“On the way,” the CO said. “Another set of Marines. We’re going to cycle them through as fast as we can.”
“Roger,” Weaver said. “Miss Moon, if you could tell the locals that more of us are coming out and that it’s for protection not a threat to them, please?”
“I’ll try,” Miriam said, breaking into more squeaks.
The group of locals came to a hover over the human detachment as Miller rejoined the group.
“Those two out there mean what I think it means?” Miller asked, following the two locals as they came around to the north and started, slowly, closing on the humans.
“I’m presuming they’re tracking the predators,” Weaver said. “How tough are they?”
“Pretty easy, really,” Miller said. “Scary looking as hell, but a 7.62 mm takes them down just fine. Jaenisch, you get that?”
“You got automatically switched to local,” Sergeant Jaenisch said. “We got it. I guess Two-Gun can’t show off.”
Berg ground his teeth but remained silent.
The leader of the locals suddenly swooped down, causing Bergstresser to raise his Gatling gun. It annoyed him that his first action had actually been to drop his hand towards his side.
“Wait,” Miriam said as the local settled close to her and squeaked, holding out his hand.
“He’s figured out that I’m the only one that’s vulnerable,” Miriam said. “He wants me to get on his board.”
“Don’t,” the CO said over the circuit. “Do not go with them. They appear marginally friendly, but if you get scooped up, we’re going to have a hard time tracking you down. They can move faster than we can.”
She squeaked and pointed, then pointed back at her armor. The local squeaked at her, then jumped off the board, offering it to her.
“Holy maulk,” Bill said. “Security, priority is to ensure the survival of the local. Is that clear?”
“Clear, sir,” Jaenisch said. “Bergstresser, Hattelstad, close on the local and ensure his protection.”
“I don’t know how to ride one of those things,” Miriam said nervously.
“Figure it out, fast,” Bill replied. “They apparently don’t want you back in armor. We’ll go with that for now if you can get up to altitude.”
“Okay,” Miriam replied, stepping on the board. “Whoa!” she shouted as the board rapidly ascended then banked. “Hey, this is fun!”
The two Marines had stepped over to the local and then forward, between him — and the local was definitely a “he” — and the threat.
“Grapp this,” Miller muttered. “Command, permission to exit armor.”
“Warrant officer, if you exit armor you will be required to maintain one month quarantine,” the CO pointed out. “That means you’ll still be in quarantine after we get back.”
“Understood, sir,” the SEAL replied. “I think it would be useful for purposes of local contact.”
“Agreed,” the CO said. “Permission granted.”
“Oorah,” Miller said, hitting the release on his armor and stepping out. The fresh air felt wonderful after over a month on the boat. It seemed like the clearest air he’d ever breathed. However, he didn’t have much time for sight-seeing. He quickly opened up the bail-out pack on the armor and donned his body armor, grabbed a pair of combat glasses and pulled out an M-10.
“Eegle meek,” he tried to squeak as he walked over to take a position by the local leader and slid on the glasses. “Whatever the grapp that means.”
“Eeg, eeg, neek,” the local responded, looking the SEAL up and down. “Neek ga-srreeee.”
“Yeah,” Miller said, rubbing his head. “Ga-sree. I hope I didn’t just insult his mother.”
“There they are,” Jaenisch said.
The heat forms were evident in the combat glasses, even through the screening vegetation. Miller lifted the M-10 to his shoulder and got a good solid position.
“You better get ready to ga-sree,” he said to the local.
“Neek, sreeeeee,” the local responded, dropping his spear to hip level and crouching. “Meee, snaaa.” The local lifted his nose and sniffed aggressively.
“Not sure if I smell ’em or not,” Miller said, sniffing. There were just too many unfamiliar smells. Strangely, he wasn’t sure he was getting any scent from the local, even though they were in touching distance. Maybe a sort of mustiness, but that was about it.
The pack had paused at what Miller figured was its charging distance. It probably thought it was out of sight.
“Should we open fire, sir?” Sergeant Jaenisch asked.
The question was over radio but it was transmitted to the SEAL’s earplugs.
“Negative,” Miller said. “Wait until they are in view. Pick your targets. I get full left. You take left center, Two-Gun right center, Hatt full right.”
The pack broke cover just as he finished and he targeted his chosen beasts, firing three-round bursts into the chest region. The M-10 didn’t have the authority of one of the Gatlings, but the 7.62 mm rounds punched the first lizard center of the target zone, and it stumbled to its knees, then rolled over, kicking in death throes.
The rest of the pack had been stopped just as cold, Jaenisch getting two in one sweep of fire and Berg, Weaver and Hattelstad each getting one.
“Yeeee!” the local shrieked, holding his hands to his ears and squeaking in what certainly sounded like curses.
“Sorry about that,” Miller said, reloading quickly. “Yeah, they’re kinda loud.”
25
“The biggest problem with this world is that I can see the possibility of cross-contamination,” Julia said, shaking her head. “This biology and human is so close it’s scary.”
“How’s the sampling going?” Weaver asked as the biologist squatted down and scooped up a sample of dung.
“We’re buried in data, as Dr. Dean would have said,” Julia responded, sealing away the sample. “If this world was terraformed, it was a long time ago. Lots of speciation, multiple families, deep soil, complex ecosystem. Well, just the difference between those predators and the locals shows that. This isn’t a simple world by any stretch of the imagination. Most of it’s going to have to be sorted out back on Earth. I’m just sampling and checking for potential cross-infections. I’ve been pumping air and water from the surroundings to the rats and mice, but it’s really pointless. Our two biggest guinea pigs are over there,” she said, gesturing with her sensor pod.
Miriam and Miller, backed by the three suited Marines, were cross-legged in the center of a group of the locals. The locals had started a fire, butchered most of the predators and were now having a barbeque while talking with the SEAL and the linguist. Mostly with the linguist, who seemed to be absorbing the language like a sponge.
“How’s it going?” Weaver asked, striding over to the group.
“Well,” Miller said, shrugging. “She’s apparently established the name of the local tribe, that the name for ‘other’ is enemy, but they’re willing to accept that we’re not here to take their land and that the name of the predators is Sreee. That’s all I’ve got. Cop a squat if you’re any good at languages.”
“They don’t seem too freaked out by our armor,” Bill said. “Or the ship.”
“She’s working on that,” Miller replied. “They’ve apparently got a legend about flying ships. They also have a legend that flying ships are good but when they arrive, the ‘Demons’ return. We’re not sure what the Demons are or why they’re associated with the flying ships. But the association seems to be that the Demons don’t come from the flying ships, they’re just a result of them. Basically, they’re saying we’re welcome for a bit but then we need to leave.”