M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (22 page)

“Perhaps they don't have a firm hierarchy? Maybe they are just a band of brigands, each in it for themselves.”

“Could they be different species?”

“The great big one that walks on all fours is certainly different from the rest.”

“But what about the two legged ones? They seem to come in two different sizes.”

“It might just be a difference in their armored suits. Of course, that might also signify who gives orders and who are foot soldiers.”

“Whatever. We need to learn more and the original four are headed toward the hub and our own territory.”

* * * * *

Feldman kept one of the drones trailing behind the party and sent the other ahead to scout for Sanchez. Having been attacked in multiple ways already, all members of the recon patrol were on guard. If anything, the clutter ahead of them was worse than that in the other end of the hallway. 

“We've had bats, moving barf and snaky squid things,” Bear rumbled, “can't wait for what happens next.”

“Borrow trouble for yourself, Brother Bear, if that's what you want.” JT anxiously scanned the surrounding clutter. “But you don't need to lend the rest of us any.”

“I'm not complaining, JT. This is the most fun I've had since the fight on Pzzst.”

“Fun I love, but too much of this kind of fun can kill a guy.”

Bear paused and looked back at JT. “You're joking, right?”

Chapter 13

Food Production Engineering Lab

Melissa, Clem and Lem, wearing hardhats and safety glasses, were observing a transparent, plexiglass model of the fly breeding and larvae production habitat. The noise of the blowers made normal conversation difficult but it was obvious by the grins on their faces that things were going well.

“Shut it off,” yelled Melissa, making a chopping motion with her hand. Clem nudged Lem and Lem threw the master breaker for the equipment. As the fans slowed and the roaring air flow quieted the trio had pleased looks all around.

“I don't see any bug guts on the ducting,” Lem announced, removing his plastic safety glasses. “And it sure sucked the flies out of the growing chamber.”

“Yeah, that it did,” Clem commented. “In practice we may not need as much airflow volume.”

“You're assuming it will scale up without problems?” asked Melissa. The boys, as she had come to think of them, had already fixed a number of design problems with the test rig. She and her staff could have fiddled with the prototype for a month and not gotten it working. Her people were great with animals and plants—machinery, not so much.

“I think it will scale up fine, given the computer's flow estimates, Miss Scott Hamilton.”

“Clem, I told you boys to call me Melissa. I was never in the military like a lot of the other folk around here were, and I don't stand on formality much.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” Lem replied. “Are we going to start fabricating the real system then?”

“I want to get a few more test runs done, but I think we can send the specs to the materials shop. They will be able to whip up the components in a jiffy. Then we can put it together and try growing a real crop. I need to get some actual yield figures before I can write the report for Ludmilla.”

“Report?”

“Yeah, it's sort of the final preliminary report on the prototype food production system. It will be reviewed by some of the other science types and if they OK it we are off to the races.”

“So how many flies are we talking about in our herd?”

“Around 25 or 30 million.”

Clem left out a long, low whistle. “We had best be sure they don't get out or we will need a new place to live.”

“When this works folks will want to shake your hands. We should see improvement in fish production in four weeks, and fresh chicken meat in 8-10 weeks. Egg production won't ramp up for five or six months though. Improvement in hog production will take about the same.”

“Imagine that, most of humanity living on fly meat. Sort of like payback for all those ruined picnics.” 

“Well you boys can knock off for the day. We'll start building a real one of these things in the morning. You know, once we get everything running well here, we may get to go to Mars and set up their production facilities.” With that Melissa headed back to her office and Clem and Lem started for the exit.

“Did you hear that, Clem? We may get to go to Mars!”

“Hell, Lem. I'm just happy to not be sweeping hallways anymore.”

Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek

“The readings indicate the antimatter is about two klicks beyond your current position,” Mizuki reported to the recon patrol. “I have no idea where it will be stored beyond that.”

“Roger, M'tak.”

The patrol had been walking toward the hub for over a half hour. Even though the station gravity was only about 40% that of Earth, the suits slowed movement and their path was circuitous. Meanwhile, back at the entrance to the boarding tube, Lt. McKennitt's detachment was growing bored.

“M'tak, Lt. McKennitt, we've had no activity since the recon patrol departed.”

“Roger, Lieutenant,” Jack replied. “Stay alert down there. No telling what might turn up.”

“Aye aye, Captain.”

Captain, I sense no signs of movement at deck level near the boarding tube entrance. I am showing movement near the ceiling, however, but it is hard to pinpoint with all of the dislodged panels and other material hanging down. I am still tracking multiple lifeforms tailing the reconnaissance party.

Thank you, M'tak. Please let me know if there is any threatening movement.

I have done an analysis of the partially digested batacuda remains that were regurgitated by the carnivorous plant. Based on shape and size of the cranial cavity I have concluded that the batacudas are not sentient—they are just animals, Captain.

Indeed. I will keep that in mind.
Above the reserved force, among the debris hanging from the overhead, sleek silver shapes moved carefully.

Boarding Tube Entrance

Sandy stood just outside the doorway, trying to keep a watch on the cluttered hallway before her. The SEALs had worked their way to the right, in among some of the omnipresent piles of junk. Rosey Acuna and Ronnie Reagan were twenty paces to the left of the doorway, while Brown and Samuels flanked their lieutenant on either side.

The only exciting thing to happen in the last half hour was when a multilegged creature with a circular rasping mouth tried, unsuccessfully, to attached itself to PO Bud Jones' leg. After sliding off three times the rat sized creature gave up and wriggled back into the garbage from whence it came.

As Sandy turned back toward the entrance she caught a flash of movement. From amidst the tangle of hanging junk, a pair of bat winged creatures headed like silver arrows toward the Earthlings. Before she could raise an alarm Reagan yelled out.

“Two batacudas inbound from the port side!”

“M'tak, we have batacudas inbound!” Sandy reported to the ship.

“Roger, Lieutenant.” came the Captain's immediate response. “M'tak says they are just animals. No explosives, otherwise weapons are free. Repeat, weapons are free.”

“Take 'em down, mates!”

Before Sandy's order was completed Rosey and Ronnie stood, brought their railguns to their shoulders and fired like a pair of skeet shooters on a range. Both used shotgun rounds, 20mm in diameter clusters of flechettes launched toward the flying creatures at 1200 fps.

Both of the diving batacudas crumpled in on themselves. Their forward momentum blunted, they tumbled in ragged bundles to the deck, landing 20 meters short of the Marines. After sliding another ten meters, the bodies lay unmoving before their killers.

“Nicely done, Reagan.” Rosey high-fived her fellow marksman.

“Not bad yourself, Acuna.”

“Look overhead!” yelled PFC Kevin Brown, pointing at the ceiling with his left arm. Suddenly, a swirling flock of silver winged bodies appeared near the roof of the hallway. They circled, calling out like an angered flock of crows and then dove, en mass, toward the Earthlings.

Recon Patrol

Sanchez signaled for the others to halt in front of what looked like a constructed barrier, fencing in an area of the hallway deck. Along the inner wall a pile of crates and containers were stacked up in such a way as to suggest habitation. Several openings looked like entrance ways into the pile.

Within the fenced in deck area were stacks of junk, though there seemed to be some method to how they were arranged. One stack consisted of spools of heavy wire, another lengths of pipe and elbows. Atop one pile was a sizable object that looked like a partially melted, front loading washing machine.

“I think we have found a junkyard,” JT said.

“How can you tell it from all the other junk?” Bear asked in an innocent tone.

“Well, it's better organized than the junk outside the barrier, and I don't see any rotting biological crap among it.”

“Too bad, I was in the market for some rotting biological crap.” Bear gave his friend a toothy grin.

“Look, Lieutenant, there are some creatures headed this way from that pile of shipping containers.”

“Right you are, Joey, let's hope they are friendly and can communicate.”

“Yeah, weapons down primates. Don't want to spook the prey prematurely.”

“Can't we come across any new life form without you thinking of them as a prospective meal, Brother Bear?”

“Hey, I love ringed seal as much as any polar bear, but we are omnivores. A little variety is always appreciated, and those things look like furry monkey snacks to me.”

“Now you're making me nervous, LT,” Feldman said, moving a few paces farther to Bear's right.

Bear chuckled.

“You know he only does that to get a rise out of you, Feldman.”

The conversation amongst the patrol members came to an abrupt end as three furry creatures with cinnamon colored bodies, white chests and faces, and large red-orange eyes approached their position from the other side of the barrier.

Stopping across from the Earthlings, the three exchanged rapid fire chattering among themselves, accompanied by much flicking of their large fluffy tails. With a few particularly sibilant exclamations the largest of the three silenced the others and took a half step forward. It spoke and the patrol's suits automatically translated.

“Greetings, strangers. Do you come to trade?”

Boarding Tube Entrance

“Open fire!” yelled Sandy, shouldering her railgun and aiming at the approaching flock of cawing, silver creatures. From eight railguns, streams of 5mm flechettes, every third one a bright green tracer, laced the space between the reserve force and the attacking batacudas.

It was over in less than ten seconds. A half dozen silver shapes tumbled from the sky—wings shredded, bodies riddled with holes. The slain were still falling as their surviving comrades vanished, back into the ceiling clutter that they had emerged from. The batacudas struck the floor and lay still, with shattered bodies and wings protruding at odd angles, sad silver mounds that seconds ago had been majestic flying beasts.

Quiet descended on the hallway.

After a half minute, Sandy spoke. “I think they've gone. Chief Morgan, you and your boys take a look and make sure they are well and truly dead.”

“Aye aye, Lieutenant.” With hand signals the Chief SEAL motioned his men forward. The four Marines continued to scan the deck in front of them and the air above.

The SEALs examined the nearest of the bodies, nudging a few with armor encased legs. Nothing moved among the downed batacuda.

“These things are history, Lieutenant,” the Chief reported, signaling his two companions to head back to their positions next to the doorway. As they returned, movement was detected near the far wall.

“Heads up people, we have more company coming.”

The movement soon resolved into three distinct targets, converging on the downed batacudas at an unhurried pace. As they drew nearer the targets were identified as three of the slithering Meatwad like creatures. They halted at the edge of the fallen fliers and one of their number carefully circumnavigated the bodies.

“What's it doing?” asked one of the Marines.

“I don't know, but it seems to be coming over to see us,” Sandy replied. Sure enough, once clear of the dead bodies, the advancing meatwad headed straight for Sandy and her companions. It took over a minute for the gelatinous creature to ooze within hailing distance. At a separation of about five meters it halted, mounded its body a bit higher and began making loud noises that sounded like flatulence. 

“What the hell?” asked Brown. To which Reagan said, “I think it is trying to communicate with us.”

“You are correct,” said the voice of the M'tak's AI over the comm link. “It is using a strange variant of the common trading tongue, but it is so distorted that your suits are having a hard time translating. I am upgrading the programing now.”

“...you have killed a large number of the flying pests. Do you claim their flesh for your own use?”

Sandy's eyebrows went up in a quizzical expression. “Anyone want to claim a batacuda carcase?” she asked her team. Receiving no replies in the affirmative she keyed the translator and addressed the glistening red creature. “No, we have no use for the bodies.”

The meatwad issued an inarticulate burst of sound and proceeded back the way it came, not by turning about but by reversing its flow. The humans watched as the creatures began to slowly envelope the batacuda bodies by sliding over them. A fourth creature emerged from the left to absorb the two batacudas shot by Acuna and Reagan.

“Not much on conversation, are they?” Chief Morgan observed.

“I think I'm going to be sick,” said PO Phil Kowalski.

“Dingo vomit that talks by farting,” said Sandy, with a shake of her head. “Even Australia doesn't have anything that ugh.”

The ship's AI provided background information as the creatures dined. “They seem to be similar to a previously known species who's digestive system was part of their dermis. They feed by absorbing nutrients from organic matter, digested using an acidic medium surrounding their entire bodies. I am unsure how these came to be on this station but exo-stomach beings were quite rare.”