Blood Contact

by David Sherman

  "I'm a communications officer, not a biologist," Snodgrass said, "so don't ask me. But I don't think a bunch of oversized newts is going to give us any trouble when we go planetside."

  Bass made a neutral noise. Even if Snodgrass couldn't interpret the symbols that ran along the side of the display, Bass could. They indicated the life-forms were a little more than one and a half meters long on average. A few of them were more than two meters long. But some of them seemed to be moving about in a vertical orientation as though they were bipedal. He'd never heard of a bipedal amphibian. The Fairfax County's data banks had the reports the scientific mission had filed with BHHEI. Bass had read all of those reports, most of them several times. None of them mentioned bipedal amphibians—or any other bipedal life-forms.

  Bipedal or not, amphibians as big as those the display showed could pose a threat to the Marines.

  Bass turned to Captain Tuit, who stood quietly watching the proceedings. "When do we go ashore, sir?"

  Captain Tuit sighed. He feared that everyone on Society 437 was dead. It would be up to him and his own medical staff to find out what killed them.

  "If your Marines are ready by the next time we pass over Central Station, you can launch then," he said. "My technical and medical people can drop on the next orbit and join you within a few hours after you make planetfall. That should give you enough time to secure the station."

  "How much time do we have?"

  The captain looked at a data display. "It looks like forty-three minutes."

  "We'll be ready, sir. Have your people prepare the Essay for launch."

  "Sir," Snodgrass said and stood, "that would leave the Marines alone on the ground for five or six hours. I think I should accompany them." The captain looked at Snodgrass. "Sir, I think a navy officer should be present from the beginning."

  "Why?"

  Snodgrass thought fast. He realized it wouldn't do to say that Marines under command of a mere sergeant weren't properly led. "Sir, I believe there is a navy regulation that requires a navy communications officer to be present when Marines are detached from a ship's complement to the surface of a possibly hostile planet."

  Tuit nodded. "I'm familiar with the regulation. It calls for a ‘communications officer or other appropriate communications specialist.’ Which can be a seaman—or a Marine." He turned to Bass. "You do have a properly qualified communications man in your platoon, don't you?"

  "Yessir, Lance Corporal DuPont is my comm man."

  Snodgrass was grateful for the dim light in the comm shack; it hid the flush that spread across his face. "Sir, I am the special communications officer assigned to this mission. I believe going planetside is my proper function. Especially since it involves Project Golem."

  Tuit hid his amusement and turned to Bass. "What do you think, Gunny?"

  "Have you ever made planetfall with Marines, Mr. Snodgrass?" Bass asked, hiding his amusement as well as the captain had.

  "I've made many planetfalls," Snodgrass replied with a curled lip.

  "Yessir, I'm sure you have. But have you made any with Marines?"

  "I've made just about every kind of planetfall the navy conducts." Snodgrass made no attempt to conceal the annoyance he felt at Bass's questions.

  Bass raised an eyebrow at Captain Tuit. "I have no objection to Mr. Snodgrass accompanying us if he wants to."

  The captain gave Snodgrass a searching look, then said, "All right, you can make planetfall with the Marines. Just remember one thing. Until we know what's going on planetside, and unless we find that conditions warrant otherwise, this mission is classified as an amphibious operation. That means that the instant the Essay touches down, operational command of all ground forces goes over to the ground force commander. Gunnery Sergeant Bass is the ground force commander."

  "Yes, sir, I understand that." Of course, he thought, the first time any real decision needs to be made, I'll make it. A mere sergeant can't order a naval officer around.

  As Bass walked toward the Marine compartment, he gave orders into his comm unit. By the time he reached the compartment, Staff Sergeant Hyakowa had third platoon's Marines in their chameleon uniforms and everything they were taking packed for landing.

  "Assemble the platoon," Bass said.

  "Aye aye," Hyakowa replied. Then, loudly, "Third platoon, on me."

  In seconds twenty-eight faces seemed to hover in midair in front of Bass and Hyakowa.

  "Here's the situation," Bass told his men. "We make planetfall in about forty minutes. So far the ship has not been able to raise anyone on the planet. So far, string-of-pearls surveillance has not shown anything that looks like people. It appears that the scientific mission isn't there anymore. We have no way of knowing what happened to them until we reach the surface and make an on-site investigation. Until we know otherwise for sure, we have to assume that something killed the scientists and technicians and if it's still there it will attempt to kill us as well. We go in hot.

  "Any questions?"

  There weren't any.

  "All right, one more detail. Lieutenant Snodgrass requested permission to make planetfall with us. The captain and I agreed to allow him to."

  "Ow-w-w!" Claypoole hooted. "Put him on my Dragon, I want to see this!"

  "Right, put him with Claypoole," Corporal Goudanis called out. "I don't want him emptying his guts all over my squad."

  "As you were, people" Bass said. "The man's an officer, even if he is a squid. Show some respect."

  Bass's comment was greeted by a chorus of hoots and laughs.

  "He's going to ride with me so I can make sure he doesn't choke to death," Bass said.

  "Would anyone miss him if he did?"

  "His mother probably would. Most mothers love their sons. Anyway, I'd have to explain how I lost a navy officer on a routine landing, and that wouldn't look good on my next fitness report. Now, if there are no other questions, finish getting ready and Staff Sergeant Hyakowa will take you to the well deck." He turned to Hyakowa. "Are you ready?"

  "As ever," Hyakowa answered. "They'll be ready in a minute too. Do you want me to board them, or just get them there?"

  "Just get them there. I'll be right behind you."

  In another minute Hyakowa and Sergeant Kelly got the platoon lined up and headed toward the well deck. Most of them carried extra gear, the various sensors and detectors they'd need when they reached planetside.

  Well deck. An ancient term, held over from the time when amphibious ships sailed seas of water instead of the void between the stars. The ancient well deck could be flooded and opened to the sea. It held water-going landing craft, which would ferry Marines, soldiers, or cargo from ship to shore. The modern well deck could be pumped dry of atmosphere and opened to interplanetary vacuum. It carried Essays, orbit-to-surface shuttle craft, clamped to its overhead. Each Essay could hold three Dragons, the light armored amphibious hovercraft used by the Marines for surface transport, though the Dragons carried by the Fairfax County's Essays belonged to the navy.

  The men of third platoon had just gotten into formation outside the Essay when Bass, chameleoned and carrying his pack, joined them. None of the Marines had on their helmets or gloves, so their heads and hands and the special equipment they carried were the only parts of them visible to the naked eye. The Essay's ramp was down, its three Dragons visible. The Dragons could each carry twenty combat-loaded Marines. Thirty Marines, two navy medical corpsmen, and one navy officer would board them momentarily, and then be flung out for what the Marines called "high speed on a bad road."

  Bass murmured a question into his comm unit, listened to the reply, then told his men, "Lieutenant Snodgrass will join us in a few minutes. We'll begin boarding while we wait. First squad, Dragon One. Second squad, Dragon Two. Assault squad, Dragon Three. One corpsman in Dragon One, the other in Three. Staff Sergeant Hyakowa will ride with first squad. Mr. Snodgrass and I will ride with second squad." He looked directly at Claypoole. "And don't you say it."

  Cl
aypoole gave him his best innocent look.

  "Squad leaders, board your men."

  With hardly a word spoken, the Marines filed onto the Essay and into the Dragons, where they strapped themselves into the vehicles' webbing. As soon as each man was properly strapped in, the Dragons' automatic systems moved the webbing into acceleration couch attitude. Dragon Three raised its ramp as soon as the assault squad boarded. Hyakowa stopped on the ramp of Dragon One and looked back at Bass. Bass motioned him aboard, and the ramp closed behind him. Inside Dragon Two the men of second squad peered out at their platoon commander, watching him stand on the Essay's ramp as he waited patiently for Lieutenant Snodgrass.

  Klaxons blared throughout the Fairfax County, then a voice came over the PA system in the well deck. "Commander Landing Force," it said, "is the landing force ready for launch?" The question was unnecessary; the Dragons' systems automatically informed the Essay whether or not all their passengers were properly strapped in, the Essay automatically notified the ship's launch system, which in turn automatically kept the bridge appraised of the current situation. But the navy had voice routines that must be followed, so the pro forma question was asked.

  "Negative," Bass replied. "The landing force is waiting for its special navy attachment."

  "Stand by, Landing Force. Special navy attachment is on its way."

  Bass held back a grin. He knew the exchange was being heard all over the ship. Snodgrass would have a hard time living it down if the launch had to be delayed because he was late.

  "Launch window opens in zero-two minutes, and will remain open for zero-three minutes," the PA voice announced.

  "Landing Force will launch with or without special navy attachment."

  "Landing Force understands," Bass said. This time he didn't hold back his grin. He waited another minute for Snodgrass, then boarded Dragon Two without him. Instead of going to his own station and strapping in, he stood with one foot inside the Dragon and the other on its ramp, looking out into the well deck. He ignored the voices of the Marines behind him joking about "Snotty" being late.

  "The launch window is now open," the PA announced. "Landing Force, get secured so well-deck atmosphere can be pumped out."

  Bass couldn't wait any longer. He stepped all the way into the Dragon and headed for his webbing to strap himself in.

  "Wait for me! I'm here!" Snodgrass shouted.

  Bass looked back. Beyond the Dragon's rising ramp he saw Snodgrass's head, bobbing with the rhythm of his pounding feet. The ramp stopped, then lowered.

  Panting, Snodgrass jumped into the Dragon. "Where do I go?" he demanded, looking around wildly.

  Bass pointed at the webbing next to his own.

  Snodgrass went to the nearest webbing and began fumbling with it. It was obvious he wasn't familiar with the catches.

  Bass stepped over to him and slapped his hands away from the webbing. "A rating always strap you in?" he asked as he fastened the webbing in place.

  "What? I know what I'm doing."

  Bass ignored him. He watched the webbing move the lieutenant into acceleration attitude, then quickly returned to his own station and strapped himself in as the ramp clanked shut.

  Even through the combined hulls of the Dragon and the Essay, the Marines heard the air being pumped out of the well deck, followed by the opening of the well deck's drop hatch.

  "Stand by for null-g," the ship's voice said. Everyone on board the ship prepared for the abrupt loss of gravity. "Three. Two. One. Null-g." The gravity generators, which were so much a part of the background noise on the Fairfax County that no one noticed them after being on board for a while, wound down with a short, sharp whine, and throughout the ship everything and everyone that wasn't secured to something suddenly started drifting. Everything and everyone that was secured began pulling gently against its holds.

  "Land the landing force," the PA voice said, and the clamp that held the Essay to the well deck's overhead released. The magnet that had helped clamp the Essay to the overhead reversed polarity and slapped the top of the Essay, plunging it down, out of the well deck.

  The Marines all shouted, screamed, or bellowed out to equalize the sudden pressure of the launch. One terrified scream on Dragon Two cut clearly through the yells of the Marines. No one wondered who it was. Even the newest, most junior of the Marines had made two previous assault landings and wasn't surprised by the force with which the Essay left the ship.

  A couple of hundred meters below the ship, the Essay's engines cut in, first stabilizing the Essay and taking it clear of the ship, then sending it on a collision course toward the surface of the planet below. Five minutes after leaving orbit, the Essay reached an altitude of fifty thousand meters. Stubby wings deployed and front-facing breaking jets fired. Inside the Dragons it felt like they had run into a wall at full speed.

  That's how it felt to Lieutenant Snodgrass. The officer, who had "made just about every kind of planetfall the navy conducts," had been screaming and tearing at his webbing ever since the Essay was ejected from the well deck. When the breaking jets fired, he lost the contents of his stomach.

  "I heard that back there," shouted Dragon's crew chief, a petty officer third class, over the intercom. This was the first thing he'd said to his passengers. "You better use your suction tube to clean that up before it makes a mess, Marine." He didn't click off the intercom fast enough to completely cut off his gunner's laugh. The Marines laughed with the gunner.

  They knew the sailors in the driver's compartment knew who had thrown up.

  Fortunately, Snodgrass was in the position closest to the ramp, and his ejecta didn't spatter on anyone but himself. But some did get on the ramp and on the deck below his legs.

  Bass leaned toward Snodgrass. "You heard the man, Mr. Snodgrass," he said. He reached above the webbing and pulled down the suction tube. "Protocol. Anyone who barfs cleans it up himself." He held the business end of the tube in front of Snodgrass's face. "Do it. Sir."

  Snodgrass groaned and rolled his head from side to side, but didn't reach for the suction tube.

  "Clean it up or continue to wear it."

  The Essay's stubby wings shuddered as they bit into the thickening atmosphere. The coxswain cut off the braking rockets, turned on the atmosphere engines, and turned the Essay into a speed-eating spiral. Snodgrass dry-heaved.

  "You aren't dying, Lieutenant, you just feel like it. You better clean that up before it decides to stick. We're about to start doing some serious jerking around."

  Snodgrass turned a horrified expression to Bass. "No-o-o?" he moaned.

  "Yes. You don't clean it up, you're going to slip and fall in it when you get out of your webbing."

  Snodgrass turned even greener but took the suction tube and feebly waved it at the mess covering his front.

  "The deck and ramp too."

  The effort to bend himself toward the ramp proved to be too much, and Snodgrass collapsed backward into his webbing without doing the job.

  Bass looked away from the lieutenant and to his men. "Don't say it," he mouthed at them. Most of them grinned back at him.

  At a thousand meters the coxswain pulled out of the spiral and popped the drogue chute. The Dragons' webbing adjusted from acceleration posture to vertical.

  "Stand by for touchdown," the Essay's coxswain announced.

  The Dragon drivers cranked up their engines and the armored hovercraft lifted from the deck. A moment later the Essay splashed down on the surface of Society 437's ocean and dropped its ramp. The Dragons raced out and hummed over the water toward the shore two kilometers away. As soon as they were at a safe distance, the Essay lifted off for a suborbital altitude where it would circle until called back to the surface—or up to the orbiting ship.

  Nine minutes after leaving the Essay that brought them from orbit, the three Dragons settled to the ground ten kilometers inland, just outside Central Station, and dropped their ramps. The Marines scrambled out of them and raced to form a defensive perimeter.<
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  The Fairfax County wasn't visible in the morning sky from Central Station, but the flame from the engine of the Essay bringing the Marines to their planetfall was.

  "They are coming," the large one said in a harsh, guttural tongue. He looked at the sky and, though his arms hung quietly at his sides, his hands twisted and flexed as though they gripped a weapon.

  "We knew they would," the small one said. The slits on his sides opened and closed with his excited nose-and-lung breathing, and the useless fluttering of the gills inside them was visible.

  "Do they come here?" the large one asked. He stood nearly two and a half meters tall and weighed about 170 kilograms. His gill slits also opened and closed needlessly.

  "They would not start elsewhere," the small one replied. He stood little more than a meter and a half tall and weighed less than fifty kilos.

  "We will attack them and kill them when they land," the large one said.

  "No!" the small one barked.

  The large one restrained a flinch.

  "We do not know how many there are," the small one said. "See?" He pointed. A second flare was visible from another Essay as it launched from the Fairfax County. "Look at it. The second shuttle is on a different landing trajectory. We will wait until they all come, when we are sure that all who are coming down are here and they are in one place. Then we will wait for them to join up with the others. Only when the Earth barbarians are all together will we attack, then will we kill them all. For now we will disperse into the swamps and move south. If their sensors detect us, they will see us as native creatures and not interpret us as a threat. We will not gather again until we gather to attack and kill them."

  "Then we will wait for the next ones."

  "Then we will wait for the next ones," the small creature agreed. "And we will kill all of them as well."

  The large one bowed low to his leader. The leader bowed also, but his bow left his head higher than the head of his larger subordinate. They lowered their yellowish mud-colored bodies into the sluggish water of the swamp, spread their fingers and toes to stretch the webbing between them, and swam to where the others waited. In minutes the band gathered its weapons and other gear and, except for a few watchers left behind, spread in twos and threes deep into the swamp, heading away from Central Station.