Project U.L.F.

by Stuart Clark

  He watched as the creature cautiously lifted one leg and prodded the trap with its foot, trying to get some response from the thing, something that would identify it as prey or otherwise. It nudged the trap lightly at first and then, when no response was forthcoming, more insistently. Finally satisfied that the silver object in the grass posed no threat, it stooped to lift the trap, gripping it clumsily with its three fingers. As it lifted it from the ground the lasers once again darted off on their separate paths. The sudden burst of light alarmed the animal and it dropped the trap, instantly springing back some ten feet in one single fluid movement. Its lips peeled back in a sneer revealing its impressive array of teeth. The creature hissed its displeasure. Then it turned to face Wyatt. The thing had known he was there all along.

  In that instant Wyatt felt like a child again, preparing to be reprimanded by his father. Here, once more, he was faced with an authority that he was powerless to challenge, to which he was inferior.

  The creature had made an association between the trap and Wyatt, and looked at him as if waiting for some explanation. It sneered and hissed again and then bellowed at him, its neck stretched forward as if to emphasize whom the howl was directed at.

  He turned and ran then, the thought to flee being the first one to cross his mind. He could have reached for his gun but he did not trust his shaking hands to operate the weapon as they had been trained to, besides, he had seen the speed with which the animal could move and he doubted whether he could draw and raise the gun before the creature covered the ten or so yards between them.

  He plunged through the dense foliage, arms flailing to push away the stray fronds and leaves which occasionally struck him, leaving scratches on his face and tears in his clothing as he frantically fought his way past them. It seemed as if the whole environment had suddenly turned malicious.

  He stumbled and fell, his legs not being able to move as fast as his body was willing them. He landed awkwardly but sprang back to his feet with a newfound agility. Over the sound of his ragged, hurried breathing he could hear the pursuit—the rustle of leaves and the crack of wood as the animal stampeded through the forest after him. He thought it sounded like a forest fire, but only the strongest of winds could make fire follow him as swiftly as the thing that mimicked the noise now.

  He was running blind, batting aside the forest growth to hasten his passage, turning only twice to be confronted both times with a glimpse of the plant growth swaying back behind him like a gate closing, shutting him in. On the second occasion, his foot struck a large protruding tree root and he was sent sprawling to the ground in a shower of leaves. As he clambered to his hands and knees and spat the earth from his mouth he was struck from behind with such force that he was almost thrown to the ground again. It had caught up with him. It was grasping his backpack, its head level with his. He could feel its hot breath and flecks of spittle on his neck.

  Somehow he managed to stagger to his feet and then, like someone resigned to throwing himself off a precipice, he flung his hands behind him. With a wriggle the straps of his pack slipped off his shoulders and the weight of the animal pulled it off his back, both pack and beast falling to the ground.

  He was away once more, running with a lightness in his step which was perhaps not only due to the loss of the cumbersome weight he had carried before but also to the closeness of his brush with death. He had never been that close to actually perishing before, but he had also never felt more alive than he did now.

  The combination of the heat and the exertion was making him dizzy and he knew that he would have to pause to catch his breath while he had a lead on the animal, which was probably where he had left it, examining its trophy with the same caution it had shown the trap, thinking maybe that it had claimed a part of him. He stopped and turned to look behind him. There was no sign of the animal and he could hear nothing that would signify its approach. He leaned over, his hands on his knees as his breaths, which came in huge, wheezing pants, gradually lessened in frequency. Thoughts raced through his mind, each being dismissed as quickly as they came. He straightened, still with no real plan as to what he was going to do. He would think as he ran. He was sure the creature would continue to hunt him down as soon as it realized that it would get no meal from the backpack. He turned to run again and was confronted with hundreds of teeth as the thing howled into his face. He screamed.

  * * * * *

  He was covered in sweat and his voice died in the room. The forest was gone, and where the trees once stood were now dim outlines that slowly resolved as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It was the dream again.

  He wiped his brow with a shaking hand and let it fall down his face, rubbing forefinger and thumb across his eyelids before pinching the bridge of his nose. He struggled to prop himself up on his elbows in the soft bed and exhaled deeply. It was not the first time the nightmare had come and he was annoyed at himself for letting it wake him. He was growing tired of the disruption, almost to the point where he wished that, as he woke, one of the shadows in the room would move and it would be there, somehow managing not only to chase him through the forest but also across the boundaries of imagination and reality. To make the outcome of the pursuit final.

  He flipped the bedclothes off and away from him as he swung his legs off the bed and planted his feet on the floor, pausing there to cup his face in his hands and rub away the sleep before standing, collecting his robe and padding quietly out of his bedroom.

  The kitchen tiles were cold on the soles of his feet, but it was more of a refreshing sensation than a discomfort. “Lights, surface and ceiling,” he said and then, as an afterthought, “Dim.”

  The strip lights on the ceiling flickered into life and behind each tile that skirted the kitchen work surface a single bulb winked on to produce a solid bar of light which cast a faint blush on anything in the near vicinity. With the light came a faint hum, the sound of electricity, a force that had been stirred from unconsciousness and now dozed peacefully.

  He opened the fridge door. It was empty except for a jug of milk and a joint of ham. Removing the jug he shuffled across the kitchen and reached up to the cupboards on the wall. He touched a pressure pad with his forefinger, and the cupboard door slid open to reveal a number of glasses, of which he took one. He poured a glass of the white, cold liquid and gulped it down, gasping in his first breath when he finished, savoring the taste in his mouth. He didn’t begrudge the price he had paid for it, even if it had cost him a fortune on the black market along with the meat. It was so much better than the synth milk from the replicators. Time inside had been useful in at least one respect. He poured himself another glass before replacing the jug and wandering into the living room.

  “Screen, channel hop,” he said and an area some forty inches square on one of the bare white walls began to illuminate as a picture slowly formed within the undefined region. A computer generated voice stated “Channel one” and Wyatt watched with undisguised apathy as the characters from some dire sitcom he had been unfortunate enough to see once before went through the motions, interrupted only by canned laughter after each delivered punch line. The picture changed and the voice stated, “Channel two” in an identical tone as previously as if it too, shared Wyatt’s disinterest in late-night viewing choice.

  Three politicians now argued over the city’s overcrowding problem and one of them, a rotund man with beady pig eyes, was just about to launch into his proposal for a solution. “I think…” he began.

  “Who gives a shit what you think?” Wyatt muttered. He walked to the window and looked down over the city. Even in the dead of night it was a hive of activity. The buildings stood like solid shadows, columns whose forms were darker than the night itself. Within each a multitude of lights blinked and danced like fairy lights on some horrifically charred Christmas tree. The view made him feel like some supreme being, looking out over his minions, but with the same thought came another—that every speck of light he could see was another person going abo
ut their business, and the feeling of supremacy was rapidly replaced with one of insignificance.

  “Yeah, who does give a shit what you think?” he said again. Every one of those lights was another person and every person had their own problems and their own personal dramas, which to them were far more important than any large-scale social or economic problem.

  His thoughts went to Tanya and he turned and looked back toward the bedroom door, hoping somehow that he could spirit her back just by thinking about her. He could see her, standing with her back to the doorframe, one leg bent so her short silk robe climbed revealingly up her thigh. Her long dark hair, ruffled but not untidy, tumbling over her shoulders and down to the middle of her back and her eyes, those lovely dark eyes which could be as soft as velvet or as hard as if they were lumps of coal set in her face. She was a strong woman, every part his equal and every bit a lady and he missed her more than he cared to admit.

  Tanya was really the only woman who had ever fully understood his predicament. Registered as a dangerous criminal, Wyatt had been offered a place on the state community service program. In exchange for a reduced sentence, he would do a five-year work placement at a location of the government’s choice. The catch was that the jobs that were offered were extremely hazardous and few, very few, ever completed their five years.

  The program served three purposes. One, it solved the prison overcrowding problem. Two, it meant there would always be employees for high risk jobs which very few people were willing to do, and thirdly, it dispatched many of society’s undesirable elements.

  Wyatt had been reasonably lucky. He had found himself posted to the Interplanetary Zoological Park, working as part of a team dedicated to the capture of specimens to be exhibited at the IZP. Many of the people on the specimen capture team were indeed people who had applied for their positions. Some were genuinely interested in the work—biologists, zoologists, botanists—all educated. Others were waifs and strays for whom the excitement or danger was appeal enough, and for the remainder, the prospect of interstellar travel was the attraction, the risks they took from day to day being an unfortunate consequence of their line of work.

  It was a large division of people, staffed by maybe two hundred and fifty, and Wyatt was constantly amazed at how well the group worked together considering their diversity of backgrounds. The other thing that struck him as uncanny was the ease with which his newfound colleagues accepted him. They knew his background but he was never quizzed about his circumstances and for that he was grateful.

  The reason for the good rapport among the people was made clear to Wyatt when he had commented on the blasé attitude possessed by most people in the division. The man sat opposite him in the refectory had stopped eating, dabbed the corners of his mouth with a napkin before leaning over the table and said, “We work together or we may never work again.” He had then continued his meal as if the conversation had never happened. It was then that Wyatt had realized that these people didn’t just live each day—they survived each day. Every person in a team trusted the next man and, as Wyatt had found out on some of his early expeditions, sometimes that trust extended to putting your life in another person’s hands. The bonds that were forged from such faith transcended the artificial boundaries that most people liked to throw around themselves. Strength of character and integrity were important here.

  The uncertainty of what each day might bring also made many people appreciate what they ordinarily took for granted. Wyatt had found that appreciation also brought reflection, and he had spent a number of months examining himself and his situation. He put the past behind him and emerged happier and more extroverted, full of drive and optimism.

  He had met Tanya three and a half years into his placement. It had been his day off but he had come in to check up on a marsupial recently acquired from one of the more distant expedition zones that was having trouble acclimating. He had come to respect animals; they gave him the opportunity to care for something—and after being inside he hadn’t cared about anything for a long time.

  He had been coaxing the animal to feed when he had seen her through the plexiglass. She was taking a class of children around the zoo and was having trouble with a few disruptive individuals. Wyatt appeared at her shoulder.

  “Hey kids, you wanna see some animals up close?” he had said. The children were silenced instantly. They turned, amazed, and Wyatt suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious as sixteen pairs of eyes fell on him. Tanya was looking at him too, half surprised and half amused at his dashing entrance.

  He had spent the rest of the day with Tanya and her class, using his security pass to enable them to see more than a day ticket would normally allow. When they had exhausted the exhibits she had thanked him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, much to the amusement of the schoolchildren, before boarding the monorail that would take them back to the main entrance.

  Two days later he had received a call at work. It was her. She thanked him for his kindness and inquired as to how his work was going before asking if he would be interested in hosting another school excursion. He agreed. As it transpired, she was the only member of the party.

  Their date was a success and the first of many. As he grew to like her he began to trust her. He felt he ought to tell her what had brought him to the zoo, even though he feared the reaction it might provoke. She sat stony-faced as he recounted his story, and when he finished she had clasped his hand in hers, kissed him and told him that none of what had happened mattered to her; it had happened to a Wyatt who existed long before the one she had known. She did not care about his past, so long as he promised to quit his job at the zoo when his contract was over. She worried about him taking the risks he did, and missed him when he was away on expeditions. He had promised.

  Within a year of their meeting, Tanya had moved in with him. Wyatt looked forward to leaving his job and starting a new life with her. As a short-termer with only a few months left on his contract he was put on jobs with significantly less risk than he was accustomed to. His final day was both a happy and sad occasion for him.

  At first his life with Tanya was more than he had hoped for. She was beautiful, carefree, generous, and for some reason, which he could not figure out, she loved him. He also had his freedom, and the sensation seemed to infuse him with new life. His future had never looked so good. Then, one day, as he watched her playing with some of the children in her care it had dawned on him that besides her, there was no one else in his life. He had immediately felt foolish, selfish. Many others would be happy enough to have Tanya alone in their lives, but the more he thought about it in the following weeks, the more he came to realize that he missed his old life at the zoo. Tanya had talked of marriage and a family, but Wyatt’s old colleagues were his family. They had accepted him when no one else would. They had trusted him when no one else would. They believed in him when no one else would. How could he give up something he knew for something he did not yet have?

  He had discussed his feelings with her and she had been unhappy but understanding. It was agreed that he would return to the IZP.

  His return to the zoo had been greeted with smiles and back claps. Everybody had been pleased to see him. Some thought he was a little crazy, but were pleased to see him nonetheless.

  He had been back at his job almost two months when he received a call summoning him to Mannheim’s office. Mannheim had beckoned him to sit, offered him a drink, which he politely accepted, and then sat opposite him. “I have a proposal for you…” he had begun.

  The proposal involved money. Lots of money. Money Wyatt could look forward to receiving if he agreed to head up a new division called Project U.L.F. The acronym, Wyatt understood, stood for Unidentified Life Form. The group would be a small sub-division of the current specimen acquirement team and would comprise some sixty to seventy people. Their job would be to travel to newly discovered star systems and astral bodies, and capture new life forms for study and eventual exhibition at the zoo. The dangers were
great but the salary reflected the hazards.

  He had thought about the offer for a long time. He did not tell Tanya but she sensed something was troubling him.

  When he did tell her it was after he had signed the contract accepting the position. He would not have believed her reaction, had he not seen it with his own eyes. She went into a rage that he did not know she was capable of, screaming and pacing like some frustrated caged animal. She had thrown herself at him, pounding his chest with her delicate hands clenched into unfamiliar fists. He had grabbed her by the wrists and overpowered her and she had fallen into his arms sobbing. She wondered about their future together and he told her that everything would be all right.

  Everything was not all right. On their first expedition Wyatt and his team had found the equipment they were used to using wholly inadequate. Three men were dead and two more seriously injured. With each subsequent expedition, even though the equipment was modified to cater to their needs and new traps were designed, the toll continued to rise. Then, finally, after six months, they recorded their first outing with no casualties.

  When he returned home to tell Tanya the good news, he found the letter. She had left him. The letter said that she could not continue their now part-time relationship. She needed someone around her and she missed him when he was away. She lived in constant fear, not knowing whether the next telelink call would be from him or from someone with news of him. It was a situation she could no longer bear. She hoped they would remain friends.