make a decent rope. She would loop the moss over the limb, lower herself to the next branch, and then pull it down after. Tedious but workable.
She squirmed on her stomach to the edge of the tree limb and peered at layers of crisscrossed branches. The only way to reach the moss beneath the limb was to climb over the side.
She rummaged through her pouch of hooks and clamps and took out the bear claw. With her fingers linked in the tines, she lowered over the curve of the branch. The hooks bit into the thick bark and drew moisture from the flesh beneath. A screech rose from the shadows. Impani shifted to glance over her shoulder. One of the hooks slipped and gouged a chunk of bark. The screech rose again. Her neck prickled beneath her skinsuit.
She slammed a hook into the surface and moved another meter downward. Muscles burned as her shoulders took on her weight. Mossy cords draped the underside. Rope for the taking—if she could reach it. There were also pod-like growths ranging from centimeters wide to the size of her fist. They resembled the flower bud that had blocked her path. Why hadn’t she paid closer attention?
She forced the hooks in at an angle. Her arms shook with effort. Breath burst from her chest. She hadn’t paid attention because Trace had annoyed her. It was his fault. Impani snickered then stopped.
The branch at her head rustled. There came a sound. Moist. Sucking. Long, green fingers extended from the branch. They attached to the bark with transparent cups.
Fear welled in her stomach, and she chided herself for it. She was a cadet, trained in first-contact situations.
But instead of introducing herself, she edged back.
A face appeared. Green and lined with veins. No eyes. No sensing apparatus at all, yet the creature detected every gouge, every gash left by her hooks and vomited a thick, gelatinous liquid into them. Its throat pulsed and gurgled as it worked. Its puckered mouth opened without benefit of a jaw.
She moved farther away. Her hook knocked a pod loose. It dropped into the shadows. Moisture dripped from the wound. The creature oozed forward. Its body hugged the branch as if it were part of the tree. The suction of its finger pads crackled.
Impani’s shoulders burned. Her fingers ached, locked in the tines of the hooks. Still she edged back. She couldn’t explain why, but she sensed that the creature would kill without hesitation or remorse. It was the Guardian of the tree.
It reached the missing pod. Moisture trickled like blood. With its head back, it emitted a keening wail. Flashes of green filled the branches above. Impani cringed. The creature turned its eyeless face toward her. With a rustling sound, it darted forward.
She jerked back. One hook ripped free, and the remaining hook tore a long gash in the tree. Another creature appeared. Then another. Impani leaped for the drape of moss. She wrapped her fingers around the cord and dragged it with her as she fell. The tree became a blur.
She hit the next branch and rolled with the impact. The length of moss remained attached to the bark above. Creatures swarmed about the limb. They dropped from the higher branches.
With a tight grip on the moss rope, Impani swung to the next branch. The cord tore from the tree, and she hit the branch hard. She scrambled to her feet and bolted down the broad tree limb, coiling the moss as she ran. The limb forked, and she followed it to the right. A large flower bud blocked her way. She crouched behind it. Panting, she listened to soft thuds as creatures dropped to her level.
Suddenly, the flower bud shuddered. Cracks split the sides. The fissures quaked as if something inside were pounding to get out. The top peeled back, exposing an interior of cottony white fibers.
Green fingers punched through. Then an eyeless face. The creature squirmed and strained to extract itself. Fibers draped its shoulders like wet cobwebs.
Impani gaped. She couldn’t move, could not force herself to look away.
She squirmed on her stomach to the edge of the tree limb and peered at layers of crisscrossed branches. The only way to reach the moss beneath the limb was to climb over the side.
She rummaged through her pouch of hooks and clamps and took out the bear claw. With her fingers linked in the tines, she lowered over the curve of the branch. The hooks bit into the thick bark and drew moisture from the flesh beneath. A screech rose from the shadows. Impani shifted to glance over her shoulder. One of the hooks slipped and gouged a chunk of bark. The screech rose again. Her neck prickled beneath her skinsuit.
She slammed a hook into the surface and moved another meter downward. Muscles burned as her shoulders took on her weight. Mossy cords draped the underside. Rope for the taking—if she could reach it. There were also pod-like growths ranging from centimeters wide to the size of her fist. They resembled the flower bud that had blocked her path. Why hadn’t she paid closer attention?
She forced the hooks in at an angle. Her arms shook with effort. Breath burst from her chest. She hadn’t paid attention because Trace had annoyed her. It was his fault. Impani snickered then stopped.
The branch at her head rustled. There came a sound. Moist. Sucking. Long, green fingers extended from the branch. They attached to the bark with transparent cups.
Fear welled in her stomach, and she chided herself for it. She was a cadet, trained in first-contact situations.
But instead of introducing herself, she edged back.
A face appeared. Green and lined with veins. No eyes. No sensing apparatus at all, yet the creature detected every gouge, every gash left by her hooks and vomited a thick, gelatinous liquid into them. Its throat pulsed and gurgled as it worked. Its puckered mouth opened without benefit of a jaw.
She moved farther away. Her hook knocked a pod loose. It dropped into the shadows. Moisture dripped from the wound. The creature oozed forward. Its body hugged the branch as if it were part of the tree. The suction of its finger pads crackled.
Impani’s shoulders burned. Her fingers ached, locked in the tines of the hooks. Still she edged back. She couldn’t explain why, but she sensed that the creature would kill without hesitation or remorse. It was the Guardian of the tree.
It reached the missing pod. Moisture trickled like blood. With its head back, it emitted a keening wail. Flashes of green filled the branches above. Impani cringed. The creature turned its eyeless face toward her. With a rustling sound, it darted forward.
She jerked back. One hook ripped free, and the remaining hook tore a long gash in the tree. Another creature appeared. Then another. Impani leaped for the drape of moss. She wrapped her fingers around the cord and dragged it with her as she fell. The tree became a blur.
She hit the next branch and rolled with the impact. The length of moss remained attached to the bark above. Creatures swarmed about the limb. They dropped from the higher branches.
With a tight grip on the moss rope, Impani swung to the next branch. The cord tore from the tree, and she hit the branch hard. She scrambled to her feet and bolted down the broad tree limb, coiling the moss as she ran. The limb forked, and she followed it to the right. A large flower bud blocked her way. She crouched behind it. Panting, she listened to soft thuds as creatures dropped to her level.
Suddenly, the flower bud shuddered. Cracks split the sides. The fissures quaked as if something inside were pounding to get out. The top peeled back, exposing an interior of cottony white fibers.
Green fingers punched through. Then an eyeless face. The creature squirmed and strained to extract itself. Fibers draped its shoulders like wet cobwebs.
Impani gaped. She couldn’t move, could not force herself to look away.
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