack said.
Cadmann spun the Skeeter to hover twenty meters from the canyon wall. “Now!” he shouted.
Zack shouldered his rifle and squeezed off a burst. Spent shells whirred out of the rifle breech in a glittering arc.
The monster twisted, turned toward the Skeeter, then swiveled wildly, searching the river and the cliff above, finally looking back at the Skeeter.
Cadmann touched a button and spoke into the tiny microphone attached to his helmet. “Carlos! Hang in there, amigo.” His amplified voice echoed through the canyon.
Carlos was trapped, frozen except for one foot which slipped as he fought for a toehold. His hands and arms were stretched painfully taut. His head twisted back to look at them, then he pressed his cheek back into the cliff face again.
“What is it doing up there?” Zack demanded.
It was paying more attention to its sides than to Skeeter One. It licked at the bullet holes.
Zack fired again, a long burst. The creature recoiled against the rock. Its gaze rested on them for an instant, then its head twitched to the left and the right with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings.
Then with no warning at all it dove off the cliff, ran down the side faster than a rock could fall, hit the ground and sped for the river. Cadmann couldn’t pivot the Skeeter fast enough to see it dive between the rocks.
Skeeter Two was just whizzing back across the river when the creature disappeared with a splash.
Cadmann spoke through the amplifier. “Okay, amigo, you can come down now.” He switched to radio. “Stu. Did you—?”
“I’ve got it, Cad. Not a clear view: there’s too much disturbance in the water. But it looks like there’s a cave mouth down there. I’d say we’ve got it penned.”
Gotcha! Cadmann crowed silently. “Hover. If it shows up, blow it away.”
“Roger—but Cad—we have the remains of both rafts. And Elliot’s dead. We can’t find La Donna or Bobbi.”
The news hit home savagely, dulling the flash of pleasure.
“Stay over the cave. We’ll look for the ladies.”
“What about Carlos?”
“He’s moving,” Cadmann said. “When he gets to the ledge we’ll see if he needs help. Nothing I can do from here right now.” He turned back to Zack. “I could set you down where you can wait for Carlos . . . ”
“No.” Zack squeezed out each word. “This isn’t going to get any easier if we wait.”
Cadmann pulled back on the stick, and the Skeeter peeled away from the wall and headed downriver, looking for what they really didn’t want to find.
Cadmann stood, rifle butt braced against his thigh, watching the water boiling over the rocks. Somewhere beneath the foam was the monster who had killed Elliot and La Donna, and wounded Bobbi. “You’re going to die down there,” he whispered.
There was a sudden sound behind him, and Cadmann wheeled instinctively, rifle coming to bear without conscious thought.
Carlos gave a weak smile, shaking a cigarette out of a plastic pack. “Smoke?”
“No, thanks.”
Several different emotions warred on Carlos’s face, and he finally lowered the package. “Absurd, isn’t it? I mean, to want to give you something. A cigarette . . . a handshake?”
Cadmann extended his hand.
“Thanks, Cadmann. I never understood what you went through until now.” His dark face was relaxed, his voice very quiet.
“You’ve forgotten your accent.”
Carlos gave a short bark of laughter. “Yeah. Wait around. Bullshit has a way of piling back up.” He exhaled a long stream of smoke. His hands were shaking badly. “Bobbi will be all right. Won’t she? She won’t wake up. Why am I asking you?” His eyes lost focus, were gazing into the wall of rock on the far side of the gorge. Too well, Cadmann knew what they were seeing.
Skeeter Two was still hovering over the Miskatonic. “If there isn’t another exit from the cave, then we’ve got the damn thing pinned, is that it?”
“That’s it.” Skeeter Six was humming in, loaded cargo hoist swinging pendulously. Cadmann looked at Carlos critically. “Are you fit?”
Carlos ground out the half-smoked cigarette. “I’m shaking. I’ll be over it. And the best way is to kill that thing. What are your ideas?”
“You’ll see.”
The cargo hoist beneath the Skeeter was full, and the pilot lowered it. When it was down and released, the Skeeter touched down and Jerry dismounted, a rifle over his shoulder, a bulky square equipment case in his left hand. Skeeter Six took Two’s place over the river.
Jerry clapped Carlos on the back, shook hands with Cadmann. “Camp is in an uproar, not a panic. We’re moving.”
They headed back to the temporary shelter, where Stu and Andy were unpacking equipment. Zack had flown Bobbi back to camp first.
There was very little said, and not much show of nerves. Just swift, purposeful action. With a grinding hum, another Skeeter bore in men and equipment.
Cadmann grunted satisfaction to himself. The Colony’s response was swift and sensible. Maybe it took tragedy to bring out the survivor in them.
They walked over to join the man and woman dismounting from the newest Skeeter. Cadmann nodded in greeting. “We’ve got to move quickly. It’s badly wounded now—”
“We may be able to capture it,” Jerry interjected. “We need to capture it alive if at all possible, Cadmann.”
“All right, Jerry, but don’t expect me to take any chances with it. I’m laying the tightest trap I can. If everything goes perfectly, we may be able to take it alive. If one little thing fucks up, we kill it.”
“And if more than a little thing goes wrong . . . ” Carlos said grimly.
Together they walked to the edge of the rocks overlooking the swirling depths of the Miskatonic. They could see little. Cadmann touched his headphone. “Any sign of activity?”
“None yet. Flash on the tiniest movement.”
“That’s the way we want it.”
The river bottom was dark, and cold, and somewhere down there was what Cadmann wanted. “You’re mine,” he whispered.
“What was that, amigo?”
“Amigo.” Cadmann looked at him in disgust. “I said I knew it was too good to last.”
♦ChaptEr 18♦
descent into hell
One of the greatest blessings of virtue is the contempt of death.
He who has learned how to die has unlearned how to serve.
To be ready to die frees us from all bondage and thralldom.
—Montaigne, Essays
Cadmann wiped at his faceplate twice before he realized that the stain was on the inside. He waved to one of the waiting spearmen, got a nod and surfaced. Fresh air tasted good. He removed the faceplate and spat into it, rubbed out the fog and rinsed it. Better.
The Miskatonic churned around him. Even with weight belt and tether line, the current threw his balance off, increased irritability, drained his strength. The wet suit slowed his every motion. And well worth it! Many a man had survived a shark attack because of his wet suit. A wet suit didn’t taste like blood; and if something tore into him anyway, it co
uld hold him together like a body bandage until a doctor could reach him.
But he felt slow. He dared not hurry. Methodically, he prepared himself for war, knowing that the enemy would interrupt him when it chose.
Anchoring the net had been nightmarish: two men hammering and screwing meter-long barbed steel stakes into the mud and rock around the cave, a third man hovering back, underwater lamp and spear gun at the ready. The net itself was stronger than steel cable and as thin as spider silk, a synthetic organic polymer that was predicted to last for hundreds of years of ordinary use. No lesser durability would have been approved for shipment aboard Geographic.
Ordinary use. Cadmann smiled thinly into his faceplate. This evening’s exercise would hardly be considered that.
He reached back over his shoulder to adjust the re-breather apparatus. Very light, very compact, intended for underwater repairs on a docked Minerva. It was certified for an hour of swimming, half that of “vigorous activity.” It’ll do. Half an hour fighting that thing and one or the other of us won’t need oxygen any more. Okay, down we go—
“Cadmann, this is Sylvia.”
“Go.” It was impossible to speak distinctly into the throat microphone.
“I’ve analyzed the photos. Cadmann, that thing has to be amphibious. It may spend more time underwater than on land.”
“Uh-huh.” I already thought of that one. And they’re hard enough to kill on land . . . “Thanks. More?”
“No—except, be careful.”
“Uh-huh.” He stretched and dove down to join the others at their work at the net. He felt the reassuring pressure of Zack’s “monster killer” spear gun against his thigh.
Moskowitz had promised them a stopper. Joe Sikes’s machine shop had delivered it. The device looked like a pistol with a webbed black plastic grip. Immediately in front of the handpiece was an ammunition clip that looked as if it were constructed for shotgun shells. This was almost true: special cartridges drove carbon-steel-tipped spears carrying enough high explosive to blow the engine out of a Skeeter.
This should stop them, and the net should hold them. Hah. The net had better stop them. This island is starting to look infested with the bastards.
He swam to the cave mouth and waved to the spear gunners watching the work. One waved back and went to join Carlos on the other side of the cave.
Carlos had opened his wet suit down the front. One of the spear guns was strapped to his leg. He worked methodically, carefully, but he never stopped. He’d done that all day, driving Cadmann on with his example, working through exhaustion, through fear . . . as if the devil was on his tail.
Welcome to hell, Carlos.
A silver trail of bubbles bobbled from the side of Carlos’s mouth, and he gave Cadmann a “thumbs up.” Cadmann wiggled the meter-long barbed-steel pinions holding down his corners of the net. No give to them at all. If the rock held, the net would.
A catfish and a samlon swam by almost in tandem, the samlon close behind, chasing playfully. Cadmann allowed himself a twinge of hunger. The fish were getting big and fat, especially the samlon. If he’d had time, he would have snatched that one from the water.
They began to ascend. Cadmann’s aching muscles sighed relief.
Their heads broke the surface. Both scrambled out in almost comic haste, sucking air. The sun had dipped below the west wall and there were only a few minutes of light left.
Armed men and women surrounded the temporary camp. Packing and crating from boxes of hastily shipped equipment were piled randomly into a central area; no one had taken the time to collect or remove them, but they were out of the way, no shelter for monsters to hide behind. Two machine guns occupied the top of an empty crate.
A faint burning smell hung in the air. The low steady vibration of a flare drill tickled Cadmann’s feet. An electric generator hummed near the shelter. A series of cables linked it to batteries of portable lights set up on every side, giving the entire area a bright greenish-yellow glow.
Cadmann and Carlos stripped off their mouthpieces and gloves. Cadmann opened the zipper on his wet suit.
Skeeters glided across the river. Their searchlights danced yellow ovals on the rushing water. Guards carrying explosive and incendiary rounds patrolled in tight shifts while the technicians erected their tents and tested their equipment. The canyon thrummed with the sound of a Skeeter bringing in a second generator.
Carlos pointed to the machine guns and patrols. “They take you seriously, amigo.”
Sure. Now. “Good.”
A tent flap raised, and Jerry waved a thin arm at them. “Over here.”
“Join you in dos minutos, Cad. Want to get a gel on my face cut.”
Cad nodded, then crossed to the tent. He had to duck going in. A small gas heater burned in the corner, and the air was toasty. “What do we have, Jer?”
“Everything you wanted,” Jerry answered. He held up a plastic pouch. Its contents seemed darkly purple in the artificial light. “This should do it.”
“Great. How are the other preparations going? Andy?”
The big engineer spread out a sheet of color-coded graph sheeting on the table. “Deep radar shows a network of caves going back into the mountains for at least a kilometer. It would be death to go in there and take it on its own terms.”
“There’s no way in hell to kill it and be sure it’s dead unless we go in. You know that.”
“Swell. Shit, man. I don’t like it at all.”
“Have to burn the egg sac,” Cadmann said.
Jerry grinned. “I’ve read Red Planet, too.” His look became serious. “All right, I grant you that. There may be young. Or eggs. And right now it’s wounded. There isn’t a better time, but I still don’t like it.”
“No more do I, but you just do the best you can up here. Do it right, and we won’t have anything to do but collect a corpse.”
“Corpses, if it has young. All right. Come on.”
He led the way out and behind the tent where a tripod-mounted laser drill burned into the ground. The men working the drill were shielded and wore goggles against the glare and the fat sparks that popped and flew like flaming moths. Sizzling melted rock bubbled up out of the cavity, flowed a few inches, then turned sluggish and puddled.
Thirty meters away, a second drill was searing into the rock, and just beyond a rise Cadmann could see the sharp, flickering lights of yet another.
The laser shut down abruptly, and someone yelled, “We’re through!”
“Lay the pipe through.” Twelve meters of flexible metal piping was run through while the rock was still hot. The top end was fastened to a pump and a twenty-gallon drum.
“What have we got there?” Cadmann asked, curious now.
“Call it napalm, only nastier. Burns longer, hotter. Top layer will vaporize. When we touch it off there’ll be a shock wave that should kill anything down there. Its waste products are toxic, it will burn up any oxygen down there.”
“Just like Godzilla. Oxygen destroyer—”
Andy laughed. “Always wondered why they had that film aboard Geographic. This stuff isn’t magic, but it’s pretty nasty. Homemade, too.”
“So was ‘foo-foo gas’.”
“What the hell was that?”
“Gasoline and old-fashioned granular laundry detergent. Big factor in the 1995 Argentine revolution.”
“Viva la revolución.” Andy grinned.
“Stealing my lines, compadre?” Carlos joined them. His facial scar was sealed tight under a waterproof astringent salve.
“You’ll get your royalty payment.” Andy breathed deeply. “You guys ready?” Cadmann and Carlos nodded. “Then let’s do it.”
Carlos held the spear gun at the ready this time, while Cadmann worked the tip of his knife into the plastic unit of human blood Jerry had brought from the clinic.
The pouch was rubbery-firm for a moment, then, as its skin was pierced, it collapsed. Its contents spilled into the river upstream from the cave. The blood
streamed through the lamplight in dark tendrils, then was sucked into the cave and vanished.
If it worked, the thing would come streaking out of the cave and into the net. And Cadmann didn’t care if the effect was like pushing a pound of Cheddar through a cheese grater.
Carlos dimmed his light. Together they waited.
And waited, clinging to anchor spikes. Cadmann listened to the hiss of the river and the steady sigh of his own exhalations as he pushed them into the re-breather.
And waited.
Nothing.
After ten minutes, they surfaced. Cadmann spit out his mouthpiece as he climbed up, and swore savagely.
Zack helped Carlos past a slippery patch. “Let’s go to plan two.”
Andy was manning the pump, awaiting a hand signal from Zack before he sent the explosive liquid flowing into the ground.
“If it’s in there,” he said with obvious satisfaction, “this is going to make it very unhappy.”
Cadmann nodded and found a comfortable place to sit. He was suddenly aware of fatigue and cramped muscles. Somewhere someone was cooking, and the fragrance of lamb stew with fresh vegetables was suddenly overwhelming.
Carlos appeared, holding two heaping bowls.
“They should give medals for this, Martinez.”
“By the time the paperwork goes through, we’ll both be dead and gone.”
“Too true.”
The stew was thickened with leftover Year Day rice, and utterly delicious. Cadmann leaned back against a rock, listening to the useful bustle around him, warmed by the food and the nearness of his friend.
The clouds shrouded the stars. The twin moons must have already risen, but another two or three hours would pass before they were visible this low in the gorge.
All there was now was the steady gurgle of the water and the human sounds around them. For some reason that he couldn’t name, Cadmann felt a sudden, strong urge to see the stars, the moons.
Why?
Because you’re going down there tonight.
“What are you thinking about, Cadmann?”