“Hold it up for full spectrum scan,” Jaenisch said.
“Security, hold in place,” the radio crackled. “We’re getting a weird reading from the woodline.”
“It just popped up,” the tactical officer said, pointing at the screen. “Neutrino emissions. A lot.”
“Commander Weaver, your input at Tactical please,” the CO said.
“I’ve got the same thing, sir,” Bill replied in a puzzled tone. “And it’s a moving emitter. If I didn’t know better, I’d say somebody had an active boson. Or maybe a nuclear reactor. But all I’m getting is neutrinos. And I think it’s multiple sources. This appears to be the source of those strange neutrino emissions we saw from orbit. Whatever it is. I’d advise holding the security team in place. Other than neutrinos, I’m not getting anything else. And neutrinos aren’t hazardous.”
“Very well,” the CO said. “Security team. Hold your position.”
“Oh… wow,” the TACO said a moment later, looking at the picture on the main viewscreen.
“Now that is… odd,” the CO admitted.
“Go figure,” Bill replied.
“Holy Hanna,” Jaenisch muttered.
“What?” Bergstresser asked without turning around. “I’m getting lots of neutrino emissions from your direction and now there’s some baryons. What the grapp is it?”
“Go ahead and take a look,” Jaenisch replied. “This you gotta see.”
Flying above the grass was a group of, presumably, locals. They were rotund and either wearing fur coats or covered in fur in a wild variety of colors and patterns. As they approached, Jaenisch confirmed that they were, in fact, covered in fur. The base color was mostly a light brown with darker patches on the shoulders and face but that was only a median. Some of them were nearly white with random spots of black or brown, others were nearly black with patches of lighter patterns.
Physically they resembled bipedal rodents with long snouts and small ears. Their hands were undersized and tucked in close to their bodies but they had massive hindquarters, possibly designed for hopping.
He wasn’t sure how they “walked” because each of the group was riding something that looked like a broad surfboard, colored brilliant gold, that was jetting along over the ground. They weren’t at equal heights, either. Some were just over the grass while others were floating along ten meters over the seed-tops.
As the group approached the armor-clad Marines it spread out, the riders hefting spears and shaking them at the trio. The spears were simple in the extreme, nothing more than long sticks with sharpened points.
“Okay, this is grapping weird,” Hattelstad muttered. “Giant crabs I can handle. Giant acid-spitting crabs even. But I’m not real sure about giant spear-wielding, surfer hamsters.”
“Command, Security Team One,” Jaenisch said. “Orders?”
“They’re so cute,” Miriam squealed as the elevator descended.
“They’re six-foot tall, spear-wielding hamsters,” Weaver reminded her. “And just because we have a brief truce doesn’t mean they won’t fill you full of spears. Please be careful.”
“I will,” Miriam said. “But they’re so cute! And they don’t really look like hamsters. More like chinchillas. Chinchillas have opposable thumbs.”
“Fine, spear-wielding surfer chinchillas,” Bill said. “Just be careful.”
He and Miller followed the linguist towards where the trio of Marines were lined up facing the locals. The natives had mostly grounded their boards when it became apparent that the visitors weren’t going anywhere. A few of them had flown around the ship, much to the consternation of the captain, but otherwise they seemed fine with just watching for the time being.
“Lots of body language,” Miriam said as she approached the trio. “The way they’re moving their ears and noses seems to almost be part of their language.”
“Have you picked up anything from the squeaks?” Bill asked.
“Lots,” Miriam said as she strode past the Marines. “Eegle, eegle, meek!” she squeaked over the external speakers.
The apparent leader of the group, mottled in patches of brown over a dark coat, stood up and squeaked back at her.
This went on for about three minutes, with Miriam occasionally waving her arms, then paused. Before Weaver could react, the front of the suit opened up and Miriam stepped out wearing only the skin-tight coverall that was necessary to pilot the suit.
“Eegle, sreek!” Miriam said, waving to the group of locals.
“Oh, maulk,” Weaver said. “Command, we have contamination.”
“I saw,” the CO said. “We also have some large forms moving in from the northeast.”
“We’re on it,” Jaenisch said. “Hattelstad, echelon right.”
“Heat forms,” Hattelstad said, vectoring his cannon in the direction of the threat.
“Miss Miriam,” Jaenisch boomed over the external speakers. “We have heat forms moving in from the northeast. Please reenter your armor.”
“I’m on it,” Miller said, his Wyvern bounding into a trot to the northeast. “Marines, ensure local security.”
Miriam squeaked at the leader and pointed to the northeast. The leader didn’t appear to understand at first then gestured for two of the group to head that way. They passed the bounding Wyvern, then turned back, squeaking and whistling at the group of locals. They, in turn, began scrambling on their boards and clawing for altitude.
“She’s not listening,” Berg said, striding forward. He lightly tapped Miriam on the shoulder and pointed for her to get behind him.
“I’m fine right here,” Miriam said. “If they get close, I’ll get in my armor.”
“Ma’am,” Berg said, trying not to pick the silly twit up and toss her back on the ship. “The armor doesn’t always work. Would you at least stand behind me?”
“Okay,” Miriam said with a pout. She squeaked at the leader and then pointed.
“Grapp,” Miller said, sliding to a stop at the sight of the pack of obvious predators. The things looked like some sort of dragon or giant lizard, their backs and shoulders armored in broad plates with narrow spines sticking up along their back. They were about the size of a male lion, with triangular shaped heads that appeared to be almost entirely bone and teeth. And there were eight of them.
As soon as they saw the Wyvern, they charged.
Miller knew that backing away was not an option, so he took a knee and opened fire.
Fortunately, unlike that on the crabpus, the armoring of these predators was not resistant to 7.62 mm high-velocity bullets nor were the creatures stupid. The scything fire of the Gatling gun tore into the group, splashing three of them on the ground and scattering the rest into retreat.
The locals had initially approached the pack, keeping high with their spears angled down to throw. But at the chainsaw blast of fire from the Gatling gun they turned tail and ran as well, heading for the treeline.
“Meek, eek!” Miriam yelled. “Eegle neek, neek! Sccccrrkk!”
“Do you actually know what you’re saying?” Weaver asked.
“Yes,” Miriam snapped. “See?”
The group of locals had paused and were now returning, slowly. The leader gestured and squeaked and two of the group flew towards the Wyvern, then outwards. They evidently found the pack and traced it as it circled. The predators had only been driven off momentarily.
“Command, Ground,” Weaver said. “Can we get some more security out here?”