Alien Jungle

by Roxanne Smolen

  “Mr. Madsen’s aware, but he isn’t concerned. Everyone thought you would come in with your guns blazing and save the day.”

  “That so?” Natica smiled as she handed back the notepad. “Thanks for your time.”

  “Happy to help,” Farley said.

  Natica turned to leave, but Anselmi stepped forward.

  “Have any of the colonists mentioned hearing voices?” he asked.

  Natica gaped. What kind of question was that? Did he want them to think they were crazy on top of being too young? She looked at Farley’s blank expression.

  Anselmi seemed to realize his blunder. “I understand it is a strange question.”

  “Actually, it’s not,” Farley said. “My boss, Katelyn, complained of hearing… I don’t know, I guess it was like voices. Used to keep her awake at night.”

  “I’d like to speak to Katelyn,” he said.

  “So would I. She was the first to come up missing.”

  <<>>

  Trace paced the anteroom of Cole’s quarters. He was in a bubble tent, connected by tubes to seventy other bubble tents in the residential section. Filtered air hissed into the room, and the walls trembled with pressure.

  He waved his arms as he spoke. “I just can’t get through to him. I can’t make him see I don’t need his protection anymore.”

  Cole said, “It’s not an easy thing, being reminded you’re no longer needed.”

  Trace plopped down on the couch. “I’m not leaving. That’s all. I have a mission.”

  “What if your superiors order you back?”

  They won’t. Not unless my father comes with me. He sighed. “Are you going to send another message?”

  “If your father insists.” Cole sat next to him. “But if you want to get an initial report together, I can send it at the same time, give them both sides of the issue.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “Fine, then.” Cole steepled his fingers and tapped his chin.

  Trace gazed at the arched ceiling. He removed his mask and tossed it onto a table. The air smelled dank and musty. “What are you two doing out here? It can’t be for the money. Dad has more money than he’ll ever spend.”

  “It’s not the money, no. I think your father feels there’s something missing in his life. Ever since your mother died—”

  “Am I supposed to feel sorry for him, now?”

  Cole looked at him. “I don’t think he’d appreciate it if you did.”

  “I’ll never understand him.”

  “You expect too much.”

  “What do you mean?” Trace said. “He’s the one who expects things from me. He’s never seen me for who I am.”

  “Sometimes that can go both ways.”

  “So, you’re saying this is my fault?”

  Cole smiled. “I’m saying that it might be time to see him not as a father but as a man.”

  “An obnoxious, intractable—”

  “And dedicated leader. Whom you have to deal with if you are to accomplish this mission of yours.”

  Trace ran a hand over his face. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Your job,” Cole said. “The best that you know how. And let him see the man you’re coming to be.”

  Trace looked at him. Words jumbled in his throat, and he realized that he needed to tell Cole his exact orders, needed the advice of someone older. “About my mission—” He cocked his head. “What’s that noise?” He heard it again.

  Someone was screaming.

  CHAPTER 10

  Trace’s eyes widened as he heard the panicked voices. Cole leaped up and grabbed his flamethrower. Without a word, they pushed through the heavy flap that served as the door to Cole’s quarters and darted down the main passage.

  The ceiling of the translucent tube barely cleared Trace’s head. Daylight filtered through the sides. Several colonists ran up the corridor behind them. The walls shuddered with their thundering boots.

  “Where’s the blasted alarm?” Cole shouted. “We’re supposed to have advanced notice. Why didn’t the alarm go off?”

  “Maybe they’re too fast,” a woman said.

  Trace followed her gaze. Through the tube’s curved distortion, he saw people dash in every direction. A brilliant plume of flame jetted from a flamethrower. Then he made out the much larger shadow of a moss man.

  Cole spurred the colonists to run faster. They ducked sideways through a slotted aperture into what Cole had termed the clean room, a knoblike juncture between tubes. A cyclone roared through vents overhead. It created a barrier against microbes and spores. Trace faltered and lost his balance against the extreme wind. Fighting forward, he leaped outside through another slot in the tube wall.

  He recoiled from the pungent reek of the planet. It was like drowning in compost. Cole joined a line of men with flamethrowers. They advanced toward the moss man.

  Above the racket, Trace heard the whine of stat-gun fire. Blue flashes outlined a group of huts a short distance away. He glanced around to catch Cole’s eye, to tell him that he would check it out, when he saw Madsen, Wilde, and Impani run toward the melee from a dome at the far end of camp. Trace raised his hand in the hope that they would join him.

  Moving so fast it seemed to have teleported, a second creature appeared behind them.

  Trace froze, one arm in the air. He was too far away for a clear shot. Impani ran forward. She didn’t see the thing following her.

  “Impani,” he wheezed then forced air into his lungs, forced his petrified body into motion. “Impani! Turn around!”

  But at that moment, the alarm went off. Its wail added to the bedlam. Trace’s warning went unheard. He dodged through the crowd, waving and yelling.

  Impani saw him and stopped. Madsen turned. He raised his flamethrower, but too late. The monster backhanded him and sent him flying. A spout of liquid flame shot upward from the weapon and drew an arc in the air. Madsen fell into an intersection of tubes. They erupted in an orange blaze. Several colonists ran toward him. Others ran away.

  Wilde pulled out his stat-gun. The creature swung its long, mossy arm and struck Wilde before he could duck. His head snapped sideways. He spun off his feet and sprawled motionless on the ground.

  Impani backed away, her mouth open. The monster towered over her.

  Trace fired. Energy crackled over its body. No effect. He fired again. It advanced on Impani as if his stat-gun were less than a mosquito bite.

  “No!” He sprinted forward and barreled into the creature with his shoulder.

  It was like hitting a tree. Trace planted his feet. His face pressed into its torso. It smelled like rotting meat. With a strangled hiss, the thing swatted him away. He fell at Impani’s feet.

  Cole and the line of men appeared. They blanketed the moss man with fire. It stood there, encased in flame, its eyeless face turned toward them. Then it lifted its head and howled.

  Trace cringed as its eerie wail rose above the keening alarm. Still aflame, the monster ran from camp into the jungle. The alarm stopped.

  Trace leaped up and pulled Impani into his arms. She trembled, and he held her closer. “Are you okay? When I saw that thing come up behind you—”

  “I spoke to it, and it hesitated,” she said. “Did you see that? I think it understood.”

  “Yes,” he murmured and hugged her tight.

  Wilde groaned. With one hand to his head, he staggered to his feet.

  Two colonists pulled Madsen from the fire. His face and chest were bright red. Within the burning tubes, Trace heard the pop of fire extinguishers. Puffs of white gas battled the acrid smoke.

  Then Trace heard his father’s voice.

  “What in God’s name were you thinking,” Aldus yelled, “coming out here like that?”

  Trace glanced around. His eyes smarted with soot. With a start, he realized his father was speaking to him. “Sir?”

  “Your face is exposed.” His father scowled.

  Trace looked at the men with the flamethrowers,
at the people fighting the blaze. They all wore neckerchiefs or disposable masks cupped over their mouths—and he remembered leaving his mask on a table in Cole’s quarters.

  Aldus approached the colonists who watched over Madsen. “Better get him to the hospital dome.”

  “The hospital was hit,” a man said. “I just came from there. The quarantine room was torn up. Like they were looking for something.”

  “That’s giving them credit for more intelligence than they have,” Aldus said over the rising voices. “They’re plants.”

  Cole asked, “Are the patients all right?”

  “Jack Barnes is missing,” the man told him, “but like I said, the thing tore up the place. Jack might be hiding.”

  Stifled cries rounded the gathered crowd.

  “We need volunteers,” Aldus said. “Jack Barnes was under quarantine. He might be confused or delirious.”

  There came a chorus of “I’ll look for him.”

  Trace was about to join the search when Anselmi and Natica ran toward him.

  “One of those creatures took Farley,” Anselmi said.

  Natica panted. “I shot it point blank. It didn’t even flinch.”

  “Which direction did they go?” Cole asked.

  Natica pointed down the valley.

  “Let’s move!” Cole cried to the crowd of colonists. “Steddard, bring some extra gellasene.”

  Trace looked at Impani. “I need you to take Wilde to the hospital. Have the doctor check him out.”

  “I’m all right,” Wilde said groggily.

  “Just a precaution,” Trace said. “While you’re there, look around and try to figure out what the moss men were searching for.” He noticed his father watching and lowered his voice. “If anything.”

  “What will you do?” Impani asked.

  “I’m going with Cole.”

  He turned to leave, but she caught his arm.

  “Here.” She unsnapped her mask and handed it to him.

  It was a small gesture, but it quickened his heart. He leaned close and brushed her lips with his. Then, motioning for Anselmi and Natica to follow, he rushed after Cole and the search party.

  <<>>

  Impani watched Trace hurry away. Her cheeks warmed, and her lips tingled where he’d kissed her. How long had it been since they’d kissed? It seemed an eternity, but it had only been that morning. Suddenly, her resentment of him seemed petty.

  She met his father’s gaze. He watched her quizzically.

  Wilde said, “I thought you two lovebirds were mad at each other.”

  “Shut. Up.” Impani took his arm and tugged him in the direction that the colonists had carried Madsen.

  The grounds were crowded. People stood in twos and fours. They seemed agitated but not panicked. Other than the fire damage, the camp appeared unharmed. Nearer the hospital, they found wreckage.

  Impani stopped before a white dome with four smaller bubble domes attached to its sides. One of the bubbles looked ripped apart. Shredded walls flapped in the forced air, exposing an overturned bed and smashed monitoring equipment. Three people in gowns and masks bent over a woman on a gurney.

  Behind her, a man said, “We’ve had to double up the bubbles, quarantine two patients at a time.”

  She turned to see Trace’s father. “Why do you need to quarantine?”

  “A few people have developed an upper respiratory infection. I don’t know if you’re aware, but the original settlers came down with something similar.”

  “You knew about that and you still came, still brought all these people?”

  “Let me ask you this,” his father said. “When you are sent to a new world, do you know it might be dangerous?”

  “Of course. But the benefits far outweigh the risks.”

  “Exactly. Given a choice, you would still go. Well, all these people were given a choice.” His eyes crinkled as if he smiled behind his mask. “I’m Aldus Hanson, by the way. We were never introduced.”

  “I’m Impani.” She lifted her shoulder where Wilde leaned heavily upon her. “This is Robert.”

  “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.” He waved down a young blonde woman.

  She nearly curtsied. “How can I help you, Mr. Hanson?”

  “This man is injured.”

  “I’ll see to him, sir.” She held Wilde about the waist as she led him away.

  Wilde grinned. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “I’m a nurse,” she said in a loud, slow voice. “I’m going to take care of you.”

  “That’s good,” he mumbled.

  Impani smiled and shook her head—and noticed that Trace’s father still stared. She didn’t mind. She was used to men looking at her. In a way, it made her feel more confident, more in control. Aldus Hanson was like everyone else.

  “We should get you inside,” he told her. “You don’t want to breathe this air unprotected. My office is near here.”

  She nodded toward the quarantine bubble. “I’m going in there as soon as they move that patient.”

  “At least, wear one of these.” He took a disposable mask from his pocket and handed it to her.

  She fitted it over her mouth and nose then sealed the straps behind her head. His eyes crinkled again. She liked his eyes. They were light blue and friendly—unlike Trace’s brooding hawk-like gaze. Trace must favor his mother.

  The attendants encased the sick woman in a transparent cone and wheeled her into the main dome. Impani entered the shredded room. Wind swirled upward as if caught in a chimney flue. Debris stirred on the floor. She stepped gingerly as she glanced around.

  She was not surprised when Mr. Hanson followed her.

  “Shouldn’t you ask permission to be here?” he said.

  She quirked her lip. “I’m with you. What more authorization do I need?”

  He snuffled out what might have been a laugh and looked about. “Grafton was right. The place is torn up.”

  “It’s not focused, though. This is more like rage.” She knelt. Gray-green smears stained the underside of the upended bed. “Do they always leave fingerprints?”

  “Not that we’ve noticed.”

  Impani glanced at him. Then, because she wanted to look knowledgeable, she took a specimen container from her belt and scraped a bit of the residue inside. She turned her attention to the flapping hole in the wall. “There are smears here, too.”

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “That’s where the thing broke in.”

  “But, look.” She held up a lacerated strip. “These fingerprints are only on the inside.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Impani stirred her soup with a cup warmer until the electrodes glowed bright red. She lifted the mug and blew steam from the rim.

  Across the cafeteria table, Mr. Hanson said, “So, you’re my son’s girlfriend.”

  “That’s right.”

  “At least his tastes run toward beautiful, intelligent women.” He drank from his own mug. “Why are you angry at him?”

  For a moment, she wanted to deny it, but she gauged him to be shrewd enough to catch her in a lie. She sat back in her chair. “I feel that he should have stepped down as team leader because of lack of experience.”

  “How’s he going to get experience if he doesn’t practice?”

  His tone irked her. She looked away. “This mission is too high profile to use as practice.”

  “And you think you should have been named team leader. Hmmm… Beautiful, intelligent, and ambitious.” He drank again then set the mug down. “Why do you think they gave him the job?”

  “Because of you.”

  Mirth touched his eyes. “Maybe. But that would imply that the executives at the Colonial Bureau care about my opinion. That doesn’t ring true.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they already know my opinion. I think the Colonial Scouts are a waste of time, money, and lives. This planet is a prime example of the inefficiency of their reports.”

  Impani frowned. “But Trace told me
you got him into the Scouts. After he was arrested on that phony charge.”

  “That’s not exactly true. I got him out of the penal colony. But I wanted him remanded to my custody. The court put him in the Scouts.”

  Impani sipped her soup. His story didn’t match the one Trace told her. “So, you would end the Colonial Program altogether?”

  “Not at all. I would use the Impellic rings to send probes. Analyze the atmosphere. Look for radio waves or other indications of civilization.”

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “My point, exactly.” He jabbed a finger toward her. “You’re doing this for the fun of it.”

  “You’re wrong. I want to be the one who sees what no one else has seen. I’m doing it for the challenge.”

  “Which brings us back to my son.”

  “Trace is no challenge,” she blurted, then wished she had bitten off her tongue. “What I mean is we fit well together. He’s easy to get along with.”

  “You feel attuned to each other?”

  Sure. Trace was so attuned to her he didn’t even realize she was mad at him.

  “Or could it be you are just biding your time and don’t truly love my son?”

  She gnawed her lip. “I enjoy being with him.”

  “But do you love him?”

  Impani looked at her hands.

  <<>>

  Trace stood in the cafeteria doorway and stared at Impani and his father. Their voices were too low to hear, but their demeanor was casual, as if they were old friends. How could she sit there and chat with him? She knew how he felt about his father.

  With a wordless cry, he rushed back into the tube, away from the main dome. He imagined them talking about all the ways he had disappointed each of them, imagined them making fun of his mistakes. They expected him to fail. Just like Arkenstone and the Board. They were wrong. He could do this.

  But what if they were right?

  His step lengthened until he was hot and winded, as lost in his thoughts as he was on the planet. He found himself back at Cole’s quarters. His friend’s shadow darkened the translucent wall as he moved about the tent.