Castaway Planet (12 page)

“Planetography studies are coming in handy,” Akira said.

“Well, the geology parts,” Caroline said modestly.

“And your knowledge of suns and planets,” he reminded her.

“We are very lucky,” Laura said bluntly. “Just seven of us and we have an expert biologist, a doctor, someone who’s
almost
a planetographer, and people who know something about other fields.” She looked across the water. “Imagine getting wrecked here without any of that.”

The three were silent for a few moments. “Well, we aren’t without that,” Caroline finally said, “and we’ll be all right, I hope.” She glanced back at the shelter and up at her omni, perched above as high as Akira had been able to mount it. “I’m exhausted, Mom. I’m going to bed now.”

“Go ahead, hon. We’ll go to bed after you,” Laura said. Honestly, she
was
tired—and she could see Akira was, too—and it was just about time to turn in, no matter what the confusing sun said. But while waiting, she could just lean against her husband, and he against her, and relax, looking at their new home, which—just maybe—wasn’t going to succeed in killing them.

Chapter 17

Whips jolted awake as a loud, strident
beep! beep! beep!
sounded from somewhere above him. That was the camp alarm! Something was coming through the perimeter!

The night of Lincoln was, by Earthly standards, pitch-black; even if one of Lincoln’s two moons had been up, they were too small to shed very much light.

But Whips’ ancestors were from the utterly lightless sea of Europa, orbiting Jupiter in the farther reaches of the solar system, living beneath kilometers of solid ice cold enough to freeze air. There, the only light came from other creatures or strange natural processes, and any creature that could see at all had eyes that could wring every possible bit of data from every photon they could catch. To Whips, the blazing stars above made the black night nearly as bright as day.

Plowing its way up the gouged scar of
LS-5
’s crash was something huge—ten, maybe fifteen meters long. Its hide glistened wetly in the starlight and air hissed from it as it breathed, a round, wormlike thing with rings of serrated white at intervals along the body, crowned with a writhing mass of tentacles surrounding a mouth like a grinder.

It was also headed straight for the shelter, and Whips knew it would be a matter of seconds only before someone came out to see what the alarm was—emerging right into that tentacled mass.

Whips heaved himself up out of his land-nest and simultaneously bellowed loudly, even as he sought around desperately for something to throw or swing with.

The movement and bellow did, at least, accomplish what Whips hoped. The monster slewed around, facing directly towards him, and started flowing in his direction. Whips humped backwards as fast as he could, grabbing with tail grippers, curling his body back and shoving back with the elbow pads on his lower two arms. The tentacles lashed towards him but he wasn’t—quite—in reach yet.

Laura shoved her way out of the tent flap and said something shocked and probably rude, but at that moment the thing gave vent to a howling roar which drowned her out. Despite the insulated walls of the shelter, Whips could hear responding startled screams from inside.

The thing gathered itself and lunged. One thick, velvet-looking tendril brushed Whips and he heard himself let out a steam-whistle shriek of pain. That stung!

With horror he realized he’d slipped in the sand; the thing was about to catch him!

Two sharp reports rang out as Laura fired the SurvivalShot twice. The creature gave a low-pitched bubbling growl and swung about towards her.

“Look out, Laura! It’s like the anemones!” Whips felt a faint numbness radiating from the sting, but his internal nanos and his own self-awareness told him the damage was actually minimal. A human getting stung, however, might be really bad.

Laura dove to the side, the deadly tendrils smacking the shelter and causing it to shudder, but missing their target.

But Whips realized that if it followed Laura, something that size could probably rip the shelter apart, or crush it if the rigidity currents keeping it up failed. He took a breath and then charged forward as fast as he could, synchronizing rear anchor-feet and arms, and threw himself on the monster, arms spread wide.

He felt dozens of his attack barbs sink deep. The creature’s pained, writhing attempt to escape caused the barbs to rip gashes in its hide. But the force of the thing’s twisting motion yanked Whips around, dragging him across the sand, slamming him down like a ball on a string. Two of the tentacles wrapped around him, and it felt like two belts of fire strapped to his body. Grimly, he hung on, dug in, tried to pull himself closer. If he could just bite the thing . . .

The SurvivalShot popped again, twice, and the other Kimeis were shouting, screaming, out of the shelter, but were they safe? Whips didn’t dare let go, he couldn’t bear the thought that he might let this thing go too soon and get his friends—his adoptive family—killed. At this range he let the agony focus his cry, let go with a stunshout that rippled the creature’s skin as though it were struck. Then he heard half a dozen small impacts. Rocks? Were they throwing
rocks
?

Another tentacle caught at him, but he pulled as hard as he could, clamped down with his beak and let his tongue start ripping into the leathery, bitter-tasting flesh. The venom was starting to work its way through him, his resistance being overcome by volume, but he refused to let go, even though he found his vision becoming distant, his arms trying to become shaky . . .

Suddenly the monster wrenched itself around, trying to flee. The Kimei family were still pelting it with rocks and debris from the crash, with more shots from the hydrogen-powered pistol slamming into it. The thing rammed into the ridge of the crash scar, and Whips, finding he could hold on no longer, was scraped from the thing’s side.

But it didn’t take the opportunity to turn on him. It just continued swiftly slithering away, back into the water from whence it had come.

The sounds now were distorted, strange, like they were if your sound membrane was half-in, half-out of the water, and everything was painful and drifting and distant at the same time. “Whips? Oh, God, look, he’s been stung all over!”

“Settle down, Sakura. I’ve got his nanotelemetry.” That was Laura’s voice, but somehow Whips couldn’t tell which of the figures over him, shining bright lights, was which.

“Will he—?”

“
Quiet,
all of you!” Akira’s usually quiet voice was raised, worried, but filled with iron authority. The others went silent.
Wow,
Whips thought disjointedly,
he bellows like an Old One . . .

“Neurotoxin,” a voice muttered, wavering in and out. “But there’s natural resistance . . . similar to other poisons . . .”

Vaguely, Whips realized he was losing consciousness, finding himself unable to understand the noises around him. He couldn’t feel more than the most distant jab of fear, though. The numbness had spread to his brain and even thought, fragmented already, was fading.

Light faded, dwindled, became gray fog.

But then the gray brightened, and sound began to come back, at first just incomprehensible murmurs, and then faint, almost random words: “. . . responding . . . hope that . . . killed . . .”

His eyes finally began to respond. He felt shaky, sick as he had ever been, but his mind was slowly clearing. He turned one eye, saw Laura kneeling next to him. Pain like fire burned across most of his skin, but it seemed to be fading now. “Everyone . . . okay?” he managed to ask.

“Okay?” Laura repeated, and then shook her head; a pair of tears suddenly rolled down her face. “Whips,
you
were the one hurt!”

“Knew . . . if it got any of you . . . probably kill you,” he managed. It still hurt a lot.

“You were right,” she said, voice and eyes back in control. “Your people have a higher resistance to some toxins, of which this was fortunately one. Even so, closing in on it and letting it sting you—”

“Didn’t have much choice,” he said. The sickness was rising inside, like something coming to a boil.
Oh-oh.
“Um, excuse me . . .”

His shaking body tried to betray him, but he somehow kept control until he reached the waste pit and voided everything he’d eaten into it. He lay there, gasping and shuddering, letting his tail hang over the edge in case another fit hit him. So much for dinner.

Sakura had suddenly reached him, and her fierce embrace made him feel a tiny bit better. “Whips, are you okay?”

“Feeling a little better, maybe.”

“It’ll take a while. I had to use what was on hand, which wasn’t ideal,” Laura said apologetically. “Your nanos and your natural resistance kept things under control long enough for me to fake up something like an antidote, but it’s not perfect.”

“As long as I’m going to recover, that’s good.”

“What
was
that?” Melody’s question was somewhat rhetorical—it wasn’t like anyone had any better answer than she did—but she was terrified, and Whips couldn’t blame her. “Why did it attack us?”

“That’s a good question, Melody,” Akira said, his calm voice making even Whips’ pained, sick mind feel a little steadier. “Why would it attack us? It crawled a long way out of the water to get here. How could it have sensed us?”

Something about the question nagged at Whips. “I don’t think it did sense us. Not out there, anyway,” he said slowly.

“Hm? But then why come here? Do you think this is just the way it normally hunts—comes up on land and looks for things that are sleeping?”

Whips concentrated, trying to force his brain to work. “No. Well, maybe . . . but it has to have some way of choosing where it comes up.”

Melody suddenly froze. “Oh. Oh, I think I know, Dad.” She pointed over to the now-tumbled tables and chairs. “The blockcrab—”

Now he heard Akira Kimei swear. After a moment, he shook his head. “
Baka
. We gutted it and then dragged it up to camp, leaving a perfect trail of blood straight here.”

Whips waved his hands affirmatively. “That was just what I was trying to think of. Predators like that in Europa will follow scent-trail.”

“Well,” Laura said, “no real harm done. We’ve learned that lesson and won’t do it again.”

“But that’s only a temporary fix, Mom,” said Sakura. Now that she was sure that Whips wasn’t dying, she was hugging a still scared and crying Hitomi and getting her to settle down.

“I know it,” Laura said. She knelt down and hugged Whips. Even though touching the stung areas hurt, it was still comforting . . . and the pain was fading. “First . . . thank you, thank you so very much, Whips. If you hadn’t distracted it, it would have grabbed me when I stepped out. And without you fighting it, I don’t think we could have stopped it.”

“I second that,” Akira said gravely. “Our pistol—and throwing rocks—stung it and infuriated it, but I really don’t think we did enough damage by ourselves to drive it off, or that we could have without someone getting killed. You risked—”

“Nothing, sir,” Whips interrupted, feeling so embarrassed that the pain and sickness were secondary. “I’m not going to survive without you either. You’re my
family
now, right? And we always fight for our family. Together.”

The two Kimei parents were quiet for a moment, Akira in particular wearing an expression that looked oddly like vindication, and then they simply nodded. “You are our family, yes,” Laura said unsteadily, and he could see the tears again. “And we will fight for you. Together.”

“Always,” agreed Akira and Sakura, and the others echoed it—even little Hitomi, who reached out and patted him gently.

Then Laura looked out into the dark, where the thing had fled. “But we don’t want to do fighting we don’t have to, and now we know we are in danger here. We have to find somewhere else to live—and do it soon.”

“But that,” Akira said, “will be something for later.”

Whips nodded, and finally felt himself relaxing, the sickness starting to ebb . . . and exhaustion coming close behind. “Later,” he repeated, and closed his eyes.

Chapter 18

Sakura cut, perhaps with unnecessary viciousness, at a bamboolike stalk that blocked her passage. The machete—cut and ground down under Whips’ direction from one of the pieces of steel that had formed a major wing support—sliced cleanly through the stalk, which fell, spattering her with drops of blood and an explosion of crimson tendrils from the flowerlike ends; these were, fortunately, not venomous. “Oh, ick.”

“Sakura, slow down,” her father admonished. “You don’t need to break all the trail yourself. And if you insist on chopping your way along like some old-fashioned axe murderer, you can’t expect to stay nice and clean.”

For some reason, the forest on the farther side of the floating continent—at least in their area—was thicker than on their side. This expedition, with her, Dad, and Caroline, was an attempt to cut straight across from the column where she’d been stung to the other side, which should come out somewhere near where Dad thought there might be a stream.

Water was dripping on her from above, too. There had been a heavy rainstorm last night, which had at least reduced the worry about water, but they still didn’t know anything about Lincoln’s seasons. This might be the “rainy season” and the dry season could leave them without water for weeks.

At least the dripping water helped her wash the icky stuff off, but the combination of heat and water wasn’t very pleasant.

Sakura slowed down, waiting for the other two to catch up. Whips would have come along but he wasn’t quite recovered from his fight against what Melody had named a direworm, causing her father to lecture everyone on the differences between worms, cnidarians, echinoderms, and how none of that applied here—and then agree that direworm was a very good name for the thing.

“Hey, Dad,” she said once they were caught up and had started pushing their way forward again, “you’d said you thought you’d figured out some things about our native life here?”

“Hmm?” Her father had been studying a small creature like a green box with bright lavender eyes, apparently spinning a web of some sort. “Oh, yes. Well, it’s nothing staggeringly surprising, but it is very indicative. From what I’ve seen, most things here—with the possible exception of our four-winged quadbirds, as Laura’s called them—have evolved to be able to survive both on land and underwater, at least for a time. This is rather what I expected to find, of course, but it’s exciting to have it confirmed.”

“And a little worrisome,” Caroline said.

She looked at Caroline. “Why?”

“I think Caroline means because of what it implies,” her father answered. Caroline nodded, and he continued, “If these islands stayed stable for, oh, millions upon millions of years, you’d expect obligate air-breathers to become fairly common. There’s a biological cost for keeping both options open, so to speak, and something that can just focus on one should gain a considerable advantage. The ocean-dwelling ones certainly are nicely focused.”

Sakura thought, then understanding dawned. “Oh. You mean that if they’re all ready for either one, then these islands break up, roll over, whatever, fairly often on an evolutionary scale.”

“So I would guess, yes.” They rounded another of the great columns, this one slightly shorter than some others, and pushed on into another cluster of heavy jungle. Sakura watched every unfamiliar object narrowly; the last thing she wanted was to end up stung again.

The path ahead lightened, and suddenly she could see into a moderately sized clearing. “Oh, wow,” she whispered.

In the clearing, apparently grazing on the blue-crystalline semi-grass that carpeted the little meadow, was a herd of creatures. They had blunt heads with big, rounded eyes, bodies supported by several squat legs, and a pair of ridges extending on either side of the body. But what was surprising was that they were covered with a lovely blue-green material that looked—at least from this distance—like fur. The animals measured about two meters long on average, but Sakura could see several much smaller, but generally similar creatures, trotting around and between the others, nuzzling their flanks, and generally being treated the way that young animals are everywhere: as a beloved but sometimes having-to-be-tolerated nuisance.

“My goodness,” Akira said bemusedly. “Their top jaws seem to have fused, though the bottom still splits. Other than that odd tripartite jaw, they have an almost Earthly look about them. Like . . . like a capybara, in a way.”

“They’re
adorable
,” Sakura said. “I wonder if they’re dangerous.”

“We have to assume so,” Caroline said.

Two of the creatures nearest them straightened and looked at the humans at the edge of the clearing. The two gave warbling chirps, and the rest of the herd moved restlessly. Other cries were heard, and Sakura could see the youngsters moving closer in.

“Defensive reaction to the unknown. They’re tightening into a better defended group,” her father said, in a fascinated tone. “The scouts or guards have moved closer too, but they’re staying on the outside and watching us, obviously ready to defend the others.”

He frowned. “This isn’t a new reaction. They obviously do this often.”

“Which means there must be some pretty big and mobile predators around,” Caroline said slowly.

“I’m afraid so. But this may be a very big find. Those animals might be tamable, if we can figure out how to make use of their herd instincts.”

“You mean domesticate them? What for?”

“I’m not sure—yet. But anything from meat to draft animals. We have soil, we have water, there are undoubtedly plants we can eat here—agriculture seems like a good idea. But trying to plow a field by hand . . . let’s say I’d rather find an alternative.”

Caroline nodded. “The larger ones are about the size of . . . oh, what was that breed . . . Shetland ponies. Not exactly massive draft animals, but still pretty big, and strong enough for a lot of things. If they can be domesticated. I have no idea if that’s possible, though.”

“It’s worth thinking about.”

Sakura grinned. “I could ride one!”

“If it didn’t decide to bite you,” Caroline pointed out.

Her father finished getting imagery of the creatures and gestured. “Let’s move on. No need to keep these things on edge.”

As the three of them moved around the edge of the clearing, the small herd of animals edged cautiously around, trying to keep the same position with respect to them, moving under some of the large treelike growths fringing the clearing in that direction.

Without warning, something lashed down from above, grasped one of the blue-green capybaralike creatures, and yanked it screaming out of sight into the forest canopy above. Sakura gave her own yelp of startled shock, and heard similar sounds of consternation from her father and Caroline.

For the herd it was not consternation; it was panic. The entire mass of creatures stampeded away, even as a second pair of tendrils streaked out and slashed at one of the rearguard, sending the animal tumbling. One of the littler animals gave a trilling shriek and ran towards the one that had been struck. The bigger animal let out an emphatic bellow and got up, running with a pronounced limp; the little one turned and fled just ahead of the limping one. A mother and its baby?

Something leapt from the trees just behind the fleeing herd and thudded to the ground. It scuttled on multiple jointed legs and held two tentacles coiled back, waiting to strike. It looked ungainly, like a cross between a lobster and a squid, but it moved shockingly fast. It was closing the distance between itself and the limping creature.

Sakura didn’t know what caused it. Maybe it was the pitiful trill of the baby as it saw the thing coming, or the sight of the parent creature obviously trying to keep itself between the baby and the oncoming predator. But something drove a knife of empathy and rage straight into her heart and she was suddenly charging out, her father and sister screaming at her.

Part of her—most of her—realized how stupid this was—and how it was even more stupid than she’d originally thought. They might think she was another predator trying to attack!

But instead, the running herd merely split around her as she ran. The limping creature and its cub were streaking closer, but the tentacular predator was faster still.
Got to . . .

Instinct and reflexes of a born pilot were the only thing that saved her. She saw a ripple on one side of the predator and dove forward, the striking tentacle passing just over her head. She rolled to her feet, feeling the ice-cold of adrenaline washing through her. The predator was now less than a meter away, but she swung hard—

The concussion of impact tore the machete from her hand and sent her tumbling away, bruised and dizzy. Sakura heaved herself back up, trying to focus as the predator shrieked in rage, but she knew she didn’t have any more weapons.

Abruptly her father was there, plunging an alloy-tipped spear straight into the thing’s shrieking mouth, rolling aside as the tendrils ripped through the air he’d occupied. Then Caroline, pale as paper, brought down her own machete with a two-handed blow that split the thing’s carapace. It spasmed and went limp.

Sakura shook her head, clearing it, even as her father—with one more glance at the creature to make sure it wasn’t moving again—ran to her.
“Sakura
! Sakura, are you all right?”

“I . . . I think so, Dad. Just a little shaken up . . .”

Her father’s face suddenly transformed from concern to fury, more angry than she had ever seen him. “
Bakame!
What the hell were you doing? A little shaken up? I . . . you . . . I should give you a shaking you’ll never forget!”

“And I’ll be there to help!” Caroline stomped her foot as though that might be the only think keeping her from slapping her sister. “Of all the utterly idiotic things . . .”

“I’m
sorry!
” she said, and she was. That was so
stupid.

The shock and fear and guilt overcame her and she started crying. “I know, I was so stupid, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Dad, I don’t know why . . .”

Akira sagged to his knees, then touched her shoulder. “I know perfectly well
why
. But we can’t do that, honey. We can’t afford to lose anyone. And even if we could, your mother and I would be devastated if—”

“I know. I know . . .”

She looked up and then saw movement beyond her father.

The wounded animal and its baby were standing maybe fifteen or twenty meters away, looking at them. Farther behind, the herd waited, shifting restlessly.

Her father and Caroline turned slowly, and for a moment all was still; the blue-green animals with deep green eyes staring at the humans, the humans looking back and wondering.

Then the parent-animal snorted quietly, and turned and walked, still limping slightly, away. The baby looked back and followed. There was no sign of hurry or concern in the herd now.

Her father took a shaky breath, let it out. “That . . . could be very promising.” He looked down and the anger was back, though more muted. “But that does not excuse your behavior, Sakura. If you cannot control yourself, you’re little better than Hitomi, and I may have to ground you—even though we really cannot afford that.”

She looked down.
No way I can argue. He’s right. I saw the little animal running and the mother—I assumed it
was
a mother
—
hurt, and I just acted, no thinking. No better than Hitomi. Maybe worse, because I
know
better than that.

She forced herself to look up and meet her father’s gaze—and with him looking so angry, that wasn’t easy. Akira Kimei was almost never the angry one, that was her mother who brought down the wrath of God usually. “I know, Dad. I won’t do anything like that ever again. I promise. I knew it was stupid as soon as I found myself out there, and I know I was luckier than I deserve.”

He closed his eyes, then opened them and nodded. The anger had faded to a warning behind his gaze. “All right. Then let’s keep going; if you’re not hurt, we’ve still got work to do.” He looked to the body, lying not far away. “And the first work is to take a look at this beast.”

Sakura nodded and moved towards the body. She glanced towards the trees from which the thing had come.
And another way I was lucky; what if these predators had decided to protect each other? We’d
all
be dead.

She gripped the handle of her machete and ripped it out of the body.
I won’t endanger my family again. I won’t!

As she bent over the animal and listened to her father’s discussion of the thing they’d killed, those words echoed deep inside her, not merely a decision, but an oath.
I won’t endanger them. I won’t
.

Never again.