Dominant Species Volume Two -- Edge Effects (Dominant Species Series)

by Coy, David

  When she walked a few meters to her left in search of just such a precipice, she saw the clearing.

  It was just a half kilometer away, the northeastern-most corner of it, flat and debris-strewn, open and airy, the ground gray-green with dead plant stuff. Beautiful.

  She made a sound like a whimper.

  She tore through the foliage, whacking at the branches and vines with her arms and legs and head. She pressed herself through it, feeling like one of the jungle’s insects; scrambling and crawling, forcing her way.

  When she burst into the light this time, the panorama she saw was the vast, defoliated plains and the plant-free hills and valleys of the installation.

  There was a low hill just to the west, and she started up it. When she got to the top and looked out, she thought she could see the distant specks of the shelters against the far western perimeter, barely visible in the shimmering heat.

  She grinned like a lunatic at the sight, then finally laughed out loud.

  “There! Oh there . . . you are!”

  The sun was high and hot; too hot to hike in without benefit of the jungle’s shade—and she wanted to time her arrival at sunset and sneak into the clinic under the cover of darkness. Best to wait. She estimated it would take her four or five hours to cross. She checked her watch. With Verde’s longer days, she could wait another eight or nine hours and still have four hours of daylight. She could re-group, rest and eat before heading out.

  She could almost feel the shower caressing her face, and the thought of a mere four-hour stroll without vines and branches in her face made her smile.

  19

  His work was at least neat, she had to say that about it. There might not be any substance to it, but it was neat. The work areas were laid out well and were orderly; the containers holding his samples stacked and uncluttered.

  “I didn’t think I’d see you for a few days at least,” Joe said.

  “I’m fine. Not perfect. But good enough to work,” Rachel replied, eyeing the Petri dishes lined up on the bench. She picked one up and spun it slowly in her fingers.

  “What have you found? Anything interesting?”

  “There’s a wide variety of microscopic life in the soil and most of the bacteria cultures easily,” he said matter-of-factly. ”You can see that right there.”

  “And?”

  “I’ve found at least twenty separate protozoan forms in the standing water and taken pictures of those so far.”

  “What kind of toxicology profiles do they have? Any hazard matches?”

  “Well, I haven’t done those yet.”

  “Ummm . . .”

  “I thought you might want to run some samples through the processor first is all.”

  “Ummm . . . bacteria typing? Anything there?”

  “I haven’t done those either yet.”

  “Well, the place is orderly,” she said cheerfully. “I like that.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Ummm . . .”

  She picked up another Petri dish and studied it. The surface of the agar was spotted with white, brown and yellow patches, round and raised. One spot was deep purple-red; the color of fresh blood.

  “What’s this one? Where're your notes?”

  He reached for his pad and turned it on. When he found his notes, he handed it over to her. She looked at the screen, scrolling through with her finger. He’d coded each dish with a number and had constructed an index describing the place, date and time of each sample taken. This was okay. She looked up the number forty, the one for the dish she was after, and read its source. “Water run-off from the shelter tops?”

  “If that’s number . . .”

  “Forty,” she said.

  “Right. Forty. I found that one and a couple of others where the shelters drains run into the ground and forms a trough. You know.”

  “Ummm . . .”

  Rachel scanned the neat rows of Petri dishes until she spotted one other, then another of them with purple-red, perfectly round patches in them. They matched up to the other numbers indicating the same conditions for the samples.

  “Have you looked at this red stuff?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Ummm . . .”

  “Do it first and let me know what the profiles look like.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then profile the protozoans. Any encapsulated or encysted forms?

  “Uhh . . .”

  “If you see any that you think might be encapsulated or in a waiting state, let me know.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  “You know why those might be important, don’t you?” He knitted his brow and looked confused.

  “I’m not sure,” he said.

  “The encapsulated forms might be waiting for a host. Chances are fairly good that we’ll find hazardous chemistry in anything that looks like it’s napping in an environment that ought to support it. It’s using the environment as a vector, waiting to jump to another more nourishing environment.”

  “Right.”

  “Keep up the good work.”

  “I’ll try.”

  The work was marginal at best. They were still underequipped, and he didn’t know what he was doing, but he was orderly and his record keeping was good enough. He seemed to follow directions well.

  “I’m going back into the jungle for some more samples,” she said. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  She packed up her things and a few minutes later, started out. When she opened the door, she nearly ran into John Soledad.

  “Whoops!” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  “Hi.”

  “Hi.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “Are you the biologist?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You got a minute?”

  “Not really.”

  “I found something you might be interested in—out in the green.”

  “What kind of something?” she asked.

  * * *

  Her voice is heaven . . . he thought and was suddenly struck dumb by it.

  It was as if he could feel every inch of her by just standing close to her. Every strong line, the deep curve of her back, the smoothness of her shoulders, the moist warmth of her thighs filling her cottons, all of her—came to him over some erotic ether. Her voice washed over him like warm milk. The effect took him completely off guard. He coughed.

  “It’ll take . . . a . . . more than a minute to describe it.”

  Rachel considered him. Amateurs were continually bringing new and exciting and heretofore-unknown-and-just-fascinating discoveries to the science. She’d seen it many times. The discovery usually turned out to be something new only to the amateur discoverer. But here on this woolly planet, almost everything was new. Besides, he was cute.

  “Sure. Come on in. I’ve always got time for a new something.”

  She put her things down by the door and led the way over to the coffee pot. She poured him a cup then held it—and her other empty hand out for him to shake at the same time. It was awkward, and she grinned at herself, but he managed to get a good grip on both.

  “I’m Rachel Sanders. Biologist Grade III.” She stressed the title just a little to make a point she hoped he’d get.

  “John Soledad. Shuttle Operator II."

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  She poured a cup for herself just to be friendly.

  “Now, what’s this thing you found?” she said swinging one full hip onto a lab stool.

  “I’ve been doing some exploring on my own, you know—in my free time.”

  Yeah, yeah . . .

  “Ummmmm . . . I see . . .”

  “I more or less commandeer the shuttle for a few hours at a time and take a look around. I’m not supposed to do it, but it’s about the only thing there is to do for fun.”

  “Naughty boy,” she said flatly.

  “Yeah. I think this planet is really great. Anyway, a few d
ays ago I was out west of the perimeter about twenty kilometers, and I noticed this thing at the base of an outcropping.”

  Zzzzzz . . . .good thing you’re cute.

  Using the whiteboard, he drew it out for her in great detail, both inside and out. He described the central chamber and the goop and falling into it. He described how the trap had held him, forced him down deeper. He even pulled up the leg of his coveralls and showed her a patch of remaining irritation on one calf. He told her about the live one and how he could tell it was alive. He punctuated the story with a series of photographs called up on his pad one at a time.

  By the time he was finished, her face was as tight as a drum, and her brow had knitted itself into just a few hard wrinkles. This was not just some bug on a leaf he’d found but a major and divergent life form worth a good hard look. She didn’t have to take her pulse to know it was elevated.

  “Can you find these things again—both the dead one and the living one?”

  "Sure."

  She popped off the stool like she had a spring on her butt and swilled down the rest of her coffee. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Now?”

  “Now. Let’s go.”

  “If you say so.”

  "I say so."

  She made a quick trip to the backroom and returned with her pack loaded with tools and instruments.

  “I guess you’re prepared for anything,” he said, looking at the bulging pack.

  “Anything at all,” she said flatly.

  They got in John’s truck and drove over to the shuttle stop, such as it was. The condition of it reminded Rachel of what a low-ball, cheap-assed operation this really was. There was no concrete pad or elevated grate to land on, just a patch of pounded up dirt and pulverized plant debris. The shuttle was a mess. Its finish was dull and weathered, and the latches and closures were scrubbed free of finish by the friction of years of hands touching it, working it.

  “Are you sure this thing is safe?” she asked.

  Maybe she wasn’t prepared for anything after all, he thought.

  “It’s not much to look at, I know, but the motors are sound and the suspensors just had a major re-coiling. You’ll be fine.”

  She climbed on board and took the co-pilot’s seat up front. When Soledad got in, she noticed that it took him two or three tries to secure the rear door. She didn’t like that either.

  The take-off was smooth, though, and she soon cleansed herself of her fear in the wash of the pilot’s obvious proficiency and confidence in the craft’s airworthiness.

  “I envy you,” he said, a little loud over the engines.

  “Why’s that?” she said amused.

  “You’re the real explorers, aren’t you, you biologists?”

  “I guess I never really looked at it like that,” she lied. “It’s just a job to me.” But to the contrary, the smile on her face told the truth.

  “Well, I still envy you. I wish I’d had the brains to pursue that craft myself.”

  “Piloting’s no simple thing to master,” she said.

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t take real brains and most of the time you wind up doing just what I’m doing—driving a shuttle and stealing time to get a glimpse of something exciting.”

  “Well, most people would think it was a great way to retire their debt, I would think.”

  “That’s because they’ve never done it for a living,” he offered.

  “Got me there,” she replied politely.

  They both smiled. And then that thing happened that happens between male and female. Deep down, in a flash, something glowed and cast its warmth through breasts and loins. The brief lick of it made Soledad swallow. It lingered for a moment then passed.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “Since it opened in Jantomar.”

  “So you’ve watched the project grow.”

  “If you can call it that. It doesn’t seem to be developing much if you ask me.”

  “I’ve noticed,” she said. “What’s going on? What’s the problem with this project?”

  “I don’t know. Rumor has it the project is out of money.”

  “How could that be?”

  “No financing. They say Smith’s consortium is broke and can’t raise any money so it’s just limping along until the money comes—if it comes.”

  “I thought this was supposed to be a gold mine,” she said.” I know,” he said. “That’s the mystery. I don’t think anybody knows for sure, especially the contractors. Nobody tells us shit.”

  True.

  Although he’d done a good job of faking it, he’d been distracted and not fully in tune with the conversation. Instead, he’d been listening to her voice just to hear it; to let it caress him. It was the richest, thickest feminine voice he’d ever heard. If it had been a warm pool, he would have willingly drowned in it.

  Rachel looked out of the side port and watched the jungle roll past in waves of uniform green. Storm clouds were gathering in the distance ahead and she wondered how long it would take for them to move over the installation. They looked particularly dark and fierce. The planet’s data sheets said the rain was frequent but relatively mild. The storm ahead didn’t look mild at all. “Quite a storm up ahead,” John said.

  “You read my thoughts.”

  A look passed between them like an anxious kiss. When she looked away, he saw the strength in her smooth neck and wanted to kiss it; to suck it. He was sure he’d never seen a more beautiful profile.

  He looked away too, and stiffly consulted the map on the shuttle’s console then pointed to it with a finger.

  “That’s where we’re headed.”

  The positioning system showed the location of the dead organism as he’d recorded it as a red dot on the screen. An icon of the shuttle moved slowly toward it.

  “We should be there in a couple of minutes.”

  Rachel leaned over and rummaged through her pack. When she did, John looked at the rippled, chestnut-colored hair on her head and wanted to grab it up in big handfuls. The simple view of her thick hair seemed to settle in his groin as if she’d rested her head on it. He took a deep breath and focused on flying the craft.

  “There it is,” he said. “There’s the outcropping.”

  He banked the shuttle and swooped down at it, causing a flutter of vertigo in Rachel. She saw the black, sprawling thing before the craft leveled out. It was huge.

  “Wow. You weren’t kidding about the size.”

  “There’s a lot of it you can’t see, and the arms are wider than they look. What do you think? Didn’t I tell you?”

  Rachel had seen many alien species, each one unique in its own way. There were things on Cunningham Moors and Fuji that had few if any terrestrial counterparts. But she’d never seen an organism so enormous and so divergent; so utterly different. She felt the excitement building in her chest.

  “It reminds me of a brittle starfish, an echinoderm like Ophiuroidea except for its obvious size difference and the number of legs.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. Look, I don’t want to set down here. I’ve seen enough. I want the live one. Take me to the live one.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  He turned the craft, accelerated and set the course for the position he’d recorded. During the flight over to it, he saw the look of stiff excitement in Rachel. She was leaning forward, her hands clamped between her knees, straining against the safety straps.

  “Have you seen any more of these things?”

  “No, but I can sure spot them well enough now.”

  “I bet. When did you say you first saw it?”

  “Last week.” He looked forward. “There it is.”

  He slowed the shuttle to a crawl and Rachel unhooked her straps and sat on the edge of her seat, craning her neck up over the shuttle’s console.

  “Can you tip down so I can see better?”

  "Sure."

  He adjusted the controls, and the shuttle’s
nose dipped down until she had to support herself against the cockpit window with her arms. Her pack slid with a bump against the bulkhead. In that position, she had an unobstructed view of the creature below.

  “Go where I point,” She said.” I want to see the whole thing.”

  She pointed her finger, and John slowly turned the craft along the route it traced for him. When he looked over, her round butt and arched back seemed to beckon him.

  “Lower?” he asked.

  “No. This is good. Drive.”

  They drifted over the entire organism and seemingly up and down each arm. John obediently following the finger as she pointed first one way, then another.

  Pointing down, they couldn’t see the storm clouds that rolled up from the west like gray mud.

  “Now down,” she said waving her hand.

  He brought the craft down to within a meter of two of the tree tops.

  “That’s good,” she said, reaching for her pack. She came up with a camera and started to shoot one-handed. As she zoomed in on the bright green surface of a tentacle, she could see that it was, in fact, like stiff hair, standing straight up. It was uniform and regular as if it had been cropped with a razor.

  A roll of thunder rumbled through the jungle and rattled the shuttle’s doors.

  “Here comes the rain,” he said.

  “Yeah. Look, can you set this thing down on the arm. I want to get out and walk on it. I want some of that green epidermal material.”

  “Sure. I can float the shuttle right over it. Hang on.”

  He tipped the shuttle back then moving slowly, brought it to within half a meter of the arm’s surface. He set the controls for static hold, then went back and slid open the door. Rachel dug out a handful of plastic bags from her pack and put them in a pocket, then put the pack on her back. The first huge, round raindrops began to splatter around them and smack cool on their faces as she sat down in the door.

  “I’ve got the suspensors on low lift. It’ll feel like walking through pudding until you get out a couple of meters. You’d better hurry or you’ll get wet.”

  “Hey, I like the rain,” she smiled.

  Thunder rumbled.

  She put her feet out into the suspensor field. It felt like pudding, just like he said. An interference field like rippling water swirled around her moving legs. She stood up and started pushing her legs through, one shuffling step after the next. It was harder than she thought it would be. The cloying field sucked at her legs like magnets on iron. By the time she got out, the rain was falling heavily, soaking through the shoulders of her cottons. John stuck his head out and twisted his face up briefly at the rainclouds.