by S. L. Viehl
“Transpod ready for detachment,” Burn signaled from the pod’s transponder.
“Coming up on Ylydii ship dock portal,” Shon’s voice said over Burn’s headgear. “Prepare to release at my green.”
Burn powered up the small positioning thrusters that would give him approximately twenty seconds to dock with the larger ship. “Ready, Major.”
“Release point in five, four, three, two, one, green.”
The transpod ejected out of the body of the strafer and flew directly up. Burn guided the direction of the positioning thrusters, matching his hatch collar with that of the Ylydii ship. Despite his care, he went in hard and hot, and the two portals met with a violent jolt before unification clamps on both sides engaged.
“Transpod in dock.” Burn wasted no time as he ripped off his harness and darted up to manually seal the hatch atmosphere collars and scan what was on the other side of the Ylydii’s atmosphere lock. The display showed positive pressure on the interior liquid atmosphere. “Portal entryway filled and clear. I’m in.”
“Release transpod and seal portal hatch once you’ve boarded,” Shon advised him.
That meant the patrol was going to attempt to dock other strafers’ transpods with the Ylydii. It would help to have some backup, but for the immediate present, Burn had to go in alone.
He strapped on his abdominal weapon harness and secured it before opening both hatches and swimming up into the Ylydii ship. Never had he been more conscious of his size than when his pectoral muscles brushed the portal’s wide collar rim.
Duo, watch my tail, because I can’t anymore.
CHAPTER 5
While Teresa was waiting for Ballie to return with the files she had requested, she thought she might fill in a few more of the gaps in Captain Argate’s xenobiologically challenged education.
“The mogshrike and ’Zangian species have existed a thousand times longer than any known humanoid civilization, but they went in completely opposite directions on the evolutionary scale,” she said. “Unlike the ’Zangians, ’shrikes have no language.”
“That you know of,” Noel tagged on.
“We’re pretty positive that they’re dumb as bricks, Captain.” It was better than comparing the ’shrikes’ mentality to Argate’s, although she could see certain parallels that almost begged to be drawn. “Evidently no part of their evolution or environment has ever required them to develop vocal structures or communication skills. Because of their advanced social structure and cerebral development, the ’Zangians were obliged to do the opposite. They easily comprehend abstract concepts like mathematics, art, and philosophy. ’Shrikes do not, nor do they show a response to anything but the availability of prey.” Teresa smiled at Noel. “You might recognize that sort of behavior from your observations of Terran sharks.”
Noel inclined his head, acknowledging the point.
“We think they may have come to a competitive stage in their evolution,” one researcher said, oblivious to the undercurrents. “After all, the only natural predator the ’Zangians have is the ’shrikes.”
“If that were true, then the ’shrikes should wipe them out in short order,” Argate said. “They are the larger and more successful of the two species.”
“Not necessarily.” Teresa curled her hands into fists. “For one thing, ’Zangians fear their enemy, but they don’t run from them. They confront and fight.” Which was precisely how she would handle Noel from this point forward.
The captain produced a slightly puzzled frown. “I thought staying in warmer water was the ’Zangian way of hiding from them.”
Argate was a master of the implication, as he had always been. However, Teresa wasn’t a seventeen-year-old with more hormones than brains anymore, and this world was her oyster, not his.
“’Zangians can tolerate colder temperatures, and sometimes do travel through the outer currents,” she told him. “But wherever you go in the sea, you’ll find few places to hide. Until now we feel the ’Zangians have been trying to coexist by staying out of the ’shrikes’ way, but even they admit that time may be at an end.”
“With the change in feeding and hunting behavior? I’d say you can count on that, Doctor,” Argate said. “If nothing is done to aid the ’Zangians, and a thermal barrier no longer exists, then what happens in the next revolution could very well determine the survival of one species or the other.”
“The ’Zangians are more intelligent, and we can help them,” Teresa said, her voice turning flinty. “They’ll survive.”
Ballie returned with the vid disks, and Teresa loaded them into the wall terminal.
“These were taken by deep-sea drone probes,” she told Argate. “We programmed several to monitor ’shrike activity, and this is what they’ve transmitted over the last four years.”
The first clip clearly showed a ’shrike cruising along a wide, powerful current.
“This is an average-sized adult male mogshrike, approximately thirty meters long and weighing one hundred and sixty tons. To our knowledge, ’shrikes are the largest aquatics on the planet.” Teresa felt her stomach knot as the monster swam directly in front of the probe, which focused its lens to pick up fine details of the creature’s dark, spiny hide. “Their hides are identical in color to the ocean floor, which they use as camouflage, and are further protected by a thick layer of barbed denticles. The ’shrike also have eight plated fins, barbed on the edges and tips, and multiple rows of very large, sharp, serrated teeth.”
Argate seemed mesmerized by the vid and said nothing as he continued to watch.
The vid changed angle, and showed a ’shrike from the underside. “The two segmented, dangling objects you see extruding from the perianal area are claspers. They’re filled with a paralyzing toxin, which is released when the clasper comes in contact with anything. ’Shrikes use these appendages to whip through large shoals and stun several hundred fish at the same time.”
The captain leaned forward to squint at the slightly blurred portion of the image. “There appear to be more than two.”
“The others are cleaner fish called mvrey. ’Shrikes usually carry hundreds attached to their bellies; the symbiotes use them for transport, and keep their hides clean of debris and parasites. You’ll note that the mvrey stay at least a meter away from the ’shrike’s mouth—this is for purposes of self-preservation. Anything that stimulates the electroreceptors lining the outer mouth rim . . .” Knowing what was on the vid made Teresa pause and then tell the wall panel, “Slow replay to one-third normal speed.”
A doowtasquid, its deep yellow gullet sacs pulsing with neurotoxin, crossed the path of the ’shrike. It saw the shadow of the creature and whirled in slow motion to jet away, but one of its tentacles brushed the ’shrike’s mouth.
Even with the sluggishness of the replay, the ’shrike moved like a flash of light, darting forward, opening its cavernous maw, and swallowing the squid whole.
At the moment of the strike, everyone in the room, including Noel, visibly flinched, as if they had been caught between the ’shrike’s massive jaws.
“That is a conventional electroreceptor response,” Teresa said quietly as everyone watched the ’shrike’s mouth work and clouds of poison stain the water. “Actual time of strike, about one-tenth of a second.”
Argate sat back and wiped away the beads of perspiration that had popped out over his upper lip. “It’s chewing it. The poison . . .”
“Has no effect on the ’shrike. Neither do venom, spines, barbs, or other defenses used by anything else it eats.” She watched the next segment, which showed a ’shrike whipping its claspers through a shoal of tawsnavet trying desperately to burrow into the silt. Hundreds of the fat, flat-headed bottom-feeders were left stunned and floated up toward the surface, where they were scooped up by the ’shrike. “Unhappily, nothing is immune to ’shrike toxin except another ’shrike.”
The last sequence showed two mogshrikes battling. The lashing, humping movements of their bodies did not m
atch the menace of their crushing jaws and the wounds inflicted by their razor-sharp teeth. When the smaller ’shrike’s thrashing body grew limp, the larger charged it head-on and swerved at the last moment, snapping off a third of its head during the pass. The victim’s small brain popped out of its cracked cranium and free-floated until the victor came on a second pass to snap it up.
This time the occupants of the room jerked in their seats.
Teresa shut off the vid and watched two of her newer researchers exit the room rather quickly. “We have developed strong ties with the ’Zangians, and have done our best to integrate them into our society. They are not merely sentients, they are our friends now. Do you understand the difference, Captain, and why when it comes to taking sides, we’re going to choose to help and defend the ’Zangians?”
What Teresa didn’t say was what she would do to Noel if he tried to interfere. That, she felt sure, didn’t need to be stated.
Argate was quiet for a moment, and then asked, “What have you planned to do to stop the ’shrikes?”
“Stop them? I really can’t say. Do you have any suggestions?” she returned, her tone sugary.
“You could organize efforts to hunt and kill them,” he suggested. “It would be difficult, but that would insure the outcome you desire.”
Ah, yes, Noel was all about insurance. “That would be the military’s response to attacks by an enemy, not ours.”
One of the younger chemists gave the captain an uncertain look. “But, Dr. Selmar, if it saves the ’Zangians ...”
“We are scientists, not hunters.” Teresa gritted her teeth. “We don’t kill aquatics here. Any of the aquatics.”
Argate’s mouth quirked. “Very well. The ’Zangians are already in an evolutionary shift that will eventually force them to live above the surface. That could be hastened along, as you’ve done with your SEAL experiments, could it not? You might save both species that way.”
Even if the Elders approved such a scheme—which they wouldn’t, having already prohibited any future SEAL experiments on their species—Dairatha and the older ’Zangians could not make that kind of transition. Their size made permanent land-transition impossible, and trying to alterform them for better tolerance at such an advanced age would likely kill them.
Teresa shook her head. “Even if we could convince the ’Zangians to leave the water, the SEAL process wouldn’t work for the older natives. We’d split the population, and seriously endanger those who can no longer leave the sea.”
“You’re talking about giving them a choice.” Noel made this sound like the act of an unbalanced person.
“They’re recognized sentients, Captain. We can do no less.” Teresa spread out her hands.
“Then you’re back to killing the ’shrikes.”
“That would reduce aquatic biodiversity, which would be of no benefit to the ’Zangians or this planet’s marine biosphere.” As much as she wanted to see them dead, Teresa knew she couldn’t execute the mogshrikes. “As part of the food chain, the ’shrikes keep many nuisance species in check. For example, the doowtasquid have no other natural predator, and they’re extremely prolific. Exterminate the ’shrikes and in twenty years you’ll be able to walk across the Western Sea by stepping on squid backs.”
“You’ve only recovered ’shrike carcasses so far during your studies here, is that correct?” Argate asked.
“Parts of them. The sea doesn’t give up many intact bodies to the sand.” Teresa looked over at one of the young male divers. “Ojon here found about one-sixth of a ’shrike carcass a few weeks ago, floating topside.”
“It was mostly shredded tissue, but we were able to salvage some of the endoskeleton,” the diver said. “No bones, but a dense network made of the same cartilaginous material as their fins and spines.”
Noel seemed intrigued by this. “Why don’t you capture a live specimen, so you can answer some of these annoying questions?”
More laughter erupted around the room, but this time it was quick and brittle, while expressions changed from tolerant to horror-struck.
“Captain, maybe I wasn’t clear about the dimensions of the adult mogshrike,” Teresa said, enjoying the moment. “Let me give you a visual. We’re talking about an animal that is the same size as a standard launch shuttle.”
“So are blue whales, and we’ve successfully captured many of those on Terra.” Noel made it sound as if he’d done so, personally, and only while using a large butterfly net.
“Whales are benign mammals who are friendly toward humans. Terra has plenty of the equipment necessary for deep-sea expeditions and nonharmful captures.” All of which Argate had probably appropriated for himself. “Attempting to capture an alien creature on a planet where none of that exists might be done, with a great deal of difficulty, if the specimen were noncombative. Throw in the ’shrikes’ natural defenses, lack of empathy, and general viciousness and you go from very difficult to impossible.”
“Most ’shrikes in the deep sea never come within sight of land,” Ballie put in. “We’d have to go out there and hunt them.”
“The ’shrike eat anything that comes near them, too,” another staffer explained. “We’ve lost at least fifteen DS probes that strayed too close, and those weren’t even organic. No telling what one or more of them would do to our expedition vessels.”
“Of which we only have two,” someone else said.
Noel rested his chin against his hand and made a show of thinking. It was a studied pose—one he had used with great effect since his own student days. “We could use one of the natural bays. Provide some lure, reel it in, and then block off sea access with electrified nets.”
“You’re not serious.” Ballie paled. “Captain, the only thing that lures ’shrike is blood in the water, and that makes the ’Zangians go berserk.”
Argate frowned. “We’ll explain to them why we’re putting out the bait.”
Teresa had to smother her own appalled reaction. “Captain, we appreciate your . . . enthusiasm, but even if you did capture and secure a specimen in such a fashion, we could never get near enough to it to examine it in any scientific fashion.”
“We could experiment with neuroparalyzers and sedatives,” Argate suggested. “See what could be used to keep it docile.”
Teresa knew MRD did such things—she herself had experimented on the ’Zangians—but she had to uphold the Elders’ rulings now. She also wouldn’t trust Noel with so much as a wrill hatch-ling. “We are currently prohibited from experimenting on any native life-form.”
“Let me understand you correctly,” the captain said, looking clearly puzzled. “You are willing to kill these creatures if they threaten your installations or your native friends, but you refuse to capture and study them, which would be the only manner in which you can identify the cause of their recently changed behavior. Given your sentiments, Dr. Selmar, you may as well shut down this facility and go back on land. You have no hope of controlling the mogshrike invasion.”
Teresa blinked. “This isn’t an invasion.”
“Isn’t it?” Argate lifted his shoulders. “However you wish to label the situation, Doctor, these mogshrikes present a threat on several levels. Genuine threats can be studied, resolved, or eliminated, but they can’t be ignored or wished away.”
Teresa looked out through the viewer panel at a pair of ’Zangian males swimming by on patrol. She had known both since the day they were born, and they were now typically happy, friendly adolescents, just on the verge of adulthood. This particular pair had been too young to join the SEALs before the ’Zangian Elders put an end to the experiment, but they were just as important to her as any of the pilots she had alterformed.
The patrol seemed casual, but the males took it very seriously. Young as they were, they both carried battle scars from practice bouts skirmishing with older males in preparation. Now, if a ’shrike attacked, they knew how to fight it. If more than one attacked, they would both die fighting.
Sh
e couldn’t allow that to happen.
Maybe I can use Noel for a change. “All right, Captain. Let’s talk about how we’d go about capturing a mogshrike.”
Liana had been held captive for an unknown length of time. She and the ship’s captain remained blind and bound, and had been segregated to one small corner. Their captor had sealed one end of the tank and stood guard at the other. Nothing else happened, and the waiting without knowing was maddening.
When Nerala’s bleeding increased, Liana dared to swim forward until she tasted the guard’s sweat. The female with me is badly wounded, she said. She requires medical aid.
Does she. Too bad your medics are dead. Something shoved Liana and jabbed her. Get back there and stay.
Liana returned to the corner where they had been penned. She had already checked Nerala by touch, using the end of her snout to locate the source of the blood: a great slash in the captain’s chest. Left untreated, Nerala would soon die. Struggling against the web of cords wrapping her body had proved useless; Liana could not free a single veil to stop the flow.
If only she were brave enough to charge the guard blind. But Liana feared the weapon the male carried, and had no way to see it or the male’s exact location. All she could do was huddle close to the injured Nerala, warming her as best she could with her own body heat, and wait for what would happen next.
Kill us, she thought over and over. Kill us, shoot us, end it now.
Liana might have taken her own life. The manner in which she had been bound had been brutal, and with some flexing she could work the cord tighter around her chest and gillets, essentially strangling herself. She certainly would have surrendered to death willingly. But she had no idea where her mother was, or what was being done to her.