The Mothership (7 page)

“What the hell is that?” Slab exclaimed.

The surveyor shot toward Slab, its two
leading arms aiming their knife-like probes at his chest.

Cracker fired first, then Bill and Wal
opened up on it a moment later. The surveyor wobbled as bullets shredded its
power system, then it exploded, sending black metal fragments in all
directions, and a knife-like arm spearing into the tree beside Slab. He stared
at it, shocked. A few centimeters closer, and it would have been embedded in
his face.

“We sure blew the shit out of that thing!”
Cracker exclaimed proudly, always fond of loud explosions.

Bill recovered a metal fragment and turned
it over in his hand curiously. “Ever seen anything like this before?”

Cracker took the fragment and tested the
weight. “It’s light! I thought for a sec it was a balloon.”

“At least we got to shoot something,” Wal
said happily.

“Speak for yourself,” Slab snapped. “You
bastards didn’t give me a chance to get a bloody shot away.”

“We should report it,” Bill said. “Whatever
it is, it shouldn’t be here.”

“No way.” Cracker shook his head
emphatically. “Looks expensive. Whoever owns it might try to stick us for the
cost.”

“The bloody thing nearly poked my eye out,”
Slab growled, “No way I’m paying for it.”

“Whatever it was, it’s scrap metal now,”
Bill said, retrieving the metal souvenir from Cracker and slipping it into his
backpack.

Slab pulled his mobile phone from a pocket
and handed it to Cracker. “Here, take a photo!” He stood beside the remains of
the machine, with his boot triumphantly on the metal hull.

Cracker hesitated. “But you didn’t even
shoot it.”

“No one will know,” Slab said with a
mischievous grin.

Cracker shrugged and snapped a photo of
Slab. “That’s evidence that could be used against you.”

“Screw that,” Slab said, as he took back
the camera and reviewed the photo. “Not bad.”

“So where to?” Cracker asked.

“There’s not much out here,” Bill said.
“Let’s head back to camp and get the barbie going.”

“Now you’re talking,” Slab said, reaching
into his pack for another cold beer.

* * * *

Beckman scanned
the tree tops, searching in vain for the source of the strange warbling that
echoed through the forest. The kookaburra’s brown and white feathers made it
almost invisible in the shadows of the forest canopy, while its call reminded
him of crazed laughter.

Laughing at us?
Beckman wondered as he began to appreciate how the
oppressive heat and the monotonous insect buzz were going to tax both body and
mind.

Nuke slapped the back of his neck and
cursed. “Man! These bugs are eating me alive.”

“They’re females,” Vamp explained with mock
sympathy, “Looking for fresh meat.”

“Way to go, man,” Timer said, “You’re
finally getting attention from the opposite sex.”

Behind them, they heard a grunt as Dr
McInness tripped and fell face-first into a broad-leafed plant. His pack
rattled with metal devices, then its weight dragged him sideways onto the
ground. He struggled vainly to rise, pinned to the ground by the weight of his
pack.

Beckman clicked his mike. “Cougar, hold up
a sec.” He turned toward the scientist, watching him flounder helplessly under
the weight of his load. “Pack getting heavy?”

Dr McInness struggled to a sitting
position, breathing heavily. His face was almost purple and his clothes were
soaked with sweat. He retrieved his canteen and gulped down the last of his
water, then he held his canteen upside down to be sure it was empty. “I need
more water.”

“Really? Let me call room service for some
more. Oh, wait a minute, we’re in the middle of the jungle! There is no room
service!” Beckman snapped.
God damned civilians!

“What do you expect in this heat?” the
scientist demanded weakly.

“I expect you to ration your water, like
the rest of us!”

Vamp gave the scientist a sympathetic look.
“I’ll share my water with him, Major.”

“Me too,” Xeno added reluctantly.

Beckman suppressed his irritation, knowing
he had little choice. He couldn’t let Dr McInness die of dehydration. “Just
this once. We’ll purify some stream water tonight. Ration him until then.” He
turned back to the exhausted scientist. “And you will lighten your pack! Throw
out everything but your food.”

Dr McInness shook his head, breathing
heavily. “I need my equipment . . . for the ship.”

“You’ll never make the ship with that
weight.”

“And we may learn nothing without it.”

“You’ll learn nothing if you’re dead,”
Markus said contemptuously.

Beckman glanced thoughtfully at Markus. The
CIA agent wore expensive light green hiking clothes, a broad brimmed hat and
brown boots, all smart choices for the climate. So far, he seemed unaffected by
the heat and humidity, a tribute to his good physical condition and the small
size of his pack, which was filled with a minimum of food, water and
ammunition. He travelled light, to conserve his strength and to allow him to
move fast should the need arise. A small prismatic compass hung from his belt,
and a plastic coated map was folded into his breast pocket for easy access,
while his MP5 submachine gun was clipped to a chest harness to keep his hands
free. Beckman had no doubt Markus could hike to the ship by himself, and might
even have preferred to go solo.

Dr McInness gave Markus an indignant look.
“We may not get another chance like this for a thousand years. This is
important … for the whole human race.”

Steamer watched McInness thoughtfully, then
reluctantly spoke up. “Major, I don’t know nothing about science, and shit like
that, but I’ll carry something for him.”

Dr McInness looked up at the massive
soldier with surprise. Steamer was already weighed down with predator missiles.
“Thank you.”

Tucker turned his head away and whispered
to his large friend, “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“You heard him, man,” Steamer replied in an
equally low voice, “It’s once in a thousand years.”

Tucker’s eyes narrowed, then he whispered.
“Bullshit, you’re just trying to win the bet.”

Steamer looked shocked, “That hurts, man,
that really hurts.”

Virus and Timer exchanged looks, then Timer
sighed and raised his hand. “I’ll take something.”

“Me too,” Virus added.

Nuke winced, testing the weight of his
pack. “Not me, man, I’ve got enough shit to carry.”

Markus looked alarmed. “Major, your people
are already carrying heavy loads. The extra weight will slow us down.”

Beckman hid the fact that Markus’ constant
uninvited advice was starting to irritate him. “One item each. No more. If
anyone falls behind, you dump it. Clear?”

There were nods from the soldiers, while
Markus shook his head in disgust.

Dr McInness slipped out of his pack, then
gratefully began handing out his equipment. Most of the instruments ran on
lithium batteries, but there was also a small photovoltaic collector to provide
a trickle of solar power. Hooper shrugged and reached for Dr McInness’ Geiger
counter.

“I’d like to keep that with me,” the
scientist said putting the radiation detector back in his pack. He planned to
make regular radiation readings as they approached the crash site, and so it
was the one instrument he would be using constantly over the next few days.
“Here, I won’t be needing this for a while,” he said, handing the heavier
optical emission spectrometer to the sergeant.

Hooper shrugged and took the slightly
larger unit. To him, the metal boxes all looked similar. Seeing Hooper stow the
instrument in his pack, Tucker relented and relieved the scientist of another
white metal box whose purpose eluded him.

Beckman took the last item, finding Dr
McInness’ pack had deflated to three quarters its previous size. “Are we done?”

Dr McInness smiled, his face having cooled
from purple to bright red. “Yes, thank you, Major.” The scientist looked at the
soldiers who were resealing their packs, paying him little attention. “Thank
you. All of you.”

Beckman clicked his radio, “OK Cougar,
we’re moving.”

* * * *

I’m dead
without water
, Laura thought from her refuge high
among the tree tops.

She well knew the risks of dying a deranged
dehydrated death under the brutal southern sun. That knowledge and her growing
thirst drove her to action. She climbed down the rope ladder, pausing while
still well above the ground to search for reptilian outlines in the shadows
below. It had been hours since she’d seen movement on the ground, but that
meant nothing. Crocodiles were masters of camouflage with limitless patience.
She hoped the crocs had gone off towards the stream, but in the midday heat
they might be resting in the shade, awaiting nightfall.

Spying no movement, Laura continued on down
to the base of the tree, where she hid among the ferns carpeting the aviary
floor. She meticulously examined every shape and shadow beyond the net,
assuming nothing. Minutes passed without her detecting the blink of a predatory
eye or the rhythmic swelling of reptilian breathing. Overhead, the aviary birds
called calmly to their cousins beyond the net. The terror of the previous night
had ebbed, although the absence of seed in the feed trays had left them
confused and hungry. Trusting the birds’ instincts more than her own eyes, she
crept toward the net’s inner flap, where she paused long enough to look for any
sign of the deadly predators lurking in the research station’s smoking ruins.
Finding none, she unzipped the aviary’s inner and outer flaps, leaving both
open in the hope the birds would find their way out. She had a twinge of regret
at the years of work that would be lost, but she couldn’t leave the birds to starve.

Laura sprinted to the remains of the house,
then clambered onto the shattered beams pockmarked with empty nail holes.
Dozens of wood splinters stood like jagged spears, making the climb
treacherous. When she thought she was above the resting place of the kitchen,
she pushed shattered planks aside and climbed down between collapsed walls,
startling two kangaroo rats scavenging through the remains of the pantry. After
the tiny creatures had hopped away into the shadows, she took a moment to
examine what stores remained. The tinned food was gone, sucked from the house
the night before, while packets of sugar, salt and flour had burst open and
were now being carried off by an army of black ants. Fortunately, plastic
packets containing biscuits and dried fruit remained sealed. Several four liter
plastic water containers had been shattered by falling timbers, but one had
survived, shielded beneath a thick support beam.

Thank God!
she thought, as she tore open the lid and drank,
careful not to spill a drop. When her thirst was quenched, she resealed the
precious water bottle and dragged it out of the wreckage, placing it just
beyond the ruined veranda. She knew the water purification tablets were gone.
They’d been stored in the four-wheel-drive for emergencies, and now that it had
vanished, she had no way to make the river water safe. If she couldn’t find
help in a few days, she’d be forced to drink the river water, and she knew what
that meant.

Laura returned to the collapsed pantry and
gathered up what packet foods she could find. She deposited them by the water,
then searched for medicine to offset the diarrhea and vomiting untreated river
water would cause. After scouring the shadows unsuccessfully for the medicine
cabinet, she clambered over to where her bedroom now was. Squeezing down
between fallen walls, she found her wardrobe had shattered while her chest of
drawers, which had been constructed with joinery and glue rather than nails,
remained intact. She quickly changed into khaki shorts and shirt, then
retrieved her broad-brimmed hat, sun cream and a nylon backpack from the broken
wardrobe. She was about to climb out when a piece of wood slid onto the ground
on the far side of the house. She froze with one hand on the support beam
above, afraid to turn her head, even though she was well hidden inside the
remains of the house.

Maybe it’s just the house settling?

Laura waited in silence, slowly relaxing
when no new sounds occurred. She tightened her grip on the support beam above
her head, about to pull herself up for a peek, when the clatter of another
timber being pushed aside broke the silence. She froze again, now certain she
was not alone. There were no footsteps or breathing, but something was
rummaging through the debris at the edge of the house. She knew crocs didn’t
like moving on land during the heat of the day, but they would if they were
hungry and food was close.

Can it smell me?

Laura released her grip on the beam above
her head and eased herself into the shadows, away from the sunlight pouring
down from above. She turned her face toward the noise, peering through myriad
gaps in the wreckage, but saw nothing.