IGMS Issue 2 (24 page)

It was undeniably Jameson's voice, but it sounded as if it came from behind a wall. Koprowski instantly had his 'toothbrush' out. He took two steps forward, determined anger on his face -- and then he disappeared. There was a lightning quick blur where he had been, and then we heard his own voice added to that of the cap, sounding as if it was close, yet far away.

"Did you record that?" Felder said to the tech standing beside him.

"Got it," the tech said. "But I'm damned if I know what it means. According to this, Koprowski is right where he was, only ten feet
lower
."

Felder started to say something -- but then everything went haywire around me.

One moment I was looking at Bill Felder and the tech, and then the next I was surrounded by wet, sticky darkness. There was something oddly soothing about it -- like being held in your mother's arms -- but that didn't stop me from yelling my head off.

The next instant I was on my back, there was a hissing sound, the smell of baking bread, and I saw daylight again.

"What the --" I began, spitting a resinous material out of my mouth, along with every invective I could think of, and a few I made up along the way.

A hand helped me up, and then dropped me again. Through rheumy eyes I saw that it was one of the techs, and he was making disgusted sounds.

"Help him up, Simmons," Felder's voice ordered.

"But he's a
mess
, Sir!"

"Your service record will be a mess if you don't do what I say."

A moment later, amidst grumbling from Simmons, I was on my feet and wiping my eyes clear of the green goo that covered me.

At my feet, split open, lay something that looked a lot like a huge pea pod with a severed stem.

"Was I in
that
?" I said.

Felder answered, "It had you in a tenth of a second. If we hadn't cued the shuttle to scan for something that quick, it would have had you underground by now."

"I take it that's where the cap and Koprowski and Rasha are?"

"Not Rasha," Felder answered grimly. I then saw two techs bundling up a d-bag. Before I could ask, Felder answered my question. "Cut him cleanly in half. His reaction time was too good. He must have tried to jump out of the pod as it was closing around him. Part of him was up here, behind that nearest tree. The other part ended up . . ." He looked at the ground, and I winced.

I knelt down, running my finger lightly across the open lip of the pea pod I had been in. It was sharp as a knife and blade hard. At the stem end, where it had been severed by a beamer from the shuttle, was the remains of a tough, braided cord made of vegetable matter.

"I want everyone back to the shuttle," Felder ordered, to my surprise.

"But what about --?"

"We know where they are, we know they're alive," he answered. "The
Russell's
already scanned the substance in these pods, and it's not digestive in nature, so they're not being eaten alive." Again he anticipated my next question. "Now we have to figure out how to get to them."

To my further surprise, Felder took the shuttle back to the
Russell
. It was almost a full day before I heard anything more about Jameson and Koprowski. During that time I busied myself with getting the rest of the goo off whatever parts of my anatomy hadn't been protected by my jumpsuit, not easy in the cramped, stingy showers on the
Russell
, and sending a preliminary report off by drone to my network. The drone would take a roundabout route of wormholes, and be back on Earth in a month. It would take us that long to get home ourselves, since wormholes were all one way, and we couldn't go back the way we'd come. Felder's own preliminary report was on the same drone. From what I heard, it was not a happy one. What was left of Rasha Pikal, whose chess game and laughter I already missed, would be sent home later for burial, on one of the larger, scheduled drones.

It was during this period of maddening inaction that the singing began. I don't know exactly
how
it started, but once it did start it became legend, and forever part of the lore of the
Russell
.

And though I don't know
how
it started, I sure as hell know
who
started it.

Bella Post was a tech second class with a voice like a bellows. She wasn't big in the usual sense, actually she was no taller than five feet and slim as your arm, but she was big in the lungs, and you could hear her throughout whatever deck she happened to be on. She claimed later she didn't write the first song, but no one else stepped up to take credit, so it stuck with her. Someone of an historical bent told me it was like the sea shanties swabbies used to sing in the old Earth navies, and it became the usual thing to see Post, or a group of other techs up to the task, break out into it while working:

"The gals and guys of Number One

Are pledged to visit any sun!

We're ready to meet with anyone who

Wants to join our little zoo!

We techs are apt to groan and gripe
--

We say: 'Speak softly
--
and carry a big pipe!"

That last bit, of course, in honor of Koprowski, though I did notice that a lot of techs seemed to have that same long pocket sewed into the leg of their coveralls. Speaking of Koprowski: it was finally decided that the only way to go after him and the cap was to allow three or four heavily armed personnel to be captured by pea pods. It had been attempted to excavate the area where they had been taken, but just underneath the loamy soil, it was discovered, was an incredibly thick and resilient layer of vegetable fibers. The fibers could be cut by beamers, but the area almost instantly healed up again. Just under the surface, the entire planet was alive with plant life, to a depth of twenty feet. Epsilon Eridani Two was a huge artichoke. After some experimentation it was found that a small area could be cleared with heavy, sustained beamer fire. At first it was decided that with intensive, long-term fire the two captives might eventually be reached -- but it was Simmons who finally asked, "Isn't there a good chance we'd roast the S.O. and Koprowski along the way? Wouldn't it be quicker to go heavily armed, and let the pods take us down? Then we could just blast our way back up."

That became the plan.

Simmons's bright idea earned him a spot on the rescue team. It was an honor he didn't relish. After Felder and Jim Postelwaite and Quint, who, it turned out, could handle the biggest beamer rifle we carried, the last spot went to me over Marjorie O'Hearn, after I threatened to report terrible things about Felder and the rest of the crew if he didn't choose me over their Council publicity hack.

The shuttle had a full complement this time. Now, there was no politically correct language about weaponry. We were armed to the teeth. Inside the lightweight bio suit with oxygen compliment I wore, I carried everything but an old fashioned bazooka. I even did away with my pocket knife in favor of something Simmons provided me with that looked like a machete.

"Just keep it in the sheath or you'll cut yourself open like a melon," he said.

I noticed he had his own machete, as well as his Koprowski-style toothbrush stowed in his coveralls.

But we didn't get to use any of it. As soon as we landed, Epsilon Eridani Two simply swallowed us up whole, shuttle and all. A lightning quick pod larger than the shuttle (I watched the slo-mo pictures later) shot up out of the ground, grabbed us like an elephant taking a peanut, and yanked us down into the planet.

We quickly discovered why communications
with the cap had been severed. We heard her yelling her head off as soon as we came to a halt. Which meant there was nothing wrong with her equipment, only with the layer of matter above us, which proved to be impenetrable to every communications frequency, up and down the spectrum.

"Gentlemen," Felder announced, "we are on our own. The
Russell
, as per contingency plans, will send another shuttle, but it will not land. It will attempt to beamer the area around us, but we know that will take some time and may not free us in the end. So . . ."

"Slice and dice," Simmons said, opening his own bio suit and hauling out his machete.

Felder kept the line open so we could all hear his conversation with the cap. Mostly, she was steamed, if you'll pardon the pun, but when she calmed down she was able to provide us with some information of value.

"I haven't been able to move much in the last twenty four hours," she said. "I was covered in a sticky green substance that eventually dried and flaked away, and the pod that snatched me opened on its own. But that left me in a green box, perfectly formed out of vegetation, just tall enough to stand in. The vegetation will move out of your way, but only when it wants to. Mostly, up to this point, it's wanted to keep me where I am. I can hear Koprowski cursing a blue streak not ten feet from me, but I haven't been able to get to him."

"We came fully loaded with weapons," Felder reported.

"Well, it's a funny thing -- they might not be of much use to you. I had a small burner, the kind you use to light camp fires, and when I lit it the green matter moved away from the heat in a hurry. But then, just as if it was curious, it crept slowly back and then . . ."

We waited, and then Felder said, "S.O.?"

She laughed. "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it. I'm still not sure I do. A
hand
formed out of the green matter. Then it reached out with two fingers and snuffed the flame."

"You said a
hand
?"

Again the laugh. "That's what I said, Bill. There were . . . other manifestations, also. When I got so tired I thought I'd have to sleep standing up and started to sag, a spot opened up for me, a kind of floor. I was able to sleep horizontally. And when I woke up . . ."

We all waited.

"Well," she continued, "there was a figure of some sort leaning over me. A human figure, made of green matter. When I yelped, it instantly melted back into the wall of green. I spent most of today trying to coax it back out, but no soap."

"Anything else?" Felder asked, but at that moment we heard Koprowski's invective-filled voice.

"Finally!" he said, after the cursing subsided. "Do you know how long I've been calling you apes?"

"Since you were captured, I imagine," Felder answered. " Radio frequencies don't penetrate to the surface. I'd guess we'd find some metal, possibly lead, mixed in with this vegetable matter."

"Wonderful! And here I am --
hey!
Cut that out! I said cut that out!
"

There followed what sounded like giggling.

Felder said, "Koprowski, you all right?"

The giggling intensified into blurts of laughter. "
Stop it, dammit! I tol' you before --!"

"Koprowski!"

"They been botherin' me since I got down here, Mr. Felder! Make 'em stop --
make 'em stop!
"

Again he collapsed into peels of hysterical laughter.

"Too many hands!
Too many! Hee-heeeeeee!
"

Then his radio went dead.

Felder tried to get back in touch with him for five minutes, but no dice.