Fragment

12:06 P.M.

Briggs slammed Section Two’s lower hatch behind him. It sealed with a squeaking hiss as he sagged against it to catch his breath.

He ripped off his helmet, and the bulbous blue cleansuit deflated. He straightened up as he addressed the eleven jumpy scientists in Section Two, who were staring at him, bug-eyed, from their workstations. “Duct tape is not an option!” the NASA technician announced. “Listen up!” Briggs barked as he extricated himself from the cumbersome suit. “Section One is now officially off limits!”

He kicked off the last leg of the cleansuit and surveyed the scientists with an almost contemptuous air. “And drill-worms fly. Yeah, just for everyone’s information, OK? And those damn worms are getting through the inner lining of the vestibule down there.”

Briggs casually rapped his knuckles on the hatch window behind him. Everyone flinched as drill-worms viciously attacked the other side.

The animals’ trio of spiked, folding legs resembled glossy black landing gear on a 1950s sci-fi rocket ship. Their sucked-lozenge heads had three ring-shaped eyes and a flexible neck. They hovered and twisted with precision in midair, using black wings that popped like flower petals from a three-paneled bud under their necks.

They bent their yellow drill-bit abdomens to the window. Their grappling-hooked forefeet scrabbled over its slippery surface.

Briggs looked over his shoulder and jumped as he saw the alien creatures so close at hand.

“OK.” He turned back to the other scientists. “Drill-worms have now penetrated the vestibule! But that’s not what breached Section One’s hull. Something else did that. Hello, is there a doctor in the house? Because we lowly NASA technicians are a little out of our league here, OK? I can’t guarantee our safety if you can’t tell me what’s going on!”

“Hey, we’re just here to collect data,” said Andy, sarcastically.

Andy wore a bright tie-dyed T-shirt streaked red, yellow, and green. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a year. “All those prima donnas on the Enterprise are supposed to figure it out for us. Or so we’ve been told.”

“In so many words,” Quentin grunted. “There’s a couple up in Section Four right now getting a tour, if you want to complain, Briggs.” He aimed a finger at a plasma screen showing a rooftop view. “Hey, check it out: Henders lichen is spreading over us right now.”

Red and yellow scales bloomed over the roof in Quentin’s monitor. The lichenlike growth visibly spread in polygons that changed color and shape, seeming to feed voraciously on the layers of white paint, gray primer, and steel. Each hexagonal tile was bisected by a half-hex “fin” angled to catch the sun. Sunlight turned these sail-fins green as they fluttered in the wind. A permanent cloud of angry bugs swarmed where the jungle was relentlessly swallowing Section One, like antibodies reacting to a wound.

“This crud turns red on iron, yellow on acrylic, and white on paint, man.” Quentin shook his head in admiration and pulled off a bite of a Zagnut bar. “I think it’s actually eating the lab,” he mumbled.

“Some bacteria eat metal, gold, even CDs,” Andy said. “Bacteria probably ate the limestone in giant caves-in addition to your teeth, Quentin.”

Quentin shrugged. “It’s photosynthesizing, too.” He clicked two keys and zoomed in as he tore off another chew. “See those scales-the ones catching the sun are tinged green. Henders lichen eats whatever it can get, man,” he said with his mouth full the entire time.

Andy frowned. “The maximum growth rate of lichens is about one to two centimeters per year.”

“This stuff’s growing a million times faster than that,” Quentin mumbled.

“Not a million times,” Andy objected.

“OK, I was, like, exaggerating?”

“The point is, it isn’t lichen, Quentin! It’s some kind of freaking superplant, like Japanese dodder or something. Everybody keeps calling it lichen.”

“Well, you’re the one who called it lichen!”

Briggs put his hands on his hips and watched them in amazement.

“Yeah, I know, but I was wrong, OK?” Andy snarled. “It’s pissing Nell off that everyone keeps calling it that!”

“OK, so what’s she calling it, then?” Quentin ripped away another bite of candy with his teeth.

“Clover.”

“Oh yeah, like it’s clover?” Quentin sputtered, laughing.

“Excuse me, boys!” Briggs yelled. “It’s not the moss or lichen or clover or whatever the FUCK you want to call it that’s worrying me right now.” He pointed a finger at the roof. “You see those vines?” He stabbed a finger at Quentin. “Scientists aren’t supposed to exaggerate! And quit eating that thing!” Briggs grabbed the last half of Quentin’s Zagnut bar out of his hand and hurled it across the lab.

Quentin shrugged with a chill-dude look at Briggs as the NASA technician zoomed the camera in on one of the plantlike organisms on the roof. It looked like translucent fern fronds sprouting from a glass vase.

“Yeah, they just started popping up on the roof the last few hours,” Andy said.

“Mmm, can’t be vines, though,” Quentin said.

The translucent stalks of the stretching fronds were coated with sticky green transparent eggs. A Henders wasp landed on one of the vines and ate a few of the eggs with its posterial maw. Then it flew toward the camera, triggering the whizz of the auto-focus as it switched to macro mode. The bug deposited an egg stuck to its leg onto the lens and flew away. The egg immediately sprouted five tiny translucent “fronds.”

“Wow! There’s their life cycle, folks.”

“They eat the clover,” Andy said, recognizing the species. “These things usually come out at night. Looks like they use the bugs to spread their eggs.”

Briggs pointed at the screen. “Look at that!”

The fern-shaped fronds of a larger “plant” unrolled. Their five finger-pads smoked as they pressed down on the roof directly over them.

Briggs pointed: five spots of white paint bubbled in a ring on the steel ceiling. The spots matched the pattern of pads on the fronds.

“That’s what’s eating through the hull in Section One.” Briggs was looking at Quentin. “OK, genius?”

“Whoa. The lichenovores must use acid to dissolve the lichen off the rocks, man. Bitchin’!”

“Lichenovores?” Andy said.

“OK, how about clovores, then?”

“Better. Hey, wait a minute! Nell said those things might manufacture sulfuric acid!”

Briggs shook his head. “What? OK, that’s it!” he snapped, closing his eyes. “Attention, EVERYBODY!” he shouted. “It’s time to pack up your hard drives and your Nerf balls and your iPods and Abba Zabba bars and Incredible Hulk action figures and whatever else you brought along, because we are ee-vack-you-ating. Got it? That means you, cowboy!”

“Hey, why are you singling me out!” Andy protested.

“Because you’re handy,” Briggs shot back. “Now MOVE YOUR ASS!”

“Because I’m ANDY?”

“Come on, Andy, damn it,” Quentin urged.

“Is that what he said?”

“Don’t be so sensitive.”

“But is that what he just said?”

“What else would he say, after one look at you?” Quentin laughed.