Ivan Cat - The Burning Heart of Night

last ill-fated mission, but there were limits to his stamina. He could not run for more than a few more minutes. The bloodthirsty life-forms on his tail, however, showed no signs of weakening. Their rustle of pursuit was dangerously near and drawing nearer by the second. Karr had to do something? and fast?

with the limited resources at hand: ghimpsuit, light Pilot's boots, and Gattler. He had nothing else, and the Gattler was growing heavier with every step. The creatures had cut Karr off from the rest of his equipment when he ventured inland searching for water and food. Deciding to use the Gattler before he couldn't carry it any longer, Karr spun its selector knob. Barrel six whirred into position and he stopped and turned, squeezing the trigger. Mountains of aqueous sterilizing foam gushed out like suds from a mad washing machine, swamping a wide swath of jungle to a height well above his own head. Karr heard several gratifying slurshes as the creatures slid into it, followed by howls of displeasure as the stinging foam got into eyes, mouths and noses? assuming they had those. They thrashed in blinding, slippery confusion.

The voice of fear counseled Karr to select a different barrel and riddle the foam with qi needles, or better yet, use a cutting beam to fry the creatures, but he turned and ran. Downed on an alien planet and surrounded by hostile life-forms, every Pilot knew better than to stand and fight. Karr had played these scenarios in survival training. It didn't matter that the Gattler could be used as a weapon. The creatures had the advantage. It was their turf. They knew it better than Karr and they outnumbered him. Even with rocks and teeth to his needles and cutting beams, all they had to do was swarm him. In a game of attrition wherein Karr had only one of himself to lose, Karr lost. Keep moving. Keep hiding. Stay alive from one moment to the next and try to get away. If they don't get you in the first forty-eight hours, you will probably make it.

So Karr fled, half-running, half-falling over the constantly rippling ground. CG-423-B harrowed him with sensual stimulation unlike anything on the interior of his lost ship. Harsh, unidentifiable sounds hammered his ears. Varied odors wafted in atmosphere lacking the chemical scent of air scrubbers. And the sights were nerve-wracking! What was that thing? Karr wondered at gourd shapes strangling the base of a tall tree. They resembled a drill corporal back at the Academy, bulbous nose and all. Below that proboscis, a squirmy thing struggled in a plant mouth lined with teeth. There were rainbow bubbles, blowing from viscous fluid that stretched over irregular hoops of liana. Yards long, the bubbles undulated in the lazy breeze above Karr, floating many paces before popping. They were beautiful? but what were the fine fibers that fell on him? They smelled like spun sugar. Karr brushed them off. Mounds of puff

sacks underfoot shot stinging needles.

Ouch. Don't rub. Let the swelling go down by itself. The creatures closed in again, grumpier? and presumably cleaner? than before. Karr summoned his last reserves of energy and sprinted around a stand of velvety leaves. The crowded foliage parted like a curtain, revealing a doughnut-hole lagoon in the middle of the island. One hundred yards of calm water mirrored the stately trees around it. The shore was rotting, slowly submerging unlucky plants and bushes as the lagoon grew wider.

Karr followed the decaying shoreline counterclockwise until an ill-placed inlet blocked further flight.

To his left, the ground sloped down to a narrow peninsula with a tree on its sinking end. To his right, the way he wanted to go, the sounds of pursuit were growing louder and louder.

Karr was trapped.

He ran down the slope onto the dead-end peninsula, stopping short of the tree, which resembled the mast and sails of an ancient Terran sailing ship. Because of the rotting shoreline, its roots were submerged and it leaned at a precarious angle.

Rustle, rustle.

Karr spun. The aliens broke out of the jungle into view? or rather, Karr deduced their positions by the parting swaths of greenery and shadows on the ground. The deadly creatures were impossible to see directly because of highly effective camouflage, ever-changing on their skins. Karr counted eight shadows, noting that they appeared to move in pairs. Those shadow pairs stopped midway down the peninsula to size up the situation.

"Rachikatikachiktik," went the disembodied voices, like coins churning in cogs. Patches of color smeared clear air.

"Rakachikutuktuk," said the blur over the biggest shadow.

"Krikadrishtix," its partner clattered. Karr heard suspicious sniffing.

Was it speech or just animal sounds? It sure sounded like communication to Karr.

The shimmering pack of aliens spread out across the narrow wedge of land. Karr backed up, splashing ankle deep into the water. It felt chilly in contrast to the hot air and reminded Karr that he had nowhere to go. The aliens certainly thought he was trapped, because they dropped their camouflage and displayed synchronized waves of black and yellow as they prowled forward.

"That's far enough," Karr barked, vocal chords gravelly from lack of use. He twisted the Gattler's selector and fired a burst of qi needles. They were not designed as darts and only flew straight a few yards before tumbling and bouncing off the ground or spinning harmlessly into the creatures. It was a pretty sad display. The Gattler's barrels spun again. This time Karr fired globs of adhesive froth. The aliens were able to dodge these, but they got the point: the Gattler was a weapon. They halted when Karr pointed it at them.

"Urrrrrr," growled the one that had sniffed suspiciously. It poked a patch of adhesive with a stick. The glue held; the stick broke off.

Tool use, thought Karr, intelligent behavior. Were these fierce aliens the reason he had not found a colony on this planet? Had they wiped the humans out? Karr kept backing up until he banged into the roots of the sinking tree.

Climb or swim?

The creatures edged closer.

"Look," he warned, selecting the cutting beam. "Don't make me hurt you...."

The suspicious creature clattered its nasty teeth. "Rikurrkurrkurrk."

"I don't want to hurt you," Karr continued, "but I will if I have to." He menaced them with the Gattler.

The threat was largely a bluff. Karr didn't think he could get them all before they pounced on him. He just wanted them to back off.

The aliens did not back off, but they did stop at the edge of the water, eyeing it distrustfully, which gave Karr pause. Observe indigenous species. They know the local hazards. If they don't want to wade, Karr concluded, I don't want to swim. So he turned and, letting the Gattler dangle from its shoulder strap, clawed up the tree, fingers finding purchase on its wrinkled bark. Before the creatures knew it, he was five stories up, standing on a branch that protruded over the inlet. Karr hugged the main trunk as it swayed back and forth, exaggerating the gentle motion of the ground below.

The aliens watched with hungry eyes.

Karr was reluctant to venture onto the branch, but he did not know how long the water would hold them back, so he straddled the downward-sloping limb and? not looking down? shimmied out toward the tip. Thankfully, the branch was strong and did not bend under his weight. Karr made good progress until one of the sail-like leaves got in the way. It grew down from the limb above, its lower end anchored by curly creepers wrapped around Karr's branch.

No problem.

Getting a firm grip on the Gattler again, Karr used its cutting beam, set narrow, to sever the creepers.

The aliens paced restlessly, "richikaticking" and "rackattakatakking" their distress at Karr's actions.