Green World

by B. V. Larson

  How can I describe it? Things rose up. These things were big—really big. Each of them was a hulking mass of flesh that reminded me of a huge, mutant octopus. There were tentacles—lots of them—way more than the traditional eight. They started off thick at the neck area, right under that bulbous head, and I was under the impression that each of the tentacles split and subdivided, like the veins in a man’s leg. As they split off, they got thinner, until they formed a squirming mess where they finally submerged in the water.

  The monsters were all over the place. They were wading toward the beach from every angle, converging on the island. As they got closer, they kept getting taller and taller, rising up out of the water as a man might appear to do as he marched up the sloping seabed.

  My troops began to fire without orders. I couldn’t really blame them. The enemy was in range from the start, and there was no point in waiting around until they got in close.

  “Shoot for those bulbs along the mid-level,” Harris ordered. “I think they might be eyes.”

  It was as good a plan as any. The troops blazed way, but we soon realized the eye-bulbs—if that’s what they really were—had been protected. A thick film of solid water encircled them, protecting them the way a man’s goggles might protect him from a wind full of grit.

  “Forget the eyes,” I shouted. “Go for different points. Probe for something sensitive—I’ll mark some options.”

  Using my helmet, I marked one location on the monster at a time. The marks were virtual, and only the men in my unit could see them. The purpose was to focus our fire.

  First off, I tried one of the front tentacles, a big fat one near the top of the monster, which became taller and taller as it waded toward us.

  I watched with interest as thousands of rounds and bolts struck the region relentlessly. I was gratified to see the limb buck up, as if in pain, then it began to disintegrate. Soon, it was cut off and sloughed away into the ocean.

  “Well done, McGill,” Leeson said. “One tentacle down and about six hundred to go, huh?”

  “Get those 88s going. Heat up that thing’s hide,” I ordered. “I want two beams, working together, rolling across the monster’s midsection.”

  “It’s too far out. These guns aren’t good for much at a kilometer range.”

  “Just do it. We’re testing our guns. Maybe we’ll singe it and drive it away.”

  I could hear Leeson grumbling about wasted circuits and missed opportunities, but I didn’t care to listen. Less than thirty seconds later, he beamed the monster across the chest, and steam rose up from its wet skin. Zooming in, I could see the skin curling and bubbling.

  “Haha, we’re making seafood stew out there!” I shouted over tactical chat. It was always good to sound upbeat when commanding a scaredy-cat group. It kept them from running off or freezing up. “There’s no way that thing’s making it to our beach.”

  A few of the men chuckled, but they were still nervous.

  It was about then that things shifted in a welcome way. We heard a familiar crackling and hissing overhead.

  The sky above us brightened, as if comets were coming down from the heavens. They weren’t comets, however, they were star-fall bolts. These glimmering streaks of energy rose and fell in slow-motion. Rather than using explosive shells, our artillery consisted of plasma spheres that released brilliant flashes of energy when they struck home.

  The men cheered to see the first barrage.

  “It’s about damned time!” Leeson shouted. “Wait… those fools are aiming too high!”

  We all watched, and it was true. Instead of targeting the monsters directly, the star-falls struck the water-dome walls. Each of these impacts released brilliant flashes of light. We squinted and shielded our eyes, lowering protective shades inside our helmets.

  “They’re trying to break us out,” Harris said. “Maybe Turov is sending down more lifters with reinforcements.”

  I found this unlikely, but I didn’t want to dash anyone’s hope without a good reason. “I bet you’re right,” I lied loudly.

  Our hopes were short-lived, however. The monsters were now over halfway to the beach, and they were standing pretty tall by now—as in, around a hundred meters tall. All our efforts to burn and damage these beasts had resulted in a few injuries, but they didn’t look interested in stopping. If anything, they were wading forward even faster after we hurt them.

  “Uh…” Harris said, looking up and craning his neck. “McGill? Should we maybe pull back, just a bit?”

  “We’ll scatter at the last minute. Everyone, focus on the tips of the smallest tentacles. Maybe they’re more sensitive than the rest.”

  “Scatter? The things are only two hundred meters out!”

  “Man your weapon, Harris. More shooting and less talking.”

  I have to give them credit, my men stood their ground. They blazed away, even as the monster seemed to get impossibly large at the end. We’d known they were big from the start, but just how big hadn’t been clear. Their bodies were built something like a pyramid. I supposed that made sense when you thought about it. Anything that tall would take an insane amount of muscle at the bottom to support it.

  Finally, the second star-fall barrage came sailing in. This time, every second monster on the beach was targeted. Crackling balls of energy rose up then fell, slamming right into them.

  The effects were dramatic. Just off to our west was Manfred’s unit. The monster in front of them was blasted, catching five star-fall shots almost at once. Steam and dark blood exploded from the impact points, and huge chunks of cooking meat fell in a rain. The monster staggered, swaying from one side to the other. Then, it pitched forward.

  Manfred’s unit, who had been backing away as the monster loomed close, cheered wildly at first. They thought they’d seen their doom approach, and then watched it get blown apart.

  But very quickly their jubilation shifted into screams and croaks of dismay. The monster was falling—and it was falling toward them.

  So great was its mass, the wave of dying flesh slapped down on top of the men. They were buried and crushed under countless tons of flailing limbs.

  “Fall back!” I shouted. “Pull back by squads, maintain fire, and—”

  That was as far as I got with that little speech. Not only had my troops begun to flat-out run for it, but the monster itself had changed its mode of operation.

  Ever since the first moment we’d laid eyes on the thing in the clear light of day, it had moved at a significant, but relatively slow pace. It appeared to be walking up onto the beach—although it’s walking pace was about the speed which a normal man might consider to be a dead run.

  I could think of a dozen good reasons for this. After all, it was about the size of a small asteroid. Maybe that was as fast as it could go.

  But when our monster saw its nearest neighbor go down in a flopping heap, it decided to change its act. Firstly, it released an unearthly howl of fury. At least, that’s what it sounded like. If I hadn’t been wearing a helmet, I might have been deafened. As it was, I got an immediate case of mild tinnitus. My ears would probably ring for days, I could tell from experience.

  That howl... Damn, it was loud. What’s more, it sounded pissed.

  After making that single tremendous noise, the monster charged. It picked up its tentacles and came up the beach at us like a gray-green tidal wave of sushi.

  My unit broke entirely at that point. There was no semblance of an orderly withdrawal. We scattered, racing off in every direction at once. Seeing as I was the commander, I didn’t run straight uphill for high ground like most of them did. Instead, I moved west, toward Manfred’s unlucky group. If anyone caught my retreat on video, I hoped to claim I’d seen a few survivors that could use some help.

  Any such story would be a sheer fabrication, of course. I was spooked, and I don’t mind admitting it. There was no way in hell or high-water that we were going to bring this monster down with snap-rifles or bolts from our morph-gun
s. The mere idea would have been funny if I was in a laughing mood—which at the moment, I wasn’t.

  -49-

  In the end, it was my reluctance to embrace sheer cowardice that saved me. Taking an indirect route toward Manfred’s unit—or what was left of it—meant that most of the humans in the vicinity were going in another direction. They ran directly inland, away from the beach. The monster followed the majority—and it caught up with them, right-quick.

  After shambling straight over our 88s, along with whoever wasn’t fast enough to get away from what amounted to a tidal wave of stinking burnt flesh, it squatted in the midst of my fleeing troops.

  That’s when the smaller tentacles came out. They slid out of the other, bigger tentacles. It was like watching snakes vomit up smaller baby snakes. These smaller ones weren’t weak, however. They were each as thick as a big man’s leg and ten to twenty meters long. Squirming all over the place in a frenzy, they caught up with running humans and crushed them. A lucky few were lifted up to be consumed in a gulp.

  This welcome distraction—the wholesale devouring of my unit—kept the monster busy while I skedaddled the hell off that beach. When I got up to higher ground, I found the star-fall crews in a near panic as well.

  Jenny Mills was the centurion in charge. When I spotted her, I stood and admired her form. Even in the midst of a pitched battle, she was as pretty as these alien monsters were ugly.

  Right now, however, Jenny looked like she’d seen happier days. I couldn’t say that I blamed her. The artillery unit she was commanding had turned out to be the only thing that was effective against these monsters. That naturally meant that every unit commander on the island was either demanding or pleading with her to aim at their zone of the beach.

  “How’s tricks, Centurion?” I asked her.

  She glanced my way and shook her head. “I don’t have time for anything, McGill. Step aside, please.”

  “Of course, no problem.”

  Jenny quickly ordered her battery of star-falls to switch to a new target. She zeroed a monster that was roaming up from the south side.

  Looking around, I had to mark myself down as impressed. Of the forty-odd behemoths that had attacked the island, at least twenty were down. They were either vast heaps of death or flopping around injured. Several of those who’d been hit were dragging themselves toward the ocean again, retreating.

  “Some of them are getting away! They’re headed back into the water!”

  Jenny whirled, staring to where I was pointing. She bared her teeth but shook her head. “I can’t do anything about it. Taking down one of the monsters requires about ten direct hits with a star-fall, and we miss half the time. I have to keep nailing them, one at a time, or we’ll be overwhelmed.”

  I nodded, seeing her point. I shut up and let her do her work. She was, after all, doing it right.

  About half an hour later, the battle was over. We’d killed more than half of them and driven the rest away. There was some ragged cheering over this victory, but it was half-hearted at best. Most of our troops were dead.

  “The soldiers on the beaches were useless,” Jenny said. “They were helpless. It was hard to watch.”

  “Nonsense!” I told her. “They did their job: running interference for you and your star-falls. These monsters are tough, and they’re smart, but they don’t seem to be master strategists.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, what would you have done if you were their commander? I would have ordered every one of them to charge toward the center of the island. They should have rushed your position and taken out this artillery emplacement at all costs. If they’d managed that, they could have won.”

  She thought about that, and she nodded. “So, you’re saying the troops were important? To distract the enemy away from us?”

  “That’s right. They weren’t cannon-fodder, they were just plain fodder. They got eaten on the front lines so you could keep your barrages coming uninterrupted.”

  Jenny had to agree with me, but she turned down all my offers of companionship and a friendly drink to victory. She was too tired and shaken for any kind celebrating.

  Shrugging, I headed down toward the main camps where the troops were slowly being revived one at a time. I wondered if some of them would rather have stayed dead until this choice assignment was only a distant memory.

  Soon I found Graves—or rather, he found me.

  “Survived the beaches, did you?” he asked.

  “That’s right, Primus. Jenny took down the monster that was eating my unit. She did it just in time, too.”

  Graves squinted at me. I was, of course, editing the facts to my liking. He clearly didn’t entirely believe me, but he was too tired and beaten to check up on my story, so he let it go.

  “All right,” he said, sighing heavily. “Not since Barnard’s Star has any legion faced megafauna so large and vicious. Do you remember that campaign, McGill?”

  “Uh… no sir. I think that one was before my time.”

  “Right… right. Anyway, the kraken aren’t what concerns me the most now. I’m worried about that dome. It’s not going away.”

  “Uh… did you say, kraken, sir? What’s a kraken?”

  He pointed at the nearest steaming lump of meat. That big-boy was stretched out in the landing area for the lifters. It was a good thing that our lifters were back up in orbit with Dominus. If they’d been grounded here under the dome—well, they’d probably have been destroyed.

  “A kraken is one of those things. A sea monster, described more or less as a giant tentacled beast from the depths. They were considered mythical, of course—until today.”

  “Huh… that’s interesting. Any analysis as to what these things are?”

  “I just told you, McGill. Weren’t you listening?”

  “I sure was. You said they were kraken. But what are they genetically? What are these monsters related to?”

  He blinked at me for a few seconds. “Are you suggesting these things are something the Clavers cooked-up? Do you happen to have inside information as to their origins?”

  “Hell no. I just thought maybe we should do some xeno-analysis, that’s all.”

  He viewed me suspiciously. “We’ve been doing that, of course. Seeing as your unit is pretty much wiped out, why don’t you stop pestering me and go find Natasha. She’s working on the team to do the genetic isolation.”

  “Figures. Thanks, Primus.”

  I tossed him a lazy salute and wandered the island. I found a tent full of nerds and walked inside. People tossed me alarmed stares, but no one challenged me. Sometimes it was nice to be a mean-looking officer. People gave you a lot less grief.

  “James?” Natasha asked when I got her attention away from a microscope. “What are you doing here?”

  “Primus Graves ordered me to come down and supervise the genetic tracing efforts.”

  She snorted. She didn’t believe me, but she was willing to go along with my boast and show me what they’d found out so far.

  “We’re only sure of one thing,” she said after several minutes of nerd-talk about nucleotides and nematodes—or something like that. “These monsters are related to Cephalopods.”

  “You mean our very own space-squids?”

  “That’s right. The DNA is conclusive. It’s not just due to general co-evolution, either. The match is too close for that.”

  “So they didn’t simply grow here natural-like? They were brought here? What? Did they invade this world on behalf of the old Cephalopod Kingdom?”

  “Maybe. Either that, or this is the real homeworld of the Cephalopods in the first place. We never did learn all there was to know about that species. Their homeworld was so badly damaged during the war… well, you’ve heard about the antimatter bombs and all, I’m sure. It’s a shameful stain that will hang over Earth forever.”

  “Uh… it will?”

  “Of course, James. Billions of their civilians died. It was awful.”

&nb
sp; “Yeah… right.”

  My memories of that war were quite different than Natasha’s. I’d delivered an A-bomb to the squid homeworld personally, and I’d been proud to do it. In a single stroke, Earth had won the war and put on the best fireworks show I’d ever witnessed at the same time. In fact, I still considered that bombing to be one of my proudest achievements.

  Some of the details were still classified, however, and I didn’t want to give anything away about my involvement. I sensed Natasha might take it the wrong way.

  “Let’s get back to this DNA link. What’s your best theory?”

  She shrugged. “There are only three possibilities, really. Either these monsters were bred by the Cephalopods long ago, or they’re ancestors of some kind. A more primitive cousin, like Cro-Magnons or Neanderthals are to us. Either that… or…”

  “What?”

  Natasha shrugged. “I think the third possibility is the correct one. These are Cephalopods—Cephalopod males. We found their queens, remember?”

  “Oh sure, they were big and nasty as hell.”

  “Right, but we never found the seeding males.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about, girl? Every squid I’ve ever killed was a male—I think.”

  She shook her head. “They weren’t the mating type, James. They were male the way worker ants are all female. They can’t actually bear young.”

  I stared at her for a few long seconds. “You mean to tell me these things are grand-daddy squids? Kings of the Cephalopods?”

  “That’s right. That’s what I think. They did call themselves a kingdom, remember? But all we ever found were the queens. Maybe the kings were out here on Green World the whole time.”

  Chewing that over, I had to admit it could be true. After we’d won the war with the squids, we hadn’t spent decades studying them and figuring out their history. There hadn’t been time. We’d been in trouble with the Galactics and all sorts of other aliens straight-away. These days, in fact, the Cephalopods had been replaced in everyone’s mind by enemies like Rigel.