Scuzzworms (21 page)

Post stopped long enough to run over and flip a few switches for him.  Pleister knew how to clean the suit if he had passed even a basic spacesuit proficiency test.  He simply wasn’t in any condition to remember at that particular moment.

She continued lasering slabs of meat as Camille and Post grappled the slabs away from hungry worms and tossed the samples into the freeze compartments that Pleister finally trundled up for them.  Grady climbed to a platform at the top of the grapple, lasering more slabs from the other end of the borgette.

The footing was treacherous
between doped up worms, worm slime, and borgette blood.  More retching noises told her that Pleister was not the only one having digestive trouble.  Pleister took away one full freezer and trundled up another.  As he returned he took a path around the borgette, trying to avoid the more disgusting puddles of goo that had collected.

The worms were churning the ground around the borgette, turning it into something resembling soft brown Swiss cheese.  The grapple rolled slowly forward, getting closer to the borgette as the lasered slabs fell away.

Imelda glanced up just at Lunders screamed over the intercom.  “Pleister, get back!” 

It happened in slow motion.  The wheel of the grapple sunk into the soft honeyco
mbed earth next to the borgette and the platform lurched wildly.  Grady toppled and fell as she watched, his laser slashing down and down, down to where...

What was Pleister doing there?  Didn’t he know better than to get that close to...?  No, of course he didn’t. Of course he didn’t, the sick feeling in her stomach said as she snapped off her laser, squalling a warning into the intercom.

A scream told them that the worst had happened.

In utter silence, Imelda sped to where he lay. Blood bubbled out of his suit from his leg.  Imelda glanced through the faceplate, relieved to see him still alive. He was in shock.

“Radio base.  We have a contamination.  Tell them to send big equipment fast.”

She was already squirting the tear in the suit with sealant, flooding the leg with coagulant. There were worms everywhere.  Revolted, she yanked the worms away from his leg, spraying more sealant.   This was a major injury; the sealant was slow to work.  Desperate, she pulled an emergency cord on the suit to clamp off the upper half of the suit from his leg.  Blood still dripped from the tear.  Pleister’s blood pressure was dangerously low.  She instructed the suit to tourniquet Pleister’s leg.  Post joined her, spraying more sealant.  The dripping finally stopped.

They could not know the damage to the leg until Pleister could be unsuited in a decontamination chamber.  She prayed that he still had a leg, thinking of the worms she had pulled away.

She watched the vitals monitor on his suit for a long min
ute.  An ashen Grady joined her with Camille. “He passed out, I think.  His pressure’s low but stable, and he’s breathing.”

Camille screamed.  T
he others gaped at her in panic and found her staring at Pleister’s faceplate. 

“There’s a worm in there with him,” she wailed hysterically.  “Omigod, do something, don’t let it eat him!  Oh god!”

Horrified, they gasped to see a worm sliding lazily across the inside of Pleister’s faceplate.  Imelda felt herself losing control.  They couldn’t do anything for him here.  He had to be placed in a decontamination chamber, safe from more worms, worms that even now were crawling around them, sliding up their legs, nosing around Pleister’s supine body.

“We’ve got to move him now!  Grady, you, Camille, and Lunders take him up, stat!  Camille, get him into a chamber and yank off this suit!  Put a mediunit on him and gas the worms as soon as you’re aboard!  Lunders, radio the closest mobile groundbase to join me and Post.  Leave us every empty specimen container you have with the grabarm. 
His blood spilled on the ground and we have a category one clean-up to do.”

Grady nodded mutely, urgency stilling further talk.  He and Post hoisted up Pleister’s body and
they carried him clumsily, half running over the soggy terrain back to the ship.

A worm dropped off as they lifted him, causing Grady to gag.  Post grabbed the worm, stuffing it into a small specimen container.  Camille followed as they carried Pleister to the ship, raying the ground behind to make sure no additional drops of blood remained.

Imelda stared uncomprehending at the ground beneath where Pleister had fallen.  No trace of blood.  A long stream of curse words rumbled out in rising volume as she continued to stare in dismay.  “They ate the *&^%&** blood! The *&&^ worms ate his blood!  Get me steam shovels, earthmovers, everything we’ve got!  Now! We’ve got to dig up the %^&*& worms!”

Widening the aperture on her laser, she rayed the ground where the blood had been, smoke and a loud hiss not quite satisfying her need to destroy the evidence of what had happened.

Post returned from the ship as she rayed an ever-widening circle.  “Imelda, you can’t stay.  The aerosol is running out.  These beasts are going to wake up any minute.  There will be a second contamination if they trample you.  Another ship is on the way but it will be an hour before they get here.  The closest mobile unit is thirty minutes away at least.  We’ve got to get out of here.”

Imelda continued to ray the ground, suppressing her horror of the results as worms crisped and steam sizzled.  “When?”

“Now.”

She glanced at the shriveling carcass of the borgette. They had collected a large percentage of it before the accident and now the endlessly converging worms were efficiently reducing the rest.

She grunted. “How is Pleister?”

“Camille is getting his suit off.  His leg looks bad; she thinks the femoral artery is cut.  The mediunit is handling it; he’s getting a transfusion now.  Surgery can wait till we’re back at the station.”  He shuddered.  “She found only one worm inside the upper suit.  There are at least a couple inside the suit leg but the sealant has killed them.  No major bites that she can see so far.”

She nodded slowly, relieved.   The thought of Pleister’s body riddled with wormholes was more than she could withstand. “Drop me off at the groundbase unit.  The rest of you go home.”

“Like blazes we will!  Grady and I are staying with you.  You can’t decontaminate the area by yourself.”

She nodded silently.  If these worms moved very fast, no one could decontaminate the area now. She turned to follow Post back to the ship.

They had barely lifted off when the comline exploded.

“What do you mean, decontaminate?  Don’t you realize how expensive this is going to be?  I TOLD Doctor Caldwell not to trust you!  I wouldn’t be surprised if you did this on purpose!”

Trefarbe’s image was dancing on the monitor.  Desp
ite the squawking though, she seemed, somehow, almost happy.

Post was not.  The skin of his neck and face seemed to disappear behind engorged blood vessels as he roared.  “We have a major contamination!  CHA regulations REQUIRE us to...!  

“I seriously doubt that the situation is as terrible as you pretend.  Dr. Imelda has a tendency to exaggerate things.  Didn’t I see you laser the area?  That should be enough to...”

Post didn’t get a chance to bellow again.  Grady bellowed.

“Are you out of your mind?  Don’t you know anything about bacterial contaminants?  There could have been a fine particulate spray that might have spread as far as...”

“Could have!  Might have!  What proof do you have that any of this is necessary!  I can’t justify the expenditure of several million credits just for the purpose of covering a few maybes! We mustn’t jump to conclusions.  I demand a careful analysis of the situation first complete with projections of risk vs. cost and a completed action plan.  I can’t possibly approve what you are requesting.   You biologists have no idea...!”

“You stupid little...!”  Grady’s and Post’s roars drowned out Trefarbe as they fought for supremacy.

Imelda interrupted hastily, shushing the two while they still had jobs.  “Can it Trefarbe.  I formally request executive review. 
Call Dr. Kreiss and get Calliope on the line for a formal record.”

“Dr. Kreiss?  Don’t be ridiculous, Dr. Imelda.  He has nothing to do with this.  This is purely an operational decision.”

Imelda howled into the mike.  “Kellogg!  Get me Kreiss!  On the double!” 

Kellogg, who had been listening in, barked back.  “I called.  He’s on his way now.  Since when is...?” 

Calliope’s head appeared.  “I’m on, Dr. Imelda.” 

It was hard to understand any of what erupted over the comline for the next few minutes.  Dr. Kreiss finally joined in.

Before Trefarbe could intervene, Imelda launched into a quick explanation of the situation.  As the import of her words sunk in, Kreiss looked as though he had been shot.

Trefarbe jumped into the void as she ended. “Decontamination is a costly operation, very costly.  Biotech will have to bear the brunt of the cost itself.  The company is already in financial distress.  We simply can’t afford to do what you are suggesting.”

Imelda almost sneered.  Trefarbe was full of it.  She answered with only one question.  “Don’t we have accident insurance?”  

Calliope responded, “Yes.  It will cover 100% of losses in the event of a major contamination, with a deductible equal to the cost of the approved budget for standard operations.”  The cost of groundbase operations would now be considerably reduced for Biotech. Decontamination required that they transport a large number of live specimens out to orbit, a place where they could be cheaply accessed and studied.  The whole operation would be charged to their insurance carrier, who would be the one to do the real squealing. CHA’s objections to the contamination would be nothing compared to that.  Admin needn’t let out a peep about the cost.  They need dread only the arrival of the insurance adjuster.

Kreiss almost bubbled with relief.  “Do whatever is necessary, Dr. Imelda.  I’m putting you in charge of the clean-up.  Just keep me informed.” 

Trefarbe went into orbit.  “It’s all her fault in the first place!  How can you possibly allow her to..?”

Grady had already cut them off and was forwarding Imelda’s orders to the rest of the station. Before long, full decontamination procedures were underway.

#

All hell should be breaking loose.  It really ought to be, she thought.  Scientists were such a phlegmatic group.  Emotion was believed to be a symptom of an untrained mind.  When scientists were excited, they merely cleared their throats a lot, thinking of things that might be said but hesitating, afraid of revealing a potential research topic to their competitors.

There were throats being cleared all over the room now.  She wondered if a high frequency of allergy could have anything
to do with the habit.  Doubtful since allergies were now curable.

She looked at the other monitor screen in front of her. The huge shovel was dropping another load of dirt and mud into the cargo ship that sat on the surface.  Most of the superficial terrain had already been removed and transported into orbit, along with whatever wildlife happened to be sitting on top of it.  Post was busily directing the crew that was recreating the excised habitat in a newly constructed wing of the research station.

She stretched uncomfortably.  How long had she been sitting at her desk?  She wasn’t sure.  After personally directing the initial clean-up teams at the scene of the accident, she had supervised from her office since. 

Pleister’s leg was okay.  Surgery successfully reattached the nearly severed portion and so far the wound looked good.  He didn’t remember anything a
bout the worms in his spacesuit and no one felt any particular inclination to tell him about it.  He would be kept in isolation until CHA arrived to tell them what to do with him.

Most of the animals at the site of the accident had been easy to
reanesthetize while they remained crowded around the almost completely devoured carcass of the borgette.  Lunders had helped by spraying a tagger on the specimens at to the contamination site as they left.  Using photographic evidence, it appeared that they had been able to recover all of the tagged animals. 

It was the worms that posed the greatest problem, of course.  The data had not been reassuring.  “Eight kilometers an hour for some of the larger worms,” Post said.  “The smaller ones aren’t as fast, but they can travel past obstacles more easily.”

“Eight kph?  Through the ground?  They make earthworms sound like sessiles.”

“The turf here stays churned up by the worms.  Nearly all of the soil samples that geology
has examined have been literally honeycombed by their tunnels.  I suspect that they have some sort of symbiotic relationship with the roots of the ‘plants’ here, in that they break up sod and distribute nutrients, similar to the functions of real earthworms.”

“Locomotion is just a matter of finding a tunnel and squirming ahead, then?”

“Yes, and these guys can squirm.”

Imelda rubbed her eyes, remembering.  A sixteen-kilometer hole contained more dirt than they could safely float into orbit.  After clearing out the nearby terrain of wildlife, they had scoured the ground with heavy-duty lasers, hoping to scorch deeply enough to sere the worms that had nibbled at Pleister’s blood.  She knew that some could have been missed.  Easily.  When she broke the news to Kreiss, he turned gray.