Quofum (12 page)

Ah well, he told himself. If something was amiss and the barrier was still active, he would not live long enough to wonder at the cause of his mistake. Straightening, he started forward. He was across the line in a second.

And still breathing.

The wall of low alien scrub that occupied the space between the perimeter and the forest proper was less than a meter wide. Once among the towering, twisted, frequently hallucinogenic growths, he had to force himself to slow down, to move forward purposefully and steadily but under control. Having successfully made it this far, the last thing he wanted was to make so much noise that it ended up drawing Araza’s attention.

As soon as he had gone a hundred meters or so he promptly did something unthinkable. He put his communit down on the ground, and left it.

After his sidearm it was the most useful piece of gear he had with him. But he could not take the chance that a professional as skilled and experienced as Araza might not have a way of tracking such an instrument, even with its locator signal turned off. If so, let him find it here, and then contemplate the possibilities. The captain grinned mirthlessly at the image of a bemused Araza standing over the abandoned communit, scanning the dense forest while trying to decide which way his quarry had gone. Under such circumstances would the technician still come after him? Or might he have second thoughts? It would all depend on his dedication to his job. Without actually seeing and recording a corpse, he could not provide incontestable proof that he had fulfilled his assignment.

Made necessary by the need to leave as little in the way of a trail as possible, the erratic stumble through the jungle took hours. How many, Boylan could not have said. His communit lay somewhere behind him and his thoughts were focused elsewhere. He only knew that eventually he reached the river, “eventually” being a unit of time that was firmly nonspecific.

There was no sign yet of the boat and the scientific team. It was still pitch-dark out and too early. The captain could tell that much even without his communit or a wrist chronometer. He would find a good spot; one where he could settle down in comparative comfort while still having a good view of the river. Already he was putting together the speech he would deliver to the members of the team. It would be simultaneously controlled and impassioned. He would not beg for their aid. He would describe the situation in such a way that they would conclude they had no choice but to help him. Then they would caucus. Boylan was good at strategizing. Araza was a Qwarm. But there would be five of them.

He was almost relaxed when something like a giant bee buzzed his left ear and tore it off.

Pain screaming through the side of his head, he still had enough presence of mind to roll and raise his weapon as he fell. In the forest of the night, something shrieked. His shot had struck home.

Unfortunately, it had struck home in the heart of something plump, furry, and multilimbed. In aiming at movement, he had neglected to pause long enough to evaluate shape. A second, more subdued buzz blew a hole completely through his gun arm, at the elbow. Whimpering, he dropped the weapon, clutched at his injured arm, and started scrabbling desperately among the thick waterfront ground cover for the fallen sidearm.

A shape stepped out of the darkness. Clad as it was all in black, it was difficult to make out more than a silhouette. A glimmer of starlight penetrated the forest canopy just enough to reflect slightly off the enigmatic and intimidating designs embossed on the black skullcap.

“I have been waiting for you, Nicholai Boylan. I knew you would come here, in search of allies.”

Grimacing in pain, the captain stammered a reply while surreptitiously using only his eyes to search for his dropped weapon. “What—what if I had made for the shuttle?”

“I secured its airlock with a personal security code before I came this way. It was not difficult to find the place where you had left the boundaries of the camp and entered the woods. You are not a narrow man, Boylan. You break a wide trail, and you make many tracks.”

Something metallic lying on the moist earth picked up a glint of phosphorescent fungal light: his weapon. Could he get to it? And if he managed to snatch it up in his good hand would he have time to aim and fire? Or at least to fire?
You’re wasting time
, he admonished himself.

“I am compelled to extract recompense.” Araza gestured in the direction of the captain’s injured arm. “Consider that a down payment.” The hand gripping the phonic stiletto rose slowly. “This is principal.”

Boylan made a wild dive for his sidearm. His fingers wrapped around it. Unfortunately, it was at that same moment that neural connectivity between arm, hand, fingers, and brain was terminated.

8

It would have been a sincere understatement to say that the returning science team was in good spirits. Unbridled exuberance would have been nearer the mark. Every collection tank and container on the boat was full. They would need the transporters to move some of the heavier specimens, including the dead hardshell, back to camp. Individual recording units contained hours and hours of cross-referenceable tridee footage of native flora and fauna—not to mention the rough-and-rowdy battle for the village of the fuzzies. They had encountered and recorded contact with a fifth intelligent indigenous species. All this in the space of a few days.

Was ever a first contact team blessed with such a wealth of discovery? Tellenberg mused as the boat began to turn in toward shore. If they departed Quofum tomorrow, they would take back with them samples and data enough to keep an entire block of a Commonwealth science center busy for years simply dissecting, analyzing, and classifying. They had come to this world in hopes of settling a few basic astronomical, geological, and biological questions. Among the scientific staff it was hoped that a few worthy papers might result from the low-key expedition. Now it appeared that reputations might be made.

His personal professional prospects had been equally enhanced by the discoveries of the previous days. He could hardly wait to get back to the camp and start working on the material they had amassed. If they never again went out into the field before the scheduled date for departure, none of them would be lacking for work.

In his mind’s eye he envisioned what they could reasonably look forward to: awards, promotions, publishing opportunities, the approbation of their peers, perhaps even a modicum of social notoriety. He didn’t know about his colleagues, but as for himself he was more than ready to cash in on a personal appearance or two. It would make up for all the repetitive lectures he’d had to record or deliver in person over the years during which time the greatest reward he had received had been occasional polite applause or the rare intelligent question from someone standing out in a youthful audience.

As the sturdy vessel neared the bank there was no need for anyone to go into the bow, no ropes to be cast ashore to tie to trees. Accelerating, Haviti drove the boat forward until the glutinous shoreline mud gripped it firmly. A touch of another control sent a pair of gripper units shooting outward at opposite angles. As soon as these gained a purchase on sufficiently rooted riverine growths, a beep sounded on the control console to indicate that the little vessel was secured to the shore.

Another control unfolded the ramp that was built into the bow. Extending forward and out over the mud, it set down and locked into position on the same patch of relatively dry ground they had used for disembarking days before. Tellenberg recognized the spot from the presence of several empty food containers they had left behind that were only halfway through the initial stages of accelerated biodegradation.

They took only the lightest and most unique bits of their collection in their backpacks. They would return later with Araza and a pair of transporters to recover the remainder. Hermetically sealed in tough containers on board the boat, the rest of the specimens would be safe from any marauding scavengers. Nevertheless, Tellenberg knew he and his companions would worry about the well-being of what they had accumulated until it was safely back inside the camp’s laboratory module. While scavengers could not see or smell the carefully packed examples of local life-forms, should they happen to come across the moored craft, curious indigenes such as the stick-jellies or others might try to pry open the containers.

The team had shouldered their packs and were preparing to head inland when Valnadireb unexpectedly blocked the way. “My apologies, all of you, but I detect a very distinctive smell that I fear demands further investigation.”

“‘Demands’?” A bemused expression came over N’kosi’s face. “That’s a pretty strong way of putting it, Val.”

“It is a pretty strong odor. One that I wish I did not detect. I may be mistaken as to its nature. I hope that I am.”

Even in the absence of the usual punctuating hand gestures there was a grimness to the thranx’s tone that none of them could miss. As the xenologist from Willowane followed his antennae into the undergrowth, his colleagues trailed behind him. Away from the boat landing the rich, pungent panoply of exotic forest smells grew thick; all moist loam and alien dung and ripely decomposing things. So too did the specific odor that had attracted Valnadireb’s attention.

They did not have to go far. The body lay sprawled very close to the landing. It was lying facedown in a mass of meter-wide growths that featured pale red leaves alternating with nubby yellow tendrils. Coiling tightly back upon themselves, the latter drew in protectively as the vibrations generated by advancing footsteps hinted at the approach of large, possibly herbivorous visitors.

Catching sight of the corpse N’kosi uttered an inarticulate sound from the back of his throat. Valnadireb’s mandibles clicked twice to express his dismay. Haviti bent to push aside the broad, flat leaves that partially concealed the captain. In the course of doing so she uncovered, among other things, Boylan’s left hand. As soon as they were exposed to the light the small horde of translucent, disk-sized arthropods that were swarming the revealed flesh scattered into the undergrowth. They had eaten all the flesh up the wrist.

Disdaining the use of advanced monitoring equipment Tellenberg knelt next to the motionless form and checked it for a pulse. There was none. He checked for a heartbeat and was not rewarded. By this time N’kosi had his communit out and set on Medical. Holding it a few centimeters above the captain’s torso he passed it slowly back and forth. A couple of minutes of this was sufficient to give him the answer he didn’t want.

“He’s dead. Been dead for a while, too.”

“Couldn’t have been dead too long.” Haviti stared at the body that the Quofumian forest had already started to claim. “We haven’t been gone that long.” She indicated the hand that had been picked clean by the swarm of tiny scavengers. The bones gleamed whitely in the diffuse light of the understory. “That’s horrible, but it’s not a fatal wound.”

To Tellenberg the skeletal appendage sticking out of the dead man’s wrist looked unreal, like a gag toy that had been temporarily attached to the captain’s real body. Despite the results of his perfunctory examination and N’kosi’s scan, he half expected the indefatigable captain to sit up, detach the exposed bones, and screw his real hand back into his wrist. A fine joke that would be on all of them.

Except no one was laughing. Boylan was not going to get up, and there was no other real hand lying in wait in the bushes.

“We must try to determine the cause of fatality.” Valnadireb was using both truhands to probe and prod at the corpse’s lower torso.

“Here, look at this.” Kneeling on the opposite side of the cadaver from Tellenberg, Haviti was pushing at the hair on the back of the dead man’s head. For once utterly indifferent to his fellow xenologist’s physical appearance, Tellenberg joined her in searching.

What they found was a small hole. Some of the captain’s hair had fallen down to cover it. Years of fieldwork had sharpened Haviti’s vision.

“Let’s turn him over,” she suggested solemnly.

Working together, they rolled the heavy body onto its back. As there was no hair to cover it, they saw the matching hole in Boylan’s forehead immediately. Small and perfectly round, it went all the way through skin, brain, and bone. A lot of blood, and other things, had leaked out, staining the captain’s face and the upper portion of his jumpsuit. Though Tellenberg was an experienced researcher who out in the field had examined and collected a great many disagreeable dead and dismembered specimens, he still found himself glad that Boylan’s eyes were closed.

Raising his gaze, he scanned what he could see of the surrounding alien forest. “Spikers? Or the hardshells? Or maybe something else? First we encounter two wary indigenous intelligences, then four, then five. Who’s to say there aren’t more?”

“Not me.” Bending low over Boylan, Haviti was using a field scope to inspect the wound closely. “I can’t see too far in—need lab equipment for that—but from what I can tell the ossial perforation is perfectly round and smooth-sided. Turn him again.” Tellenberg and N’kosi helped her roll the body. A quick evaluation of the exit wound found her sitting back and nodding.

“Front to back it’s a perfect match. Pretty hard to envision a spiker making a wound like that with a crude spear.”

“We only know the native weapons we’ve seen,” Tellenberg pointed out reasonably. “We know nothing of those unknown to us.” He eyed the corpse. “Still, I tend to agree with your assessment, Tiare. To cause an injury like that with primitive technology you’d almost have to hold him down and drive a metal spike through his head.” There was no hesitation, no quaver in the xenologist’s voice as he delivered his opinion. He was used to dissection. The captain, in his own involuntary way, had become a specimen. A specimen of just what, they did not yet know.

Actively studying the surrounding foliage, Valnadireb opined, “Perhaps Boylan was killed by some kind of large local predator. The fauna of the Commonwealth includes many very large carnivores equipped with teeth and jaws of sufficient penetrating power to make such a deep wound. My homeworld alone counts several such among its inhabitants.”

Haviti looked thoughtful. “So does mine. Deadly meat-eaters even still roam parts of Earth itself—albeit only in parks and reserves.” She indicated the body. “But if it was a predator, one would expect the entrance wound to be larger than the exit, or vice versa, since killing teeth and talons usually taper to a point. I’m not ruling out an exception, though.” She gestured at the surrounding undergrowth. “Especially not on this world, where biological exceptions seem to be the rule.”

Tellenberg looked around uneasily, unable to keep from wondering what might be lurking just beyond their range of vision and hearing while contemplating its next move. If something local, sentient or otherwise, had killed Boylan and left, there was no telling when it might come back.

“There’s something else to take into account.” With his right foot, N’kosi nudged the dead man’s left boot. “One would think that a predator expending enough energy to make a kill would at least taste its prey. Even an animal defending young is likely to take an exploratory bite out of something it has slain. Except for the hand that was gnawed away by those small scavenging arthropods, the corpse is untouched.”

“We’re thinking like biologists.” N’kosi joined his fellow humans in taking a close look at the deceased captain. “Maybe we should be thinking like psychologists.”

Tellenberg blinked at his colleague. “You’re saying that maybe Boylan killed himself?”

“That makes no sense,” Valnadireb injected.

N’kosi looked back at him. “Maybe not to a thranx. Captain Boylan always struck me as a little high-strung. Like any expedition commander he was under a lot of pressure.” He eyed his companions. “Who’s to say how seriously it affected him? We only knew the public man. He could have been under stress from all kinds of private demons.”

“I dunno.” Straightening, Tellenberg found himself staring in the direction of the camp. “Sure, he bitched and yelled a lot. I even encountered him muttering to himself a number of times. But those aren’t exactly signs of a suicidal psychosis.” He eyed N’kosi. “I know, I know—public versus private man. But still, did he ever strike you as likely to go over the edge?”

N’kosi chewed his lower lip. “No. He always struck me as logical and rational, if a bit prone to hysteria at times. I’m just putting forward another hypothesis. The man’s dead and we don’t know how or why. We have an event. I’m looking for a cause.”

“I do not think we can count self-death among the possibilities.” Valnadireb had settled back on his four trulegs, his foothands and truhands folded in front of him. “The fatal wound suffered by the captain is not consistent with the type of weapon he favored. An explosive shell would not leave such a neat, clean puncture. It would not leave a head.”

“He could have taken another device from stores,” N’kosi argued.

“There’s one other possibility.” Haviti also rose. “Maybe—maybe he and Salvador had a fight. They were always arguing. At least, the captain was. Even when he answered back, Salvador was always soft-voiced.”

“I wouldn’t call it arguing,” Tellenberg corrected her. “You need at least two to have an argument. Boylan was always bawling him out for some reason or another. I never saw Araza yell back.”

She met his gaze evenly. “There you have it. Potential for repressed anger. Only strengthens my point.”

Tellenberg spread his arms. His tone reflected his disbelief. “Come on, Tiare. There’s always tension between superiors and subordinates. And yes, sometimes it can build to the point where it leads to more than verbal confrontation. I can almost envision a frustrated Salvador taking a swing at Boylan. But murder?” He indicated their surroundings. “And if so, even if we countenance it just for purposes of discussion, why here? If Araza wanted to kill Nicholai, why not murder him in his sleep?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, “since I don’t spend any time myself plotting imaginary homicides. What I do know is that Val makes a good point about weapons.” Crouching again, this time near the captain’s waist, Haviti checked the holster on his service belt. It took only a moment to learn what she wanted to know. “Empty,” she declared, looking up at each of them in turn.

Tellenberg’s lips tightened. “Irrespective of cause of death, that makes no sense at all. No matter what the circumstances, Boylan wouldn’t have left camp without a gun. Hell, he always wore one when he was
inside
the perimeter.” Turning, he started hunting through the undergrowth, shoving aside oversized leaves and thinner strands of other organic material of uncertain composition. His companions joined him.

His hunch proved correct. Valnadireb found the discarded sidearm lying in the mud. Picking it up in a foothand, the thranx xenologist transferred the weapon to a truhand and showed it to his companions. One chitinous digit tapped a readout on the side of the device.