by Annie Bellet
Captain cleared his throat, feeling he should say something. “We’re not where we planned, so let’s sync our nav bands and form up.”
“We’re in a fucking stinking swamp without weapons,” Screech said.
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Rhino gave him a shove, the wet ground shifting alarmingly beneath their feet.
“It’s a simple mission to just get from point A to point B,” Capitan said. “This moon is uninhabited.”
Which in HQ speak meant that it was likely full of hostile alien life which wanted to kill them.
“Who’d you fuck this time to get us dumped here, Captain?” Beauty snorted and then looked as though he regretted breathing through his nose.
“Har, har,” Captain muttered. “Form up, scrubs. Let’s get out of this swamp.”
The tarry sludge was worse up close. Captain, Silent, and Beauty all sank in to just above the knees, which meant for Rhino and Screech, the pungent muck covered them nearly to the waist. The slick-suits were built to disperse plaz fire and nominally protect the wearer from environmental things like water, thorny plants, that sort of thing. If the seals were working. Capitan took point, dragging his feet forward one careful step at a time, hoping the warm squish in his boots was just his imagination and not tar leaking through shoddy seams.
“At least it’s sunny,” Rhino said behind him.
It was sunny, the twin stars forming a large whitish blob in the pale blue sky and beating down on them with unrelenting heat that made rivulets of tickling sweat trail down the back of his neck. They had until planet-rise to get to the way point or the training mission would be called a failure. Commander Tilly hadn’t been able to throw them completely off-course, that would have looked too obvious. They were about four klicks south and west of the high steppe they should have started on, but the nav band said the straightest way to the pick-up led through this swampy low-land. Clearly the nav band had no sense of smell.
“I think there’s something fucking crawling in my fucking suit,” Screech said, moving up close behind Captain.
Captain waved at the dark shapes of trees not half a klick ahead. “We’re almost to better ground. It’s probably your imagination anyway. These suits are sealed, soldier.”
“About as sealed as Beauty’s ass,” Rhino added.
“Don’t make me trip you, peasant.”
“Don’t make me. . .”
“Both of you, cut it out.” Captain turned and gave them his best drill sergeant glare, wishing he’d taken that job when it was offered. Natural leadership his ass. They always dumped the one who couldn’t play well with others into his command. At least none of them had killed each other. Yet.
“Aaiiieee, fuuuuuuuuck,” Screech started dancing around in the universal sign of serious distress. “Not my fucking imagination. There’s shit on my fucking balls!”
Captain’s own crotch started to itch and he shoved the feeling down. “Make stable ground, then we’ll see.”
Abandoning caution, Screech charged for the tree-line. Apparently the swamp’s depth didn’t change much, since he sank no deeper than his chest in any part as he half-swam forward. Cursing inwardly, Captain followed in his wake, trying to breath through his mouth, which just left the aftertaste of ammonia cutting into his throat.
The trees were waxy-leaved overgrown ferns that dripped a substance too warm and viscous to be dihydrogen oxide. The ground was a similar graying dead plant sponge as the hammock they’d landed on, but it was a lot better than the tar.
Screech hadn’t been imagining anything. A seam on his slicksuit had split, a two inch gap forming just above the crotch. He peeled open the seal over the zipper and yanked his suit wide open.
His pale inner thighs and his junk were covered in a dozen wriggling leeches. They were all about a finger’s length with a tape-worm’s flatness and translucent skin revealing a tracery of pink veins.
“They’re fucking killing my future! Don’t just gawk, do something.” Screech tried to yank one off and screamed his helium scream as the leech clung and stretched but didn’t come free.
“Fuck, don’t pull on them,” Rhino said, running her hands over her own suit, checking the seals.
Captain did the same before he caught himself and went for one of the bulging supply pockets on his thigh.
“We need fire,” Beauty said, checking his own suit.
“On it,” Captain said, pulling out a lighter.
“I’m not touching your dick,” Rhino muttered.
“It’s just leeches, relax,” Beauty said, pulling out his own lighter and bending down.
“You fucking relax when fucking worms are fucking treating your family jewels like a fucking juice bar.”
“Hold still, scrub,” Captain said.
The leeches, or whatever they were, fortunately behaved like the leeches he was familiar with. With only minor dancing around and a couple of surface burns that left the air tasting of burning hair, the leeches responded to the applied heat by dropping off their food source. They hit the sponge and wriggled until they’d burrowed into the ground.
“See? You’re fine.” Captain tried to slap Screech on the shoulder in a reassuring way and half knocked him off his feet.
“Not taking a nap on this fucking ground anytime soon,” Screech muttered.
“But the trees are quite lovely,” Rhino said with a grin.
“Everyone else clear?” Captain’s question set off another round of everyone awkwardly checking the seals on their slicksuits. When they were all sure no one had more unwanted passengers, Captain told Silent to make a note of the leeches for the recon record and they moved out again.
The going in the fern forest was slow, wet fronds slapping their faces, and the constant click and hum of unseen insect or bird life giving Captain a heavy case of the jumpies. He kept reaching for the side-arm that wasn’t there and noticed Beauty and Screech doing the same.
Captain muted out the whining and grumbling of his squad after a while, abandoning the idea of shutting them up. With the exception of Silent, who rarely strung more than two words together, these scrubs were known for their inability to hold their tongues. Which made it almost ironically funny that they were also known for shooting first and asking questions later. Captain was a big boy, he’d pull up his proverbial pants and take this punishment like a man. Maybe he’d even learn a lesson about keeping the pants on, but his mind drifted to a certain Sergeant’s mocha-skinned curves and way her voice deepened when he kissed the nape of her neck, and knew that he was doomed to repeat some mistakes.
Four klicks later, the ferns changed to taller deciduous trees with black leaves that did a better job of blocking the piercing sunlight if not the clinging heat. The tarry swamp muck still coated their legs, despite many surreptitious efforts by the squad to wipe it off on surrounding vegetation, so the cat piss smell marched with them.
“Anyone else smell cookies?” Rhino said as they pushed forward into the forest.
“Now that you mention it,” Captain said. He took the risk of breathing in deep through his nose and caught a hint of sugar and cinnamon.
“Smells like the snickerdoodles my gran used to bake for Alliance Day,” Beauty said.
It was in the mission parameters to investigate any anomalous things, provided they still made the extraction point in time. Captain shrugged and waved the squad forward, following them as they followed Rhino’s nose, since she had the best olfactory direction sense.
“St. Cordelia’s tits,” Beauty said as they pushed through the wet undergrowth and emerged into a bright clearning, “look it that.”
The source of the smell was a huge flower, or at least what Captain was relatively sure was a flower. Its four deep purple petals spanned a good six feet, the lower one stretching out along the ground like a lolling tongue. All along the edges of the petals were fuzzy protrusions that seemed to glow even in the bright sunlight. He was willing to bet a few credits that those fronds would bio-lumines
ce once planet-rise came and night fell.
“All right, that almost makes up for the leeches,” Rhino said.
“Speak for your fucking self,” Screech retorted, but even he had moved in closer to the giant orchid-like plant.
Captain felt a ghost of a thought prickle his brain. The flower looked like an orchid, or one of those Venus Flytrap-oh-shit. . . The thought solidified and he grabbed at Beauty, who was leaning way in, one gloved hand stretched out to touch one of the fuzzy fronds.
Too late. His glove skimmed Beauty’s arm as the purple flower lunged forward, sucking the big man into its sticky embrace. All four petals folded closed around the struggling bulge as Beauty’s surprised scream cut off in a sickly slurp.
Captain went for his gun, found only his multi-tool strapped to his slicksuit belt, and yanked it out. There was a serrated knife about two inches long on the tool. It was shit as a weapon, but what choice did he have?
He stabbed at the petals as he saw Rhino and Screech scrabbling with dried leaves, trying to start a fire next to the thrashing carnivorous plant. Silent jumped in beside him, his own multi-tool knife out.
Their blades sank into the petals over and over, doing what looked like superficial damage. Captain found himself beating on the plant with his empty fist as he ducked and wove, dancing back and forth to keep from being bludgeoned by the heavy flower. Thick clear mucous sprayed out, covering their suits with sugary fluid.
Rhino’s make-shift torch did the trick, or maybe it was a combination. As the petals crackled and turned black, burned sugar smoke rising, the flower burst open, disgorging Beauty almost on top of Silent.
“It burns!” Beauty moaned, struggling to his knees as he spit and tried to wipe at his face. His skin was bright red with tiny blisters forming even as Captain grabbed up handfuls of dirt, trying to neutralize whatever acid the plant had tried to digest his soldier with.
Silent yanked open a pocket and pulled out the packet of wound salts they all carried. Catching on, Captain did the same, yelling for Screech to grab his.
He tore open the packet with his teeth and dumped the salts onto Beauty’s face and head, trying to get anywhere the skin was exposed.
“You okay?” he asked as Beauty slowly stopped moaning and managed to open his bloodshot dark eyes.
“My hair,” Beauty said, patting gingerly at what was left of his wavy locks. What was left wasn’t much and looked a lot like melted wires.
“At least you smell like cookies instead of that fucking swamp shit,” Screech said.
Beauty made a face at him and struggled to his feet. He grabbed the torch from Rhino and shoved it into the twitching wreck of the orchid-thing that tried to eat him.
“I hate this planet,” he said.
“Moon,” Silent said. His rumbling bass always surprised Captain.
“You going to live, scrub?” Captain asked, trying to forestall the inevitable sniping and whining.
“Maybe,” Beauty muttered.
“At least any other alien beasties will smell you coming now,” Rhino said.
Beauty glared at her and spit again. “They could already smell you, princess. Pretty sure you just rub a skunk over your armpits instead of deodorant.”
“Porcupine, actually.” She grinned.
“Discuss beauty regimens later, ladies. Sooner we get to the extraction point, sooner we can get clean.” Captain futilely wiped his knife off on his filthy suit leg and then checked the nav band on his arm. “Twenty klicks left.”
“Twenty-one-point-eight,” said Silent.
Captain took point again and the squad moved off as the forest grew less dense, the waxy-leafed trees giving way to white-barked spread-limbed giant trees that had narrow, long blue-green leaves. He kept his multi-tool knife in hand, the small blade a fantasy reassurance against the unknown.
The trees thinned and then ended in a staggering line as the forest turned to dry, windy steppe. The air here was clear and clean, carrying only a dusty hint of scent and Captain found himself breathing deep, wishing for a seriously long shower. He intended to do his best to use up all the hot water on the home ship when they returned.
A quick break for water pills and to recheck the nav band, and they set off again. His squad had lost some of their banter, their voices now a murmur behind him as Rhino was recounting a story that involved a whiskey barrel, fifty hamsters, and General Cormack’s three tabby cats.
The steppe changed to rockier ground and Captain found himself moving forward more quickly. The mission overview had the extraction beacon on a big rocky outcropping, so this terrain meant they were nearly there. Though he still felt phantom tickles in his nether regions and was pretty sure snickerdoodles were ruined for him forever, the mission hadn’t gone too horribly. The steppe here was nice, quiet and pleasantly warm instead of stiflingly hot.
Quiet?
He stopped dead in his tracks and threw up his fist. His squad, fuck-ups though they were, saw the signal for stillness and stopped also, their jokes and gripes dying in mid-telling.
“What is it, Captain?” Beauty whispered, moving carefully up beside him.
“Hear that?” Captain said. He gripped his knife a little tighter and scanned the immediate area, seeing only waving white grasses and rust-colored rocks.
“I don’t hear nothing,” Rhino hissed.
“Exactly,” Captain said. “Spread out.” The soft click and whirr of unseen insects had quit, leaving an uncomfortable void filled only the faint shushing noise of wind in grass.
The ground beneath his boots vibrated. It was the only warning they got.
A worm-like body the size of an Admiral’s cabin shot out of the ground just ahead of Captain. It sprayed pebbles as it emerged from what had looked like firm ground, filling the air with stinging missiles and the thick smell of rotting fish.
“Fucking dire-maggot!” Screech yelled.
Captain wasn’t sure what dire meant, but maggot was a pretty good description. The creature had no eyes but was covered in gaping, tooth-lined mouths with long barbed tentacles trailing off a bulging, segmented body the color of dead flesh.
His tiny knife seemed entirely insufficient as the maggot-thing squirmed toward him with surprising speed.
“Get back, run!” he yelled, realizing he was supposed to be commanding or something. He had no time to see if they listened to him for once. Captain tried to take his own advice, but the maggot lashed out, razor-sharp tentacles smashing into his body with the precision and force of a bull whip.
He curled in over his belly, his arms coming up to protect his head. The tentacles wrapped around him and yanked him off his feet. Searing pain lanced through his back as the barbs penetrated the slicksuit. Captain stabbed at the putrid body with his knife as sweat and blood sheeted into his eyes.
The air filled with the hissing ozone of a fired plaz gun and the maggot screamed an ear-drum bursting whine. It dropped Captain and he rolled away from it on instinct, choking back his own cry of pain as the rocky ground dug into his wounded back. He forced himself to his knees and wiped his empty hand across his face, trying to restore some semblance of vision.
In front of him, the wounded maggot thrashed, spewing green blood as Screech and Beauty pelted it with rocks.
To one side of his periphery, he saw Silent holding the one-shot derringer version of the standard plaz gun, struggling to reload a new cartridge.
To the other side, movement dragged in his attention. With a curdling yell her name-sake would have flinched from, Rhino charged the maggot. She had one of her long stiletto knives brandished like a spear and braced with both hands. Her compact body flew into the air and with the accuracy of a lazer she sank the blade down to her gloves in one of the gushing wounds the plaz gun had made.
Another migraine-causing scream and then the maggot exploded.
The concussive wave flattened Captain and then the ground gave out beneath his legs even as chunks of putrid grey flesh smacked into his chest and h
ead. He scrabbled for a hold with his gloves, dropping the multi-tool. His left hand caught a thick bundle of roots but his feet slid on the glass-slick sides of the tunnel he’d dropped into, finding no purchase.
“Hang on, Captain!” Screech’s voice had never sounded so good to Captain.
“Lieutentant!?” Beauty called out.
Lieutentant? For a moment Captain couldn’t figure out who he was yelling for. Elites never used titles. If you had enough stars on your dress cap you might get a grudging “sir” but only if they didn’t respect you.
“He’s in one those dire-maggot’s tunnels. Hold my fucking legs,” Screech yelled. His filthy, tar-smeared face appeared in the halo of light above Captain’s head.
Captain pulled himself up as much as he dared with his aching left arm, his right hand releasing the root ball and reaching for Screech’s. Screech caught his wrist, his fingers closing with alloy-tight strength. He clenched his jaw on a very un-manly moan as they dragged his battered and bleeding body upward to stable ground. For a long moment after Screech and Beauty pulled him free, he lay on his face in the dry grass, swearing off women forever.
His brain caught up to the situation after a few shaking breaths and he crawled to his knees.
“Sound off, scrubs,” he called out, his voice sounding almost normal despite his raw throat.
“Beauty unwounded.”
“Screech unwounded.”
“Rhino not breathing,”
That last was Silent’s deep voice, from somewhere beyond what was left of the maggot’s body.
“Fucktoast,” said Screech, summing that up for them all.
Captain lurched to his feet, moving toward the voice, and found Silent kneeling over Rhino’s still body, administering CPR.
Even as he reached them, Rhino twitched, convulsed, and then half sat up, coughing out gritty spittle.
“Anybody seen my knife?” she gasped before passing out again. Her chest stayed moving, her breathing labored but not too terrible sounding.