Planet Of No Return

5: Barehanded into Hell

Brion dropped down into the black hole of the night. There was no sensation of motion in his free fall, although logically he knew that his speed was accelerating with every passing moment. Yet he appeared to be unmoving, alone in space, surrounded by the stars, with the dark disc of the night-shrouded planet below him. The planet itself was surrounded by a corona of light where the occluded sunlight was refracted by the atmosphere. It was brighter on the eastern side where sunrise was on its way. Despite his apparent lack of motion, Brion knew that he was hurtling downward in a carefully computed arc towards a precise spot on the surface below, falling towards the sunrise. The microcomputer in the gravchute on his back was ticking off the seconds leading up to that moment of arrival. From time to time he felt slight tugs on his harness as his fall was slowed by precisely measured amounts to conform to that program.

It was only because of all of his years of training that he managed to keep his thoughts calm, to hold at bay the close-pressing fear that would cause his body to react and send the adrenalin circulating uselessly through his veins. The time for action would come after the landing; the time now was for contemplation. He sank quietly into a relaxed state of half awareness, letting his body drop into the seemingly endless fall, ignoring the slight tugs on his harness that soon strengthened into a continual pull. The first traces of thickening atmosphere brushed against his suit. The fall continued.

Sudden light burst into his eyes as the sun cleared the horizon. He stirred and flexed his muscles; it would be time soon. Although it was sunrise at his altitude, the land below was still filled with night. An all-pervading greyness suddenly replaced the light as he dropped through a thick belt of cloud — then out of it again to fall towards the dimly lit landscape below.

Safe so far. There were no missiles — or aircraft. But he was well aware of the easily detectable metal in his equipment. He, could be a blip on radar screens at this instant, missiles could be rising in his direction. He ached to be on the ground and free of the revealing metal. Twisting in the harness Brion looked down between his feet at the grassy plain that was hurtling towards him. He knew that he was falling too fast — but speed was his only defence. If there were radar detectors out there he had to be on their screens for the least possible time. Which meant that he had to fall just as far and as fast as he could, waiting to brake his fall at the last possible instant. This moment was fast approaching. The ground was closer, almost upon him — now!

A twist of the control switch sent power surging through the gravchute and the harness bit deep into his thighs. He was still falling too fast — he had to feed in more power. The harness creaked with the strain. Ease off. Now — full on!

His feet struck the ground hard so that he had to fall and roll end over end among the tall grass. Then all he could do was lie still for long seconds with the wind knocked from his body. He willed his limbs to move but at first there was no response.

It took a determined effort to pull himself to his knees, then to weakly draw himself up, to stand at last. To then do all of the other things that could not wait, that must to be done at once.

With the power off, and the harness released, the gravchute crashed heavily to the ground. Brion tore open the pressure suit and stripped it off, making sure that the helmet was still attached to it, the oxygen bottle as well. Right, everything in order.

Now — rush but don’t rush. There was just enough light in the grey of the dawn to see what he was doing. Pull open the carrier tube slung below the gravchute and shake out the knife and bag that he would be taking with him. The bag was sticking, tear it free, right, both of them out now. Get rid of everything else. Wrap the harness of the gravchute around the equipment that he was jettisoning. Double check to be sure that everything was secure. Good. Had he forgotten anything? No, everything was in place.

Brion twisted the gravchute power on full so that the bundle was torn from his grasp, knocking him aside as it hurtled skyward. It began to shrink as it rose, until it had vanished from sight almost completely. There was a flash of light from the faceplate as it caught the rising sun high above. Then even this was gone.

Brion let his breath out in an unconscious sigh of relief. He was on the ground and he was alive. The fall to the planet’s surface had been successful so he could put all thought of the descent behind him. Now was the time for the real work to begin.

While he bent over to retrieve his knife, Brion turned in a slow circle. He secured the sheath to his belt by touch, clumsily, since all of his attention was focussed now on the brightening landscape.

There was grass on all sides of him. Tall grass that was beginning to whisper and nod in the dawn breeze, undulating away from him in waves. Close by was a rocky mound, then a grove of trees on the western horizon, while beyond the grove were the rising foothills that lead up to the tree covered mountains beyond. Their summits were already being touched with fire from the rising sun.

Sudden movement caught his attention. There, in the direction of the lake. Brion crouched slowly, until only his eyes were above the grass. He could see a herd of creatures moving in his direction, grazing as they came. He remained as motionless as a rock, only his hands moving, drifting slowly downwards as he retrieved his pack and slung it by the strap over his shoulder.

Harsh cries shrilled suddenly in the air above him. Brion’s eyes snapped up to see the flock of birds circling close, then landing. No, they weren’t birds at all, but flying reptiles of some sort. Instead of feathers they had leathery membranes stretched between the thin bones of their outspread wings. Their skins glistened in the sunlight, red and orange; the creatures heads were split by gaping jaws that appeared to be filled with needle teeth. Still calling out harshly they dropped lower until they sank out of sight in the sea of grass.

The grazing creatures were closer and Brion could now see them clearly. They were lizardoids as well. Their hairless skins were dun-collared; perfect camouflage in the dried grass. They moved warily on their long running legs, raising their heads often and opening their nostril flaps to smell the air. There must be predators about — and Brion had a feeling that they would also be reptilian.

The herd was aware of something now. The creatures had stopped grazing and were standing, frozen, with their nostrils flared wide. Perhaps another animal was approaching. Though they had caught its smell, it was still concealed from sight in the deep grass. A drama of life and death was about to be played out close by him.

Brion realized with sudden shock that he might be more than a simple spectator, when he noticed that all of the creatures appeared to be staring in his direction. Had they seen him? He sank down even lower to avoid their gaze, empathetically feeling the thin undercurrent of their emotions. Fear. Fear that replaced all other sensations. His empathetic sense was normally sensitive only to human beings, but strong emotions from other animals occasionally seeped through. He was well aware of the creatures fear now — and something else, something stronger.

Brion sprang to his feet, tearing his knife from its sheath, spinning about just in time to see the dark form that hurtled towards him. High-pitched shrieking tore at his ears. Something hard crashed into his shoulder as he dived aside, spinning him about, numbing his arm so that he almost dropped the knife. He fumbled it into his left hand and saw the creature rising above him again, jaws agape, rows of teeth glistening.

It was falling upon him with its full weight as he plunged the knife into its throat. With a strangled screech it collapsed, crushing him to the ground. The creature shuddered convulsively once and then was still. Warm liquid bathed Brion’s arm, the beast’s blood or his own, he could not tell. Bracing his feet against the animal’s body he pushed himself free, looking around desperately at the same time to see if there were more of the things about.

There had been just the one. He stood, gasping with the effort; the only motion visible now was the herd of grazing creatures which was rapidly bounding out of sight. Looking down Brion saw that his arms were drenched with green blood — that was surely not his own!

Beside him on the ground the unmoving beast lay stretched out, motionless and dead. It’s yard-long and tooth-lined jaws were open and gaping, its eyes staring sightlessly at him. The dead predator had short, claw-tipped forelegs, while its rear legs were immense, to give it speed when it attacked. The creature’s wrinkled hide was a mottled and ugly brown tinged with purple. The colour of the shadows Brion realized. A killing machine. It was no wonder the other animals had been so wary.

Brion was suddenly very tired. He dropped down heavily onto the beast’s flank, then wiped the gore from his fingers onto its skin. He drank deeply from his pressed wood water bottle, then could only sit and breathe heavily while he waited for his strength to return. Not a very auspicious beginning to his investigation; he had almost been killed by the first creature he had met. Almost — but not quite. The knife was sharp and well balanced, his reflexes as fast as ever. He would not be surprised as easily as this again.

But at least he was down on the planet and relatively safe for the moment. It was time for his next step. Up to now he had been worried only about survival. First there had been the necessity of evading the missiles in the air and the war machines on the ground. Well he had done all that. And had survived the predator’s attack as well. The first part of the mission had been accomplished. The next thing he had to do was report his safe arrival before he moved on.

This area was as good as any on the plain; welt away from the trees and clearly visible from space. The grass had been trampled by the animals, but there still wasn’t a flattened area big enough to lay out the message. However there was the stony mound nearby and this was not covered by the high grass. He clambered up onto it and opened his bag, pulling out the bundle of collared cloth panels. Although he knew that there was nothing for him to see he could not stop himself from looking up at the empty blue sky. The lifeship was there in orbit, invisible to him although he knew Lea would be able to see him clearly under electronic magnification. He had to smile to himself as he waved his arms widely; it was a victory gesture and he felt the better for doing it. Then he bent to the task of arranging the panels to make the first signal.

First the ‘X’ to draw the computer’s attention in case he was not under observation. Then the rest of the message. The code was a simple one that he had worked out and memorized. T to indicate that he had landed safely — if she had watched the encounter with the attacking reptile she might very well be having some doubts about that. He stood aside for a short period so the signal could be recorded, then added a panel to turn the T into a ‘T’ to show that he was proceeding with the operation as planned, and would signal again as soon as possible. He had to weigh down the cloth with stones to hold it flat, since the dawn breeze was growing stronger as the sun rose higher in the sky and heated up the ground.

From the top of the mound the surrounding countryside was clearly visible. The grazing saurians had outrun their panic and were now grazing along the shore of the lake. The route he had to take to the nearest battlefield was an easy one, simply proceed west along the shore of the lake until he reached the spot. A simple walk that would give him a chance to examine the countryside and the animals as he went. It was time to go. He refolded the panels and stowed them away. Then, with the sun warm on his back, he started west.

At midday he stopped to rest and eat. The freeze-dried rations would supply all the energy he needed for a number of days — but were as tasteless as dried cardboard. He washed them down with water, then shook the bottle to see how much remained. Enough for the rest of the day, but it would need refilling before nightfall. He would take care of that later, well before dark. After that he would move away from the lake and find some shelter among the rocks

or trees for the night. The single predator he had met had given him a healthy respect for the wildlife on this planet. He put the wrapping from the food and the water bottle back into the bag and climbed to his feet, stretching.

At first the sound was so tiny and distant he took it for the whine of an insect — but it grew quickly, louder and louder. He dived sideways into the cover of the deep grass as he recognized it. A jet engine. It was missing, then catching again as though it were in trouble. It came out of the sun, a white contrail with the black dot of an aircraft leading it. Twisting and turning as though the pilot was avoiding something. The course turned again, bending in his direction, passing almost directly overhead and hurtling on with a roar.

Then disappearing in a sudden burst of flame that expanded instantly into a white cloud. Something black arced out and down towards the ground, falling no more than a mile away from him. It struck and sent up a cloud of dust just as the rumbling sound of the aerial explosion finally reached his ears.

Brion stood slowly and looked towards the settling dust. This had been too close by far. Was it an accident — or had the appearance of the plane something to do with him? Impossible, he was being paranoid, it was just a coincidence that the incident had occurred so close to him. But if it were just a coincidence, why did he have the cold touch of fear when he thought of approaching the wreckage? His sense of survival wanted him to stay away. But for the sake of this mission he had to investigate the site. The pilot’s body might be there, or evidence of some kind. He really had no choice. The dust cloud had settled now and the plain was featureless again. But he had noted the direction. Without further thought he started towards it.

The crater was a dark blotch in the sea of grass. Brion approached it cautiously, crawling the last few yards on his belly. When he peered slowly over the edge he could see crushed metal at the bottom of the deep crater. It was one of the aircraft’s wings. There were no identity markings on it that he could see, even when he dropped down beside it. The surface of the wreckage was still warm and he moved around it gingerly. Fragments of metal had been torn away by the impact and he turned them over with his knife, one by one. His diligence was rewarded finally when he found a twisted identity plate. With the lettering still visible!

However there was one thing wrong with this. Although the letters were clear, the few words between the numbers were in a language he had never seen before. It was a clue he could not unravel at the moment — yet it could not be ignored. He considered prying the plate off, then realized that carrying any metal with him, no matter how small the fragment, would be foolhardy. In the end he used the point of his knife to scratch a copy onto his waterbottle. He had a record of it at least.

The investigation had taken him away from the lake, so when he started walking again he angled back towards its shore. He could see at least three herds of beasts grazing close to the water and he moved slowly in their direction. His water was gone now and it was getting late; he would refill it where the creatures had gone to drink. Some of the open forest pushed out into the plain ahead. It must have served as cover for predators because sudden panic ran through the grazing herd that he was following. Some of them even stampeded in his direction and he stood still as they rushed by. Their long legs gave them a good turn of speed and they were past in a moment, followed closely by the younger and slower members of the herd. One of the last of the creatures was a heavyset male with a spread of barbed horns. It shook these menacingly in Brion’s direction, then trundled on when he made no threatening motions. When they had all passed Brion backtracked them through the paths they had trampled in the grass, stepping around the streams of pungent dung.

He moved very warily, his knife in his hand, looking in all directions and listening keenly at the same time. Stopping instantly when he saw a dark form on the ground ahead, half concealed by the high grass.

It was a dead herbivore, its head towards him, mouth still gaping in the panic of death. Its killer was nowhere to be seen. Carefully, a step at a time, Brion moved forward until he could see that nothing was concealed in the grass near the animal. The creature that had killed it must be long gone. Brion still kept his knife drawn as he circled around the body. The creature’s throat had been torn open, very cleanly too; he couldn’t have done it any better with his own knife.

He stopped, frozen. The wound was too clean. And so was the larger wound on the beast’s flank. Not a wound really, but an excision. One of the rear legs was gone. Cut off cleanly at the joint.

No animal had done this with teeth or claws.

It could only have been done by the kind of animal that carried a very sharp knife.

Brion looked up from the kill towards the concealing darkness of the nearby copse of trees. Were there eyes watching him from concealment there? Was there an intelligent life form on this planet? Or could they be human eyes?