Gregson went into the man’s work room, passing the man’s elaborate bio-computer, his genetic assembly/disassembly peripherals, found a cabinet full of pharmaceuticals and pulled out some anti-shock tabs. He carried them into the dining room, knelt down under the table, and placed one of the little white stickers on the man’s throat, near the jugular vein. Within minutes he began to come out of it. He looked up at Gregson from under the table, a shade of embarrassment in his expression.
“What was it, Vern?” he asked.
“It was horrible,” Vern whispered, shaking his head.
“Overpowering.”
“You saw it, then? An animal?”
Vern’s mouth moved, but no words came out. When he found his voice, he said, “Don’t go out there. Don’t do it.”
“You know I’ve got to.”
“Don’t do it!”
Gregson turned to leave. Bethany shouted, “James!”
He turned back. “I’ve got to see what it is.”
“It’s not worth it.” Bethany’s eyes were pleading.
He gave her his best smile. “I’ll be back.”
#
The carnivorous trees looked more like gigantic moss-covered fish bones than trees. They had an exoskeleton structure not unlike Terran insects, and the “moss” was a sticky, deadly substance which paralyzed and slowly digested several species of indigenous birds.
The most common was the flying dodo, which was a big green bat-winged creature that regularly crashed into obstacles such as houses, light poles, and carnivorous trees. One was fluttering and crying out in its final moments as Gregson entered the forest.
He walked for a couple of kilometers before coming upon a large, winding creek. He turned and followed it up hill, heading east. The carnivorous trees thinned, being replaced by a taller, uglier variety, which grew closer together and blocked out more sunlight. Here and there a shaft of sunlight made it through, but otherwise the forest was frighteningly dark.
Gregson slowed his pace and finally stopped. In front of him the creek was dammed, creating a shallow pond of crystal clear water. It was here that Vern Hudson was working on a strain of catfish to be released into the main river. Beyond the pond is where the trouble was.
He pulled out his biotascope and waved it back and forth.
There were hundreds of life form readings, mostly bugs. There was nothing much bigger than his thumbnail. He checked the plant life for biological outgassing; there were numerous substances, but none registered as a psychoactive nor a pheromone — at least none that should affect a human being.
All around the pond were human footprints. One fresh set, heading straight away from the pond and into the forest back toward town, were clearly from someone running hard. As he studied them Gregson realized his heart was pounding, that he was already afraid. He wondered if it was natural, or if it was somehow being induced. It’s natural, he told himself. I’m a natural coward. He took a deep breath and pushed on, walking cautiously around the pond and into dense woods beyond.
About 40 meters past the pond, his biotascope began picking up readings of a creature. It was right on the outside range of the device, so he couldn’t get much information. It was a larger life reading, bigger than a dog but smaller than a human. He moved toward it, wanting to get a look. The forest was so dense here he couldn’t see more than a few meters in any direction; the pond was completely out of sight.
There was a loud cracking sound, and looking down Gregson saw a crushed, hollow branch under his right foot. It was like the leg of a large, dead insect. So much for being quiet, he thought. Then he looked up, his eyes widening. There was a change to the forest.
Gregson’s vision crystallized, the edges becoming sharp, distinct. Tiny details of the trees, the forest floor, the light and shadow, were all very clear. The feeling of dread swelled inside him. Something was very wrong, very dangerous. His immediate urge was to back away, to turn and run.
He took several long, deep breaths, forcing himself to perceive. To analyze. This is like a drug effect, he thought. Or like being in high quality VR. Or it’s something supernatural, his fear voice told him.
Gregson fumbled with his biotascope, making sure it was set to record.
He began moving slowly toward the creature. It was like trying to walk upstream in a river. Every cell in his body was trying to get him to turn around and go the other way. His heart was thudding so hard in his chest that it hurt.
The dark tangle of branches around him were sinister, hiding menace everywhere he looked. He could feel he was being watched. He could feel the tension in the air, like a predator was stalking him and was moments away from pouncing. Gregson became aware that his mouth was dry, and that he was breathing hard. Sweat was streaming down from his forehead and into his eyes.
Gregson had made it a dozen meters in toward the creature when the sound came. Starting low and soft, it was an eerie undulating cry, growing in volume and pitch. It was a horrible sound, a sound that made his pounding heart skip a beat. Then he heard a crashing in the forest behind him, and wide-eyed and gun ready Gregson whirled around. He saw the two Bankrightk men, who had obviously followed him into the forest, turning tail and running away.
Gregson’s whole body shuddered, wanting to follow them, but he clenched his eyes tightly shut and took deep breaths, trying to calm himself.
The undulating cry was loud, now, and unnerving. It made it impossible to think. Vern Hudson had called it a demon. It sounded like a demon. But demons weren’t real, they were fantasy. This couldn’t be a demon. This couldn’t be anything supernatural. It was just an animal. Just another animal …
Gregson recalled all the deadly animals he’d seen in his career, animals vicious and deadly. This creature didn’t have to be supernatural to be a demon. A demon could be an animal. A demon animal that paralyzed its prey with fear and then went in for the kill.
His biotascope made a sound. It was the proximity alert.
Gregson opened his eyes and glanced down at the screen, and saw that the damn thing was right behind him. He yelled and ran. He didn’t look back, he just ran. The running was such a glorious and wonderful relief that he kept going, effortlessly, as if a terrific pressure was pushing him from behind.
#
Gregson arrived at his camp exhausted, only to find that the Bankrightk men had been there first. They had taken revenge for the fright they’d received. Gregson’s tent had been cut apart with a laser torch, and the contents smashed and strewn about like so much garbage. He stood there, kicking at the remains of his cot and portable cooking equipment. His power plant and biopack computer were gone. It was basically everything he owned.
Of course he had insurance. Unfortunately, it took several Earth-months to process, and until then he had the choice of signing up with Bankrightk or being a bum. Without the biopak computer, there was no way for him to register DNA samples.
He felt it welling up inside of him. Anger, and the desire to kill. Common animal emotions. It was very distasteful, very unpleasant. They were overpowering.
Gregson hefted the stun gun. It was a large, heavy weapon, but it would not kill — unless you used it as a club.
He set off purposefully toward town.
#
Bankrightk had the newest and nicest building in town. Unlike most of the other reused tanks or spaceship pods, this foam-concrete building was actually built as an office. It had an authentic Sante Fe adobe look to it. The front door was securely locked, and peering through the windows Gregson saw that it was deserted.
The local law enforcement offices were a rusty old half-tank propped up as a rain shelter, with an empty glass office in the back. The glass was cracked in several places, and the public terminals to the orbital police station were all vandalized.
Gregson had known it was a useless gesture to even try, but he thought he should go through the motions anyway. One of the terminals, damaged as it was, still worked enough for him to report the crime. The reply he received was that the department was overwhelmed with search and rescue efforts, and wouldn’t be able to get an officer down to the settlement for at least a week.
Gregson pushed the key to acknowledge the message, but the key stuck and the terminal began making an annoying beeping sound. The screen filled with garbage characters. He stared at it for a moment, then pounded on it with his fist. It stopped beeping, the screen cleared, and on the display appeared an application for employment. Gregson stared at it quizzically for a moment, then shrugged and filled it out. Lord knows he was out of a job. It was better than working for Bankrightk.