Bell Toll referred to the maps on the helmet systems. They’d be traveling for about ten days, over a small range of hills or low mountains, then to an overlook point. From there, whatever they found, they would take a different route back to the new pickup point.
“Anything?” he asked Tirdal. Their helmets used a comm system, originally developed by the semimythical Aldenata, that was understood to be impenetrably secure. Still, it was dangerous to encourage excess talk and a habit one should not develop, as it would carry over to those times when one wasn’t using commo. And since no one knew how the damned thing actually worked at the scientific level, most troops didn’t really trust it.
“I don’t believe I sense any Tslek, but the background from the whole… lifeweb… makes it awkward to tell,” the sensat admitted. “I can only sense for a certain distance.”
“How far?”
“Not very. Several kilometers at most. The emanation is not ‘attenuated’ by distance but nearer thoughts, feelings, are clearer, more in focus. Depending upon the amount of life, beyond a certain point everything is a sort of gray background hum, like light on a snowy day. I do not explain it well, but this forest is teeming with animal life. There are no Tslek near. Beyond that I cannot say.”
“Good enough,” he said. Transmitting to everyone, he ordered, “Forward. Nav points are highlighted on your maps.”
Ten days of infiltration is not like ten days of camping. All night, they moved through the drenching rain as it ran in rivulets down their necks and into their suits, dragging slivers of plant and muck with it. It stung at the scrapes from the initial crawl and irritated every bruise and scratch taken en route. The bots moved ahead, the troops followed, those in front cautiously, those behind alert for any threat from the rear. Roots reached out to trip, rocks to mash, rough grass and leaves to saw and cut bare flesh. The gravity was slightly higher than Earth normal, but they were strong. What was more tiring than the additional weight was the change in inertia and balance the unfamiliar field caused. Quite often, their route would force them to a crawl under choking vines or over boulders and it was then that the gravity pulled at them. The air was strange and humid, redolent with rot and growth, with a faint bite of salt from the ocean.
Rations were cold, chewed as they marched, the trash carefully stuffed into gear to take along. Litter in camp attracts pests. Litter in the field attracts enemy stalkers. Here, it could do both. They paused every two hours and rested, shaking mud and sharp sticks from boots, thorns from clothing and wiping grime from necks and faces. A quick check all around and a few swallows of water, then the pace would resume. They urinated in a jug brought for the purpose, so as to reduce the chance of a chemical trace. It would be emptied when they camped and the contents properly buried. The only advantage Ferret had on point was that he didn’t have to lug the jug. A disadvantage was that while crawling, he was likely to, and occasionally did, slide a hand forward into a cold, greasy pile of animal droppings. The insectoids left feces that resembled a cross between worm casts and lizard goo, in piles as large as that from cows.
Bell Toll was impressed by Tirdal. He’d understood Darhel were very urban, their planets mostly citified and commercial. If so, Tirdal had learned well, as he moved quietly and with economy. He certainly seemed as strong as was rumored, and traveled easily whether at an erect stride or bent low for concealment. It was obvious that he was following Ferret’s lead, though, and he didn’t seem to be paying attention to what was going on around them. Was that due to his urban background? Or his reliance on his Sense? Or a combination of the two? Either way, he made a note not to put Tirdal on point.
Every planet, every biome had its own unique traits. The least obvious but most important here was the lack of animal noises. The insectoids apparently communicated by chemical or other signals, and the mammaloids didn’t use sounds lest they be detected by predators. This quietness served a positive function, in that there were no sudden silences of wildlife to give away the team’s presence. It also was a hindrance in that there was less background noise to mask their movement.
It was also eerie as hell. The bushes swished and rattled; the fernlike leaves rustled softly. Light breezes swirled and phased the sound of the continuous rain into something from a relaxation soundtrack. Mud splattered and squelched. As they passed, the team heard a scuttling of bugs, wrestling for mates, running away from predators, capturing prey, fighting, mating. Occasionally, branches would thump. And over that… nothing.
Then, as the team splashed through a shallow stream, there was something.
Out of nowhere it came, buzzing and flapping past Ferret’s face, then Gun Doll’s.
“Shit!” he muttered. Gun Doll limited her response to a gasp.
Weapons swung around and eyes sought targets, until Ferret said, “No threat. Just those damned bats.”
“All clear here,” Gun Doll reported. “Though I swear one plastered itself across the visor and flashed me.”
“Was it good for you?” Thor muttered with mirth.
“Best hung thing I’ve seen on this trip,” she replied.
“Quiet down!” Shiva ordered. Everyone was tense and needed the release, but that was enough and it was now time to go back to work. In his visor, everyone had warmed up slightly, Ferret and Gun Doll by several degrees. They faded back to “normal” as the adrenaline wore off. “Normal” out here was high, metabolisms working furiously. This was the kind of infiltration they could market for weight loss. If civilians thought that new fad of pseudo-boot camps for “health” was exciting, they should try this.
“Dawn soon, Shiva,” Bell Toll said, shortly after the bat assault. “Set us up for camp, please.”
“Yes, sir,” he acknowledged, and spoke to them all. “Camping time, people. Any ideas?”
Thor replied, “There’s a small clearing to our left. Slight elevation, thick growth.”
“That might work. Let me take a peek. Hold, troops.” Shiva eased back behind Thor, took a glance at the site suggested, and decided it would serve.
Normally, a depression would be preferable, being better concealed. In wet conditions, though, one wanted to avoid drowning. The risk of discovery being minimal at present, higher ground was preferred. Concealment was still wanted, though. This was a spongy hummock of ground surrounded by low areas, ringed by a thick tangle of reaching limbs entwined with vines and twigs. The entrance Thor had found was low to the ground, covered above.
“Bivouac site, fall back by numbers,” Shiva ordered, taking a position near the weedy passage and motioning Thor within. Bell Toll followed, then the others in order, Shiva and Ferret backing in last.
Camp didn’t take long to pitch. They each had a thin membrane to cover their suits, thickened on the underside to provide enough padding to provide insulation and cushion the skin against sores. Trained troops made their own beds by scooping out a couple of handfuls of dirt to make depressions for hips and shoulders. Overhead, they drew freshly plucked — not cut — weeds and stems. That growth would stay fresher longer, and there’d be no bare white, or here, bright green, cut wood to illuminate their presence to an enemy. Gorilla’s bots stalked out to form a perimeter, their sensors, microphones and a laser web providing reasonable assurance that an approaching threat would not be a surprise. Dagger dug a shallow latrine slit to one side and poured in the enzymes that would quickly reduce the contents to raw molecules. He followed that with the contents of the jug.
While they’d eaten on the march, dinner was a tradition that helped maintain the body’s circadian rhythms. They each quietly munched, slurped and sucked a rat pack. The best that could be said was that the packs were nourishing, and each one lowered the mass one had to hump by half a kilogram. Shiva’s voice came through the web again, “Watch in reverse rotation. Sorry, Thor.”