Project U.L.F. (49 page)

The tazers weren’t really weapons as such, more a precautionary self-defense measure that the miners used if they came across anything menacing or threatening. They were simple in design, a hand held battery pack with a firing mechanism which, when pressed, would shoot two metal pins into whatever the unit was pointed at. The pins were connected to the battery by two coils of insulated electric wire and comprised a positive and negative electrode. Once they hit the target object, the target would then complete the circuit and current would flow from the battery. The current had the effect of disrupting any electrical impulses in the target object, effectively immobilizing any living thing, and Kate had it now. Not to save her from the creatures of this world, although Wyatt had told her she could use it for that if it ever became necessary, but to use on Kit if he decided to make a break for it. Wyatt had set the voltage on the tazer and told her that if she did need to use it on Kit, it would send his muscles into spasm and literally drop him where he stood. Now, as Wyatt led them through the sea of waist high grass, she cranked the voltage up even higher. She’d studied biology, physiology; she knew exactly what the human body was capable of withstanding. Kit would be a fool to try and escape now, but she almost willed him to do it. She wanted to make him hurt for what he had done to her.

Before long, Gon-Thok came level with Wyatt, keeping pace with him. Soon they would reach the outskirts of the forest and despite his excellent sense of direction, Wyatt doubted that he could lead them back to the shuttle through the tangle of trees. Gon-Thok seemed to know this and had come alongside to relieve him. The creature matched him stride for stride and when Wyatt was satisfied that the alien could keep the pace he relinquished his position at the front of the line and fell in behind it.

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“Do you think I can do it?”

Par looked at Chris with uncertainty. “What if that thing’s still around?”

“But it’s not, is it?”

It seemed that the leviathan had left them. Disappearing through the trees in a riot of destruction, they had not seen it for nearly two hours.

“What do you think, Bobby? I’m nearly finished.”

Bobby looked over at Chris standing in front of the shuttle’s interior wall like a proud artist showing off his work. He was right, he had nearly finished. The polished floor panels he’d welded to the interior of the hull gleamed like giant fish scales. Fluid. Smooth. Except for where Chris stood, where the ripple in the shuttles side was clearly visible, protruding like a gash not quite covered by a healing plaster.

“Come on,” he pleaded. “It could make the difference between whether we make it or not.”

“And it could be the death of us all!” argued Par. “If you start clanging away with that hammer again, then that thing’s gonna come back, no ifs or buts about it, and who knows what it might do next time?”

“But if I stop before it reaches us, then we’ll be okay.”

“How do you know that? What if somehow it locks on to the source? What if it can extrapolate from what it already knows to find us?”

“Oh, come on!” Chris was starting to lose his patience. “It already knows we’re here, but it’s the sound that attracts it and provokes it to attack. As soon as we’re quiet it loses interest.” He searched Par’s eyes with his own looking for a flicker of understanding, agreement.

Nothing.

Bobby looked at Par. “He is right, you know.”

Par’s whole body seemed to relax. Slumped. Defeated by reason.

“Look,” Chris started, hoping to nail home his argument, and confident now that at least Bobby was on his side, “I’m not saying it’s not without risks and we can sit here and do nothing if you like, but just remember that when the last thing you hear is the ship being torn apart before your atoms are scattered across this galaxy. Think of the others who’ve risked their lives to get us the means to get off this planet and then had it all ruined because we weren’t willing to give ourselves a fighting chance. Because we wouldn’t risk the icing on the cake.”

“All right, all right, enough, already!” Par fended off the verbal onslaught with a hand. “What guarantees do we have that your masterpiece is going to hold this thing together?”

Chris looked at the welded panels. “Well, none.” He looked back at Par, “But I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t think it was worth it.” He finished with such conviction that Par couldn’t help but be impressed. He cast a look at Bobby and the pair of them raised their eyebrows at each other.

“Okay, then, here’s what we’ll do. I’ll sit with you, Chris, while you work, but I’ll keep my eyes firmly on Bobby. Bobby, you keep lookout by the door. If that thing so much as pokes its nose through the trees, don’t say anything, just raise your hand.” She nodded, he turned back to Chris. “If she raises her hand I’ll touch you on the arm. When I touch you, you stop whatever it is you are doing. No more taps, no more bangs. Not one. Nothing. Okay?”

“Okay,” Chris agreed.

Chris disappeared back into the cockpit to retrieve the hammer and panel he’d been working on when the creature first attacked. He held it up against the ripple, then, seemingly satisfied, set to work.

Par winced as the first hammer blow rang throughout the shuttle. It was an alarm call to wake the dead.

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Lunch was a brief affair that lasted thirteen minutes. It would have been shorter had Gon-Thok returned from its bath earlier. As it was, it seemed far too short for Kate, anyway, whose thighs were aching with fatigue and whose feet sweated uncomfortably in their boots.

She trudged along behind Gon-Thok, second in line, tazer still firmly in hand. Kit followed and Wyatt brought up the rear, his gun in his hand, its strap slung casually over his shoulder.

Their breathing was labored. They were still setting a cracking pace, but they might, just might, make the shuttle by nightfall. Better to put in a little more effort now than suffer the discomfort later.

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Bobby raised her hand and Par touched Chris’ arm. He froze, hammer poised ready to strike. One more hit, that was all it would take, and then the panel would be ready for welding in place. One more hit.

The hammer quivered in his hand and Par saw the motion and glared at him before looking back at Bobby. She continued to look out of the slightly open door but held up two hands to him now, four fingers and thumb showing on one, two fingers on the other. Seven. Seventy yards.

It was at the tree line, attracted by the noise. Chris slowly lowered the hammer to the floor, coaxing it down with his free hand. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead and splashed on the floor with a tiny pat. Sweat from exertion now mixed with sweat from concentration. The sound seemed disproportionately loud. The seconds were eons. Chris put the hammer down noiselessly, letting go of it slowly like it were a lifeless wrist in which no pulse could be found. He glanced at Par and then at Bobby, two-tone in the light from the open doorway and the shuttle’s shade.

Now they waited.

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It was mid-afternoon and they were flagging. All of them, but Kit especially. Wyatt was starting to get annoyed. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d pressed the muzzle of his weapon between Kit’s shoulder blades to force him on but the man was noticeably slowing.

Was it intentional? Was he trying to slow them all down? Maybe attempt escape under cover of darkness? Or was he just tired? Wyatt could not be sure.

Gon-Thok and Kate had stopped fifty yards ahead up the track, turning to face them and waiting for them to catch up. They were perhaps twenty yards away when Kit tripped, stumbled and fell face first into the dirt.

Wyatt stood over him, gun pointed at the small of his back. “Get up, Kit!”

Kit didn’t move; didn’t make a sound.

“Come on, Kit. We don’t have time for these games.”

Again nothing. Not even an acknowledgement that the big man had heard him. Wyatt walked around Kit’s prostrate form and, putting a boot toe under one of his arms, flipped him over with a kick.

Kit was a mess. Not only did he have mud smeared on his face and leaves caught in his hair and beard, his eyes were half closed and he was babbling deliriously.

“Oh Jesus,” Wyatt muttered. They really didn’t have time for
this.

He lowered his gun, letting it hang from his shoulder, and then moved to haul Kit to his feet. Preparing himself for the effort, he leaned back and, grabbing the rope between Kit’s wrists, he pulled.

For an instant Kit came with him, but then he fell back. The rope came off Kit’s wrists easily like loosely coiled serpents, frayed ends jumping out like angry heads ready to strike. Wyatt didn’t register it at first; couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. Kit must have been working at his bonds from the moment they trussed him up; using the shoulder swing of his swaggering walk to disguise the rubbing motion of his wrists against, what, his belt buckle? He’d been planning this escape since then and he’d had plenty of time to plan.

Wyatt was off-balance. Released of his burden, he fell heavily on his rump. Kit’s eyes flashed open. He sprang to his feet like a cat and was on Wyatt before he’d even had time to get up. Grabbing Wyatt’s head in both hands, Kit brought his forehead down on the bridge of Wyatt’s nose. Wyatt’s head exploded with pain. Even before his protecting hands had come up to his face and his fingers gingerly explored the damaged area he knew that his nose was broken. He could feel blood, his blood, dripping into his cupped palms.

Kit was off him now. Wyatt was disabled. It was time for him to make his escape. Kate was running back along the track towards them, yelling something Wyatt couldn’t understand or make out through his pain. She was ten yards away and closing fast but Kit was already moving off. Wyatt wondered what she might do—she was no match for Kit, but as she closed on him she brought something up in front of her and held it straight-armed, like an exorcist might a crucifix. The tazer!

Kit paid her no attention at all but then there was an explosive bang and two puffs of bluish smoke from the unit in Kate’s hand. The first electrode found its mark in the top of Kit’s thigh, its barb holding it firmly in place. The second did not. It passed behind him, whistling harmlessly through the air until it reached the extent of its wire where it stopped suddenly, like a dog brought up short on a leash, and fell harmlessly. Kit looked down at the electrode almost in disbelief, then traced the attached wire back to where Kate stood with the battery unit in her hand. An awful second passed where she thought he might attack her again. She was sure she saw the thought flicker across his eyes. But that would take time and that was something that Kit did not have. Another second and Wyatt’s pain would be replaced with anger or hatred or both. Another second and he would lose the small advantage he had. He was winging it, as it was.

“Bitch!” he shouted at her as he tore the electrode from his leg and the last thing Kate saw before he stumbled out of view into the forest was the ragged red hole in his thigh.

“Nuuuh…”

“Wyatt! Are you okay?” asked Kate, rushing to his side.

It was a dumb question. Blood covered his face like a red beard and dripped off his chin.

“Oh, Wyatt, stay still, I’ll get something for you.”

But Wyatt was already moving, checking his clip for bullets.