by Dante King
I squinted into the darkness around me, hoping to see a shaft of light from a crashed escape pod. I saw nothing, but then I’d made it to the planet without the pod somehow, so maybe the others had as well.
If I continued sitting here, I’d end up being something’s prey. Where there were animals that ate plants and fruit, there’d be animals that ate animals. It was a necessary part of the food chain. Animals exploited gaps, filled them, and allowed their species to survive. I, however, had no intention of being anything other than the apex predator.
I thought of my crew, of their bravery, and of their stubbornness. I wondered if they’d survived and escaped from the Xeno ships. Then a memory washed over my mind.
Your crew has survived. We have returned them to your xadaar. You will join with them there once again.
It was as though I’d heard it the first time. The thought inside my head, given voice by my own imagination. The vision of the void was impossible to come to terms with. But it was best to accept that it was at least possible that I’d been beamed onto an alien planet and out of hyperspace by a pack of hive-minded squids named Lakunae.
I wanted to know what was behind all this, but in order to find out, I first had to survive. If I could survive, I could find my lost crew members. And to do that, I had to get moving.
I lifted myself up and came to my feet on the spongy ground. I removed my tight-fitting jacket, tied it around my waist, and checked the sky for any sign of smoke or civilization.
The first order of business was finding shelter. I had no idea what nights were like on this planet. I could only hope I wouldn’t freeze to death. The idea of sleeping out in the open when I didn’t know the local wildlife didn’t sit well with me either. The best option would be to find a natural cave or another place I could fortify at night to sleep in.
My second priority would be finding water. The human body could only go three days without the stuff, though I was sweating so much, I might only survive two. If I discovered water, I’d boil it if I could find a way to do so. If I couldn’t, I’d have to experience the local parasite population as well. It was unlikely the critters would be able to use my body as a food source, but the thought of growing aliens in my large intestine made me shiver.
With that thought, the third priority became finding a pot or something else I could use to boil water in.
In fourth place was food. I peered into the trees. If it came down to it, I’d climb one and sample the local fruits. If they were edible, it looked like there’d be plenty to eat. If they were juicy, my need for water would also be reduced. So many unknowns.
I picked a direction, mostly at random, and began to walk. I stepped carefully, watching for thorny things, snake-like things, and big bug-like things. It wasn’t long before my water problem was mostly solved.
I found a narrow stream meandering through the forest. The rock underneath was a deep, bloody red, and little strands of what appeared to be seagrass wiggled in the current like tentacles. The thought reminded me of my hallucination. I shook the images from my mind. If there was time to think about it later, I would. But now, exposed in unfamiliar territory on a planet I’d probably never even heard of, was not the time.
I reached into the water and tugged at various fist-sized rocks, looking for one loose enough to pull free and use as a weapon. I was pleased to find that the first one I tried was such a rock. It felt light for its size but heavy enough to stun an enemy so that I could rush in and kill it with my bare hands. I bounced it in my palm a few times, getting a feel for it, and began stalking my way upstream.
Where there was water, there were animals. My plan was to study them first. I’d wait to see what they ate, what they avoided, and possibly what ate them. It would be valuable information I might need later. Marines were all trained in survival skills, so if any of my squadmates were on the planet, my hope was we’d meet along the way.
I’d written some of the training manuals. The most important of which were directed to anyone who survived a crash landing on an alien planet. I’d spent three years of my career, months at a time, alone on foreign worlds. I practiced unarmed combat against everything I thought I could take, and even a few I wasn’t so sure about. I ate everything the locals consumed, discovering the hard way which ones would cause meteoric gastrointestinal distress, parasitic infections, constipation, or all the above. I also carried a field pack containing the most powerful medications modern science had created to cure such things. Being without such a medpack now gave me a reason for caution.
I also killed at least one of every dangerous beast on each planet. There were creatures who spit acid. Others who fed on acid. Still others who covered their egg sacs in acid, relying on the chemical to make the eggs weak enough for their young to escape.
Others spat the bones of their kills to slay their next meal. Some flew, while others were able to project sticky webs a hundred yards up to snare the fliers. One consumed solid stone, literally chewing rocks to gravel before swallowing.
I learned lessons from each of them and had the scars to prove it. The most important lesson I learned, though, was that ambush predators were the worst of all. They disguised themselves as something innocuous: a tree, a leaf, or even an entire hill. They lay in wait until some critter, such as a Marine, happened by… and they pounced. Their attacks were quick, ferocious, and if their prey wasn’t ready for it, they were as good as dead. It was that type of creature I was watching for now.
I stalked five steps forward, crouched, and listened. If I heard nothing different, I’d move another five steps, crouch, and repeat. As I traveled, the ambient noise of bird-like things fluttering through the trees steadily increased. They were camouflaged, but I did catch sight of one, and though it didn’t look much different than an Earth bird, the shape of their wings and feathers had a peculiar pattern. As such, I named them dusters, after that cute feathery-thing the holovids always had maids cleaning or tickling things with.
I concealed myself in a bush, listening to their high-pitched calls and scanning the edges of the stream, which had widened to almost two yards. In the water ahead of me was… something. An object that seemed out of place from those around it. It was a rock, and it glowed.
Glowing geography wasn’t normal where I came from. But this wasn’t Mars, and I wasn’t aware of what normal was here. I was, however, aware of what abnormal was. One glowing, yellow rock among hundreds of blood-red ones wasn’t normal. Also, I was curious. I wanted to go take a closer look, and that’s what I decided to do… after I found a couple more of them.
I didn’t have to look far. The stones nearby were big and a bit unwieldy but not too heavy. Once I’d pulled enough of the groundcover away, I tore them from the soft, red dirt easily enough. Three blood-red rocks. One glowing yellow rock. The equation looked like it might be a whole lot of fun if the local fauna—or flora—decided to attack.
I stood from my hiding place, one head-sized piece of primitive ammunition on my left shoulder, the smaller rock in my left hand, and another larger potential projectile cradled under my right arm, ready to throw. Nothing happened. I took a step toward the glowing rock and scanned the nearby ground. Nothing happened. I took another half-step forward and saw it.
The creature’s excitement was palpable, obvious, and primal. To be honest, I was a little disappointed. On one planet, there were vicious creatures the Marines had nicknamed “vorpal bunnies.” They were active hunters, stalking around on their four, little feet, with light-absorbing armor plates covering their backs like armadillos. Even those were sneakier than the owner of the glowing ball.
I sighed. It wouldn’t be as fun as I’d hoped. The rock I was holding on my left shoulder was heavier than the one on my right, so I set all the rocks down, picked up the biggest stone, and lobbed it into the three-foot-deep stream where I’d seen the movement.
The water instantly boiled as a 10-foot-long, blood-red creature, flat as a brothel welcome mat and three times as long
began to flail, attempting to free itself from the boulder. The thing wasn’t even strong enough to slip out from under my makeshift trap. The glowing end of a long, thin antennae, the one obviously meant to lure prey, thrashed in the air.
Then I got a surprise.
There was a noise from under the water, somewhere between a pop and a thud, and the creature’s upper half lunged at me. I rolled over my shoulder and out of the way in a brief flash of movement. The monster seemed unsure whether to strike again, and I was happy to take a few seconds to inspect my attacker.
Along both sides of its blood-red belly ran hundreds of red legs, each ending in a razor-sharp hook. The two largest legs were near its circular mouth, and they snapped together like pincers. The beast had four black dots at the front of its head, likely some kind of specialized eyes.
This creature had to be the closest thing to an apex predator for miles around.
It was time to introduce myself.
I reached down to grab another stone from the river, but the vicious creature shot toward me. I spun aside as its razor teeth missed me by an inch. I punched the insect-crocodile hybrid in the face, and its exoskeleton crunched like a potato chip bag. I was almost disappointed until it lashed out with its fifteen-inch legs, wrapped a dozen around my forearm, and yanked me forward. The monster was plenty strong, but it acted a lot like the centipedes back home. It also kind of resembled them, except for the fact that it was a few thousand times larger.
The bleeding stump it had ripped loose from under my makeshift trap started to rise, and I realized the thing wanted to wrap me in as many legs as possible. Its plan was to immobilize me while the big pincers in front went to work. I didn’t know if they were venomous or not, but it seemed likely.
Not today, bug. Not today.
Now that the monster was close to me, I stomped on the stump-end with one foot and secured it to the ground. With its face smashed-in, the thing was having a difficult time targeting me for a bite. One punch later, and the joint connecting a big pincer to the body loosened and leaked blood the same color as the yellow stones around it. I grabbed the large pincer, slapped the other one away, and tore it loose from the creature’s carapace.
The big pincer was roughly as wide around as a vibroblade handle, so I tested its durability by driving it through the bug’s “chin” and out the top of its head. It kept fighting, so I twisted my body hard to throw it off. The monster landed in the water and squirmed, its mass of hooked legs grasping the air.
A lot of bugs I’d seen in the field had a single, compact a brain in their heads. Some, however, had brains that were spread-out throughout their whole body. If a bug only needed to run on instinct, then half—or less—of a brain would be enough. This looked like one of those creatures. I figured I’d have to take it apart.
I stalked to the edge of the water, waited for the thing to right itself, then jumped onto its back. I used my left hand to hold the the end with the big pincer under the surface while I clawed at the spot just behind its little eyes. It thrashed under me in an attempt to free itself, but it didn’t seem to have the ability to bend backward more than a few degrees.
A few seconds later, I found what I was looking for: a chink in the armor. I hooked my fingers between its chitinous plates, found squishy flesh, and pulled hard. The bug unzipped in a shower of red blood and soft flesh. I placed my foot on the back of its head and continued to pull the creature until the entire thing opened and its guts spilled into the stream.
It stopped moving and, after inspecting the long strip of armor in my right hand, I understood why. Its brain was one of the distributed kind, spread out like a roadmap along its armored exterior. It made sense. The brain would be protected by the insectoid’s tough armor, as far away from its victims as it could get.
Then I noticed a delightful smell, or more appropriately, my stomach noticed it by growling like some kind of caged animal. I looked around as I searched for where the aroma was coming from. I couldn’t locate the source until I peered down at the dripping bug-armor in my hand and gave it a sniff. That was it. It smelled like steak marinated in raspberries and honey. My stomach made a roar that would have sent any planet’s deadliest predator packing.
I checked once more to make sure the bug wasn’t just pretending to be dead. I poked a juicy-looking spot with my finger, smelled the thin, red fluid, and touched it to my tongue. I waited several seconds to see if there was a burning, acrid, or bitter sensation, common with most poisons. There wasn’t, so I swallowed.
If it was poisonous, there didn’t seem to be enough toxin in it to kill me, but the human body could be quick to react. Either I’d start feeling hot, cold, or nauseous. I waited several minutes while keeping a wary eye on my surroundings, but nothing happened, except that my stomach growled several more times.
Well, how about that, I thought. I just found a… er… steakapede!
I pulled the rest of the upper half of the creature from the water and took the remains to the shore. The lower half of the steakapade was still trapped under the rock and wasn’t thrashing anymore.
After a thorough inspection and some finger-poke taste tests, I determined which parts of the bug would be best to eat. The meat was almost sickeningly soft, like a too-warm slice of cheese. But it was tasty. I chewed and wondered absently if the meat would firm up if exposed to fire. It was something I decided I’d try someday, if I found myself back out here.
But I wasn’t about to spend the rest of my life in the jungle. I had to find out if the Lakunae had dropped any more of the Revenge’s crew on this planet.
The sky was beginning to get noticeably darker. If I were on Mars, I would have three or four hours of light left. On this alien world, any estimate would be nothing more than an uninformed guess. Either way, it was time to start moving again. Water brought animals, animals brought predators, and after the steakapede and how flimsy I’d found it?
This planet’s new apex predator, I knew, was me.
Chapter Nine
I washed my hands in the water, chanced a sip, picked up another smooth river stone the size of my closed fist, and turned cautiously toward the jungle. My initial pace was slow as I adjusted to my surroundings and avoided positions where an ambush predator could get the drop on me.
After about a half-hour, the jungle became thicker, and vines started becoming more common. Woody ropes ran from the treetops to the ground and back up again. Some places were so thick with them, I was tempted to start cutting or ripping them apart. However, I didn’t want to make it too easy for a predator to track me, if there even was one intelligent enough on the planet to do so.
Another half-hour brought me up to an encouraging landmark: a hill. An elevated position was perfect for my purposes. A good overview of the surrounding terrain would give me a sense of direction and, potentially, a way out. Up to that point, the ground had been relatively flat.
As I stalked up the fifty-degree mound, I noted how easy it was for me. The drugs had been out of my system for hours, but I still expected some of the after-effects to linger. I thought I should be tired, or, at least, to tire easily, but I felt fine and wondered if the planet’s atmosphere had more oxygen than I was used to. I filed that idea away for later.
About a hundred yards up the hill, rocks started showing through the undergrowth, but the vines became a dense, tangled mess. I looked both left and right, but didn’t see a way around, so I decided it was time to go through. I picked a spot that didn’t look as dense as the rest and gave a vine an experimental tug. It tugged back, and I became aware of another ambush predator.
I ducked and heard one of its vine-like tentacles woosh through the air above me. A high-pitched hiss echoed from somewhere near the canopy. I couldn’t blame it. I probably looked delicious.
Its next attack would go for one of my ankles—fifty-fifty chance there. My prediction proved true when another vine snapped toward my feet. I hopped one step back and kept my head on a swivel. Another tentacl
e shot out at me like a knight’s lance. I made a little hop to one side and whacked it with my rock. The hiss echoed through the treetops again. A thinner vine tried to sneak up on me along the ground. One quick stomp with my heel sent it recoiling back into the undergrowth.
A shadow from the dim light alerted me to another vine behind me. This one didn’t attack immediately but crept toward me with a measured slowness. I watched its shadow advance, allowing it to get closer before it suddenly shot forward. I ducked, caught the thing with my free hand, and yanked. A few dozen yards of vine tumbled toward me like the slack of a rope.
Another vine snapped in front of my face. In a movement that was almost too fast to believe, I slipped the rock into my pants and used my now-free hand to snatch the attacking vine from the air. I took both the vines and crossed them over each other. A tug here, a pull there, over, under, around, and I successfully tied a fisherman’s knot, securing both tentacles together. That made the thing hiding in the treetop really hiss. It was a long, windy screech. But the sky was growing dark, and I had places to be, so the time for fun and games was over.
I took out my rock, made a slow circuit of the clearing, and smashed several tentacle strikes away. When I found what looked like the thickest one, I returned my rock to my pants, grabbed the vine with both hands, and yanked hard. I almost had to dive out of the way as a big spider-like thing fell from the canopy and landed with a heavy thud.
It was black and covered in thin white fur about two inches long. Several circular wounds indicated places where tentacles were once attached to its body. I didn’t see a mouth, which meant it either absorbed its victims like a venus flytrap, or it had landed on its mouth after I’d pulled it from the trees. I wasn’t interested in turning it over to test my theory.