Dark Planet

by Charles W. Sasser

  “I vote we’ve seen enough,” Blade said. “Let’s get our holy asses out of here while we still have them. We know there are Blobs here. That’s what we came to find out. What more do we need?”

  Sergeant Shiva slowly shook his head. “There’s something wrong,” he said. “It’s almost like we’re intentionally being let go. Why?”

  “I don’t care why,” Blade shot back. “We need to return to the pod with what we’ve got.”

  “Galaxia is at stake,” Sergeant Shiva said. He stood up and squinted against the sprinkling rain. “We can’t afford to go back without a full and complete report. Sergeant Kadar, what is your take on it?”

  “I still sense only one enemy,” I said. “One Blob.”

  Blade jumped to his feet and pointed angrily toward the ridgeline, now clearly visible below the lowest cloud. “What the hell do you call those?” he demanded. “One, two, three … six of the obese motherfuckers all in a fucking row. What are they, huh? Mirages? Hallucinations?”

  I couldn’t explain it either. Blobs were indeed moving openly about among the rocks and pastures high on the slopes. Blade cranked the Hornet round out of the chamber of his Gauss and, with a sneering look at me, replaced it with a magazine of dumb rounds. He dropped into a sitting shooter’s stance, looped his left arm into the rifle’s carrying strap for support, and took careful aim over the iron sights. It was another of his eccentricities that he disdained use of scopes and holographic sights. With a true sniper, he boasted, it was more sporting with only you, your weapon, and your target. The range approached eight thousand meters.

  “Hold your fire,” Sergeant Shiva ordered.

  “What for?” Blade responded. “After all the shit that just happened, the cocksuckers know we’re here.”

  Sergeant Shiva couldn’t argue with that. He looked at the busy Blobs. He looked back at Blade. He made a “go ahead” gesture. Blade rewarded him with a tight-lipped smile before ripping off his helmet to get a cheek-to-rifle stock sight picture. He drew in a long breath, let half of it out, and held the remainder. The rest of us watched through helmet optics. A party of three Tslek was moving across a mountain opening.

  “Three fat Blobs in a free-fire zone,” Blade quoted with grim amusement. “Hand in hand, going home. Last in line goes home alone.”

  He caressed the trigger. The sound of the shot reverberated in diminishing echoes across the basin.

  “You missed!” Ferret exclaimed, disbelievingly.

  The three Blobs continued their stroll as though nothing had happened.

  “Fu-uck.”

  Blade took even more careful aim and fired.

  “They’re still up,” Sergeant Shiva announced.

  Blade stared. He shook his head. It couldn’t be. He settled deeper into his stance and took so long aiming that the unperturbed Blobs were almost out of sight among concealing rocks. He popped a cap. The bullet rode the shock wave across the basin. It ricocheted off stone and screamed painfully into the drenched heavens.

  Three fat Blobs in a free-fire zone hand in hand kept going home.

  “I don’t miss,” Blade protested, stunned. “I’m telling you. Them motherfuckers are all three dead but still moving.”

  “Ain’t no flesh can take a direct hit from a Gauss round,” Sergeant Shiva pointed out.

  “I did not miss.”

  Sergeant Shiva nodded without further comment. He took off his helmet to scratch the scar on his cheek. It looked inflamed and gorged with blood.

  “We ain’t got much choice now,” he said presently. “We have to know what’s happening up there. Saddle up. We’re going up the ridge.”

  C·H·A·P·T·E·R

  TWENTY THREE

  The security bot on point with Ferret located the same small animal trail used earlier by the missing viewster. As the viewster had, we followed the path to within a few hundred yards of the Blob caves. All four of us were back in full chameleon camouflage, using secure helmet intercoms for communications. We were not challenged, although several of the glowing security balls bounced and flew past as though ignoring us. Ferret suggested we might be invisible to them after all due to our camouflage. Somehow, I doubted it. There had to be a better explanation for why the battle bots refused to eradicate us from the planet, and for why the Blobs hadn’t gone on full DefCon security alert following the fight at the clearing.

  Presently, we came upon the viewster. It was blind and scurrying aimlessly about, bumping into trees and things. Sergeant Shiva radioed Gorilla at the rally point on the other ridge. Gorilla programmed the little warm-blooded mechanical creature to find a hole, crawl inside and die. Specially-bred bacteria would dissolve it in less than three hours. At some level, everything was disposable.

  “Enemy!” Ferret hissed. He was strung so tight from tension his voice sounded ready to snap.

  A Blob patrol appeared literally out of nowhere and headed directly toward us. We blocked the trail, invisible that we might be in cammies. My surprised comrades prepared for a fight. I heard firearms rattling.

  “Hold up,” I said quietly. These things were not sentients; they project no brain waves at all.

  “Hold up, my ass!” Blade growled.

  “Don’t fire!” Sergeant Shiva interjected. “What is it, Sen?”

  I stood erect and deactivated my chameleons so there could be no doubt about my being readily seen. The Blob patrol seemed not to notice. It kept coming, neither changing direction nor pace. I began to explain.

  “Did you observe that they are five and in the same configuration as those we saw on the screen before energy blinded the viewster?” I asked. “They appeared at the same location as before. Now, watch.”

  The swift-moving beings oozed on, approaching, paying no attention to me. It seemed they would march directly over me in their path. For a moment I became enveloped in a transparent and insubstantial thickness. The Blobs kept going, leaving me entirely undisturbed. I turned and watched them go.

  “Holograms!” Sergeant Shiva exclaimed. “Excellent holograms, but still nothing but light.”

  Everything became clear. This was why my Talent appeared to fail in detecting only a single entity on the mountain. The entire Blob advance base was a fake, a trap, a decoy populated by a lone Blob to operate the camp’s accessories and leave a life form signature to make us think the Tslek were building an invasion site on Aldenia. It was all very cunning. We were not meant to be harmed, only driven back before we discovered the nature of the camp. The two previous insertion teams were not killed by the Blobs; they were destroyed by the hostile Aldenia environment before they reached the compound and reported back on it.

  That might have been fortunate for the Galaxia Republic. Otherwise, a Deep Recon Team sans Sen would have taken first readings and images and described a large enemy facility concealed in the valley and inside the mountain. Higher-higher would then have put that intel together with other reports, some of which were undoubtedly also deceptive disinformation, and sent the bulk of the Galaxia space fleet to intercept the invasion route at Aldenia, when in fact the Tslek were invading by another route, straight toward Galaxia and the unprotected Galaxia Capital and Republic headquarters.

  Clearly the Tslek had not counted on a Zentadon Sen exposing their little ploy. The killer bots had not killed us, because the Blobs wanted us to escape and report on the decoy invasion site.

  Sergeant Shiva brought up Captain Amalfi on the commo link and advised him of what we had.

  “Withdraw,” the Captain ordered. “Let the Blobs keep thinking they have us fooled.”

  I felt vindicated for having stuck with my intuition and my senses that this was not a large Blob buildup after all. I also felt a certain told-you-so pride.

  “The galaxy owes you, Sergeant Kadar,” Captain Amalfi said simply, with feeling, when we returned to the rally point. “Now, let’s get these DRT-bags back to the pod. Galaxia needs this intel as quickly as we can get it there. The invasion is not coming from h
ere; it’s coming from somewhere else.”

  Blade glared at me as though still pointing the rifle at my head.

  “Fu-uck,” he said.

  C·H·A·P·T·E·R

  TWENTY FOUR

  DRT-213 had two compelling reasons for being in a hurry on the way back. First, the fates of Zentadon, Indowy, Humans, and other Republic Federation peoples depended upon the timely transfer to higher-higher of the intel we had recovered from the counterfeit Blob invasion site; second, we were eager to reach the pod for our own personal comfort and safety. For all we knew, having been cut off from outside communications for the past four Galaxia days, Republic battle fleets might already be on their way to Aldenia, leaving other invasion routes open and unguarded.

  I added a third compelling reason: Blade. If he got the chance, he was going to wax me for a trophy. I could tell during his unguarded moments that he suspected me of having read from his mind the guilt of his previous crimes. Blade faced execution for the murders if I knew and I made it back alive. It was safer for him if I died by accident or in a firefight.

  There was also the matter of the artifact, the “treasure” for which he had been searching in the Indowy camp.

  “Did you come this far the time you were here before?” the Captain asked him.

  “No,” Blade lied, casting a glance at me. “We saw other camps, but not this one.”

  “What did you find?” Gun Maid asked deliberately.

  “Nothing important,” he lied again.

  I attempted to interrogate Maid when I caught her alone.

  “You were not following me that evening we camped in the Indowy ruins,” I accused mildly. “You were watching Blade. Why?”

  She looked at me with startled blue eyes. “Why would I do that?”

  “That is what I am asking. Blade was looking for something. You know what it is.”

  “No.” Her thoughts told me she was telling the truth, which puzzled me, because I also read that she at least was trying to hide something from me.

  Kadar San is a Zentadon. Kadar San is a Zentadon.

  That was her way of blocking my exploration of her thoughts. I wondered how she learned to do that.

  “Whatever he was looking for,” I said levelly, “I think he knows where it is now. If he finds it, we are all in danger.”

  A Zentadon cannot he trusted …

  “I can be trusted,” I said.

  She blinked. I read sudden fear.

  “Why are you afraid, Pia?”

  “Kadar San, we will be off this planet in two days. Then perhaps we can have a sit-down talk.”

  “And a cocktail when we reach Galaxia.”

  She smiled, calm again. “Perhaps. When we reach Galaxia.”

  The route cut back through the low hills we had intervened on the way out. We followed game trails paralleling the ancient remnants of mountains. Foothills of taller mountains beyond appeared as shimmering mirages through the raveling skeins of rain. We often forsook caution for speed and, as a result, experienced several close calls with the local fauna, both insect-like and reptile-like. Fortunately, reptiles, most of which were savage predators, were far less numerous than insects. We encountered only an occasional giant snake, a big spider and, once, a pack of thickly-built lizards with rows of saw-like teeth. Gorilla continued to urge more haste, as our chameleons were rapidly deteriorating. We were constantly fading in and out of view.

  So far, the Presence had caused us no direct threat. It simply was with us at various times, spreading its corruption like an undiagnosed malignancy. Now and then I thought I glimpsed it, dark and vaporous, less substantial than a wisp of fog, standing or moving among us. At other times, an entity seemed to be within the rain itself, within stone or forest. The moment I became aware of it, it was gone, leaving only tension and anger and disagreeableness within the team.

  Increasingly, I began to sense a second presence, this one weaker and less defined than the original, more difficult for my mind to grasp onto and catalogue. Although it seemed somehow less rancorous, it unnerved me to think that the Presence might be growing and attracting other entities who fed upon something dark within the Human psyche until, like malevolent parasites, they took over completely.

  We came to a deep, strong stream and followed it downhill to a point located by the scout bot where we could cross without having to construct a rope bridge. The water was shallow at this point and the river narrow. We ran across it on line to get to the other side as quickly as possible without attracting any of the teeth and stingers we knew to inhabit bodies of water.

  When the longer of the two Aldenia nights overtook us, Captain Amalfi called for a camp with our backs snug against a towering cliff and our faces toward the stream. It was not a good camp, tactically, as the sounds of the stream could mask the approach of intruders while it lulled tired sentries to sleep. Although darkness fell so completely that even the local fauna rarely moved from their beds unless disturbed, providing a modicum of safety during the Aldenia nights, Captain Amalfi took no chances.

  Since the incident with the holographic Blobs, I seemed to have partly won the trust of at least the majority of DRT-213, those being the Captain, Sergeant Shiva, Gun Maid and Gorilla. Captain Amalfi started assigning me turns on night monitor watch along with the Humans, displaying his newly-discovered trust in my loyalty. Ferret, as usual, was noncommittal; Blade remained openly contentious, hostile and suspicious; and Atlas was jealous and resentful of any contact I might have with Maid.

  I drew first watch, along with Gun Maid. For additional security on the way back, because of approaching exhaustion, we doubled up on night guard. Atlas glared at me, not liking my pairing with Maid. He sullenly took his pack and, not speaking to anyone, tented near the cliff face.

  I sensed in Maid’s emotions a certain excitement and anticipation that, to my discomfiture, I associated with mating. Ardor in Human females, I decided, was not so much different from that of Zentadon females during the annual season of breeding, for all that the Zentadon females’ long, sensuous tails made them more expressive. Humans might well have done better socially with tails of their own. Sometimes I felt cheated, even partially muted, by having lost that particular part of my physical legacy when my parents succumbed to passion and produced a hybrid line of half-breeds. But, as Maid once said in an old, old Earth expression, we all had our crosses to bear.

  Her excitement transferred itself to my Human side. I looked at her and caught my breath.

  What will he think if I’m too forward? Will it frighten him off?

  Try me! I sent back. The returned thought seemed to jolt her, as though she had actually received it. That puzzled me. Why was my ability to read thoughts growing stronger on Aldenia? Was it, as Commander Mott suggested before he dispatched me to DRT-213, because close association with Humans opened up my receptiveness to them?

  Fu-ucking elf! Maybe a bug’ll get him tonight.

  That from Blade. It shook me upright and I looked across the camp in his direction. I couldn’t see him in the darkness, but I felt his illogical hatred of beings different from his own and for me in particular. For reasons I couldn’t even guess, and perhaps which he couldn’t himself explain, he despised me from the beginning. Now he had a real reason to fear me, and to hate.

  Suddenly, I was no longer sure I wanted to read others’ minds, with or without their permission.

  We had deactivated our chameleons before nightfall in order to save them for when we were on the march. Maid donned a wide rain hat over her black hair. She smiled at me before she assumed her post downstream. In the quick-covering night, I erected a pocket bivvie to offer refuge from the rain, but left all sides open. I caught rain in a tin folding cup and added some ground harrow herbs. Grasping the cup in both palms, I concentrated on the contents until they were of a temperature to my taste. I sipped the hot tea and nibbled on a prepared LR/DRP meal of vegetables. There was nothing moral in my vegetarianism. It was simply a preference cul
tivated among all Zentadon in order to temper the predation of our ancestors. A consolation, perhaps a conciliation, to civilization.

  I sensed Maid’s approach after the others slept, although I failed to detect her light step in the rain. Lightning shimmered on the surface of the river, a spectacular display, and in the flickering she joined me beneath my overhead shelter. I moved over and in the aftermath of the electrical fanfare, felt the warmth of her small muscular body settling on the boulder next to me.

  I had never bred before for all my wiseass macho bragging, so was unfamiliar with its rituals of “romance”, especially as they applied to Humans who pursued them much more ardently than the Zentadon. I felt her heart racing and her breath catching in her throat and the rise of her body temperature, all certain indicators of passion. I became aroused by feeling her aroused. It was not yet the season for Zentadon coupling, so it surprised me that my Human side responded so readily.

  “If the mountain won’t come to Mohammed …” she quipped in a thick voice.

  “I know. Another old, old Earth expression.”

  “… then Mohammed must go to the mountain,” she finished with a nervous laugh.

  I’m shameless, shameless …

  I offered her tea, my trembling hand almost spilling it. That was me all right; worldly and coordinated. She sipped from my cup. We sat side by side in the total darkness between lightning flashes.

  “It’s raining cats and dogs,” she said presently. We both chuckled. “I like the purring way you laugh,” she said.

  I felt comfortable with her while at the same time uncomfortable with her being here. Atlas and his jealousy could make trouble for us. Cross-mating, or even the appearance of cross-mating, was against both Human and Zentadon law.

  She tried another sip of my tea.

  “What is this?” she asked, thrusting my cup back and pulling a face.

  “You like it then?”

  “Does it come from Ganesh?”