NILE SYSTEM

January 11, 2184 AD

Nine kilometers out from the landing zone. Scouting party Whiskey 1-4

The light attack vehicle - or LAV - wasn’t much more than a slightly upgraded hummer used during the Final War on Earth. The offensive campaigns against the Kamikaze hadn’t required much in the way of ground combat in comparison to the space-navy actions, so the vehicle’s purpose hadn’t changed much.

Sergeant Smith had the window down on the passenger side of the LAV, looking out at the verdant green field beyond with a massive heard of four-legged animals lazily mowing the tall exotic grass. He cocked an eyebrow at the civilian xeno-zoologist with them, “So… Space cows?” he asked.

The zoologist turned to him, “Sure; sounds good to me.” The young woman turned back to the field to peer at the closest three-eyed animal, which was about 30 feet away, as it chewed more of the cud. Its mouth moved in the same rhythmic side-ways then downward pattern of Earth’s various cow breeds.

The zoologist - a woman named Brittany Landers - had field experience on Earth studying what remained of the planet’s life, was a mid-twenties brunette that was in sharp physical condition. Smith would almost say she was a soldier though she didn’t have that military bearing. Instead she carried herself in that cocky Masters-degree, super-confident fashion. And she knew what her physical appearance looked like too, as she was too happy to show off some skin. Ms. Landers wore body-tight short khakis, some hiking boots with ankle-high white socks and nothing but skin between her shorts and shoes.

Her torso wasn’t dressed much differently as she wore a brown sports bra with a white tank-top over it. In a strap over her shoulder she carried a small camera, a short-range drone and a basic flight controller. She could deploy the drone from ten kilometers away but the actual range on the batteries only lasted for a two or three kilometer round-trip.

Landers pulled out her camera then leaned forward a bit to take a few images of the cows. As she did so the two Infantrymen flanking her sides and just a few feet back both inclined their heads to get a better view - but it wasn’t of the cows. Smith scowled and snapped his fingers. The two soldiers looked at him and he made a chopping motion across his neck; the universal sign for “cut it out.”

“Pay attention Infantry!” Smith called out in a short tone. He wasn’t thrilled about his men sexualizing a civilian; even though in his own private-never-to-be-spoken thoughts he couldn’t blame them. But there was a time and place for all things – this was not the time or place.

Ms. Landers turned to look at the Infantryman on her left, “Fascinated by the view?” Smith wasn’t sure if the smirk on her face was because she suspected what his soldiers were doing or if she was genuinely speaking about the cows.

“Yes, ma’am. The view is quite good,” Rogers – the addressed Infantryman – replied.

Ms. Landers then looked at Smith smiling. He simply nodded his head. Inside his own mind he was rolling his eyes hard enough to cause a headache and plotting out exactly how he could strangle the life out of his two Infantrymen.

Smith started to bark an order, “Alright you two-” but he was cut short when the cow suddenly turned and bolted in the opposite direction. Perplexed by the sudden running he spoke, “Ms. Landers did your camera scare them off?”

She looked at it briefly then back to him, “I don’t think so.”

Smith suddenly became aware of a rumbling sound. He looked out across the field to see the herd of hundreds of three-eyed cows stampeding across the field, in a direction generally away from them.

Landers pulled up her camera and started snapping pictures. She hurriedly handed the camera to the soldier to her right and pulled free her drone, powering it on and throwing it into the air. She started piloting it out above the herd as it turned left and started looping back in on itself like an angry hurricane. “What the hell’s got them so scared?” she thought aloud.

“Ms. Landers I want you in the LAV – we may need to bust loose quick if they start running this way,” Smith said.

“Wait, wait!” she shouted, “Look at the ground!” Landers pointed out as part of the green ground was now a protrusion almost the height of a man.

Smith and the other soldiers were enraptured. He still had the presence of mind to step out of the LAV. He was going to pull her with him back into the LAV if she wasn’t going to come peacefully.

Without any warning there was a thunderous and deep crack as the green ground spat open. What came forth could only be described as the most nightmarish thing Smith could imagine. A massive worm punched through into the air – at least 20 meters up. At its front a massive maw split into four segments opened and bellowed an unholy roar. Landers and her two soldier escorts covered their ears in pain. The worm bent over to one side as a trio of tentacles came forth from its maw to grab the by-comparison small cows into its gullet.

“Fuck!” Rogers shouted.

“Get in the LAV! Now!” Smith shouted.

“To hell with this!” the gunner on top of the LAV shouted and primed the weapon perched there. The .50-caliber anti-vehicle rounds clicked into place, his readout showed a primed firing mechanism. Without orders from Smith the soldier depressed the paddles to fire the massive weapon. The worm, while not a small target, was still a half-kilometer away. A number of the shots missed but a fair number more were right on target. The worm didn’t seem to notice as it continued to scoop the cows into its toothless mouth.

When the soldier paused his firing after several bursts Smith shouted up to him, “Cease fire, dammit! You don’t what you’re shooting at! That thing could turn on us in a heartbeat and we could be next on the menu! Acquire target and hold fire until I say so!”

“Yes, sir!” the gunner complied, never taking his stressed eyes off the monstrosity in the distance.

Smith opened the back door to the LAV as Rogers and the second soldier pushed Landers into the vehicle. Smith slammed the door shut, hopped back into his seat up front and shouted to the driver to drive.

The LAV bounced across the uneven grassy ground as Landers fought with Rogers to get him to roll down the window. “My drone is still out there! I need to get it back! And I need all the footage I can get!”

“Are you bat-shit crazy, lady?! Did you see that thing?!” Rogers fired back.

“Yes I did! And this paltry window won’t make a difference if it comes at us! We need more data – but I need a clear LOS to get my drone!” Landers shouted.

“Quiet!” Smith barked over them as he looked out of his passenger window at the creature. It was starting to pull itself back into the hole it had made in earthy soil. “Landers make it quick.”

She leaned over Rogers to open the window and started to recall the drone once the worm was back inside its hole. After a couple minutes the driver slowed down enough for her to pilot it back to the LAV. The adrenaline started to wear off then. They’d moved back in the direction of their original trek out here. The field the cows had occupied was now behind large hills and a series of dense forested areas.

Landers spoke as she downloaded and reviewed the footage of her drone. “Wow – this is absolutely incredible.”

“I’d prefer to call it terrifying,” the gunner shouted from his turret.

Smith picked up his command radio then, “Whiskey One-Four to command – come in, over.”

“Copy that, One-Four. Go ahead, over,” the calm female voice replied.

“Command get Major Decatur on the line and Advisor Oum as well – no one is going to believe this,” Smith said with tension in his voice.

NILE SYSTEM

January 11, 2184 AD

Landing Zone command building.

Oum shook her head, her black locks dancing with the movement, “I understand your point, Ms. Landers, but we’re barely getting our feet on the ground here. We simply don’t have the personnel to deploy to track these things.”

“All I’m asking for is one vehicle, Madame Advisor. I don’t need an escort I’m a big girl.”

“A big girl on a very alien planet; we are all children here. Your expertise and our limited material resources are too scarce to squander on this right now. Besides, you might find something else out there that’s equally as deadly. You could die and we’d have no way of tracking you. Plus – with our pilots still bringing down other personnel and supplies I can’t afford to send them out on a rescue  mission if the worst does happen to you.”

Landers was frustrated by the Advisor’s refusal to allow her to study the massive worm in more detail. She tried one final tactic, “Ma’am please – if I can just inspect the ground were it appeared. I could maybe gather DNA samples to-”

“To do what? And how many hours has it been? Any samples you collect will be contaminated at this point, you would learn next to nothing. I said no and I mean it, Ms. Landers. I’m not saying you can never go study these creatures – it’s obviously a serious consideration and one we’ll need to address. However, now is not the time. That will be all, Ms. Landers. Please occupy your time otherwise by helping out where you can as we set down the colony buildings. Thank you.”

Landers pushed off of Oum’s desk and stomped out of the room. As she left Decatur closed the door behind her. He looked at Ilarion then to Oum, “She is right. We’re going to have to know more about dealing with such a massive creature.”

Oum played the recording from Landers' arial drone back on her screen as she spoke, “Are you questioning my decision as well, Major?”

“No, not at all. You’re completely correct: for the time being we can’t go running all over this planet chasing the local wildlife – fantastical as they may be – while we aren’t even sure if our buildings are going to hold up in this planet’s version of a thunderstorm. We need this colony up and running as soon as possible,” Decatur spoke as he crossed the room. “However, from a security perspective, she is also completely correct.”

Oum cut off the video of the tablet and laid it on her desk, “Yes, she is. Obviously we can’t address this now. Perhaps it would be best for her and Sean Alford, together along with any supporting scientists we have, to discuss ideas.”

“I agree. I’d let her know that, though; just so she doesn’t think you’ve completely dismissed her. If you do, she might just go to Alford ahead of time to come up with preliminary ideas for gathering more intel on these worms,” he replied.

“Agreed,” Oum stated as she sighed heavily. “I didn’t need this nightmare fuel on top of everything else we’re struggling to get taken care of. Anything else, Major? If not I won’t hold you up from overseeing your duties.”

“No, ma’am,” he said, standing, then left the room.

Oum eyed her bodyguard, “Speak your mind, Ilarion.”

“This creature is beyond anything we could’ve predicted. Because of this – we must strive to control it or kill it,” he stated flatly.

“We don’t have the weapons to kill something like this without expending a lot of our consumable ammunition. Until we secure more resources I don’t want to consider the rate at which we could burn through materials and personnel fighting a small war against such a beast. Not to mention, if there is one then there may be a dozen or hundreds more. We can't kill them all.”

“It is only a thought, Advisor.”

“Thank you, Ilarion,” Oum mumbled as she tried to push the thoughts of how devastating such a monstrosity could be to this fledging colony. With one swift strike an alien creature that was completely unpredicted could end humanity’s shot at surviving the Kamikaze threat. “I think it best I refocus on the task of getting the colony established properly so that we can survive the anticipated dangers.”

NILE SYSTEM

January 12, 2184 AD

Landing Zone sciences building

Brittany Landers stood looking over the readouts of the seismographs with Dr. Sean Alford. He was dressed more appropriately to a scientist’s standard than his carefree way on the Brevity but without the pressed suit. His shirt was a pastel blue and he wore grey slacks. And a pair of garish green, yellow and brown sneakers. Landers wore more of her preferred field attire: light shirts and shorts with good hiking boots.

“I don’t have readouts for that area, I’ve had no idea something like this could’ve existed. But knowing that one does means there are probably many more. It would explain the very high tectonics of this world. I’m amazed our orbitals hadn’t seen one sooner,” Alford stated looking at a still image of the giant worm as it cast a space-cow into its mouth. “It’s obvious their ground-penetrating radar doesn’t go deep enough to identify these worms.”

“I’d hazard a guess that it’s unwise to try and heard these space-cows. We might just end up turning this colony into a smorgasbord for this thing,” stated Esteban Tarifa, the lead civil engineer who had been assigned to the mission. Unlike many of the volunteers, the Brazilian-born native was ordered to come along under penalty of jail. Apparently there was no longer a need for him on Earth; Landers wasn’t sure if that boded well for the colony or not. He had, however, taken to his responsibilities fully and with heart.

“Maybe, maybe not. If the orbitals hadn’t seen these worms before now it’s possible that they live deep underground and only come up to feed on an infrequent basis,” Landers mused. “And aren’t we on a really solid piece of bedrock or granite?”

Alford nodded, “Yes we are. You think it’s possible they might not be able to penetrate our foundation?”

“Assuming if all we saw was half the length of one of these monsters I don’t see how. They’re thick skinned alright, but I didn’t see any real natural armor on them,” Landers stated. “I mean, hell, for all we know what we saw was a larval stage. Perhaps they do get bigger and fiercer.”

Esteban Tarifa buried his face in his hands, “Please don’t say this.”

Landers shrugged, “It’s only an idea, Esteban. There could be any number of reasons. Maybe this worm is old and they migrate closer to the surface before they die. Or it’s on some kind of instinctual migration - like birds on Earth - and it’s only passing through this area. It just happened to pop-up for a snack on the way.”

“This, I hope for,” the former Brazilian replied with a measure of relief. “That it’s passing through; I don’t want to see anymore of these creatures… ‘snacking.’”

Landers leaned back on one of the tables attached to a wall in Alford’s office, “Well I do. From a safe distance, of course. So is there a way you can look at tracking these worms? Mobile seismic sensors or something?”

“If we knew what to look for. I’m sure Major Decatur will be willing to let us drop some of the seismic pods around the settlement for tracking and security purposes. I’ll draw up a rough plan for a circular deployment outward,” Alford stated.

Advisor Ying Oum sat at her desk across from Landers, Alford, Tarifa, and Decatur looking over the plan the scientists, engineer, and soldier had devised. She wouldn’t have entertained any of this if it hadn’t been at Decatur’s behest. And, surprisingly, Ilarion’s council which agreed with Decatur.

“I think we can safely spare a dozen of the seismic pods, Advisor,” Alford continued with his explanation. “If we place them at the edges of the settlement’s granite layers about roughly the same intervals of a clock face - 30 degrees apart - we should have good coverage to track these worms.

“Assuming you know what to look for,” Oum countered.

“The only way to know what to look for is to do just that: go look,” Alford stated.

Oum very slightly shook her head before speaking to Decatur, “And you’re ok with this? Using our pilots and dropships to go plant scientific probes?”

Decatur nodded once, “I look at this as a preparatory measure for colony defense, honestly. And the reality is my pilots aren’t getting any flight time in besides moving heavy equipment from the Brevity. Pharaoh did a recon at our proposed secondary landing site, and I think it’d be good practice for the pilots to get in a little flight time doing something besides cargo runs. It gets monotonous and wears on them, Advisor.”

“I thought your people were professionals, Major. Shouldn’t they be able to handle ‘cargo runs?’ Especially when it’s crucial to the survival of our settlement?”

The major’s left eye had a near-imperceptible twitch to it. She must’ve struck a nerve. Despite his annoyance the Major’s voice betrayed no measure of insubordination in it, “They’re quite capable, Advisor. I think their track record so far - not a single accident or tiny piece of damaged equipment - is testament to that. However, monotonous and repetitive tasks can wear on a person down. Tiny things that build up over time to cause big mistakes later.”

Oum wasn’t going to give her approval. Yet having these four arrayed against her - all of whom were experts of the highest caliber from Earth - swayed her decision. One of her old mentors had taught her that the brain of the body - herself, in the case of this colony - was absolute. Yet even the mind would die if enough organs shut down. That meant in this scenario it would be wisest to allow her experts to push forward with this idea.

She clasped her hands together on the smooth desktop, “Alright, Major. Since they’re your pilots you have oversight of this. Work with Dr. Alford and Ms. Landers to find the best places for the seismic pods. You may use twelve and only twelve of the pods.”

Landers’ smile was rather large, “Thank you, Advisor!” She got up immediately and started to leave. Alford and Tarifa both nodded as they followed. Decatur, however, did not. He was staring at her intently. Oum knew that look: it was one of a predator about to pounce on its prey. Perhaps I really did strike a nerve.

When the door to the office closed after the scientists and engineer had left, Decatur stood - his face was tight and his hands flexed into fists. Oum spoke before he could, “Are you offended by my comments about your pilots?”

“They’re our pilots, ma’am. We’re all in this together and we’re all working very hard - especially the pilots. They’re going on minimal, staggered sleep shifts of six hours to get our people and gear landed safely. They don’t need to be mocked for their efforts, especially not by their leadership,” Decatur fired.

Oum stood, “I don’t mock them, I’m demanding they live up to their reputation. Earth Command ordered them out here and so-”

“They volunteered,” Decatur said forcefully. “Just like most all of us did. They left their homes, their old lives, any comforts they had, friends and colleagues to come here: to the ass-end of space with no means of contacting Earth. A lot of them felt like they were running from the fight against the Kamikaze but they all - all of them, Advisor - know that this is our best shot of surviving in case the worst happens.” Decatur then stepped forward and placed his fists, knuckles down, on her desk as he leaned somewhat closer to her. “Don’t let old grudges from a bye-gone era ruin that. You’re our leader, you’re our guiding light. But if Earth before the Final War taught us anything it should be that those who rule with harmful attitudes do one thing: get good people killed.”

Oum wanted to spit in his face, but she knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Perhaps her word choice was too dismissive of the people here. She was used to working with people who were best motivated by harsh words and insults. The collective will of the people from old China were mostly a broken people, looking for leadership under a directed forceful tone. The Major and his soldiers, however, were probably like a lot of Earth’s western people: give them a direction and get out of their way.

“Alright, Major,” she conceded while placing her own hands palm-down on her desk and leaning in to him, “I retract my statement about your pilots’ professionalism. But I don’t want them getting the idea we’re here for games. I’m not convinced this worm problem requires our attention to such a fine degree.”

Decatur stood back to his full height, removing his fists from the desk and uncurling them to relaxed open hands, “Thank you ma’am. I’m not sure how much of a threat the worm poses either, nor if we can address it. When was the last time you got some sleep, Advisor? I mean, honest good sleep?”

Oum shook her head, looked at the time on her desk, “Six years wasn’t enough?”

“Have your secretary AI push aside anyone requesting to see you that isn’t absolutely critical, ma’am. Lay down, and be uninterrupted for eight to ten hours. And if you need to get one of the psychiatrists the come over to see you.”

Oum held up a hand, “I hope that wasn’t an insult. I don’t need to be counseled, Major.”

“We all need some counseling sometime, Advisor. I’ll leave you to that rest,” Decatur started to turn and was somewhat startled by Ilarion’s large frame standing far too close to him.

Oum hadn’t made eye contact when Ilarion had moved from the back of the room to intercept the Major when he’d initially stood from his seat. The message from Ilarion was clear to Decatur.

“What’s your problem, Chuvnik? You think I was going to hit her? That wouldn’t solve anything, it’d only cause chaos. We have more than our fair share of problems out here without the civilian and military leadership going rounds,” Decatur said right into Ilarion’s face - he didn’t back down a milimeter.

“You be careful, Major, of how you flex your hands. That could be mistaken for something it isn’t. Mistakes lead to accidents,” Ilarion whispered threateningly.

“It’s a bad habit, Chuvnik. But I’ll keep that in mind to avoid any… accidents,” the military man said back.

Ilarion nodded then and stepped aside to let the Major leave her pre-fab office. When the door closed the Ukrainian looked at her and spoke in Chinese, “He is correct about the sleep.”

Oum nodded and set the AI to her customized secretary mode, “Yes. That would be best, I think.”

"Dune Concept Art" by Eduardo Pena. Found via online search under "Public Domain".  I am not the original artist nor do I own this work of art.

We're drinking tea, because she thinks it's grown-up, and it's her birthday, and I'm to keep her happy, and out of the way, until the party. Once the party has begun, it will be my turn to keep out of the way, because she isn't my sister, except by blood. The riding master says my mother was pretty.

The tea is black, but sweet, laced with cinnamon. Giggling, the princess helps herself to lumps of sugar. The cups are so fine they weigh almost nothing. A pattern of delicate golden branches ring porcelain whiter than fresh snow. In the forest, I would brew tea from birch bark, heating stones to warm the water, and straining the mixture through my teeth. There's a tray of dainties: pink glazed cakes no bigger than one of my thumbnails, candied violets, marzipan cherries, macaroons, and gingered almond tartlets filled with soft cheese.

What's so adult about having a staff of dozens to cook and care for you as though you were a child?

But she is a child. I don't want to burden her. Not today.

I slide the tray to the side so she can set her gameboard down on the glass tabletop. Strictly speaking, we shouldn't be playing in here, but she wanted to, and who's watching anyway? Everyone is so busy with party preparations. Our reflections are captured in every surface, sometimes together, sometimes alone, but always trapped. The tea room is all glass and mirrors. After all, "The proprieties must be observed."

I wish we were someplace else.

She rolls a nine. I tell her so. But she shakes her head so the beaded tails of her braids rake the back of her chair and thwack against her neck.

"Nuh-uh. It's a six. You're reading it upside down."

I pause.

Then I duck beneath the table: a two, and a three. One short. What gives?

I catch a flash of something in her expression, some fleeting emotion I last saw there years earlier, as she pranced across the yard, an exuberant little cloud of gossamer lace dancing through the gathering crowd of leather-clad hunters, to tell me that she was a unicorn. My companions laughed. Sev knelt down and told her that, with those branches she'd tucked behind her ears, she could just be a six-point doe. Still, she shook her head and held her ground, "Unicorn."

We all just grinned at her. I mussed her hair and called her a wild girl of the forest. But late that afternoon, as the hills began to glow with the dying sun, a pure white hart with a crown of proud antlers stepped into the clearing before me, and I felt somehow, that she was watching me through its dark eyes. 

So I played along with her, even as she rolled threes that were eights, and twos that were fours. She let me win. And when the men came to take us away, I went along with them without a fight.