“How can you talk to me about teamwork when none of you follow my orders?”
Anselmi swung his arm at the chaos around them. “Are these the orders to which you’re referring?”
Trace’s face heated. “It was a good plan.”
“Poorly executed.” Anselmi strode away.
Trace clenched his fists and glared at his receding back. Then he noticed his father watching.
<<>>
Impani looked away from the sight of the fire consuming the injured man. There was nothing they could have done.
Natica sobbed. “I couldn’t hold onto him. I let him go.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
She clung to her friend, trying to secure them both as the mushrooms continued to slide. Flames leaped higher with each addition. Even the stalks not yet ablaze cracked and burst with the heat. Several logs escaped the pilings. They bounded to the ground and drew a line to the burning trenches. Fire burst anew. The burning mushrooms roared. The panicked workers screamed in one horrified wail.
Then there came the whine of an engine. Impani looked down to see Wilde lurch through the flames on the back of the forklift.
<<>>
Trace ran his hands over his face. He stared at the blaze. Flames rose so high, he could not see the hilltop, could not tell if the moss creatures were still there or on their way down to attack. He only knew that Impani was in danger. He had to do something.
“Get out of the way!”
Trace leaped at the command and turned to see his father upon a bulldozer. Aldus ground by at top speed. He led two other dozers toward the trench. With their blades lowered, they scraped a load of dirt onto the smoldering door. Smoke and dust billowed upward.
Trace swore softly, both relieved and chagrined.
The dozers dumped more dirt into the pit. Trace paced while they made another pass. Then he barreled into the half-filled trench and across the steaming dirt.
Footfalls pounded behind him—other rescuers following his lead—but he outpaced them. He scrambled up the other side and searched for Impani.
<<>>
Impani closed her eyes as Natica climbed down her body and made her way to the forklift. Her arms shook with the excess weight. Smoke sifted into her mask and made her chest heavy and her head light. The piling shifted. Her stomach swooped.
“All right. Your turn,” Robert told her through the com. “Easy does it.”
With her knees hugging the piling, she struggled to unlock her fingers. Her hands seemed frozen in place. Slowly, she shimmied down the post, eyes still closed, reaching blindly with her boots. At last, she touched the forklift. She shifted her weight then slid into a crouch, coiling her aching muscles, just wanting to bawl, to sleep for a hundred years.
She slipped into Wilde’s arms and melted into his embrace, allowing his strength to enfold her, to keep her safe. Into the com, she said, “What would I do without you?”
Looking up, she saw Trace standing behind them.
CHAPTER 17
Impani stepped back from Wilde’s arms, staring at Trace, struck dumb with surprise.
Trace turned from her and yelled, “Get everyone across the trench.”
At once, people swarmed forward to help the injured. She heard the pop-hiss of fire extinguishers and saw others clear a path through the blaze. The workers trapped on her side of the flaming pit picked their way through smoke and logs.
Impani noticed Trace’s father among them. He cut against the flow, his face stony as he caught the eye of each person he passed. What a cold, unfeeling raffer.
She revised her opinion when he drew near enough for her to see his expression. He appeared apprehensive. Almost panicked. But wasn’t the crisis over?
Trace approached him with a lowered gaze. “Thanks for what you did. If it hadn’t been for you and your bulldozers—”
“Have any of you seen Cole?”
Trace’s face reddened further.
Natica said, “He was on top of the hill. With Impani.”
Impani scowled. Had they expected her to keep watch over the man? “I lost track of him in the confusion. He must have gone down with the first group of workers.”
But Mr. Hanson had already turned away. He walked backward as if trying to see above the fiery wall behind them. At last, he joined the injured on the path.
Trace glared at Impani and walked off, leaving her with silent accusations.
I was in Robert’s arms.
Impani flushed in embarrassment and then in anger. She’d done nothing wrong. It was Trace who should be apologetic—for risking all their lives. She ought to ring back home and tell everybody what a mess he’d made of the mission. Maybe that was why they each had their own Impellic ring.
With a final glance to make certain she left no one behind, she followed Wilde and Natica down the path through the blaze. Smoke obscured her vision, and heat tightened like a clamp upon her lungs. She noticed that even smothered by extinguishers the mushroom logs continued to burn. The weakened flames grew stubbornly stronger.
Dirt filled one of the trenches, and colonists filed through the break in the inferno. Impani and her teammates brought up the rear. As she stepped down into the smoking ditch, heat radiated through her boots. She wondered how long it would be before the dirt itself caught fire.
Above the heads of the people in front of her, she saw Anselmi rush to meet them. Her team was safe and back together. With a relieved sigh, she climbed up again into camp.
The sigh died in her throat. She stared at the injured people upon the ground and at the medical personnel moving among them.
“So many hurt,” she said.
“It’s a total loss.” Anselmi motioned toward the burning stockpile behind the pilings. “Your efforts were wasted.”
“At least the fire will keep away those monsters,” Natica said.
“Some plan, eh?” Wilde took on a mocking tone. “I have an idea. Let’s go knock down the mushrooms.”
Trace whirled about. “It was a solid plan. It should have worked.”
“Those plant things are sentient,” Wilde shouted. “Did it occur to you they might retaliate?”
“Security was your assignment.”
Wilde stepped up, shoulders squared, fists balled. “So, now it’s my fault?”
Impani moved between them, one hand on Wilde’s chest. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”
Trace bared his teeth as if biting back a scream. “What is it with you people? You’ve fought against me since we got here, going behind my back—”
“Yeah, right.” Impani scoffed. “Like you haven’t been.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“We know about the suits.” She lifted her chin and glared defiantly. Then to his blank expression, she added, “The skinsuits? I saw them in your pack.”
“I see.” His voice dropped. “Then you must have figured out the rest of it.”
“We’ve got a pretty good idea.” Wilde sneered. “We figure you’re smuggling the suits off base and selling them to mercenaries.”
“What?” Trace stared from person to person. “Is that what you all think?”
“How can we know what to think when you keep everything secret?” Impani said.
Trace glowered at them then stomped away. “You can all go to hell.”
Wilde shouted, “Looks to me like we’re already there.”
“Trace. Wait!” Impani hurried to catch up. She wanted to understand him, wanted him to understand her. But all the while, her thoughts were organizing into a speech. I just wanted to be team leader, wanted to be the hero. Is that so wrong?
He turned to stare at her, his expression raw with disillusionment and bitterness. Like he’d never trust again.
She’d never seen him look that way.
In a low voice, he said, “You honestly can’t think of another reason why I have those suits?”
She shrank back, searching for something to say.
Before she could respond, he said, “I have to choose fifteen people to save and take back with us. It doesn’t matter which fifteen, as long as my father is among them.”
Impani frowned, thinking dully, trying to put it together. “Only fifteen?” That was why they had five rings.
“You said my father was the reason they named me team leader, and you were exactly right. They knew I couldn’t refuse. If I did, my dad would die. And the President of the Federation would lose his golfing buddy.”
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your friend.” Your girlfriend, her thoughts continued, and if you try to tell me you were ordered not to say anything—
“I… I was ashamed. Embarrassed.” He looked down. “I should have told them I wouldn’t do it from the beginning, should have set my own terms. But I played along, knowing it would kill me inside. I didn’t want you to see how weak I really am.”
Impani stood stunned. She wanted to comfort him, but she couldn’t move. What makes a hero? Being faced with doing something dreadful yet carrying on. Then, who’s the hero—Trace or her? “I don’t think you’re weak,” she murmured, but so quietly, she was sure he didn’t hear.
“Besides, we would lose the integrity of the mission if everybody knew, if everyone thought that no matter what they did only fifteen people were getting out alive.” He shook his head. “I wanted to save all of them, Impani. I really did.”
“I know,” she whispered. How could she have doubted him? How could she let her jealousy of the job—
Mr. Hanson’s accusations crept into her head. She pushed them away, glancing about as if to escape her thoughts. The rest of the team had moved up to listen. They must have heard everything.
She wished they hadn’t. Wished they hadn’t seen how vindictive she’d become. How petty. Heat rose to her cheeks.
Madsen approached on his scooter. He kept his voice low. “Trace, we have five dead, five missing, and twenty-three injured.”
“All right.” Trace looked as if he were reaching deep inside himself for strength. “Retrieve as many of the forklifts as you can and use them to transport the wounded.”
“Yes, sir.” He turned the scooter and whirred away.
Then a soot-faced man ran up. “Mr. Hanson, your father’s gone back up the hill. And he doesn’t have a weapon.”
“Are you serious?”
The man nodded. “He said Cole must still be up there, maybe injured.”
“Drel!” Trace growled. “Wilde, give me your resonator.”
“What for?” Wilde asked as he unhooked the instrument from his belt.
“It should pick up his movements, help me track him down.”
Impani’s mouth fell open. “You’re going after him?”
“Recall the rings.” Trace took off his belt and handed it to Wilde. “This will give you the master control. You and Natica take the worst of the injured back to Central. The skinsuits are in Cole’s tent.”
“But you can’t ring back without your belt.” Natica grasped Trace’s arm. “We’d be abandoning you.”
“Maybe they’ll let you return, seeing as how my father isn’t with you. Maybe they’ll send more skinsuits.”
“We’ll see to it.” Wilde nodded. He and Natica took off at a trot toward the residential area.
Trace turned to Impani. “I want you and Anselmi to go to the original camp and find out if the scientists knew anything about moss men.”
“Research?” Impani blurted.
“That’s your strength,” Trace told her. “No one can talk to a computer like you.”
Anselmi said, “Do you think those scientists had something to do with the creatures’ abrupt appearance?”
“It’s possible. If one of their experiments backfired, or if something got out of hand—”
“But I want to go with you,” Impani said. “I want to save your father and Cole.” I want to be remembered, want people to say look at that, she was worth something after all.
Trace spun toward her, flaring angrily. “This is my father we’re talking about. I can’t have you showing off or taking risks. He’s in enough danger already.”
His words caved in on her. She remembered Anselmi saying much the same thing, remembered Mr. Arkenstone refusing to make her team leader. “But, I—”
“No. Get to the camp. We need that information.” Armed only with a flamethrower and a resonator, Trace sprinted over the trench and out of sight.
CHAPTER 18
Impani stared at the flames where Trace’s silhouette disappeared. Noise crashed all around her—the roar of the fire, the rev of engines as forklifts climbed the trench, voices calling to one another. She didn’t move. Her head buzzed.
“Did you hear him?” she whispered.
Anselmi moved closer. He spoke gently as if reading her mood. “He said he needed you.”
“No. He said I couldn’t be trusted.”
The words stung even when she uttered them. They echoed from her childhood—the social worker at the orphanage she’d escaped, the police officer who found her sleeping in the trash can. Even the old woman.
“Old woman?” asked Anselmi.
Impani glanced at him. Had she spoken aloud? “The woman who raised me on the streets. She told me I craved challenge and danger like an addict, and that it would come back against me someday.”
Now it had. Now she understood. Her recklessness endangered everyone around her. No wonder she hadn’t been named team leader. She wasn’t fit to give orders. Not when it mattered. Not when lives were at stake.
“You’re a fine leader,” Anselmi told her.
“That’s not what you said when I nearly got you drowned.”
He put his hands on her shoulders, stooping to peer into her eyes. “I didn’t drown.”
“But you might have. I might have. Or I might have died in that snake pit.” Tears clogged her throat in a hot ball. “Everything I do is wrong.”
He straightened. “I will not allow you to wallow in self recriminations.”
“Wallow?” she cried. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“We have a mission to complete.”
“I can’t.” Can’t go on, can’t pretend that I belong. Not fit to be a Scout.
“I know it’s difficult,” he said, “but that’s what it takes to be a hero. We do the difficult thing because it’s right.”
Impani froze. Was he mocking her? She’d never told him that she wanted to be a hero. Never. She looked up, and he smiled. No, not taunting her. He was her friend. Doubtlessly thinking that human beings were so fragile—
“That is correct.” His smile widened. “They are.”
Impani gave a shaky laugh. “You seem especially attuned to my thoughts.”
“It’s this planet. It’s opening me somehow. Not a comfortable sensation.”
“No.” Impani also felt like she’d been flayed open. She raised a hand to wipe her eyes but wiped her mask instead. She chuckled again.
“Good, then,” Anselmi said. “We should be going. I don’t think Trace intended us to take a break.”
But the idea of trudging through the jungle made her ache. “I just came down that hillside. I can’t bear the thought of going up again.”
“I can carry you.”
“No, you cannot.” Impani didn’t know if she should laugh or feel offended. “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.”
“We’d best walk quickly, then. The sun is nearly down. Come. Let’s go be heroes.”
But as she followed him over the trench and around the burning stockpile, she knew that this time she wasn’t doing it to look like a hero. This time, she was doing it to help Trace.
<<>>
Trace paused to look around. The sun must be setting, but he couldn’t tell beneath the dense overhang of mushroom caps. He held out the resonator in a slow sweep, and the surrounding plants bent away from the sonic waves.
He remembered seeing the phenomenon when his team first arrived onworld. Th
ey’d laughed and found it an interesting curiosity. Imagine a world where plants could move. He wasn’t laughing any longer.
The resonator’s tiny screen glowed in the gloom. The constantly shifting colors showed nothing that he could attribute to human movement.
“This is crazy,” he muttered. “The whole jungle is in motion.”
Then he noticed a consistent abnormality: a puckered wave crossing the screen in a straight line. The instrument didn’t display moss creatures in that manner. It read them sporadically as they darted among the trees. This had to be either Cole or his father.
With the resonator in front of him like a compass, Trace ran forward. He was tempted to flip back his mask and call out—but the air was thick with spores and pollen dredged up by his footsteps. He couldn’t risk uncovering his face.
He continued to run, one eye on the screen, adjusting his course, when he noticed several blips to either side of the first. These moved erratically. They appeared and disappeared among the pulsing foliage. Moss men.
“Dad!”
He ran flat out. The terrain became hilly. Several times, he feared he lost the signal. Then it would appear again, each time showing the erratic blips closing in on the solitary wave.
At last, he was near enough to hear the uneven tramping of boots. Trace slid his flamethrower from his shoulder, scanning for creatures. Through the trees, he glimpsed a man with a limp. He fought to catch up to him.
“Dad! Wait up!”
Aldus turned. “Trace? What are you—”
The air shivered with howls.
Aldus’ eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”
Trace stood at his father’s side and glanced about, heart pounding.
Beneath his breath, Aldus said, “What do you mean by following me, boy?”
“Who said I was looking for you?” Trace muttered. “Cole is my friend, too. And what are you doing out this far, anyway?”
Alien Jungle Page 10