Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Strange Lands

Sevenday 31, Day 5-Continued

B efore Adriana could begin her sampling, she spent a period standing guard while Bran examined the exterior of the DOP-C. She felt a bit foolish holding a pistol at the ready against the small mammals that inhabited purple vegetation, but he was being reasonable, and she did enjoy his company. Although scuffed and dented, the vehicle remained sealed.

Satisfied with the DOP-C’s soundness, Bran climbed back up and lifted a distance-viewer to his eyes. Part of the DOP-C supplies, the device was smaller than the ones issued with the Nightingale . Curious, she asked, “How far can they reach?”

His head turned slowly as he examined their surroundings. “Ten thousand feet.”

“How is that possible? They are so small.”

His head stopped moving and he lowered the device. His eyes were hard. “Due to Matahorn greed, vistrite costs in the Eleventh and Twelfth systems are at least twice that of the First System. We have become innovative out of necessity.”

Bridling at the attack on her cartel, Ardriana snapped, “Funding a new system was as exorbitant an undertaking two centuries ago as it is today. The free-traders did not have the funds and needed Matahorn. They agreed to repay that investment with the import-export fees.”

“Fees that grew exponentially while the governing council turned a blind eye.”

“That was Omar Petrovich and his despoilers. That is all changed, now.”

Bran’s harsh laughter held no humor. “That villain was in control for a handful of decades. Not centuries. And it has only changed because he was discovered and Matahorn forced into reparations.”

“That is not true.” She must have been deranged to find him attractive. “Monsignor Horatio was appalled to discover one of his warriors was so corrupt. He did not challenge the reparations.”

Snorting, Bran raised the viewer to his eyes. “This is a pointless conversation.”

She could not agree more. “The past is past. It is the here and now that holds our duty. The supply depots are under free-trader control, and we are all part of the Nightingale .”

The last was a bit of a stretch. Her second in zoology, Lt. Clarence, was from Serengeti and gave her minimal acknowledgment. Certainly, he did not consider them as part of a unified crew. Lazy and inept, his familial connections in Blooded Dagger, Serengeti’s ruling cartouche, won him a place on the Nightingale. His most recent debacle involved classifying a species of river snail as indigestible when it was, in fact, toxic. She had reached a point where she could not trust him with anything but the most minor tasks, which compelled her to make this ill-fated excursion for replacement samples.

Bran lowered the viewer and offered her an oblique glance. She thought he would speak, but instead he returned to scanning.

Glad of her sunshades, Adriana followed his path.

Behind them and to the west, massive midnight-blue mountains were capped with white that held the same hint of blue as the clouds. They were much larger than she had realized when she saw them from a hundred miles east. Even now, as close as they appeared, she knew they were miles away.

East and south, the purple plains flowed to the horizon in shallow waves that would solidify into rolling hills upon close inspection. From a distance, Deuce heather was a dark lavender mass. Close up, the diamond-shaped leaves were variegated, ranging from palest lilac to deep violet. The plants rustled with the breeze and the movements of the small animals that dwelled beneath them. There was no sign of the elk-like grazers that roamed the plains in herds. So far, Adriana’s team had classified two-score mammal species and twice that in insects and birds, but she was certain there were more.

No more than a quarter mile to the north, the plants gave way to a forest of red and ocean-green trees that ran along the horizon. According to the lead botanist, the red trees were conifers and he had identified three different varieties. Like the Deuce heather, the green trees were deceptive. Deciduous, there were seven distinct varieties varying in hue from dark blue to fern-green. The lead botanist had been unable to catalog further, as beset by troubles as the rest of the expedition—the same troubles that had hindered the zoologists’ attempts to explore beyond the plains. All they knew of the forest’s inhabitants were avians spotted from the plains and larger predators they noted emerging with the dark.

In an attempt to accelerate their lagging schedule, Adriana had brought some live specimens aboard the Nightingale. All were lost to some strange plague within a sevenday. Inconclusive tests left her hypothesizing that something in the Nightingale ’s environment was toxic to the animals. She was seeking the exact cause when an equipment malfunction liquefied the genetic samples that they had extracted before the plague.

Until Adriana understood the source of the plague, she could not transport more specimens onto the Nightingale . Instead, she would return to the slower trap-and-release protocol. Once she had extracted genetic samples, she would tag the creatures with subdermal trackers.

Lowering the viewer, Bran jerked a nod. “Stay within a few paces of the DOP-C. I will let you know when I have restored communications.”

Shifting her position, Adriana prepared to drop back into the cargo vessel for her equipment.

Bran held up a hand. “Stay here. I will hand you your kit.”

It was surprisingly gracious after their disagreement. Quite possibly the often taciturn first officer’s attempt at an apology. Beaming a smile, she scrambled out of his way, admiring the way his biceps strained his tunic sleeves when he lowered himself into the cabin.

***

With the last of her supply cases lowered to the ground, Adriana took a final peek through the open door. Bran was wedged half under the console, displaying a very fine set of buttocks as he twisted to access his target. There was no question that he filled out his slate-gray uniform in a manner that sent her mind to carnal fantasies.

Free-trader. Serengeti. Her failed consort alliance should have broken her of longing for unattainable men. As it had for the past two years, bitterness rose with the memory. She had been so thrilled when Evander had offered a consort alliance. A warrior from a cadet branch of Matahorn’s ruling family—the Margovians—he was charming, handsome, and artistic.

Her family was wealthy and well respected, but for a shy scientist from the second-level elite it had seemed a romance had come to life. A romance that ended on a sevenday’s notice when Evander found another he preferred. A warrior and a signet heir, the woman was a far more advantageous alliance than Adriana. When Adriana protested, asked what had happened to his love, he laughed, saying, “Do not be a child. Love is entertainment. Marriage is commerce.”

Clenching her jaw, she forced the memory away. Duty. She had animals to trap and release. The area below the rope was flattened and gouged from the DOP-C’s rough landing. Beyond it, the springy plants reached her knees. They gave off an odd spicy-sweet scent reminiscent of a blend of ginger and tarragon. Many of the crew found it unpleasant, but Adriana liked it. Reveled in the otherness. The alienness.

How alien? That was the question . Every analysis indicated that the ancients who had terraformed more than half the Twelve Systems had been at work here.

Opening the first case, she removed a small lure. Every schoolchild knew that before the three centuries of warfare known as the Anarchy , a vast and enlightened empire had existed. When a millennia ago the Five Warriors had imposed order on the Anarchy, they were too late to preserve more than fragments of the ancients’ knowledge and technology.

A tap to the control pad, and the lure sailed three paces, dropping into the purple without leaving a broken leaf or scent marker.

After five centuries of order, when the original three systems had become seven, scholars and technologists realized that so many habitable planets would not form randomly. Somehow, before disappearing, their ancient ancestors had seeded their legacy throughout the galaxy.

Moving clockwise, she set another three lures. Adriana was a scientist. She could not allow bias in her research, but even the most skeptical accepted that Bright Star Prime and Deuce would not be so habitable without some terraforming intervention.

Two more lures were in position. If her hypothesis proved correct, the creatures of the Thirteenth System were genetic cousins—if not siblings—of species common in the other twelve systems.

She set the last five lures, completing a half circle, and turned for th.e DOP-C. Although the lures did not leave scent markers, her movements would have scattered her scent in a wide area. It could be a period before her scent faded and the lures attracted the little creatures.

***

Bran forced shoulders tight with anger to relax. Even before the evidence of the loosened communications controllers, he knew the DOP-C had been sabotaged. He and Raleigh had designed the vehicles and tested them thoroughly. This was a third-generation transport, and the systems did not fail. For some time, they had suspected that many of the incidents slowing progress were not ill luck, but malfeasance.

Now, he was certain. They had a traitor on the Nightingale . Maybe more than one.

Before departing for the day’s mission, Raleigh had instructed Bran to watch Adriana. She had the skills to orchestrate several of the incidents, and if the sabotage was a Matahorn intrigue, she could well be their saboteur.

Bran had protested. He had spent enough time with the woman to know that while she was clever enough, she was far too forthright and honorable to make an adequate stealth operator. Nor could he imagine the woman who grieved over dead specimens would have done aught to destroy them. Raleigh had remained skeptical, but there could be no doubt now. Both Adriana and Bran could have died in the crash.

The notion sent another wave of rage washing through him. He had lost his wife to pirates. He would not lose another woman. Lose another woman? Bran’s fingers went still. When had she become so important? She could not be more different from his wife. Odette had been an artist, quick to laugh, quick to anger, and quick to forgive—her every thought and emotion on display.

Adriana was thoughtful and contained. She had a quick wit and dry sense of humor that appealed to him, but none of his wife’s effervescence. And yet, she stirred him on a visceral level. Knowing they would be months, mayhap years, on the Nightingale, he had moved slowly, building their friendship before seeking passion. The last thing he wanted was for matters to become awkward.

But those months and years could be an illusion. Adriana could have died in the crash, and he would have lost the opportunity forever.

Adjusting his grasp on the diagnostic tool, Bran refocused on the damaged communications system. Before aught else, he needed to see them rescued.

***

Adriana climbed up onto the DOP-C. A glance inside showed Bran was still half under the pilot’s console.

Closing her eyes against the sun’s glare, she thought again how much she had missed fieldwork while allied with Evander. Even with the dangerous crash, this day was far more enjoyable than the endless days in the halls of Matahorn Headquarters dealing with its petty intrigues and constant positioning for funding and support. She joined the Nightingale to escape embarrassment and become a heroic explorer who could return to the First System in triumph. But return to what? Endless conferences and commerce squabbles?

Although she would not have admitted it a season ago, she was happier exploring the Thirteenth System than she had been in years. Of course, a day free of Lt. Clarence’s sniping and incompetence was practically a holiday.

She wondered if it was worth the effort to petition for Clarence’s replacement. Her last attempt was ignored, and it would have been easy to replace him while they were undergoing repairs on Fortuna. Now, he would need to be sent back with one of the militia patrols guarding the system’s boundaries. While the Nightingale was designed to spend months in the stellar expanse, militia vessels needed to resupply every six to eight sevendays.

Mayhap Bran could be convinced. He was reasonable, and she could not completely fault his hostility toward Matahorn. Omar’s malfeasance had left the free-trader systems to the mercy of pirates while extorting a fortune in import and export fees. For truth, other than Bran’s free-trader background, she knew nothing to his discredit and had witnessed his courage, honor, and commitment to duty.

Getting to know him better and forging an understanding would be wise. She would like to tell herself that the anticipation and excitement she felt at the decision was due to the need to fulfill her duty, but she knew it was the warmth that flooded her senses in his presence. Her family would be horrified, but the Thirteenth System was a long way from the First. Matters were different here. She was a grown woman past forty capable of a liaison without losing her heart.

***

Sending a quick prayer to the Five Warriors, Bran activated the primitive beacon cobbled from salvaged communications parts. A soft chime confirmed it was broadcasting. The range was insufficient to reach the Nightingale , but flyers searching the plains would receive it. Now there was nothing to do but inventory the damage and wait.

He had at least two bells of light remaining and needed to make the most of it.

***

Adriana’s eyes snapped open to a darkening sky. Harpy scat. She had dozed off. Her wrist tingled from the glowing alarm band. She had her specimens, and judging from the sun’s position above the mountains, less than a period to take samples.

In the space of a few breaths, she was on the ground, snatching up the sample case. A quick calculation maximized her path. There was a chance the shadows from the forest would reach the final subject before Adriana did. If so, she would jettison the lure, releasing its contents to take cover.

She executed the first two harvests with ease, resisting her desire to watch the fluff balls scamper to safety. The third lure contained the same type of creature as the first, but there were variances within species that were worth exploring. More difficult was that it had become twisted in the plants. She could not leave it trapped, and disentangling it required more minutes than she had to spare.

Four and five went like clockwork. Racing for six, her foot caught in a hole and sent her sprawling. For long moments she lay in the heather, willing her lungs to work. Finally, gasping deep breaths, she found her knees and crawled the final few paces to her next subject.

It was new. With rabbitlike ears and the sinewy structure of a ferret, its mottled, dark blue fur blended into the shadows beneath the plants. When she pricked it for a sample, its eyes went from pink to gold, and fangs emerged. Fascinating.

She was tempted to keep it, but it would not serve. She had no reason to believe predator-rabbit would be immune to the unknown plague. Moving downwind four paces, she released it from the lure. Its snout lifted and it snarled before turning away. If it had caught her scent, it would have gone for Adriana.

Four lures remained, and the sun was touching the peaks. Risking a run, she reached the seventh and eighth lures.

The tenth was fully in shadow. Hoping the contents would have time to escape, she jettisoned it while sprinting to the ninth. Inside the lure, a round little fuzzball the size of her thumb pretended to be a seed pod from one of the blue trees.

It was adorable and fragile. She would need to be quick. Injector and extractor in hand, she reached in. “Come on little one.” She tapped the extractor. It unfurled and accepted the tracker. “Well done, bella .”

A flick of her finger collapsed the lure with a hiss. Hiss?

Adriana pivoted to the sound. Rimon’s dungeons!

A forked tongue flickered between two-inch fangs, guided by cold, gray reptilian eyes. She grappled for her pistol knowing it was too late.

A snarling white blur hit the snake-thing and slammed it into the vegetation. Off balance, Adriana fell backward, still fumbling for her weapon. Digging in her heels, she scrabbled away from the growls and hisses of battle.

Sudden silence was more terrifying than the earlier sounds. Prey never heard their predators.

Finding her knees, she held the weapon ready, prepared to slay whatever predator had come out the victor.

A shaft of waning sunlight lit up bright blue eyes in a fuzzy white face. Braced on four equally fuzzy white feet, one planted on the dead snake, the serpent slayer wagged its tail.

***

Bran made a final note on this slate and closed the access panel. The saboteur had been thorough. It would be a day’s work to get the DOP-C launch worthy. The cabin had dimmed while he had worked, without any sign of a flyer. Raleigh would continue sending searchers, but it could be the next day before they were found.

He and Adriana should secure the transport for the night.

Adriana?

Cyclops turds. The sun was almost down, and she had not returned. Bounding away from the console, he reached the weapons locker and the fireburst rifle.

***

It is impossible. It was right in front her, its wiry white coat gleaming in the fading light. Fourteen or fifteen inches from paw to crown, with a lot of height in its legs. It was maybe a stone in weight. Its narrow face was topped with triangular perked ears that were a bit large for its head. If not for the eye color, ears, and total lack of markings, it could be a rodent-hunting terrier from any number of systems. Taking a deep breath, Adriana lowered her weapon and held out a hand palm down, fingers curled.

The terrier, or terrier offshoot, cocked its head. It considered her . . . her fingers . . . then stepped forward. Taking another hesitant step, it sniffed, then huffed, before pushing its head under her fingers and into the palm of her hand.

With a gentle touch, she stroked behind its ears. Its happy sound emboldened her to scratch. It pushed harder into her hand, demanding more.

It is impossible—domesticated behavior from what has to be a wild a dog. But it is happening . The little creature had not taken its kill and retreated. Instead, it encouraged her contact. In the dimming light she looked into the intelligent blue eyes and voiced her thought, “Why?”

The tail wagged harder.

“Thank you, mighty warrior, for the rescue.” She looked at the dead snake and itched to collect it. “Enjoy your meal.”

The terrier-like creature whined, and nudged the snake in her direction. If it was offering . . . she pulled the collection device from her kit and hovered it over the snake. The terrier barked a domesticated canine bark.

Second Warrior protect me; the snake-thing is huge. Coiled in a sealed sample sack, it filled the case. She had to move the last of her sampling and tracking devices into the lures’ case. The terrier yipped and turned in circles. It was adorable and she hated to leave it, but the darkness was spreading. There were far more deadly predators than that snake-thing in the forest. “I have to go.”

Turning for the DOP-C, she spotted Bran standing on top—annoyance, if not outright anger, in every line of his frame. Had he said something about only a few paces? Glancing at her rescuer, she said, “I am in trouble.”

Pulling the cases higher on her shoulder, she broke into a jog. Any faster and she might end up breaking an ankle in the next hidden hole. Within three strides, she realized Bran had the distance-viewer turned in her direction and was holding the fireburst rifle at his side, watching for predators. Her heart lifted. He might be angry, but he would protect her.

Another ten paces and she could make out his glower. No question she was in deep trouble.

Three more paces out, she called, “I can explain—”

“Keep running.”

She knew those clipped tones. She had heard them for two days while they battled the despoiler fleet. The man was all soldier. All commander.

Reaching the DOP-C, she called, “I got it all and more.”

The viewer dropped to hang around his neck. The fireburst rifle lifted. “Do not move.”

Her heart shuddered and breath caught. What awful monster had followed her?”

A yip sounded.

She spun on her heels, throwing herself over the terrier. “Do not harm it.”

***

The woman was deranged. Bran could find no other explanation. “It is not a terrier. It is not domesticated. That is impossible.”

“It saved my life. It followed me home.” Adriana shook her head as if attempting to clear cluttered thoughts. She shifted her shoulders, swinging both her sample cases behind her back. “If little blue eyes will come to me, I want a closer look.”

“You named it?”

“What? No. It is but a description.” She crouched before what he had to admit looked like a white, fox-sized terrier. With glowing blue eyes. Terriers did not have blue eyes. The weird creature tilted its head in one direction and then the other. It crouched, waggling its butt.

At Adriana’s encouraging coo, it crawled into her arms. Murmuring endearments, she cuddled it close. “Blue eyes is a female. Her fur is softer than it looks.”

“Wondrous. Now put it down and come inside.”

She ignored him, checking the creature’s ears. “Will you hand me the medic’s scanner? I want to take some readings.”

“No. This is ridiculous. Sample the thing and get in here. We need to seal up if we are going to keep the night insects at bay.”

Sending him a furious glare, she reached into one of her cases and extracted a couple of instruments. The terrier-thing did not seem the least distressed at being stuck. It was not until Adriana put it down that it started to whine. The whine turned to an anxious bark as she scaled the side of the DOP-C.

Turning, she made a shooing motion. “Go on. Go back to your pack.”

Following her into the DOP-C, Bran sealed the door closed. “I thought for a minute you were going to bring that thing inside.”

She set her equipment cases beneath the storage compartments and rolled her shoulders. “I wanted to, but I cannot bring live samples onto the Nightingale until I discover what in the environment is toxic to them. And blue eyes did save my life.” She opened a case and pulled out a large, sealed sample. “This thing is venomous, and I doubt there anything in the medic kit that could counteract it, assuming I survived long enough to make it back.”

Even curled like a cargo line, Bran could tell the snake was at least three feet long and almost as thick as Adriana’s wrist. The rectangular head displayed two-inch fangs. Gray diamonds marked its otherwise black skin. The chilling sight ratcheted his anger to a new level. “Nocturnal?”

“I think so.” She closed the case. “If it came out in daylight, we would have encountered it before now.”

Extracting two water vials from storage, he tossed her one.

With a grateful smile, she cracked the seal.

He waited until she had swallowed half before speaking. “Are you deranged? Incapable of following orders? You should never have been out there when the nocturnal creatures emerged.”

Her eyes widened and a blush darkened her cheeks. “I apologize. I fell asleep while waiting for the lures to activate.” Her sharp little chin came up. “I did jettison the sample closest to the forest.”

“Closest to the forest? There was one even farther away from the DOP-C?”

She had the grace to look abashed. “Er, yes.” But then that chin came up, again. “The breeze carried the lures a good distance. I did not have time to recast. It takes at least a bell for my scent to dissipate.”

She fell asleep . The breeze carried the lures. Terror-fueled anger had him barking, “You are completely lacking in discipline. You endangered your life. The mission.”

“I did apologize.”

Bran clenched his fists against the desire to shake her. “This is your last landing until you can demonstrate the ability to follow orders.”

“What? No.” All signs of contrition vanished, replaced by defiance. “You cannot. I am the lead zoologist. We will not finish in time if I am confined to the Nightingale .”

Bran’s control snapped. His hands wrapped around her shoulders. So fragile. So readily slain. “You could have died.”

Defiance fled as quickly as it had surfaced. Her dark eyes filled with remorse, and warm fingers pressed against his wrist. “I am sorry. I was foolish and I know it. You can have no notion how relieved I was when I saw you standing on top of the DOP-C with the rifle.”

“Promise me you will not be so foolish, again.” He squeezed her shoulders. “Your word.”

With a deep breath she nodded. “My word.”

She was in his arms, her head against his chest. Her black curls soft and springy under his lips. The pleasant scent of the purple flora tickled his nose. Bran enjoyed women, but none had felt so right in years. Not since he lost his wife in the pirate actions. The memory returned him to the present and the fact that he did not have her consent. With reluctance, he released her. “I overstep.”

Her fingers lingered on his waist. “I do not object.”

“This is not the best timing.”

“I suppose not.” With a sigh, she released him. “What of communications?”

“I managed to rig a beacon from the working equipment. We are close enough to our original destination that they will find us within a day. Mayhap by morning.” He pulled a handful of nutrition bars from storage. “I will need to stay with the DOP-C until they return with replacement equipment, but you can return to the Nightingale .”

Taking a bar, she tore open the wrapper. “Why? Another day will allow me to collect more samples. I can start at sunup. There will be no risk of another incident.”

Dropping down on the bedding, he leaned back. “We can discuss it in the morning.”

Joining him, she handed him a water vial. “Please. I did give my word. Blue eyes and the snake are evidence that there is far more to discover than we realized. It may be this section of forest or the proximity to the mountains.”

“You are relentless.” He bit into a bar.

“I am a scientist. Tenacity is a given.” She popped a bite into her mouth.

He should insist she leave, but after nearly losing her twice in one day, he wanted her close.

Swallowing, she sighed. “I wish I could have spent more time examining blue eyes. She is a total enigma.”

“How so?”

“White? It stands out like a beacon. Prey should see her coming and predators can track her with ease.”

He swallowed the last of his bar and grabbed another. “It followed you without strain. Could it be fast enough to hunt and avoid being hunted?”

“Mayhap. She was a blur when she went for the snake. I had no idea what she was until the battle was over.” She tore open another bar. “But that is not the only anomaly. She should have grabbed her kill and run. Or at the very least, snarled to warn me away. Instead, she wagged her tail. She accepted handling. That is domesticated behavior, and it is impossible. We are the first people to set foot on this planet in at least a thousand years.”