Read Online The Best of Joe Haldeman by Jonathan Strahan, Joe W. Haldeman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Strahan, Joe W. Haldeman
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“Okay, seventh, come on up.” While we were walking toward them, one of the creatures moved, a tiny shudder, and Cortez flicked the beam of his laser over it with an almost negligent gesture. It made a hand-deep gash across the creature’s middle. It died, like the others, without emitting a sound.
They were not quite as tall as humans, but wider in girth. They were covered with dark green, almost black, fur—white curls where the laser had singed. They appeared to have three legs and an arm. The only ornament to their shaggy heads was a mouth, a wet black orifice filled with flat black teeth. They were thoroughly repulsive, but their worst feature was not a difference from human beings, but a similarity.... Whenever the laser had opened a body cavity, milk-white glistening veined globes and coils of organs spilled out, and their blood was dark clotting red.
“Rogers, take a look. Taurans or not?”
Rogers knelt by one of the disemboweled creatures and opened a flat plastic box, filled with glittering dissecting tools. She selected a scalpel. “One way we might be able to find out.” Doc Wilson watched over her shoulder as she methodically slit the membrane covering several organs.
“Here.” She held up a blackish fibrous mass between two fingers, a parody of daintiness through all that armor.
“So?”
“It’s grass, Sergeant. If the Taurans can eat the grass and breathe the air, they certainly found a planet remarkably like their home.” She tossed it away. “They’re animals, Sergeant, just fucken animals.”
“I don’t know,” Doc Wilson said. “Just because they walk around on all fours, threes maybe, and eat grass…”
“Well, let’s check out the brain.” She found one that had been hit in the head and scraped the superficial black char from the wound. “Look at that.”
It was almost solid bone. She tugged and ruffled the hair all over the head of another one. “What the hell does it use for sensory organs? No eyes, or ears, or...” She stood up.
“Nothing in that fucken head but a mouth and ten centimeters of skull. To protect nothing, not a fucken thing.”
“If I could shrug, I’d shrug,” the doctor said. “It doesn’t prove anything—a brain doesn’t have to look like a mushy walnut and it doesn’t have to be in the head. Maybe that skull isn’t bone, maybe that’s the brain, some crystal lattice...”
“Yeah, but the fucken stomach’s in the right place, and if those aren’t intestines I’ll eat—”
“Look,” Cortez said, “this is real interesting, but all we need to know is whether that thing’s dangerous, then we’ve gotta move on; we don’t have all—”
“They aren’t dangerous,” Rogers began. “They don’t—”
“Medic! DOC!” Somebody back at the firing line was waving his arms. Doc sprinted back to him, the rest of us following.
“What’s wrong?” He had reached back and unclipped his medical kit on the run.
“It’s Ho. She’s out.”
Doc swung open the door on Ho’s biomedical monitor. He didn’t have to look far. “She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Cortez said. “What the hell—”
“Just a minute.” Doc plugged a jack into the monitor and fiddled with some dials on his kit. “Everybody’s biomed readout is stored for twelve hours. I’m running it backwards, should be able to—there!”
“What?”
“Four and a half minutes ago—must have been when you opened fire—Jesus!”
“Well?”
“Massive cerebral hemorrhage. No...” He watched the dials. “No... warning, no indications of anything out of the ordinary; blood pressure up, pulse up, but normal under the circumstances...nothing to...indicate—” He reached down and popped her suit. Her fine oriental features were distorted in a horrible grimace, both gums showing. Sticky fluid ran from under her collapsed eyelids, and a trickle of blood
“Okay, seventh, come on up.” While we were walking toward them, one of the creatures moved, a tiny shudder, and Cortez flicked the beam of his laser over it with an almost negligent gesture. It made a hand-deep gash across the creature’s middle. It died, like the others, without emitting a sound.
They were not quite as tall as humans, but wider in girth. They were covered with dark green, almost black, fur—white curls where the laser had singed. They appeared to have three legs and an arm. The only ornament to their shaggy heads was a mouth, a wet black orifice filled with flat black teeth. They were thoroughly repulsive, but their worst feature was not a difference from human beings, but a similarity.... Whenever the laser had opened a body cavity, milk-white glistening veined globes and coils of organs spilled out, and their blood was dark clotting red.
“Rogers, take a look. Taurans or not?”
Rogers knelt by one of the disemboweled creatures and opened a flat plastic box, filled with glittering dissecting tools. She selected a scalpel. “One way we might be able to find out.” Doc Wilson watched over her shoulder as she methodically slit the membrane covering several organs.
“Here.” She held up a blackish fibrous mass between two fingers, a parody of daintiness through all that armor.
“So?”
“It’s grass, Sergeant. If the Taurans can eat the grass and breathe the air, they certainly found a planet remarkably like their home.” She tossed it away. “They’re animals, Sergeant, just fucken animals.”
“I don’t know,” Doc Wilson said. “Just because they walk around on all fours, threes maybe, and eat grass…”
“Well, let’s check out the brain.” She found one that had been hit in the head and scraped the superficial black char from the wound. “Look at that.”
It was almost solid bone. She tugged and ruffled the hair all over the head of another one. “What the hell does it use for sensory organs? No eyes, or ears, or...” She stood up.
“Nothing in that fucken head but a mouth and ten centimeters of skull. To protect nothing, not a fucken thing.”
“If I could shrug, I’d shrug,” the doctor said. “It doesn’t prove anything—a brain doesn’t have to look like a mushy walnut and it doesn’t have to be in the head. Maybe that skull isn’t bone, maybe that’s the brain, some crystal lattice...”
“Yeah, but the fucken stomach’s in the right place, and if those aren’t intestines I’ll eat—”
“Look,” Cortez said, “this is real interesting, but all we need to know is whether that thing’s dangerous, then we’ve gotta move on; we don’t have all—”
“They aren’t dangerous,” Rogers began. “They don’t—”
“Medic! DOC!” Somebody back at the firing line was waving his arms. Doc sprinted back to him, the rest of us following.
“What’s wrong?” He had reached back and unclipped his medical kit on the run.
“It’s Ho. She’s out.”
Doc swung open the door on Ho’s biomedical monitor. He didn’t have to look far. “She’s dead.”
“Dead?” Cortez said. “What the hell—”
“Just a minute.” Doc plugged a jack into the monitor and fiddled with some dials on his kit. “Everybody’s biomed readout is stored for twelve hours. I’m running it backwards, should be able to—there!”
“What?”
“Four and a half minutes ago—must have been when you opened fire—Jesus!”
“Well?”
“Massive cerebral hemorrhage. No...” He watched the dials. “No... warning, no indications of anything out of the ordinary; blood pressure up, pulse up, but normal under the circumstances...nothing to...indicate—” He reached down and popped her suit. Her fine oriental features were distorted in a horrible grimace, both gums showing. Sticky fluid ran from under her collapsed eyelids, and a trickle of blood
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