Engines Of God

The shuttle crashed through the vault of the forest. It was wider than its landing surface. But it came down with treads extended and spotlights flashing.

"I see you," said Hutch. "Can you disengage?"

One of the creatures stabbed Carson's good ankle. But he had seen it coming, and he rolled away before the scalpel could penetrate deep.

"Negative," said Janet.

The black hull, ringed by ru

The top of the wall was alive with the creatures. How much of us, wondered Carson, do they think there is to go around? In that frightful moment, the notion of all those crabs after two people struck him as absurd. And he laughed.

"Hit the deck," said Hutch. "Look out for the treads."

They went down and one of the brachyids bit Carson's right thigh. Janet hit it with her stick. The agony was blinding.

The treads came in over his head.

Hutch pushed the stick forward. The top of the wall was ribbon-thin. Alive. The battle disappeared beneath her. The shuttle had visual capabilities below its treads, of course, but Hutch elected not to use them. Just one more distraction. She focused instead on the dimensions of her landing site. Keep level. Keep centered.

Rely on Janet and Frank to get out of the way.

"Stay low," she said. She released the cockpit canopy, and raised it.

Almost down.

Carson screamed. She cut off his cha

She looked back along the wall. Keep in the middle.

"I'm here, Janet," she whispered.

She jounced down, lifted again. With a little luck, the crabs were ru

The treads settled.

Contact.

She eased off, got a green board, grabbed the pulser, and leaped out onto the wing.

"Let's go."

Janet already had hold of the boarding ladder. She was covered with blood and dirt and her eyes were wild. Hutch made no effort to be gentle. She seized her shoulder, yanked her up, and pushed her toward the cockpit. Then she went back for Carson.

He wasn't visible. But there were crabs down there. Churning, wall-to-wall crabs. Then she heard him, and saw a hand trying to get hold of the port wing, on the other side of the shuttle. "Coming," she said. She took the shortest route, across the cowling rather than back through the cockpit. The hand was gone when she got there. Carson was on the ground, at the edge, trying to beat back the clicking, jabbing horde.

He called her name.

The wing stuck out over the abyss. "Jump for it, Frank," she said. She sprawled down flat on her belly and anchored a foot against the hatch to provide purchase. "Do it—"

He threw a glance toward her. One of the things had fastened onto his leg and was cutting him. Without a word, he leaped, throwing both arms across the wing. She tried to grab his trousers to haul him up but she had to settle for his shirt, his ribs, and she couldn't get a good grip.

He grabbed wildly at the smooth metal. Hutch was dragged half off the wing. Janet—

And she was there. She was taller than Hutch, longer, and she scrambled alongside, leaned down, and snatched him back. Snatched them both back.

For years afterward, I was unable to write, or speak, about that terrible night. This was to have been our shining moment, the peak of all our careers. God knows, I felt safe enough when we started. We were well-armed. And we were in a land that had lately served a great civilization. I did not believe that serious predators could have survived such a period.

Nevertheless, I failed to take adequate precautions. It cost the lives of two of the finest people I have ever known.

— Frank Carson

Quoted in "Overnight on Krakatoa," by Jane Hildebrand, The Atlantic, Oct 11, 2219

Carson sounds as if he forgot he also managed to lose a shuttle pilot on that trip. His name, for the record, was Jake Dickenson.

— Harvey Sill, Letter published in The Atlantic, Oct 25, 2219

25

On board NCK Catherine Perth. Wednesday, April 13; 1800 GMT

They recovered Maggie's body at about noon, local time. They also found parts of Jake's clothing and equipment. There was no sign of George, other than a few bumed-out areas. The brachyids, if they were still in the neighborhood, kept out of the way of the heavily armed landing party.

Harvey Sill led the mission. Hutch went along as guide, but she needed tranks to hold herself together.

On their return to the Perth, Maggie's body was placed in refrigeration, a memorial service was scheduled, and formal notifications were sent to Kosmik and the Academy. To Carson's knowledge, it was the first time anyone had been killed in field work by a native life form.

Captain Morris directed preparations for the memorial with a mounting sense of outrage mixed with satisfaction that he had failed to make his point with his superiors but been proved right. However, he could expect to be held responsible by Corporate. He had never before lost a crewman or passenger, and he now had three to account for. Worse, the mission had been unauthorized.

"I hope you're aware," he told Truscott, "what you've got us into."

She was aware. She'd assumed the professionals knew what they were doing, and had trusted them. It was a mistake she'd made before, but she didn't know any other way to operate. You have to trust the people who are close to the action. If once in a while things go wrong, you take the heat. "I'm sorry I've created a problem for you, John," she said.

He missed the quiet irony. "A little late for that. The question is, what do we do now?"

They were in the captain's conference room. Truscott had followed the progress of the recovery party on the command circuit, had watched the body come back, and felt little patience with Morris, enclosed in his own narrow envelope. How do we get people like you in positions of authority? "I told you," she said, "that if a problem developed, I would see to it that you were absolved of responsibility. And I will."

"I know you will try." Morris's throat trembled. It was unlike him to stand up to anyone who was in a position to damage him. "Nevertheless," he said righteously, "three people are dead."

"I understand that."

"I'm captain here. I expect to be associated with this disaster for the rest of my career. There'll be no escaping it."

It's a terrible thing to listen to a grown man whine. "I rather think," she said, "that the unofficial culpability, if any, will attach to Dr. Carson."

Morris was glad to hear that. But he was too smart to show his satisfaction. Instead, he sat for some moments peering sadly off into a corner, as if he were considering the varieties of disaster which can befall even the most capable men.

Truscott suspected that when she was gone, he would call up a coffee and a ci

"You'll need some reconstructive surgery when you get home. Meantime, stay off it as much as you can." The ship's physician, a grandmotherly type with an easygoing, upbeat bedside ma

Janet was sitting up, examining her anesthetized left leg. "When do we get out?" she asked.

"There's no indication of an infection or complication, but we don't have much experience with this sort of thing. The brachyids injected you with a protein compound that seems to have no purpose. It might make you a little sick, but that will be the extent of it."