Expedition

Hawthorne closed the inner lock, looked around at the others to ensure their survival suits were uncompromised, and then began typing a code into the control bracelet strapped to his wrist. Inside the outer lock, and outside on the hull there were keypads and manual wheels with which to open and close the air lock, and another to lower or lift the ramp. But Hawthorne preferred using the remote bracelet. It was a precaution he'd implemented himself. A smuggler couldn't be too security conscious after all. They all heard the debarkation ramp slowly descend. When he was certain it was completely deployed, Hawthorne keyed another code into the remote.

"A little paranoid, aren't we?" Bradley asked.

"Yes," the pilot said simply. If the kid had a smart retort to reply with it was silenced as the outer lock whipped open.

Plethora Minor was a red planet. Carmine light the sickly hue of cotton candy infused the air lock as the debarkation ramp slowly lowered. Purple stratus clouds marched across the primrose sky, so low and thick they essentially created a lattice through which occasionally slightly brighter pockets of sun light shown. In the distance scattered storms patrolled the landscape drenching the blood red plain. Instead of grass, a species of bulbous gourd shaped fungi the color and texture of exposed muscle dominated the landscape. Although the companions regarded the alien flora as grass because of its ubiquitous presence, the repulsive fungi more closely resembled fleshy grenades supported by thick pale stalks ranging from two decimeters to a full meter in length.

A kilometer from the landing site, copses of tar black, leafless arboreal dotted the plain, their skeletal branches reaching heavenward. Further still ebony mountain tips freckled the horizon like moles on a flayed corpse.

It was a hellish sight rendered more so by the fact that the indigenous flora was animate. The fungal grass pulsed rhythmically, their synchronous pulsation reminiscent of respiration in higher life forms. 'They have lungs?' Lee wondered. Hawthorne must have been thinking the same thing.

"Are those plants breathing?" he asked.

"I don't know," Lee replied. "I'm not even sure they are plants. Maybe they're a symbiotic species like the corals of OE, part animal and plant. There's no way of knowing until I can do a detailed analyst."

The nerve splitting bark of gun fire rang through the com system. Lee childishly attempted cover her ears from the noise but of course her helmet prevented any such activity. In a moment of clarity, she toggled the mute option of her survival suit. From her self-imposed deafness, she watched as tufts of ground belched upward. The grass analogs stuck by the fusillade exploded violently, spewing puffs of blood red mist.

Lee turned in the direction of the muzzle flash illuminating the tinted glass visor of her helmet. The bursts of light were pale blue, reminding her of a past scene of destruction she had been running from her entire life. Infuriated she lifted her analyst kit from her shoulder with the intent of cracking it across the head of the idiot who had opened fire. Janice Lee was not surprised to find the said offender was none other than Bradley Johnson. Had she been faster Lee would have gladly clubbed the imbecile with the hefty analyzer. As it was she was spared that duty by the intervention of commandant Borlov.

With the speed of a striking snake the Russian snatched Johnson's rifle from his hands. Although Lee could not see the hedonistic kid's face through the plating of his helmet, she could read Johnson's ire and indignation by his stooped posture and clenched fists as he spun about to face the man who had spoiled his fun. All the while Borlov stood impassively with Bradley's weapon at port arms.

"Stop this nonsense!" Lee shouted without realizing that her com system was still muted. By the time she realized her error the altercation was over. Johnson had visibly calmed; the only indication of his previous anxiety was the fogging of his face plate. "What gives?" the kid shouted.

The Russian remained stoic and as still as a statue. Gradually Johnson calmed further until at last he began to chuckle.

"Okay, Andy. I'm cool now."

"You're sure?" Borlov asked.

"Yeah, I am. Cool as a cucumber. Whatever that is." Tentatively Bradley reached for his weapon. Borlov continued to withhold it.

"No more childish actions, you promise?" Asked Borlov. He began to pass the rifle to Johnson then pulled it back.

"You promise?" The commandant demanded. This time there was an air of menace in his normally flat tone. "Because if you act childish again I will have to treat you like a child. Is that understood?"

Bradley cringed from the larger man. A barely audible whimper came over the com and for a moment Lee felt sorry for the wayward billionaire. Then Bradley composed himself, snapped to attention and gave a salute.

"Sir, yes sir!" He said.

Surely Borlov heard the sardonic inflection in Bradley Johnson's reply, yet he handed the weapon back anyway. The two men stood facing each other long after the Russian handed the rifle over. An uncomfortable silence ensued on the com link, a tension which while having been released threatened to become volatile once more.

"If you guys are done male bonding then we have a whole world to explore," Lee said in an attempt to bring some levity into the situation.

During the entire altercation Hawthorne had remained a silent observer. Finally, he spoke," The professor is right. You paid me to get and guide you here. Not to baby sit. Anymore bullshit and I'm leaving. With or without you. Got it?"

"That is acceptable to me," Borlov said.

"Me too," said Johnson, not a sign of irony in his reply this time. The kid's desire to continue the hunt seemed to override his inclination to confront the commandant. At least Janice Lee hoped so.

Still eager to ease the tension of their small group she said, "Besides, Bradley's rash actions had a good consequence. I can begin analyst of the vegetation earlier than I expected to."

It was true too. She hadn't thought to begin an examination of what appeared to be the dominant flora until they returned to the Excelsior. After kneeling to see the damaged bulbs she was glad she had done it sooner than later.

"Come, look at this," Lee said, motioning for the others to come closer.

Janice Lee knelt beside a cluster of the gourds that had been hit by the rifle fire. A few of them still inflated and deflated, so much like the expiration of an animal that it was unnerving. The already russet soil around the grass analogs was drenched in a liquid that looked uncomfortably like blood so that the scene took on the appearance of an abattoir.

Using a retractable rod from her analysis kit the astrobiologist prodded one of the strange plants that had been partially uprooted. The thing immediately recoiled, drawing in a tangle of exposed roots much as an anemone will retract its tentacles in defense. Janice did not flinch at the reaction because she'd half expected it. When the fleshy gourds around the wounded specimen uprooted themselves on a multitude of thin gossamer white tendrils the astrobiologist did jump back, caught by Borlov who had been standing behind her. With grossly tottering movement the gourds retreated a meter or so from their pulped counterparts before digging into the top soil once more. Their rapid movement sounding eerily like the rustle of leaves.

"Well, feed me Seymour! Did those plants just get up and high tail it?" Johnson swore.

No one except Janice Lee knew what the kid referred to and she was too stunned to comment on the absurdity. Nowhere in the galaxy had flora been observed with such animalistic nature, save perhaps those aberrations seeded by Shiva in the later twenty fourth century.

"Mother of God, your eyes do not deceive. Those things moved," an astounded Borlov said.

"Professor Lee, are they plants or what?" Hawthorne asked with a note of concern.

"I'm not sure," Lee admitted.

"I have never seen a plant walk or bleed before," Hawthorne said pointing to the pools of viscous liquid splashed around the damaged or dying bulbs. "And that looks an awful lot like blood to me."

"I agree," said Lee. "Which makes me believe we are dealing with something other than flora. Not because their bodily fluids are red, but because by definition plants have ridged cellular walls. These things appear to have a closed circulation system like an animal, instead of the rudimentary system displayed by Terran plant life."

"Am I going to have to worry about a giant rutabaga sneaking up on me?" Johnson asked with a nervous chuckle.

Despite herself Lee smiled. "Who knows? It's a new world. For all I know we could be attacked at any moment by killer tomatoes."

"I saw that movie too," Bradley Johnson said, a wide white grin visible through his face plate.

"Do you do anything except watch prehistoric vids?" Hawthorne asked.

"Nope, I play the occasional video game too."

"And how is it you know what a rutabaga is, but not a cucumber?" Borlov asked.

"Breeding my man, breeding."

With a pair of tongs Janice finished gathering samples of the blood grass, a name Bradley Johnson coined for the alien flora. "Bloody rutabaga just doesn't sound right," he said in defense of the nomenclature and they all agreed.

Clipping the metal container shut in which she had placed a seeping portion of blood grass, Lee said "Sanguis Herba it is then. Okay, boys, let's shake a leg and see what else Plethora Minor has to offer".

At first they entered the plain of blood grass tentatively, not wanting to touch the odd plants. Not because they feared harming the vegetation, but because the things were 'so damn creepy' as Bradley Johnson put it. Then when Borlov, who had taken point began kicking at the blood grass ahead of him, the things started to flee from the group's approach on their own, only to close rank again when the humans passed by.

"Now that's creepy as hell" Johnson said. While he undoubtedly meant what he said, there was also no denying the excitement in his voice. Lee was beginning to feel the exhilaration of exploration herself and she could tell that Borlov was as well. The only person that seemed less than enthused by the prospects of the expedition was Hawthorne.

The pilot trailed behind the others and had not said a word since leaving the landing site. When Lee looked behind her to check on the Hawthorne's status she saw that he seemed on edge. He was looking fitfully around as though he expected something to rear out of the ground to swallow them whole. While the blood grass was strange, if not unpleasant to look upon, Lee had yet to see anything that warranted his degree of apprehension. Did Hawthorne know something he had not disclosed to the rest of them?

She was about to question their guide on a closed channel when Borlov barked a command through the com. "Halt, there is something large moving in the woods ahead."

The others stopped to see what the Russian was speaking of. The closest copse of trees was more than a kilometer away and try as they might they could not spot the movement the commandant had seen.

"There at nine o'clock. Use your gun sights if you must," Borlov said.

Eager for any excuse to raise his rifle Johnson aimed in the direction Borlov had indicated.

"Andy is right," he informed the others. "There is movement. But it's no animal. It's the trees!"

Lee focused her camera on the direction the others faced, but its zoom function wasn't up to the task. "I can't see," she said, inwardly cursing herself for refusing to carry a weapon. The scope alone would have warranted bringing one.

Sensing her distress Hawthorne handed the astrobiologist his rifle. He hadn't looked for himself at the exotic forest. That should have told Lee something about the pilot's demeanor, but she was too excited to contemplate Hawthorne's odd behavior considering their discoveries.

Through the digital lens of the rifle's scope Lee saw that Johnson had been correct. The dendriforms that composed the indigenous forest were moving. Not only were they standing on a profusion of thick tentacles, but some bent to stab at the ground with articulated branches that terminated into pointed arrowhead structures. Others looked as though they were jousting. They butted their trucks, wrapped their spindly limbs around their opponents and pierced one another with their sharpened branches. The actions of the Plethorian trees resembled more so a pack of wolves fighting over leader's rights than the behavior of any terrestrial flora.

When it became obvious they would not be able to see the prey species from their vantage point Lee lowered the rifle. "We have to get closer" she said.

Borlov and Johnson voiced their agreement, while Hawthorne was reticent. "Okay, but let's take it slow and no shooting just yet. I think we should get a better idea about what we're dealing with on this chunk of rock. So far nothing I've seen here resembles anything I've even heard of on known earth equivalents."

"That's the whole point," an exasperated Johnson said. "I paid you an ungodly amount of credits to go somewhere no one has ever been and to bag something no one has ever seen. Not to mention the twenty year time debt it cost to get here. By the time we get back half of my family will be dead and a third of my girlfriends will be married. No great loss either way, but I think you get my meaning." When no sympathy seemed forthcoming, Bradley Johnson audibly pouted and shouldered his weapon.

Thematically the kid gestured for Lee to lead. The astrobiologist bowed to humor him. "My thanks, Sir Galahad", she said and reluctantly took point, timidly shooing clusters of blood grass ahead of them out of the way.

As the others followed Johnson turned to Borlov and asked, "By the way how did you spot that tree tussle from so far away?"

"Augments courtesy of the SAA."

"Cool", a truly impressed Johnson said, "Got any more surprises up your sleeves or in your suit?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Borlov said cryptically.

"Maybe the Doc would, but I don't roll that way. I can't speak for my man Carlos over there though. How about it, Cap? You into augmented men?"

Hawthorne merely grunted in reply, Borlov guffawed and Lee held a secret smile within the confine of her helm. The play boy might be a nuisance at times, but his constant attempts at levity were endearing.

They made slow progress toward the copse of animate trees. Partially because Lee was less vigorous than Borlov had been herding the blood grass ahead of him, but also because they had all become more cautious. So far the group had encountered only two of Plethora Minor's lifeforms, both of which were disturbingly mobile analogs of what humanity considers placid flora. If grass could go on a walkabout and trees could engage in gladiatorial skirmishes, then what else lay in wait? Suddenly, rampaging rutabaga and killer tomatoes didn't sound so ludicrous. And if the vegetation analogs were as eccentric as migrating grasslands and as hostile as the trees evidently were, then what about the lions, the tigers, or the bears?

Their progress became even slower as the external microphones of their environmental suits began to pick up the sounds of the frenzied forest. Over the rustle of retreating blood grass the screech of something either anguished or enraged filtered through their com.

"Somehow those things sound familiar," Borlov said. The group inched forward some more, the squeal of the Plethorian animals growing louder and more disturbing the closer they went.

Although the party had crossed half the initial distance toward the still fierce conflict in the copse they could not tell if the nerve wrecking wails they heard were those of the trees or their now somewhat definable prey. Without the aid of their scopes the group could now discern serpentine shapes whipping to and fro underneath the undulating trunks of the alien woods.

"Snakes?" The kid asked of no one in particular, a note of distaste in his voice. "Why'd it have to be snakes?"

Lee lifted her borrowed rifle and sighted in. "They look more like worms to me," she said. Although in all honesty, the creatures battling the Abysmal trees were unlike anything she had ever seen. Flat, segmented bodies a foot wide and at least six feet long writhed beneath the contorting boles. The strange ribbon shaped creatures darted at the trees, twisting their bodies mid-flight so swiftly they emitted a subsonic wail as they attacked. Some of the alien serpents struck their targets amid a shower of pus yellow effluvium where they stuck head first, boring into the alien trunks to gorge themselves in the likeness of obscenely colossal leaches. Others avoided the thrashing roots and deadly branch tips of defending trees by diving into ground, submerging into the earth as if were as viscous as water, only to reappear and assault the trees from new vantage points. It was a true monster mash, the hideous trees giving just as much as they took, spearing the ribbon beasts or trampling them beneath flailing tentacular appendages.

"Not worms," Borlov said. "Drills...I thought I recognized that sound. I did a stint on the Phobos mining colony. The directional drills they use to extract uranium create a clamor much like those god awful things."

Johnson lowered his rifle. "Is it possible for anything living to move so fast?" he asked. For once there was not a speck of sarcasm in his voice. If anything, Lee detected a note of fear. It should have pleased her to find the playboy was finally showing some restraint, if not respect for the newly discovered Plethorian life forms. Truth be known, she was a bit daunted by what they were seeing as well. So far they had encountered only three of the planet's indigenous life forms, two of which would have been classified apex predators on any other planet. One of which not only looked like terrestrial arboreal, but was as prevalent as trees had been on Old Earth.

Emotionally Janice was conflicted. She was simultaneous frightened and enraptured by the possibilities Plethora Minor offered. Some primal instinct, perhaps leftover from the Pleistocene era when the primitive apes that would one day become the space faring masters of the universe were nothing more than another item on a Smilodon's menu, told her they should be running back to the ship and hiding very quietly.

On the other hand, the astrobiologist in her was ecstatic. While alien life had been discovered on many Earth equivalent worlds, ninety nine percent of it had been microbial in nature. The other percentage had been so closely related to life that had evolved on Old Earth over the millennium that in terms arousal they were nearly unmentionable. The truth was that galaxy had turned out to be a mostly mundane place. Sure, the enormous helium cows of M 24, which resembled elephant sized balloons covered by cilia, were majestic in their own placid way, and the very diversity of life on C 43 was fascinating in that its ecology mirrored that of fossilized animal remains discovered during Earth's cretaceous period. But PM was proving to one of a very few planets to have a truly unique biomass.

Frankly she could not believe the NASA Inc. precols had not reported these findings, no matter how deep their pockets went. At the very least an intriguing thesis could have been written on the three species they had found thus far alone. If what Janice was beginning to suspect was true, then PM could very well provide evidence that challenged everything humanity knew about the predator and prey dynamics. She refused to believe any red-blooded scientist would turn down the chance to claim ownership of such a discovery.

Lee was about to question Hawthorne on the lack of precol radio transmissions when she felt a tap her on the shoulder. It was the pilot himself. He was close enough that she could see through his face plate. The apprehension she saw there was beyond worrisome and what he said next pulled her flight instinct closer to surface.

"Janice," he said, "Your backpack is burning."

Lee unslung her pack. Wisps of smoke curled from the bottom of the plasteel case. That alone would have been distressing, but Janice Lee knew the only thing she had added to the analysis kit was the tissue samples of blood grass which she had placed in a hardened specimen container. Carefully she reached into the case, moving tools and measuring devices aside so that she could grab hold of the container and pull it out. The specimen container was indeed the source of the smoke. Where fluids from the sample of Sanguis Herba had pooled, the outer casing had become porous and was turning a burnt orange hue. As Janice watched a glob of steaming plasteel dripped from the container to hiss on the ground between her feet.

"Holy shit," she heard Johnson say, believing he meant the smoldering container. Lee could hardly fathom an organic enzyme acidic enough to chew through a half an inch of polymeric steel at all, nonetheless an acid strong enough to do it in the time it had taken to walk half a kilometer. To think they had been nonchalantly kicking the apparently dangerous grass analogs aside as though they were as nonthreatening as their terrestrial counterpart. Then she heard Bradley continue and all thoughts about the properties of blood grass vanished.

"It's coming this way!", Johnson screamed.

It was one of the ribbon serpents. Like a dolphin skirting the crest of oceanic waves the creature swam through the ground toward them, patches of blood grass scurrying before it and closing rank once it had passed.

Lee tossed the specimen container aside just as the first report of gun fire began. This time she had dimmed her com feedback so that she could hear the voices of her companions as well as the discharge of weapon fire.

"Fire!" Borlov was shouting. Lee saw that the Russian was kneeling, attempting to hit the swiftly approaching ribbon serpent but having no luck. Blue tracer rounds whizzed by the creature and just as it appeared as though the beast would be struck, incredibly it changed trajectory midair to dive into the safety of the ground. Nearly as inexplicable was Bradley Johnson's reaction. The kid was frozen, seemingly unable to lift his rifle despite the certain death barreling toward them.

Lee still had Hawthorne's rifle slung over her shoulder and though she had never fired a gun in her life she began bringing it to bare. Fortunately, Hawthorne relieved her of the weapon before she had to learn the hard way. Within seconds of snatching the gun from her hands, Hawthorne added his fire to that of Borlov. The serpent was less than five meters from the two defenders when their fusillade managed to strike it mid leap.

From the talk Lee had heard from the men before departing the Excelsior the caliber bullets they were using could down a bull elephant with one shot. The ribbon serpent, though obviously hit, was not dead. It spun in a whirlwind of motion, tearing up a gout of dirt and flinging tufts of blood grass too slow to avoid its death throes.

For three minutes the group watched the thing roll about in a spasmodic blur. Then, abruptly it fell still. They and the blood grass tentatively approached its body. The thing had been shot in the center of its man length body, a bullet ripping through a third of its width. Examination of its flat shovel shaped head revealed no discernible eyes and only four toothless orifices that must have served as mouths. The ribbon serpent didn't need teeth. The razor-sharp edges of its head and the sides of its body were the only chewing organs it needed.

For a long while no one said a word. Then a disgusted Hawthorne spun about to confront Bradley.

What the fuck Johnson? You fucking act like you're some big gung ho adventurer one second and the minute something goes down you buckle up? We could have been killed! Have you ever used a fucking weapon for anything but target shooting? You paid me to take you on a safari where there were unknown predators. Well we're here. What did you expect to find?"

"Sorry," Johnson said sheepishly.

"Ease up, the kid froze. It happens," Borlov said to Hawthorne.

"Ease up?! We barely step out of the ship and genius here goes Captain Klive on a patch of walking weeds, then we almost get skewered by a snake that thinks it's a rotor rooter and he stands there with his thumb up his ass. Fuck that. This trip is over."

Lee expected Johnson to complain, but he remained completely cowed by Hawthorne and the incident. It was Borlov who rose the objection.

"Wait a minute. We all paid you for this safari. If you think you're going to get away with our money you've got another thing..."

"Guys," this from the kid again, his voice shrill and rising. "GUYS!!!"

As one the others turned to see what Johnson was so excited about. The entire copse of woods was hurling toward them, apparently abandoning their own skirmish in pursuit of easier prey. A phalanx of ribbon serpents led the charge, weaving through the ground and leaping in succession like a pod of killer whales on the prowl. Behind them the trees lumbered over the corpses of their own kind and that of the serpents, crushing the fallen under questing roots. Even the blood grass appeared to have disposed of their timid facade, a wave of the fungal monstrosities washing over the deceased where they sank pale filaments into the bodies. All of this was seen by the group in a frozen second before the realization that they were in mortal danger came crashing home. Then they began to run for their lives.