The Life Within

As the ship descended, Horatio could see the waves breaking against a snow-white beach and continuing their advance across the landmass in the form of waving grain. White creatures plowed their way through, leaving flattened slug trails.

"Fish Fuzz!" Poker said, his chin resting on the captain's shoulder. "Those look like maggots!"

Horatio's warning scowl sent Poker scampering back to his controls.

Twenty-five years earlier Horatio had spent his small inheritance to purchase the space craft to quench his wanderlust. He would never be wealthy; that not being the spur that drove him, but every viable planet accredited to his discovery paid life-royalty fees to himself and his crew from whatever the planet produced. If it were later colonized, he would receive an annual stipend as a wayfaring landlord. It was always enough to finance the next trip after Rest and Recreation with money remaining to retire to some lala land full of wine, women, and warmth.

Because of the miniscule size of the landmass, this planet would have to bear better fruit than a place to park a colony: a rare grain, ore, gem, or anomaly drawing scientific research teams.

In such a case, "Fish Fuzz" would be quite welcome. At least that was an anomaly the last time Horatio had checked. Even so, Poker would pay for the comment he had made during landing procedures. With no space portal in this system, immediate help could not be obtained if something went awry.

The Spelunker scorched a path onto the stony ground near the range of mountains that followed the eastern coastline. Horatio sketched a quick map of the island's topography in relation to the polar north. He was impressed by the panarama made visible when the engines ceased their roar. Crags rose steeply upward in staggered layers of browns and grays, with no vegetation clinging to the rain-slickened slopes. Where the royal spires ended, the land was swept with grain bending to the elements.

Horatio ordered atmospheric and acidity tests be run to affirm the planet was in concordance with their human requirements. He strapped his recorder to his side preparing to exit the ship.

"Hey, Cap, it looks like a go." Horatio's second in command verified the breathable atmosphere.

Horatio prepared to exit first, as was his habit on most of the new worlds he discovered. Rain sheeted the view port on the exit hatch. A frown deepened the morass of wrinkles across his face. "That's great, Greaser, but let's wait for this downpour to let up before we go out there. Where'd it come from, anyway? I didn't see any cloud cover when we came down."

"We're sitting on the equator. Tropical storms can roll in pretty fast. What weirds me is the vegetation. It almost looks farmed, and it sure as hell doesn't look tropical?"

"Send Poker out to get some samples. It'll give us an excuse to wait out this downpour." And serve as sufficient reprimand to Poker for ignoring his captain's orders. "Meanwhile, I could use a little cleaning up."

Horatio stared suggestively at Greaser's black fingernails and smudged sleeves, wondering why he ever let the man near the operation vids. He then pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger and turned to the rest of the crew. His voice changed to a nasal twang. "We could all use a little cleaning up, and that's an order."

Greaser was the first to go, his burly weight barely squeezing through the compartment door. "Aye, aye, Cap," he said.

Poker was Horatio's cosmobiologist. He had earned his name from his unfettered curiosity and the large, pointed nose he poked into everyone else's business. His thin frame was Stan Laurel to Greaser's Olivar Hardy and bordered on emaciation.

Poker picked out a few small sample cases, a discreet smile curling the corner of his lip. He was anxious to escape the cramped quarters, grown rank from recirculated air and working male pheromones. Overjoyed, he skipped down the ramp to romp in the cool rain.

About one hundred meters from the ship, he reached the end of the natural barrier of stony ground that held back the profuse growth. When he entered the vegetation, it was monotonous and taller than he was; a cushion of new growth covering the earth between the standing stalks. Ignoring the rivulets of rain streaming from his nose, he went farther afield trying to find a variant species.

Long hours later, tired and discouraged by the lack of variety in the native plant life, he turned to exit the field of thick, tall grass. The rocky outcrop bordering the mountain range would lead him back to the foothills where the ship had landed.

Poker heard a chomping sound that drowned out the torrent of the rain. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a gargantuan head thrust through the curtain of grain. In a throat-ripping, heart-pounding, head-splitting, bowel-loosening panic, he dropped his cases and ran.

Seeing a crevice in the rock face ahead of him, he raced to reach its cover. His heels flung stones and divots from the ground. His cheeks ballooned and reddened. His fists punched at air in syncopation with his pounding heart. Once in the confinement of the cave, he lurched around to check the triumph of his escape. His body deflated. The monstrous thing was crushing boulders like peppercorns under a pestle. It looked like a murky-white, hairless caterpillar, it had to be as big around as a bus, and it was on an unerring path heading straight toward the Poker-filled crevice, not veering by a toothpick's width in either direction.