by John Ringo
"I will," Miriam said. "But they're so cute! And they don't really look like hamsters. More like chinchillas. Chinchillas have opposable thumbs."
"Fine, spear-wielding surfer chinchillas," Bill said. "Just be careful."
He and Miller followed the linguist towards where the trio of Marines were lined up facing the locals. The natives had mostly grounded their boards when it became apparent that the visitors weren't going anywhere. A few of them had flown around the ship, much to the consternation of the captain, but otherwise they seemed fine with just watching for the time being.
"Lots of body language," Miriam said as she approached the trio. "The way they're moving their ears and noses seems to almost be part of their language."
"Have you picked up anything from the squeaks?" Bill asked.
"Lots," Miriam said as she strode past the Marines. "Eegle, eegle, meek!" she squeaked over the external speakers.
The apparent leader of the group, mottled in patches of brown over a dark coat, stood up and squeaked back at her.
This went on for about three minutes, with Miriam occasionally waving her arms, then paused. Before Weaver could react, the front of the suit opened up and Miriam stepped out wearing only the skin-tight coverall that was necessary to pilot the suit.
"Eegle, sreek!" Miriam said, waving to the group of locals.
"Oh, maulk," Weaver said. "Command, we have contamination."
"I saw," the CO said. "We also have some large forms moving in from the northeast."
"We're on it," Jaenisch said. "Hattelstad, echelon right."
"Heat forms," Hattelstad said, vectoring his cannon in the direction of the threat.
"Miss Miriam," Jaenisch boomed over the external speakers. "We have heat forms moving in from the northeast. Please reenter your armor."
"I'm on it," Miller said, his Wyvern bounding into a trot to the northeast. "Marines, ensure local security."
Miriam squeaked at the leader and pointed to the northeast. The leader didn't appear to understand at first then gestured for two of the group to head that way. They passed the bounding Wyvern, then turned back, squeaking and whistling at the group of locals. They, in turn, began scrambling on their boards and clawing for altitude.
"She's not listening," Berg said, striding forward. He lightly tapped Miriam on the shoulder and pointed for her to get behind him.
"I'm fine right here," Miriam said. "If they get close, I'll get in my armor."
"Ma'am," Berg said, trying not to pick the silly twit up and toss her back on the ship. "The armor doesn't always work. Would you at least stand behind me?"
"Okay," Miriam said with a pout. She squeaked at the leader and then pointed.
"Grapp," Miller said, sliding to a stop at the sight of the pack of obvious predators. The things looked like some sort of dragon or giant lizard, their backs and shoulders armored in broad plates with narrow spines sticking up along their back. They were about the size of a male lion, with triangular shaped heads that appeared to be almost entirely bone and teeth. And there were eight of them.
As soon as they saw the Wyvern, they charged.
Miller knew that backing away was not an option, so he took a knee and opened fire.
Fortunately, unlike that on the crabpus, the armoring of these predators was not resistant to 7.62 mm high-velocity bullets nor were the creatures stupid. The scything fire of the Gatling gun tore into the group, splashing three of them on the ground and scattering the rest into retreat.
The locals had initially approached the pack, keeping high with their spears angled down to throw. But at the chainsaw blast of fire from the Gatling gun they turned tail and ran as well, heading for the treeline.
"Meek, eek!" Miriam yelled. "Eegle neek, neek! Sccccrrkk!"
"Do you actually know what you're saying?" Weaver asked.
"Yes," Miriam snapped. "See?"
The group of locals had paused and were now returning, slowly. The leader gestured and squeaked and two of the group flew towards the Wyvern, then outwards. They evidently found the pack and traced it as it circled. The predators had only been driven off momentarily.
"Command, Ground," Weaver said. "Can we get some more security out here?"
"On the way," the CO said. "Another set of Marines. We're going to cycle them through as fast as we can."
"Roger," Weaver said. "Miss Moon, if you could tell the locals that more of us are coming out and that it's for protection not a threat to them, please?"
"I'll try," Miriam said, breaking into more squeaks.
The group of locals came to a hover over the human detachment as Miller rejoined the group.
"Those two out there mean what I think it means?" Miller asked, following the two locals as they came around to the north and started, slowly, closing on the humans.
"I'm presuming they're tracking the predators," Weaver said. "How tough are they?"
"Pretty easy, really," Miller said. "Scary looking as hell, but a 7.62 mm takes them down just fine. Jaenisch, you get that?"
"You got automatically switched to local," Sergeant Jaenisch said. "We got it. I guess Two-Gun can't show off."
Berg ground his teeth but remained silent.
The leader of the locals suddenly swooped down, causing Bergstresser to raise his Gatling gun. It annoyed him that his first action had actually been to drop his hand towards his side.
"Wait," Miriam said as the local settled close to her and squeaked, holding out his hand.
"He's figured out that I'm the only one that's vulnerable," Miriam said. "He wants me to get on his board."
"Don't," the CO said over the circuit. "Do not go with them. They appear marginally friendly, but if you get scooped up, we're going to have a hard time tracking you down. They can move faster than we can."
She squeaked and pointed, then pointed back at her armor. The local squeaked at her, then jumped off the board, offering it to her.
"Holy maulk," Bill said. "Security, priority is to ensure the survival of the local. Is that clear?"
"Clear, sir," Jaenisch said. "Bergstresser, Hattelstad, close on the local and ensure his protection."
"I don't know how to ride one of those things," Miriam said nervously.
"Figure it out, fast," Bill replied. "They apparently don't want you back in armor. We'll go with that for now if you can get up to altitude."
"Okay," Miriam replied, stepping on the board. "Whoa!" she shouted as the board rapidly ascended then banked. "Hey, this is fun!"
The two Marines had stepped over to the local and then forward, between him—and the local was definitely a "he"—and the threat.
"Grapp this," Miller muttered. "Command, permission to exit armor."
"Warrant officer, if you exit armor you will be required to maintain one month quarantine," the CO pointed out. "That means you'll still be in quarantine after we get back."
"Understood, sir," the SEAL replied. "I think it would be useful for purposes of local contact."
"Agreed," the CO said. "Permission granted."
"Oorah," Miller said, hitting the release on his armor and stepping out. The fresh air felt wonderful after over a month on the boat. It seemed like the clearest air he'd ever breathed. However, he didn't have much time for sight-seeing. He quickly opened up the bail-out pack on the armor and donned his body armor, grabbed a pair of combat glasses and pulled out an M-10.
"Eegle meek," he tried to squeak as he walked over to take a position by the local leader and slid on the glasses. "Whatever the grapp that means."
"Eeg, eeg, neek," the local responded, looking the SEAL up and down. "Neek ga-srreeee."
"Yeah," Miller said, rubbing his head. "Ga-sree. I hope I didn't just insult his mother."
"There they are," Jaenisch said.
* * *
The heat forms were evident in the combat glasses, even through the screening vegetation. Miller lifted the M-10 to his shoulder and got a good solid position.
"You better get ready to ga-
sree," he said to the local.
"Neek, sreeeeee," the local responded, dropping his spear to hip level and crouching. "Meee, snaaa." The local lifted his nose and sniffed aggressively.
"Not sure if I smell 'em or not," Miller said, sniffing. There were just too many unfamiliar smells. Strangely, he wasn't sure he was getting any scent from the local, even though they were in touching distance. Maybe a sort of mustiness, but that was about it.
The pack had paused at what Miller figured was its charging distance. It probably thought it was out of sight.
"Should we open fire, sir?" Sergeant Jaenisch asked.
The question was over radio but it was transmitted to the SEAL's earplugs.
"Negative," Miller said. "Wait until they are in view. Pick your targets. I get full left. You take left center, Two-Gun right center, Hatt full right."
The pack broke cover just as he finished and he targeted his chosen beasts, firing three-round bursts into the chest region. The M-10 didn't have the authority of one of the Gatlings, but the 7.62 mm rounds punched the first lizard center of the target zone, and it stumbled to its knees, then rolled over, kicking in death throes.
The rest of the pack had been stopped just as cold, Jaenisch getting two in one sweep of fire and Berg, Weaver and Hattelstad each getting one.
"Yeeee!" the local shrieked, holding his hands to his ears and squeaking in what certainly sounded like curses.
"Sorry about that," Miller said, reloading quickly. "Yeah, they're kinda loud."
25
The Frumious Neenion
"The biggest problem with this world is that I can see the possibility of cross-contamination," Julia said, shaking her head. "This biology and human is so close it's scary."
"How's the sampling going?" Weaver asked as the biologist squatted down and scooped up a sample of dung.
"We're buried in data, as Dr. Dean would have said," Julia responded, sealing away the sample. "If this world was terraformed, it was a long time ago. Lots of speciation, multiple families, deep soil, complex ecosystem. Well, just the difference between those predators and the locals shows that. This isn't a simple world by any stretch of the imagination. Most of it's going to have to be sorted out back on Earth. I'm just sampling and checking for potential cross-infections. I've been pumping air and water from the surroundings to the rats and mice, but it's really pointless. Our two biggest guinea pigs are over there," she said, gesturing with her sensor pod.
Miriam and Miller, backed by the three suited Marines, were cross-legged in the center of a group of the locals. The locals had started a fire, butchered most of the predators and were now having a barbeque while talking with the SEAL and the linguist. Mostly with the linguist, who seemed to be absorbing the language like a sponge.
"How's it going?" Weaver asked, striding over to the group.
"Well," Miller said, shrugging. "She's apparently established the name of the local tribe, that the name for 'other' is enemy, but they're willing to accept that we're not here to take their land and that the name of the predators is Sreee. That's all I've got. Cop a squat if you're any good at languages."
"They don't seem too freaked out by our armor," Bill said. "Or the ship."
"She's working on that," Miller replied. "They've apparently got a legend about flying ships. They also have a legend that flying ships are good but when they arrive, the 'Demons' return. We're not sure what the Demons are or why they're associated with the flying ships. But the association seems to be that the Demons don't come from the flying ships, they're just a result of them. Basically, they're saying we're welcome for a bit but then we need to leave."
"Interesting," Bill said. "There's a crate of trade goods coming down from the ship in payment for our stay. Tell Miss Moon to pass on that we're going to be here just long enough to look around, then we're leaving."
"She already did," Miller said. "Anything else, Obi Wan?"
"No," Bill said, chuckling. "There's enough security down that I'm headed back to the ship. I guess we won't be sharing any syrup any time soon."
"Yeah, get that cycled through to me, will you?" Miller replied. "But, what the hell, when I'm stuck in quarantine at least I've got cute company."
"Is it just me or does this place really make you want to pop your armor?" Guppy asked.
"There with you, pard," Chuckie said. "This is sweet. I mean, the grass looks like grass if you know what I mean."
"Just because it looks like grass, it doesn't mean it won't kill you," Staff Sergeant Driscoll said. "Keep the chatter down and keep an eye on your sectors."
"Staff Sergeant, with all due respect," Chuckie said formally, "we are watching our sectors. There is not apparent reason to maintain radio silence and there is no other way to pass the time than talking."
"And I gave you an order, PFC," the staff sergeant said. "Are you questioning my orders under combat conditions?"
"No, Staff Sergeant," the former RTO said.
"Then shut up."
"Hey, Dris," Sergeant Jaenisch said, walking over. "See anything?"
"You will refer to me as Staff Sergeant Driscoll, Sergeant Jaenisch," Driscoll said. "And if we had observed any movement we would have reported it."
"Okay, Staff Sergeant Driscoll," Jaen replied. "Excuse me for asking. I was just wondering, though, if you'd detected any neenion emissions."
"Neenions?" Driscoll said.
"A tertiary quark junction," Jaen said, sighing. "You have read the manual on neenions, right? Because they can cause failure of your quantum subprocessors. We were getting some neenion twitches from your direction. All your suits are a hundred percent, right?"
"I haven't gotten any red lights," Staff Sergeant Driscoll said.
"Okay, but keep an eye out for neenions," Jaenisch said seriously. "You might want Lurch to check your systems when we get back."
"Thanks for the heads up, Sergeant," Driscoll said.
"No prob."
Chuckie cut his transmitter and walked over to Guppy, leaning his armor into the lance corporal's. By making contact between two sets of armor it was possible, barely, to communicate.
"What the grapp is a neenion?" Chuckie yelled.
"There isn't any such thing as a neenion!" Guppy yelled back.
"Thought so!"
"PFC Seeley, get back into position!"
"Sorry, Staff Sergeant," Seeley replied, quickly turning his transmitter back on. "I was doing a neenion check on Lance Corporal Golupski's armor!"
"Oh."
"Well, while slightly out of sequence I would say that that was a successful mission," the CO said to the after-actions group.
The ship was back in orbit, having suffered no casualties and gathered reams of data. They'd also bought one of the flying boards, which was now carefully tucked away. Where the natives had gotten them was still a mystery, but the leader had been more than willing to give one up in return for a crate of steel hatchets and machetes. He'd tried to hold out for one of the M-10s until Miriam got across to him that the "magic" was strictly limited and he wouldn't be able to recreate it.
"We picked up a mass of data," Dr. Beach said. "I'm inclined to agree with Dr. Robertson that most of it is going to have to be analyzed on Earth. There is one anomaly about the locals though. Dr. Robertson?"
"We caught a number of small animals, including some which are essentially mammaloform, as are the locals," Julia said, frowning. "And I was able to gather a hair sample from the natives. The problem is, while the cellular biology of the two groups is close, it's different enough to make me wonder. Miss Moon, did you get any sense that the locals might not be native to this world?"
"No," Miriam replied over the video screen. "They have legends of flying ships, but no legends of having come from off-world. But I didn't get deeply into their legend structure and something like that . . . Well, there are human legends that have been taken to be evidence of extraterrestrial impact on humanity. But nobody really believes them."
"Ezekie
l's Wheel," Dr. Robertson said, nodding. "The Nazca Lines, I understand. But . . . did they say anything about special food needs?"
"Sort of," Miriam replied. "They ate the sreee, but they also ate some sort of vegetable or fruit. I just assumed they liked a balanced diet or they picked it up on the way."