A Season for Slaughter watc-4

by David Gerrold

  Siegel didn't answer. The thought clearly disturbed him. Willig, however, realized exactly what I was thinking.

  "So you think renegade behaviors are inevitable?"

  "I don't know," I admitted. "We know that humans can survive in a worm camp, and we know that worms can apparently be tamed enough to live in partnership. Or vice versa. But what the mechanism might be-well, we're not likely to find out unless General Tirelli's Brazilian mission succeeds. On this continent, we don't study worm camps, we burn them. And renegades especially."

  "You don't agree?"

  "On the contrary-I very much agree. I think we should burn every goddamn renegade we find. But I sure would like to interrogate a few of them first, that's all. The problem is-after a while, they don't use human logic anymore. There's no common ground for communication. They won't or can't reach back to who they used to be. I don't know."

  Siegel interrupted then. "Captain… ?" His voice was very low.

  "Yo?"

  "Main screen."

  I looked. The view showed the top of the distant hill. The dust plumes had resolved. Three worms were paused at the crest, looking down at us. They were studying the rollagon like three ravenous travelers looking over a very short dinner menu.

  The stingfly exists primarily in a permanent swarm over a Chtorran nest. Often the swarm is so thick that the sky turns gray and grainy. The amount of light actually reaching a viewer on the ground is visibly diminished.

  An unprotected human being in a large mandala nest, would probably be covered with stingflies. Without adequate protection, these voracious "insects" could inflict so many bites on a person's naked skin that he would be a bloody mass within minutes.

  Indeed, it is even possible that within an hour, most of the blood would be drained from the unfortunate victim's body.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 22

  In Deep

  "Life is hard. Then you die. Then they throw dirt in your face. Then the worms eat you. Be grateful it happens in that order."

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  I didn't say anything for a moment. It wasn't that I couldn't think of anything to say-there wasn't anything that needed saying. But Willig was looking at me expectantly, and even though I couldn't see the expression on his face while sitting at my console, I knew that Siegel was impatient for a decision too, for some course of action. The others as well would be wanting some reassurance that their captain hadn't flaked out.

  "Okay," I sighed. "Siegel, check to see how thoroughly we're glued in. If we have to plow our way out of here-"

  "We're in pretty deep," he said. He didn't sound happy. "I ran some rough checks last night and another set just before you woke up. It's pretty gummy. We're hip-deep in muck."

  "Give me the short version."

  "I think we're sinking."

  "You can't break free?"

  "I've been trying all night. Whatever I do, it just makes it worse. This stuff is-I dunno what it is. It's not mud, it's not sand, it's not anything. It flows like liquid, unless you try to move, then it sits like concrete. The treads can't get a grip on it. Sorry, Cap'n, but this machine isn't going anywhere for a while."

  "Right. We're snowed in. We've got three worms outside. And we can't call for help. Now tell me the bad news."

  Siegel didn't answer. The silence on the channel stretched out uncomfortably.

  A nasty thought popped into my head. Willig looked at me sharply as I levered myself up out of my chair. I climbed forward into the cockpit, to get a firsthand look at Siegel. I checked out Locke and Valada at their stations too. Lopez was still sleeping. I reached over and switched off the comlink. "Okay," I said quietly to Siegel. "I give up. What aren't you telling me?"

  Siegel looked puzzled. "That's all there is, Captain."

  "Then I don't get it. You guys aren't stupid. You know what trouble we're in. You're all taking this far too calmly. What's going on?"

  "Captain." Siegel swiveled in his chair to face me. "If you're not afraid of Randy Dannenfelser, then why should the rest of us be afraid of three little Chtortans?"

  "Chtorrans have bigger mouths."

  "Dannenfelser has a nastier bite."

  I held up a hand. "Let's leave that for the biologists to worry about. Have we gotten any signals off the net? Any messages?" Siegel's expression flattened sadly. "Sorry, sir. Nothing."

  "Merde." To Siegel's quizzical stare, I said, "Pardon my French. I meant to say 'shit!"' I sat down in the copilot's chair. "All right, let's send a Mayday. Demand an emergency pickup. All channels. They can't ignore that."

  "What if they do anyway?"

  "Then you and I will have the privilege of testifying at their court-martial."

  Siegel didn't look happy. "Are you sure you want me to send this?"

  "Do you think we can get out of here by ourselves?" I pointed at the windshield. The first few Chtorran insects were already eating their way across the glass, but there weren't as many as I had expected. "Do you think it's going to get ravenous out there? I don't. That stuff came down pretty thick, this isn't a heavily infested area, and I don't think there are going to be enough bugs to eat us free. This isn't a tank anymore, it's a pillbox. There's not much else we can do here-"

  "We still didn't find out what killed that worm," Siegel suggested.

  "Stop trying to tempt me."

  Siegel shrugged. "I like dead worms."

  "You know something? You're too bloodthirsty, both you and Willig. Send the message."

  "Thanks," said Willig, coming up behind me. "We try our best. It's always nice to be noticed." She had followed me forward to hand me a mug of something hot and vile-and probably to check up on me as well.

  "That wasn't a compliment. Don't forget, we've got specimens and records that need to be delivered as quickly as possible. Those have to take precedence." I sniffed the contents of the mug suspiciously. "Jeezis! What are you trying to do? Kill me?"

  "You said I was bloodthirsty. You don't get that way by accident, you have to practice."

  I shuddered and turned away. "Reilly? What's happening with those three worms?"

  "They're just coming down the hill now."

  I pushed past Willig and climbed back to the work stations. The screens glowed brightly in the subdued light of the van. Reilly had put a tactical schematic on one screen, and the camera view on the screen beside it. The visual was foggy-pink, but we could see three dark shapes pushing their way down the candy-crusted slope. The schematic identified them as medium-sized animals.

  "They're young," I said. "The largest is only 400 kilos. I wish I could see their stripes. Can you enhance the visual?"

  Reilly tapped at his keyboard, switching to a telephoto view. A few more taps and the image became noticeably clearer. But it didn't help. The worms' fur was pink with dust, and as they moved through the powdery drifts, they raised even more clouds of it around them. According to the schematic, they were not headed specifically toward us.

  A sudden thought occurred to me. "What does the van look like?"

  "Huh?"

  "Never mind." I was already pulling myself up into the bubble. "Are we still recognizable as a vehicle-or are we just another lump in the dust? Are they going to pass us by-or do we have a fight on our hands?"

  The bubble view was all pink. The dust was thick, but there was still light coming through the pinkness. I tapped the keyboard of the bubble work station and popped open a rooftop camera. It swiveled around, revealing the top view of the tank. We were pink, but our shape was still identifiable as something manufactured, not natural. Worms were notoriously curious. If they noticed us, they'd investigate. If they sensed movement inside, they'd attack.

  Or would they?

  The last time I'd been in this situation, the worms hadn't attacked-at least not until we'd tried to escape from the downed chopper. And I still wasn't sure that event had actually been an attack. The worms might just as easily have been reacting
to the bright worm-shape of the blimp that pulled us out.

  I dropped back down into the main cabin and looked over Reilly's shoulder again.

  "Pop the guns?" he asked.

  "No. Keep them shuttered. Maybe these three are more curious than violent. Besides, I don't think a worm can get through our armor. Let's play possum for a bit and see what they do."

  The worms were almost to the bottom of the slope now. They left wide furrows in the pink drifts. This part of Mexico was going to have an impermeable crust for a while. There weren't enough bugs to eat it clear. Perhaps the nest under the shamblers was still too young to have generated enough eggs.

  "They've seen us-" said Reilly.

  The worms were cocking their eyes in our direction and making soft chittering noises. They hesitated, pausing for a conference. Without the sounds, they would have been almost comical creatures-the sideways-tilt of their eyes made them look like drunken muppets, and the pink frosting on their fur gave them a lovable teddy-bear look; but the whole effect was spoiled by the noises they made. The sounds were heavily muffled by the blanket of dust spread across the landscape, but even without enhancing the signal, what we could hear of the Chtorran conversation was still blood-chilling. They were making unpleasant flickery sounds toward each other, oscillating and insect-like, with weird overtones that gave their cries an unearthly, disturbing quality.

  I glanced around. Willig was at her station, monitoring the situation. Locke and Valada were watching over her shoulder. Lopez came up behind me, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She peered at the screens, blinked twice, and was instantly alert. "What're they doing?" she asked.

  "Trying to make a decision," Reilly said.

  "Siegel?" I called quietly. "Did you send that Mayday?"

  "Sent, but not acknowledged."

  "Right. Keep the channel open."

  "Aye, aye, Captain."

  "Oops," said Reilly. "There they go. They made a decision." There was silence in the cabin. The screens told it all. The worms were heading straight for us.

  Fortunately, there are a number of simple protections against stingfly attack. Almost any kind of fine mesh cloth will keep a stingfly from reaching the skin. Additionally, oils and oil-based salves seem to act as a protective coating on the skin, preventing the stingfly from biting. Various earth-based perfumes have also been shown to work effectively as repellents.

  —The Red Book,

  (Release 22.19A)

  Chapter 23

  In Deeper

  "If death is inevitable, you might as well lie back and enjoy it. "

  -SOLOMON SHORT

  The dust rose around them in clouds.

  The worms came sliding through the bright pink drifts like snowplows, throwing billows of rosy powder to either side. The clouds of it fluffed up into the air, leaving a hazy slow-motion tail behind each of the creatures.

  They spread out as they approached the van, circling it cautiously. The three beasts went around and around the vehicle, until they had flattened most of the drifts into a dirty red sludge. We could hear the ground crunching wetly under their immense weight. Already the dust was collapsing into a gummy muck. Soon it would harden to a brick-like surface. Shortly, they were rubbing up against the vehicle itself, tasting it with their fur.

  "They've brushed a lot of the dust off the sides," reported Reilly.

  "Tell 'em not to forget the windshields," called Siegel.

  "What are the chances of getting unstuck?" I asked.

  Reilly studied an ancillary display. He looked unhappy. "Does the word adobe mean anything to you?"

  I scratched my ear. I was beginning to itch for a bath. Soon I would start to ache.

  Reilly looked up at me. "What? No funny answer?"

  I shook my head. "I guess I'm not in a funny mood."

  I sat down at the rearmost work station and tapped the screens to life. The worms had stopped circling the van. They were staring at it curiously. One of them, the largest, slid up to the starboard side and began running its claws up and down the surface of the metal. The raspy, scraping sound echoed loudly in the cabin. Willig looked at me with wide eyes.

  "Not as much fun as you thought, is it?" I asked.

  She didn't answer-and I resisted pointing out that the repartee shortage in here was becoming critical.

  The scraping continued. The sound was slow and painfully drawn out, as if the creature wasn't quite sure what it was feeling. Uncertain, it kept scratching. Inside the van, we stared at each other's faces. The noise was abrading our nerves like aural sandpaper.

  "Everybody keep calm," I whispered. I noticed that Reilly had popped the red cover off the arming switch for the guns. I reached past his shoulder and carefully removed his finger from the switch, and closed the safety cover again. "It's just being curious. We're not in any danger."

  Reilly didn't look convinced, but he acknowledged me with a nod. He deliberately folded his arms and leaned back in his chair. Outside, the worm kept probing-only now, it expanded its repertoire of funny noises to include a rapping, tapping sound. It seemed to come from almost directly above us.

  "What the hell is that-?" Lopez asked, turning to stare at the ceiling.

  "Reilly, roof camera," I said.

  He brought it up on his main display; the view was awkward, but we could see the worm flicking at the top of the van with the tips of its claws. They stretched up and around like the necks of disjointed birds. Between them, the worm's eyes were goggled upward, like a muppet peeking over the edge of a table.

  "Kilroy was here," I whispered. Willig giggled-it had to be nervous tension; the joke wasn't that funny.

  At last-finally-the worm lost interest and slid back down the side, of the tank. It backed away, puffing up the dust behind it in a ruffled drift, then turned and approached its companions. The three of them exchanged muffled purple sounds, then angled back up the slope toward the grove of shamblers.

  The exhalations of relief within the van were tremendous; it was as if the entire crew had sprung simultaneous leaks.

  "Okay, okay," I said. "Don't get confident. We're not out of the woods yet-"

  "Cap'n? Look at this-"

  Reilly was pointing to his screen. The worms were investigating the track of our prowler. Sher Khan had left a clean-edged furrow through the delicate powder, and the three creatures were studying it with intense interest. Now they began following it across the slope of the hill toward the shambler grove.

  "What do you think?" asked Willig.

  "I dunno. They seem agitated."

  "Do you think they're smelling the prowler's scent?"

  "No," I said, realizing the truth even as I spoke. "I think they're smelling the scent of the nest on the prowler's track."

  "They don't look happy," Willig said.

  "Maybe they're guardians of the grove?" Reilly suggested.

  I thought about it. "If that's so, then Sher Khan is in big trouble. These fellows aren't likely to appreciate any interlopers, are they?" I called forward, "Siegel, put the prowler on standby alert. If the worms head down the hole, go to red. But don't take them down unless Sher Khan is specifically attacked."

  "Aye, aye, Captain," Siegel acknowledged.

  Reilly was busy at his keyboard. The screens in front of us began popping up new pictures of the worms. We'd planted a full set of probes above-ground. Most of them were up in the branches looking for tenants, but we'd put a few at eye level and ground level too.

  The screens showed the worms moving out of the dazzling pink sunlight into the glowing magenta shadows of the grove. The dappled light of morning gave them an enchanted appearance. Their fur sparkled with pink frost and silvery highlights. Their large black eyes swiveled this way and that, squinting against the glare-sput-phwut-peering inquisitively into the dark blue gloom of the twisted shambler roots.

  One of the worms paused abruptly, its eyes turning around and around, as if trying to pinpoint the location of something, a sound or a smell o
r a niggling pinpoint of light. Abruptly, it focused, and peered directly up at one of our probes. The unit was anchored only halfway up a shambler trunk; the worm was able to approach it quite closely; the view was horrifying. It stared at us, directly into the eyes of the remote for a long excruciating moment; then, its curiosity still unsatisfied, it slid half its bulk up the columnar trunk of the tree to bring its curious gaze even closer to the remote camera. Its huge eyes filled the screen. The view from a second unit mounted high on a tree on the opposite side of the grove showed a fat pink worm blinking at a tiny dull gray nugget.

  "Why is it so curious?" Lopez asked. "Those units are supposed to be inconspicuous."

  "It must be seeing into the infra-red-or worse, maybe it's seeing the radio emissions."

  "Want me to shut it down?"

  "No, let's see what it does. Maybe we'll learn something." Abruptly, the worm lost interest in the probe and hurried to join its colleagues. The other two gastropedes were far more interested in the track of the prowler. Reilly glanced up at me with a questioning look.

  "Well-" I said. "We just learned that this worm has a very short attention span."

  "Look. They're going into the roots." Willig pointed.

  "Well, we left a clear enough trail-"

  The three Chtorrans moved single-file into the purple shadows and the maze of sprawling shambler roots. They proceeded slowly, but without visible effort. It was as if this twisted mass was the most natural of all Chtorran environments.

  "Think they'll go down into the nest?"

  I shrugged. "It all depends on the relationship between worms and shamblers-on the relationship between these worms and these shamblers," I corrected myself. "Maybe these worms are guardians, maybe they're homesteaders, or invaders."

  "They've found the entrance," reported Reilly.