THE BURNING HEART OF NIGHT

by Ivan Cat

  "Doesn't mean anything," Jenette transmitted. "That's how it grows naturally."

  Karr moved out of the patch of light, which was formed by spotlights shining through the opening above. He kicked away shell-like shards, which covered most of the floor. "Does it also grow naturally in long roadways five yards wide?"

  "No."

  Karr followed the upward slope of pavement, flanked by Guards alert for any sign of trouble. More interesting sights appeared as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. They were in a cavern, a squat bubble one hundred yards across. The tangled-root floor bent up into walls and all the way around, curving into the ceiling. As they neared those walls, the Guards' searchbeams began to pick out haunted shapes.

  Karr whistled.

  "No way..." Liberty whispered in her husky way, mouth hanging open. "Ah shit."

  The corn-channel came alive with voices.

  "What is it?" Jenette asked.

  "Is anyone injured?" Marsh piped in at the same time. "We can't see your lights anymore."

  "Negative," Toliver reported. "No casualties. We are uninjured."

  Searchbeams flicked over rectangular shapes, collapsed like houses of cards and half-buried in the walls and floor of the cavity. Karr recognized the material immediately: ceramite, that ever-present building block of humankind in space. Empty windows stared back from man-made ceramite panels like blind eyes, doorways rimmed in ceramite gaped like tormented mouths.

  "Nice job dropping that scanner, Dr. Bigelow," said Karr.

  "Oh yes?" came the scientist's transmitted voice. "Really?"

  "Really. You found the missing colony."

  The rescue cage shuttled up and down, first bringing humans, then reluctant domestics, who did not like the idea of underground at all. Bronte had to be pulled from the rescue cage.

  "No, no," Bronte whimpered, claws digging in. "Too dark, too dark."

  Crash, when it was his turn, was no more eager. "Underground bad. Too dark."

  "That's what you have glowbuds for," Dr. Marsh chided. The young doctor pulled on Crash's backpack straps, to no avail. "Now come on out."

  Crash shook his low slung head. "Unh-uuhh."

  In the end no human or humans could move the resisting alien—the harder they pulled, the harder Crash dug in—and only a fishy-smelling cookie eventually enticed him out. Arrou came down last, his spherical eyes peering uncertainly into the great, dim space.

  "Don't even think about it," Jenette hissed as he opened his mouth to object. "You are far too smart for that."

  "Urrr?" the alien rumbled, with a distinct who me? expression.

  "Yes, you. Out."

  Against his better judgment, Arrou began to slink out of the cage, but he stopped halfway, rethinking. His head tipped hopefully.

  "Cookie?"

  Jenette planted her fists on her hips. "Out!"

  Arrou and Jenette joined those huddling on the yellow pavement. Arrou, Crash, and Bronte sniffed around, their four-legged forms lit up like green-white specters among the lonely structures.

  "Nothing?" Karr asked Bigelow, who was turning slowly, scanning with his detecting device.

  "No," the scientist admitted.

  At which point Skutch stepped up and pulled out a detector of his own, a small rod with lines of lights along its long axis. "This one keys on atmospheric traces of explosives, as opposed to radiant energy. Setting to C-55 now." Skutch gave the rod a twist and watched. Karr waited hopefully, Bigelow leaned over the explosive expert's shoulder to watch. The device failed to react. Skutch shrugged and pressed a test stud, which caused the rod to light up and bleep. "The instrument is reading correctly," he decided. "There just isn't anything to detect."

  "Same here," Bigelow sighed.

  Skutch clipped his detector onto the barrel of his pulse-rifle.

  Karr followed the yellow roadway through scattered ruins. The others fanned out, both repelled and attracted to the foreboding structures, and staying close to their domestics. Khafra glowbuds couldn't match searchbeams for range, but they provided good illumination a full three hundred and sixty degrees around them, and they were far better than the civilian issue flashlights that the unarmed humans carried.

  Jenette peeked into a doorway. The interior was dark and musty. Arrou poked his nose in too, bringing his light with him. The door itself was nowhere in evidence, perhaps buried in the overgrown ghutzu roots which covered all of the floor and most of the back wall of the room, like blown sand. There was no sign of the building's contents, or what purpose it had served. It was small, like all the structures in the cavity, and neither it nor any of the others looked very important to Jenette.

  She turned to a clatter behind her. Crash, laden with medical supplies, had tripped over a fallen wall panel.

  Edgy, Bronte looked down her muzzle at him. "Fumblefoot."

  "Snooty-tootie," Crash retorted, just as nervous. He slipped again as he tried to get up.

  Bronte extended a paw. "Lickslobber."

  "Smooch-butt," said Crash, accepting the help.

  "Arrou," Karr called from where the yellow road dead-ended into a curving wall, "can you give me a light?"

  Arrou trotted over and glowed.

  Karr examined the surface. It appeared smooth from the distance, but was actually composed of interwoven roots, dead and hardened like everything else on Coffin Island. Arrou pawed at it. Little came free, even under his strong talons.

  Jenette and the others came up behind Karr and stood quietly in the eerie cavity, waiting for his next move.

  Karr retreated ten paces from the wall, raised the Gattler and thumbed its selector knob to a cutting beam, low power, wide dispersion. Chrome barrels and ammunition globes spun. He pulled the trigger. A cutting beam thrummed, searing a hole two yards across and five deep. Karr walked the beam forward. The Guards kept pace, shining searchbeams into the deepening tunnel. A hot wind roared back at them, driving shattered bits of root into everyone's faces. Ten feet, twenty feet, the borehole grew deeper. Karr crouched, entering the new passage, but didn't stop cutting until the first ragged signs of a breakthrough.

  The Guards eyed the Gattler with respect as Karr released the trigger.

  "AB-5 Ruger?" Toliver asked.

  "AB-8 Colt & Krupp," Karr replied.

  "The latest model?" asked Grubb.

  "As of thirty-seven years ago," said Karr, preoccupied with peering through the break. Of course he had the latest model; he was a Pilot. Every time Karr put in at a major world, decades had elapsed during which technology advanced; Long Reach got refitted, and Karr got new equipment.

  "What's her beam capacity?" asked Toliver.

  "At full power, there's enough charge to burn through five yards of solid granite a second."

  Toliver nodded appreciatively, no doubt thinking of bloodier applications for the medical tool.

  "That's almost as good as one of these babies," Skutch said, patting a series of grenade-sized explosives that hung from his belt. "C-23 proportional charges. They're designed around a principal similar to the C-55 core-boring warhead, but on a smaller, friendlier scale. And they're fully adjustable, from blowing up a few Ferals, right on up to cutting through twenty yards of reinforced plasteel."

  Karr looked up. "What about sixty feet of root overburden?" he asked.

  "Not a problem," Skutch said, catching Karr's train of thought. "You find the warheads and I'll blast a hole down to them, without so much as putting a scratch on their casings."

  "Perhaps your proportional charges will be useful," Karr allowed.

  Skutch grinned. "In a pinch they're pretty good for fishing, too. No hook or net required. Just lob one in the water and, BOOM, take your pick from what floats up."

  "The New Ascension lure," Liberty quipped.

  Karr lost interest in the banter and started to break out of the tunnel, but the Guards stepped in the way.

  "Is this really necessary?" Karr hissed to Jenette as they insisted on preceding him.

 
"Yes," said Jenette.

  "This is why I prefer to work alone," Karr protested. "A fully-trained Pilot needs no chaperoning."

  Jenette sighed. "Just let them do their job, okay?"

  Weapons ready, the Guards kicked through the last bits of root at the passage end. Musty air wafted from the opening as they scrambled out of the borehole into a cavern with a lower ceiling, but which was wider than the first. At the okay from Toliver, Karr crawled out and followed the yellow road as it emerged from the wall and lead on into a crowded ghost town. Larger and more numerous structures occupied that second cavity, some disappearing into the ghutzu root like sinking ships. Most were in various states of collapse, their innards strewn across the ground. All sorts of human items were visible under an ivy-like tangle of dead roots, which covered everything like snow on a trash heap.

  They ambled through the wreckage.

  The New Ascension natives swallowed or fidgeted, but said nothing.

  Karr tried not to let what he saw bother him, as was proper for a Pilot, but the Coffin Island ghost town was a textbook example of a failed colony. Pilot Lindal Karr had not seeded it, but given a slightly different set of random events he easily might have. The dreamers ferried in Long Reach had always been numbers to Karr; execute the mission, get the job done. If one or two percent of dreamers died in transit, that was within tolerable limits. If a couple of colonies failed out of each six or seven seeded, that was unfortunate necessity. The greater destiny of humanity lay in the stars. Only the big numbers counted. Here, however, personal possessions spilled from residence blocks: holos of families, inscribed jewelry, toys, souvenirs from planets Karr didn't recognize. Evidence of individual hopes and aspirations. Evidence of broken dreams. And numbers weren't supposed to have dreams.

  It was an unsettling sight, even for a Pilot.

  The roadwort path was twisted by whatever process had sunk it into the island. Other roads crossed it at odd intervals, disappearing into narrow alleys or blocked altogether where structures had collapsed down on them.

  "Just, um, call out if you see a landmark," Bigelow said, trying to make sense of their position on the map-reader in his left hand while also keeping an eye on the detector in his right hand.

  The gaping windows and hungry doors seemed endless. The humans poked into ruins as they went, but found no useful information. After some time, Arrou began to lag behind. Jenette dropped back to him as he stood, head cocked, focusing his earpits behind the party.

  "What is it?" she asked.

  "Urrkurrkurrk. Not sure. Tapping noise?"

  Jenette tried to listen in the intimidating gloom, but her human ears were not sensitive enough. "I don't hear anything."

  "Gone now," Arrou admitted.

  They hurried to catch up. The expedition pressed deeper into the second cavern, Arrou still straining to hear behind them. After a few tight twists of the road, he froze at the intersection of a descending side street. Annoyed polka-dot patterns bristled on his back.

  "Rrrrrrrrr," he grumbled. "Tapping. Like noise in engine. Teases, then hides. Sneaky." His head turned, as if tracking the sound. His patterns cycled angrily. "Rrrrrr. Not like."

  Again Jenette tried to listen. "I still don't hear—"

  Then Jenette heard it, a dry scraping noise echoed up from below. Kekitekitekitek.

  "Rrrrrrrrr!"

  "Arrou, wait!" Jenette hissed as the alien suddenly bounded down the slope. His glowing form disappeared behind a distant building as Karr and the others came over. "I couldn't stop him," she explained. "He just ran off."

  A distant yelp sounded.

  Moments later, Arrou came tearing around the rubble and back up the hill. "Big bug, big bug!" Chaotic orange and blue slashes strobed across his glowbuds. "Big bug!"

  "Calm down," Jenette said as he made it to the top.

  "Big bug!" Arrou plopped down on his haunches and held his forepaws a yard apart to show scale. "Many legs. Big teeth. Raaagh!" He pantomimed chomping mandibles with his talons, then held up a forepaw. "Bit Arrou."

  Arrou's wrist was swollen.

  At first there had been nervous chuckles at Arrou's story—New Ascension had many different species of large buzzers and most were harmless—but now those died off and Dr. Marsh was suddenly digging through medikits strapped to Crash's back. New Ascension neurotoxins worked very fast.

  "Worms in me, worms in me," Arrou fretted.

  "Calm down. It's all right," Jenette repeated. Feral Khafra were highly resistant to neurotoxin, thanks to their yearly exchange of immune venom with bondmates, but domestics were not—and they knew it. She wrapped an arm around his hulking, shaking shoulders. "It's going to be all right. There are no worms in you." There were worms in her, but not in Arrou. Gulping, Jenette concentrated on calming her friend. "Dr. Marsh will take care of the poison."

  Marsh grasped Arrou's forearm and turned it under a flashlight. "Hold still. No signs of trauma to the inner skin. Slight abrasions of the lateral armor, probably bite marks. No creeping necrosis. Slight swelling." She bent Arrou's wrist. "Pain?"

  "No. Numb."

  "I said hold still," Marsh admonished.

  "Can't stop," Arrou said with worried eyes as his limb twitched. "Not doing."

  "Interesting," Marsh hummed. "Involuntary nerve stimulation. Haven't observed that before." She considered the rest of Arrou. "You're a big one aren't you?" Marsh pulled a handful of transparent pouches out of her supplies. Each had two compartments, one filled with red fluid and one filled with green. They came in several different sizes. "Three hundred and fifty pounds?" she estimated.

  "Four ten," said Jenette.

  Marsh selected the largest pouch.

  "Biomorphic fungi," she explained to Karr. "Another failed cure for Scourge, but it eats neurotoxin at a phenomenal rate." She gave the pouch a sharp shake. The barrier between the red and green fluids burst. "Just mix in catalyst and apply." Marsh removed a protective sheet from one side and applied the exposed sticky back to Arrou's forearm. "Osmosis does the rest.

  "Now stay still," she warned Arrou. "This'll hit you pretty fast. You may feel warm, but that's normal. Tell me if you feel any constriction—tightness—in your chest."

  Everyone took a break in the oppressive silence, sitting next to or leaning against one of the many vine-covered walls.

  "That was not smart," Jenette said, "running off and getting bit by a strange buzzer."

  Arrou hung his head apologetically. "Not see. Buzzer comes out of hole in wall."

  After that remark the expedition members continued to wait, but they stood up and clustered together. The walls were riddled with many dark holes.

  Searchbeams lanced through an archway. Guards, and then the rest of the expedition members, followed the tactical lights into a long forgotten storage yard. The soldiers' eyes scanned nests of holes around the bottom of perimeter walls and under rows of chemical tanks.

  The place was in shambles.

  Dry particulate matter spilled onto the floor from broken pipes. Three kinds of impressions showed in the loose material: one set of Khafra paws running in, a set of Khafra paws bounding out, and many skittering lines of tiny imprints—some even over Arrou's tracks.

  Arrou pointed. "Saw buzzer at back."

  The Guards split up and took separate aisles between the towering tanks, working to the rear as Arrou indicated. The Search-beams grew smaller, sweeping back and forth or jabbing into holes and crevices.

  "Don't see anything," Toliver's voice came over the comsets.

  "Something hungry chewed through this ceramite," Skutch observed from the far end.

  "Yeah," Toliver acknowledged, "but judging from the size of these prints, it was small."

  Jenette turned to Arrou, who had no comset to listen to the conversation with. "Where's the big bug?"

  "Not know," Arrou admitted, his head sweeping around suspiciously. "Was here. Big bug. Raaaaagh." Again he pantomimed large mandibles biting, as if that would bring the creature
into the open.

  "Did you catch that?" Jenette asked into her headset.

  "Yes," Toliver answered. "We'll stay vigilant, but there's nothing here now."

  Karr and the non-military expedition members advanced.

  "Hey," called Liberty from a couple aisles over. "I found bones."

  "This damn island is nothing but bones," Jenette grumbled.

  "Yes ma'am," Liberty agreed, "but this is a skeleton."

  Humans and domestics converged on a narrow, dim aisle. Jenette ran her fingers over many rents in the chemical tanks to either side; always there were four conspicuous gashes in parallel, like those made by Khafra claws. And there were also telltale spider-web ripples on the tank walls nearby those gashes.

  "Pulse-rifle hits?" Karr wondered.

  Jenette nodded morbidly.

  "Look at this," Liberty said as they arrived. She brushed debris off a half-buried ribcage. Bits of desiccated flesh held the bones together.

  Dr. Marsh joined Liberty at the remains. Together they pried at a bullet-shaped skull. It came free, with another strange skull impaled on the teeth of its many radial jaws. Cancerous nodules contorted the second skull like knots on a sickly tree.

  "Homo sapiens," Marsh announced.

  Karr squinted at the repulsive object. "That?"

  Marsh held the specimen next to Karr's head for comparison. "You see, it's the right size."

  "I don't get it," Karr said. "How can that be human?"

  "That's what Scourge does to bones," Jenette said quietly.

  "Ugh," said Bigelow, hastening away from the grisly sight.

  "Oh, this is nothing," Marsh said, examining the remains with clinical detachment. "What it does to living tissue is far more severe."

  Jenette's hand instinctively went to the glands in her neck. She began to sweat in the cool underground air.

  Many more bones were mixed together in the dust. They painted a picture. One quadruped and one biped skeleton were locked together, still in combat. The quadruped's teeth had pierced the biped's skull, and a large blast hole—presumably caused by a pulse-rifle—ripped through the quadruped's ribs.