M'tak Ka'fek (The T'aafhal Inheritance) (20 page)

“Well, they had a 50/50 chance of being right and it was logical to head for the collector,” Jack sighed. “Lt. Bear, M'tak.”

“Bear here, Captain.”

“Dr. Ogawa says she has located some antimatter back the other way. I think you might want to reverse your line of march and head toward the hub.”

“Aye aye, Captain... What the hell is that?”

Forward Chamber, Alien Space Station

The explorers were standing between two large garbage promontories: Sanchez and JT toward the hull wall, and Feldman and Bear nearer the larger mound against the inner wall. The pairs were roughly 30 meters apart. Bear had just signed off talking with the Captain when the garbage began moving.

“What the hell is that?” 

“What, LT?” Feldman asked, turning toward the ursine lieutenant. As he did the pile of garbage erupted with dozens of yellow-green tentacles. Like a time-lapse video of plants sprouting, sending waving stalks with swollen tips reaching for sunlight, the garbage beside them exploded with motion. Unlike in a nature film, these stalks were threateningly large and they were reaching for the Earthlings.

The stalks were as thick as a man's thigh; the tips like featureless snake heads with mouths three quarters of a meter wide. One arched through the air above Feldman and then dropped straight down, engulfing his helmeted head.

“Ah! Get it off!” the startled Marine yelled. Another green pseudo-snake grasped his left knee and a third his right arm and railgun. Together they attempted to pull him toward the hill of garbage they had emerged from.

Across the hallway, JT and Sanchez turned to see what was happening to their mates. As they did, more waving appendages emerged from the portside garbage heap behind them. Quickly darting out, the plant like stalks latched on to the two humans with toothless mouths.

Sanchez, who had been on edge since being bombarded by the flying batacuda, reacted quickly. Pivoting on his right leg, to which one of the creatures had affixed itself, he raised his railgun and blew the head off one attacker. The 20mm shotgun round turned it into green mist. He then severed the stalk gripping his leg with a burst of 5mm flechette fire.

Using judicious bursts of flechettes, JT also managed to free himself from the two pseudo-snakes that had seize his extremities. He turned toward the portside garbage heap to find a veritable garden of waving sprouts.

“These things seem to emerge in bunches,” he shouted. “Fire at the bases, the places they come out of the garbage!”

Sanchez took JT's advice and sent a couple of HE rounds into the garbage where multiple stalks appeared to emerge. The rounds penetrated several meters before detonating, blowing sodden spurts of garbage into the hallway.

Meanwhile, bear had calmly extended the metal claws on his suit gauntlets and shredded the grasping stalks that had the misfortune to target him. Feldman, unable to fire his railgun, grasped the handle of his machete with his left hand and pulled it from its sheath. The machete was a Woodsman's Pal, a heavy piece of flat steel with a wide head and a razor sharp edge.

His first backhanded swing severed the stalk holding his left leg; his second overhanded blow cut the stem of the pseudo-snake enveloping his head. Finally he hewed the trunk of the attacker preventing use of his railgun. Using his suit's sensor display he raised his still partially encumbered right arm and loosed a volley of shotgun rounds in the direction of the starboard garbage heap.

In front of Bear and Feldman a new crop of waving pseudo-snakes emerged from a nearby location in the mound. The tentacles were attached to a single creature that opened like an octopus or giant squid, pealing back to reveal a central orifice—unquestionably its mouth. The inner flesh of the blossoming mouth was pale yellow with dark burgundy strokes radiating from the center opening. The effect was like a tropical flower, if tropical flowers came with backward facing 100mm barbs to prevent ingested prey from escaping.

“Will you look at that,” Bear said, unlimbering his 15mm multi-barreled railgun.

“No explosive rounds!” JT shouted. “We don't want to do major damage to the station. Use flechettes or shotgun rounds.”

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bear said turning to glance at JT. Bear's weapon was not loaded with flechette rounds, only explosive shells. Re-holstering his railgun, Bear turned back to the alien's gaping maw. “OK, we will do this old school.”

The armored bear took two galloping strides and jumped down the alien creature's throat.

Bridge, M'tak Ka'fek

Observing the melee from the bridge, Jack saw his friend dive head first into the alien's mouth. His only thought was,
I cannot believe he just did that!
 

I think it highly improbable that Lt. Bear is in any real danger, Captain,
M'tak's AI replied silently.
There is little harm an unarmed creature, no matter how vicious, can do to the Marines' space armor. Though I must admit that the Lieutenant's mode of attack was quite unexpected.
 

To say the least.
Jack keyed the comm. “Lt. McKinnett, please take your relief force down the boarding tube and stand ready at the entrance to the main hallway.” 

“Aye aye, Sir. It does appear that things are going a bit pear shaped.”

“Pear shaped, Indeed, Lieutenant. Report when you are in position.”

“Pear shaped. What a strange way to say things are going to hell,” Bobby commented to Mizuki, who was seated next to him at the helm.

“Not at all, Bobby,” Mizuki said seriously. “For certain combinations of protons and neutrons, some atomic nuclei can undergo octupole deformation, corresponding to a ‘pear-shape’. Such conditions are rare and unstable, which might be considered analogous to the reconnaissance patrol's current situation.” 

“Some times you are so smart it is frightening,” he said.

Mizuki smiled demurely.

Behind them, the Captain shook his head in amusement.
The crews' adaptability is truly amazing—one of their crewmates, who happens to be a polar bear, just dove inside a giant alien squid creature and they sit there calmly discussing the etymology of Australian slang using nuclear physic as an analogy.
 

It is not so unexpected Captain. Your species was bred for this. Your are intelligent, flexible and violent, yet unexpectedly sympathetic toward other species—on occasion. I believe you are the worthy successors of the T'aafhal.

The Captain said nothing in reply. Instead he turned his attention back to the view of the engagement, where the tide of battle had shifted.

Forward Chamber, Alien Space Station

JT turned around and saw Feldman standing alone in front of the large alien beast. He was picking off the larger pseudo-snakes with carefully aimed shotgun rounds, amputated stalk head still affixed to his helmet. Bear was nowhere to be seen.

“Where the hell is Bear, Feldman?”

“You are not going to believe this, Sir, but he jumped right down that thing's throat.”

“That
oso loco
is out of his mind!” Sanchez yelled while blasting away at the stalks still waving from the portside mound. 

Suddenly, all the tentacles radiating from the main creature shook violently. The creature's mouth orifice, which had closed sphincter like after Bear plunged into its gullet, spasmed open and a gout of unidentifiable material spurted out. It splattered across the deck like projectile vomit.

This was followed by more ejectamenta, including what looked like a partially digested batacuda. The creature's tentacles began to thrash uncontrollably, its mouth opening and closing convulsively. Then the flesh directly above its maw was rent by four long claws. The attached pseudo-snakes went limp and lifeless.

Other stalks, evidently not belonging to the central creature, quickly disappeared back into the garbage. Bear's companions ceased firing as he hacked his way out of the alien's body. Before him he pushed a large purplish gray mass.

“You have got one huge pair of cojones, LT,” Joey said with heartfelt admiration. Feldman sheathed his machete and holstered his railgun. He then proceeded to pry the pseudo-snake head off his helmet.

“And just what have you got there, Lt. Bear?” asked a very relieved JT.

“I don't know,” Bear replied, “could be its liver or its brain. I just went for the largest organ I could find.”

“I cannot believe you did that.”

“Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Besides, Feldman was blasting everything in sight, hopping around with that green thing stuck on his head like an elf's cap. I figured we needed to end this as soon as possible.”

“Well, end it you did Brother Bear. I guess we should head back the other way like the Captain said.”

“Yeah. No rest for us apex predators.” Bear shook the remaining alien spew off his suit. “How about taking the lead, Sanchez? I think Feldman did his share leading us into that ambush.”

“Yeah, no problem, LT.” 

“Hey, how was I to know we were going to be attacked by giant green sock puppets from hell?” Jon protested. 

 Sanchez looked at Feldman. “You were hopping around like an elf there for a while, bro.”

Jon favored Joey with a single finger salute as the detail headed back through the bulkhead opening. Now many sets of eyes and other sense organs followed their passage with growing interest—the Earthlings were the most exciting thing to hit the station in decades. 

* * * * *

In the Trader's cloister, Zooshnarak-kak-ka hustled in to report to his leader. Tail flicking nervously he addressed the august Keneesh-ka-ka-kar. “Your pardon, Trader, but there is word regarding the new aliens.”

“Speak! What have they been doing?”

“After a short encounter with the flying vermin, they headed toward the collector. On the way they crossed the path of an exo-stomach being, but let it pass by peacefully.”

“Hmm. They do not sound very aggressive—perhaps they are not as powerful as their ship suggests.”

“Ah, but then they went into the restricted area beyond the bulkhead. There was a brief altercation in which a number of carnivorous medusa plants were summarily dispatched by the strangers.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Trader. One of our observers said they repelled the plant tentacles with their weapons. Reportedly, the largest of them put its weapon away and actually dove into the dominant plant in the colony, ripping it apart from the inside.”

“Impressive! They may not have wanted to display the full power of their weapons or, having gauged the extent of the threat, decided to have a bit of fun with their attackers.”

“Possibly. What ever the reason for their actions, it is clear that they are neither defenseless nor adverse to violence.” Zooshnarak-kak-ka paused and fluffed his tail, “and, Trader?”

“Yes?”

“They are headed this way.”

Chapter 12

Food Production Engineering Lab

Clem and Lem followed the Chief Administrator as she strode through the labyrinth of passageways that supported Farside's agricultural areas. They had received emails instructing them to report to personnel instead of going to work that morning. On arrival they were informed that they had been reassigned to new duties in Agricultural Production & Processing. The bearer of that news turned out to be the Chief Administrator herself, Dr. Ludmilla Tropsha. 

Following the purposefully striding administrator, both men became aware that, even though Ludmilla's jumpsuit was of a utilitarian cut, nothing short of a full suit of space armor could hide the feminine form within. No doubt about it, the Chief Administrator was a knockout. Clem notice Lem overtly ogling Ludmilla's backside and gave him a poke in the ribs.

“What?” Lem said with some annoyance.

Clem shot him a look, eyebrows raised, just as they arrived at a large door. Their guide did not break step as the door slid open in front of her. Passing through a few more rooms filled with random pieces of duct-work and equipment, Ludmilla stopped at a work bench where a pretty young woman with long, curly brown hair was fiddling with some kind of air-handler.

“Good morning, Melissa,” Ludmilla said, addressing the woman. “I see you are still having trouble with your fly factory.”

“Oh, hey there, Dr. Tropsha,” Melissa said, looking up from the piece of equipment. “What brings you all the way down here?”

Clem noticed that the young woman's jumpsuit was a bright leaf-green—the same color as the jumpsuits he and Lem had found in their delivery chutes that morning. Evidently this was their new department's color, not to be confused with the dark green of the Marines and certainly an improvement over the gray of the maintenance section.

“I would like to introduce your new engineering staff.” Half turning to include the two men she continued. “These are Clement Mathews and Lemuel Souther.” 

“Hello, Ma'am,” said Clem.

“Hi,” said Lem.

“Both are former Army and trained to work on a wide variety of mechanical, electrical and hydraulic equipment. I am hoping that they will be able to help you construct your fly breeding system.”

“Hey, guys. That's real nice of you. I'm having the worst time trying to move the flies out of the egg repository without smashing them all to bits. If y'all can come up with some way to do that it would be great!”

“Flies?” asked Lem.

“Eggs?” asked Clem.

“Right.” Melissa smiled brightly.

“Miss Scott Hamilton is the head of the AP&P department. You will take direction from her. Your exact duties will be determined by how useful she finds you.” Turning to Melissa she said, “If you have any problems give my office a call. I have a meeting I am already late for.”

With that Farside's Chief Administrator left her two charges with their new boss and strode from the room. The two men stood across the workbench with friendly but questioning looks on their faces.

“Is she always that... business like?” asked Clem.