Pain Bringer (The Constant War Book 2), page 32
Char spread the sticky purple substance between her thumb and forefinger. It stretched into spindly organic strands. “Should I be touching it?”
“I wouldn’t.”
Char glared at her. “You. Wouldn’t?”
“Nope. Who knows how hazardous it could be? We haven’t even done preliminary testing. That’s what all these samples are for.”
“But you’re letting me touch it?!”
“Of course. How else am I going to determine if it is harmful to humans?”
Char ran at Marcia and shoved her. “I’m not your guinea pig!”
Marcia turned enough to avoid contact with the purple substance that was in Char’s hand and smeared all over her glove. Coolly, she gathered her balance and placed the corked vial in her satchel.
“I didn’t put you up to it.” Marcia pointed at the guck in Char’s hand. “You did that all on your own. But please, be careful. It could be toxic or even contagious.”
Char bucked forward, as if she was going to shove her again, but stopped. “You could have warned me.”
“That is correct. I could have.”
“But you didn’t.”
Marcia nodded in agreement. “I didn’t.”
“I—” Char stomped, frustrated. “Do you hear yourself?”
“I suppose there is a lesson to be learned from this,” said Marcia.
“Oh yeah? And what lesson would that be, huh? Please tell me, oh most brilliant smart intelligent one.”
“Think before you do something stupid.”
Char muttered to herself in mimicking tones.
Marcia pulled a fresh vial from her satchel and scraped a new sample into it. “That is the lesson I would have taken from it. But that seems to be something you’ll never learn, despite ample opportunity. Maybe one day it’ll sink in. If I had to hazard a guess, that won’t be today.”
Char scrunched her features. “Har. Har. Very funny.”
“Either way, science applauds you for the brave, selfless sacrifices you make on the regular. We are all better off as a result.”
“You’re not getting any funnier.”
“Humor? I am sincerely grateful. Finding a willing test subject is always a royal pain.”
A distant roar Dopplered overhead, echoing through the courtyard. The squiddies patrolling the area perked, snapped their heads up at attention, gazing toward its source. Seconds later, they lowered their bodies and returned to pacing in and out of the church, paying no mind to Marcia or Char.
In the church parking lot, Dr. Scott landed his MSRV between Marcia’s vehicle and the Painbringer. An automated metal cart remotely followed behind him as he made his way down the alley.
“How have the collections been going?”
“I’ve gathered enough for initial assessment,” said Marcia. “However, I will need to come back for more, of course.”
Dr. Scott clapped his hands together. “Sounds splendid. Are we ready to take a closer look at them in their natural habitat?”
“Nearly. Several live specimens have been milling about in the courtyard, but for the most part, they seem to be unconcerned by our presence. I do believe we could approach and monitor them more closely.”
Marcia placed her satchel filled with vials and samples into the automated cart. With the press of a button, it sealed itself and headed in the direction of her MSRV. She slinked to the corner of the alley, getting a better view of the church courtyard.
Char didn’t follow. Instead, she muttered to herself.
Dr. Scott glanced at Marcia, taking note that she was completely focused on the Sindarhe and seemed to be actively ignoring Char. Then he saw the scowl on Char’s face.
“What did I miss?” asked Dr. Scott. “I feel like I missed something here.”
Char glommed onto his sleeve. “Marcia’s being meeeeeaaann.”
Without taking her eyes from the courtyard, Marcia said, “I wouldn’t let her touch you, if I were you.”
“Why’s tha—” Dr. Scott noticed the purple streaks across her gloves. He grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back a good meter or so. “What’s on your hands?”
Char whipped her hands behind her back. “Nothing.”
“Nothing? That’s not nothing. Let me see.” He held out his hand like he was commanding a puppy to give its paw.
“Nuh uh. It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine.”
“Let me see it. We have no way of knowing if that is harmful.”
“We,” said Marcia with added emphasis, “are about to find out.”
“So. Not. Funny,” said Char.
“Science seldom is.”
Dr. Scott thrust his open hand forward. “Char, show me your hand, please.”
“Fine.” She plunked her forearm into Dr. Scott’s grasp. Slowly, he turned it over, examining the purple cottage cheese.
“Fascinating.”
“That’s what I said!” Char blurted. “But Ms. Don’t-Touch-That over there made fun of me for being so into it.”
“I, too, find it fascinating,” said Marcia. “As I do your incessant need to be so rambunctious. It provides for certain opportunities of scientific inquiry.”
Char bounced up and down on her tippy toes. “What do you say, Doc? Am I all clear?”
Dr. Scott rolled her forearm over, giving it thorough inspection. The purple substance had sprouted clumps, like miniature bushes of broccoli dotting her hand and arm. “The substance doesn’t appear to be acidic,” he said. “It’s not eating through the suit or anything. I’d still be concerned about contact with skin, but this appears to have no interaction with the pressure suit.”
“So I’m good?”
Dr. Scott grimaced. “Seems so. But I wouldn’t go touching anyone with that.”
“What? This?” Char raised her forearm, threatening to smear the purple substance on his helmet.
Dr. Scott shied away from it. “Especially me.”
Marcia cleared her throat, loudly and deliberately, and grabbed their attention. “I hate to be a stickler—”
Char snorted. “No you don’t.”
“—but are we going to observe them or not? If not, I’d much rather be in camp analyzing the samples we’ve gathered.”
“Yeah,” said Dr. Scott. “No reason to dawdle.”
Cautiously, they entered the courtyard. The patrolling squiddies were nowhere to be seen. Dr. Scott circled in front of the entrance, trying to get a better view of the missing aliens. Marcia stayed a pace behind. Gently, he nudged her arm.
“What is that purple stuff anyway?”
“The Sindarhe seem to secrete it. For what, I’m uncertain.” Marcia nodded toward the trail leading back to the manhole cover. “All the sources I could find were coming from underground.”
A nearby sewer grate was in full bloom with arcs of purple cottage cheese flowering through the opening, twisting along the sidewalk, and climbing the far side of the church.
“Whatever it is,” Marcia continued. “It’s organic. And it seems to be the source of the C02 spikes we’ve been getting.”
“Really? That stuff is responsible for countering the effects of the neurotoxin?”
Marcia shrugged. “Quite possibly. I won’t know for certain until we get the samples back to camp, but yes, it is a working hypothesis.”
A hiss broke the silence. One of the patrolling squiddies appeared in the church entrance. Glass tinkled, crunching under pressure. Another squiddie climbed through the broken stained-glass window.
Dr. Scott put his arms out, halting Marcia. Char bumped into her back.
Cautiously, the squiddies slithered toward them. Only now, getting a good look at them. These squiddies were much smaller than the ones they were used to dealing with in space. They were slick and shiny, glossy compared to their larger brethren.
“They’re the newborns,” said Dr. Scott. “Likely the ones we saw birthed yesterday.”
“Strange,” Marcia whispered. “They left us alone all morning. They seem much more aggressive now.”
“And yesterday, they tried to smother us to death,” said Char. “Maybe they’re all rested, up and ready for round two?”
Marcia shook her head. “I don’t think so. Yesterday, we were in their nursery. They were protecting their young.”
“Protecting their young? They are the young. We watched them birth from the walls right in front of our eyes.”
Dr. Scott started inching backwards, his extended arms, pressing into the two females. They matched his pace.
“You can both be right,” said Dr. Scott. “But either way, let’s not take any chances.”
They slowly backed into the courtyard. The squiddies followed, matching their pace. Occasionally, they hissed and cracked a rear tentacle at the air, as a threat.
“What are they doing? They’re just following us. Why are they not attacking?”
A third squiddie appeared in the courtyard, prowling from the church’s side exit. Marcia let a scream escape before she could choke it off. “Sorry, startled me.”
“Me too,” said Char. “What do they want?”
The squiddies weren’t so much following them as they backed away. They simply slithered toward them, setting the pace. Now they were the ones moving in response to the aliens.
Marcia stumbled as they transitioned off of the courtyard cobblestone onto the alley tarmac.
The squiddies hissed at her. A few tentacles lashed out. They closed the ground.
But not on Marcia.
Instead, they kept maneuvering to their right, attempting to gain ground alongside the trio.
Dr. Scott helped Marcia to her feet. “Let’s keep our heads about us. We can back out all the way to our mecha and fight them off there if we need to.”
“They didn’t charge me when they had the chance,” said Marcia.
“Let’s be thankful for that.”
“That’s not what I mean. You see that?” Marcia pointed at the two that had followed them from the entrance. Instead of approaching directly toward them, they crossed in front, favoring the right side of the alley.
Marcia cocked her head, following the squiddies’ trajectory. “They’re looking at Char.”
“Um, normally, I’m all about the attention, but uh, shoo. Go away.” Char swatted at the air in front of her, hoping to scare them back.
But they didn’t falter.
“It’s the stuff on her sleeve,” said Marcia. “They’re responding to it like its pheromones or something.”
“Or something?” said Char snarkily. “Aren’t you supposed to be a scientist?”
“Char, look out!”
A squiddie galloped toward her, flinging itself into the air. Char raised her arm, blocking the attack. Tentacles wrapped around her forearm. The other two squiddies circled like a pack of wild dogs.
Dr. Scott and Marcia rushed in to help, but the circling squiddies cut off their route.
“It’s okay.” Char put her hands out in front of herself, trying to shake the squiddie off her arm. “Remember, I’m the one protecting you.”
“Just shoot it,” said Marcia.
“That’d be a great idea, if I had my weapon.”
“Where’s your weapon?”
“In the Painbringer.”
Despite the situation, all panic drained from Marcia’s voice. A cold, condescending tone replaced it. “Why would you leave your weapon in the Painbringer?”
Anger flared through Char, rising in waves. She used her free hand and punched the alien wrapped around her glove half a dozen times. “This was a science mission! You said we were just going to be observing!”
“Observing incredibly dangerous aliens, yes.”
“Well, now you tell me.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you things that are common sense. I am not your mother.”
Char paused for the briefest of seconds and shot a look at Marcia. With primal ferocity, she yelled and repeatedly hit the squiddie glommed onto her arm, each word punctuating every blow. “The. Topic. Of. My. Mother. Is. Off. Limits!”
The squiddie fell to the ground, whimpering. It skittered to the others, joining them in the circle, though this one now had an awkward limp.
The other two squiddies closed in on Char. One bee-lined for her glove. The other strafed to a side before jumping into the air. Dr. Scott caught it by a rear tentacle, yanked it backward, and slammed it to the ground. The squiddie squealed in agony.
Dr. Scott managed to wrap his arms entirely around it, pinning its tentacles to its body. “I got it!”
Marcia pulled a syringe and a small container of amber liquid from her belt. She jabbed the container, held the syringe upright, put pressure on the plunger, and tapped the air bubbles from it. Dr. Scott twisted his body, putting his full weight on top the squiddie desperately trying to break his bear hug grip around it. Marcia dodged flailing tentacles and sank the syringe deep into squiddie flesh.
The creature shrieked. Dr. Scott’s arms bulged as the squiddie writhed, lashing out to free itself. After a few thrashing heaving fits, the squiddie went limp in his arms.
Slowly, Dr. Scott eased up his hold on the creature. “Is it alive?”
Marcia placed two fingers on what could be called its neck, if it even had one, checking for a pulse. “I gave it enough sedative to knock out a full grown squiddie for eight hours.”
“And?”
“It has a pulse.”
Meanwhile, Char was dealing with her own problems. One squiddie had climbed up onto her shoulders and was batting her in the helmet with its tentacles. The other was wrapped around her arm, gyrating like a dog way too excited to see its master. It yanked at the glove so hard that it ripped it clean off her hand.
At the sound of plasti-nylon hitting cobblestone, the other squiddie snapped its head toward the glove mid-swing, and immediately jumped off Char’s chest, tackling the other squiddie and the glove along with it.
Sixteen limbs batted at each other, fighting over their newly acquired prize. Hisses and sprays of acid drool flicked on each other, sizzling and burning scars into newborn squiddie flesh.
Char charged them. Both turned toward her, raised on their haunches, every limb coiled, ready to strike.
She cut loose a bloodcurdling battle cry.
Instead of attacking, they looked at her cock-eyed, then at each other. In the blink of an eye, the left one picked up the glove and hightailed it back into the church with her glove. The other followed, hot on its heels.
“Stupid squiddies,” grumbled Char. She turned toward Dr. Scott and Marcia. Apparently, they had a much easier time of things than she had.
Traces of the purple substance bubbled up from a manhole cover in the parking lot. That was new. It hadn’t been there when she landed.
She walked over to the curiosity and nudged the organic substance with her foot, leaving a purple stain on her boot.
Behind her, Dr. Scott dragged the KO’d squiddie to the foot of his MSRV, while Marcia supervised. She punched in a code on the bulbous mecha and its right leg split open. “We can load this one into yours, but I’d like to retrieve a female before we head back.”
Char laughed. “Female. That’s a good one.”
Marcia glared at her.
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“Always.”
“You’re telling me there’s females? And males? How do you know? They all look identical.”
Marcia knelt next to the squiddie and fanned out its tentacles. She lifted the third one on the right. Unlike the tentacles, this one had a groove running along its underbelly. She raised it up. “This is a hectocotylus.”
“A hecto-what?”
“That would be its penis,” said Dr. Scott.
Char giggled. She couldn’t contain herself. Her hands automatically went her mouth, trying to stifle laughter, even though she was wearing a helmet. “One of its arms is a penis?!”
“Yes,” said Dr. Scott and Marcia in unison. Neither seemed to find it nearly as amusing as she did.
“Oh my god, does that mean all this time, they’ve been trying to hit me with their penis? Ew.”
“Kinda. Yeah.” Dr. Scott grabbed the squiddie by its tentacles, lifted it off the ground, and heaved it into the open compartment.
Char thumped the side of the MSRV. “So are we heading back or what?”
“Dr. Scott and I will flush out a female,” said Marcia. “But you can’t stay here, Char. You’ll draw too many out with the way they react to the smell of that biological material you were playing with.”
“I’ll be fine. We got rid of the offending article of clothing. It’s their new chew toy or something.”
Marcia grabbed Char by the wrist holding up her arm. Purple streaks of alien muck were smeared across the white plasti-nylon of her pressure suit.
“What?” said Char incredulously. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re also missing a glove.”
Char held up her other hand. “I have another.” She poked at the purple broccoli budding out of the manhole cover with it. “See. Fine.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
A purple bubble formed about the size of a softball. Char stuck her finger in, bursting the bubble, leaving organic spatter on her glove. Her only glove. “I have no idea what that means.”
Marcia sighed and shook her head. “Char, you need to change.”
“What? I’m supposed to be watching out for your safety.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Marcia. “But let me watch out for your safety for once. And please, it would be fitting if you heeded my advice, instead of playing the contrarian for the sake of it.”
“I don’t—”
“Don’t argue, dear. You should go back to camp and clean yourself up. Put on a new suit, one that isn’t contaminated with alien spunk, and then join us as we survey these creatures.”
“I—”
“I’m not asking, dear. We need you sterile.”
“Rude.”
“She’s right,” said Dr. Scott.
“She wants me sterilized!”
