A Season for Slaughter

Chapter 22 In Deep

I didn't say anything for a moment. It wasn't that I couldn't think of anything to say-there wasn't anything that needed saying. But Willig was looking at me expectantly, and even though I couldn't see the expression on his face while sitting at my console, I knew that Siegel was impatient for a decision too, for some course of action. The others as well would be wanting some reassurance that their captain hadn't flaked out.

"Okay," I sighed. "Siegel, check to see how thoroughly we're glued in. If we have to plow our way out of here-"

"We're in pretty deep," he said. He didn't sound happy. "I ran some rough checks last night and another set just before you woke up. It's pretty gummy. We're hip-deep in muck."

"Give me the short version."

"I think we're sinking."

"You can't break free?"

"I've been trying all night. Whatever I do, it just makes it worse. This stuff is-I dunno what it is. It's not mud, it's not sand, it's not anything. It flows like liquid, unless you try to move, then it sits like concrete. The treads can't get a grip on it. Sorry, Cap'n, but this machine isn't going anywhere for a while."

"Right. We're snowed in. We've got three worms outside. And we can't call for help. Now tell me the bad news."

Siegel didn't answer. The silence on the channel stretched out uncomfortably.

A nasty thought popped into my head. Willig looked at me sharply as I levered myself up out of my chair. I climbed forward into the cockpit, to get a firsthand look at Siegel. I checked out Locke and Valada at their stations too. Lopez was still sleeping. I reached over and switched off the comlink. "Okay," I said quietly to Siegel. "I give up. What aren't you telling me?"

Siegel looked puzzled. "That's all there is, Captain."

"Then I don't get it. You guys aren't stupid. You know what trouble we're in. You're all taking this far too calmly. What's going on?"

"Captain." Siegel swiveled in his chair to face me. "If you're not afraid of Randy Dannenfelser, then why should the rest of us be afraid of three little Chtortans?"

"Chtorrans have bigger mouths."

"Dannenfelser has a nastier bite."

I held up a hand. "Let's leave that for the biologists to worry about. Have we gotten any signals off the net? Any messages?" Siegel's expression flattened sadly. "Sorry, sir. Nothing."

"Merde." To Siegel's quizzical stare, I said, "Pardon my French. I meant to say 'shit!"' I sat down in the copilot's chair. "All right, let's send a Mayday. Demand an emergency pickup. All channels. They can't ignore that."

"What if they do anyway?"

"Then you and I will have the privilege of testifying at their court-martial."

Siegel didn't look happy. "Are you sure you want me to send this?"

"Do you think we can get out of here by ourselves?" I pointed at the windshield. The first few Chtorran insects were already eating their way across the glass, but there weren't as many as I had expected. "Do you think it's going to get ravenous out there? I don't. That stuff came down pretty thick, this isn't a heavily infested area, and I don't think there are going to be enough bugs to eat us free. This isn't a tank anymore, it's a pillbox. There's not much else we can do here-"

"We still didn't find out what killed that worm," Siegel suggested.

"Stop trying to tempt me."

Siegel shrugged. "I like dead worms."

"You know something? You're too bloodthirsty, both you and Willig. Send the message."

"Thanks," said Willig, coming up behind me. "We try our best. It's always nice to be noticed." She had followed me forward to hand me a mug of something hot and vile-and probably to check up on me as well.

"That wasn't a compliment. Don't forget, we've got specimens and records that need to be delivered as quickly as possible. Those have to take precedence." I sniffed the contents of the mug suspiciously. "Jeezis! What are you trying to do? Kill me?"

"You said I was bloodthirsty. You don't get that way by accident, you have to practice."

I shuddered and turned away. "Reilly? What's happening with those three worms?"

"They're just coming down the hill now."

I pushed past Willig and climbed back to the work stations. The screens glowed brightly in the subdued light of the van. Reilly had put a tactical schematic on one screen, and the camera view on the screen beside it. The visual was foggy-pink, but we could see three dark shapes pushing their way down the candy-crusted slope. The schematic identified them as medium-sized animals.

"They're young," I said. "The largest is only 400 kilos. I wish I could see their stripes. Can you enhance the visual?"

Reilly tapped at his keyboard, switching to a telephoto view. A few more taps and the image became noticeably clearer. But it didn't help. The worms' fur was pink with dust, and as they moved through the powdery drifts, they raised even more clouds of it around them. According to the schematic, they were not headed specifically toward us.

A sudden thought occurred to me. "What does the van look like?"

"Huh?"

"Never mind." I was already pulling myself up into the bubble. "Are we still recognizable as a vehicle-or are we just another lump in the dust? Are they going to pass us by-or do we have a fight on our hands?"

The bubble view was all pink. The dust was thick, but there was still light coming through the pinkness. I tapped the keyboard of the bubble work station and popped open a rooftop camera. It swiveled around, revealing the top view of the tank. We were pink, but our shape was still identifiable as something manufactured, not natural. Worms were notoriously curious. If they noticed us, they'd investigate. If they sensed movement inside, they'd attack.

Or would they?

The last time I'd been in this situation, the worms hadn't attacked-at least not until we'd tried to escape from the downed chopper. And I still wasn't sure that event had actually been an attack. The worms might just as easily have been reacting to the bright worm-shape of the blimp that pulled us out.

I dropped back down into the main cabin and looked over Reilly's shoulder again.

"Pop the guns?" he asked.

"No. Keep them shuttered. Maybe these three are more curious than violent. Besides, I don't think a worm can get through our armor. Let's play possum for a bit and see what they do."

The worms were almost to the bottom of the slope now. They left wide furrows in the pink drifts. This part of Mexico was going to have an impermeable crust for a while. There weren't enough bugs to eat it clear. Perhaps the nest under the shamblers was still too young to have generated enough eggs.

"They've seen us-" said Reilly.

The worms were cocking their eyes in our direction and making soft chittering noises. They hesitated, pausing for a conference. Without the sounds, they would have been almost comical creatures-the sideways-tilt of their eyes made them look like drunken muppets, and the pink frosting on their fur gave them a lovable teddy-bear look; but the whole effect was spoiled by the noises they made. The sounds were heavily muffled by the blanket of dust spread across the landscape, but even without enhancing the signal, what we could hear of the Chtorran conversation was still blood-chilling. They were making unpleasant flickery sounds toward each other, oscillating and insect-like, with weird overtones that gave their cries an unearthly, disturbing quality.

I glanced around. Willig was at her station, monitoring the situation. Locke and Valada were watching over her shoulder. Lopez came up behind me, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She peered at the screens, blinked twice, and was instantly alert. "What're they doing?" she asked.

"Trying to make a decision," Reilly said.

"Siegel?" I called quietly. "Did you send that Mayday?"

"Sent, but not acknowledged."

"Right. Keep the channel open."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

"Oops," said Reilly. "There they go. They made a decision." There was silence in the cabin. The screens told it all. The worms were heading straight for us.