snapping them in two, but always there were new ones to take the place of the ones he killed, an endless supply of the little nightmares.
He stopped trying to fight them – it was futile – and focused his mind on escape instead. He struck out for the surface, clawing through the wriggling, writhing mass of fish, and as soon as he hit air he made for the nearest refuge, which was the dock. He could feel his limbs getting sluggish, his muscles weakening. The shoal stuck with him, still stinging him wherever they could even as he hauled himself out of the water onto dry land.
He collapsed prone on the dock, panting hard. He was shuddering all over and his vision was blurred. He was aware of people assembling around him – legs, combat boots, sea pattern camo fabric. He heard dim, distant laughter, and then felt the burn of a hypodermic injection in his thigh.
Slowly the shudders subsided and sensation returned to his skin. His breathing stabilised and his eyesight cleared.
Handler was hunkered down on his haunches, looking concerned. The entire team of Marines were ranged in a semicircle, looking less concerned.
“Harmer,” Handler said. “Dev. Look at me. How are you feeling? Are you back with us?”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes, I think so.”
“You were going into anaphylaxis. I gave you an epinephrine shot.”
“I offered to urinate on you,” said Milgrom. “I would have if the lieutenant hadn’t stopped me. Just remember that. I was prepared to piss all over you. That’s the kind of girl I am.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” said Sigursdottir. “Urinating on stings to relieve the inflammation – that’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Who said anything about inflammation? I just thought it’d be amusing.”
“Your generosity is appreciated,” Dev said, struggling to sit up. “Urghh. Those little fuckers. They seemed to cute as well.”
“Stickerfish?” said Handler. “They are cute – until they start stabbing you with their tongues.”
“Once they’ve put enough neurotoxin into you that you’re paralysed and helpless,” said Milgrom, “they start snacking on you, nibbling off your skin, burrowing into your flesh. They’ve got sharp little teeth.” She grinned with relish. “It’s not pleasant.”
“Really? Because it sounds like an absolute hoot.”
“Well, the good news is the feeding frenzy only last about five minutes. Once they’ve filled their bellies, the stickerfish just go. The bad news is, by then there’s enough blood in the water to attract a big predator. Either way, you’re a goner.”
“Is there anything in this stupid sea that doesn’t try to kill you?”
“Nope. That’s one of the joys of Triton. It’s a wonder they don’t make this place a holiday resort.”
Handler reached out and helped Dev to his feet. “Actually Triton isn’t as bad as all that. The corporal is exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’ve just been desperately unlucky, that’s all.”
“Unluckiness seems to be the defining characteristic of this mission so far,” Dev remarked. “But maybe that’s about to change. Maybe I’ve had my quota.”
He wouldn’t have laid money on it, though.
20
G UNNERY SERGEANT J IANG remained with the boats, tasked with replenishing their fuel tanks. Triton was plentifully supplied with deep-sea deposits of methane which, in liquid form, drove almost every vessel on the ocean. A few kilometres north of Llyr lay a couple of the drilling rigs that tapped the gas from the seabed and condensed it. They were crowned with feathers of blue flame, burning off the over-pressure to protect the plant equipment.
The refuelling would take a couple of hours, so in the meantime everyone else – Dev, Handler, the other Marines – headed for the centre of town to find a place to eat.
On Sigursdottir’s orders, all weapons and body armour were removed and left behind on the boats. This was temporary shore leave, and standard etiquette
He stopped trying to fight them – it was futile – and focused his mind on escape instead. He struck out for the surface, clawing through the wriggling, writhing mass of fish, and as soon as he hit air he made for the nearest refuge, which was the dock. He could feel his limbs getting sluggish, his muscles weakening. The shoal stuck with him, still stinging him wherever they could even as he hauled himself out of the water onto dry land.
He collapsed prone on the dock, panting hard. He was shuddering all over and his vision was blurred. He was aware of people assembling around him – legs, combat boots, sea pattern camo fabric. He heard dim, distant laughter, and then felt the burn of a hypodermic injection in his thigh.
Slowly the shudders subsided and sensation returned to his skin. His breathing stabilised and his eyesight cleared.
Handler was hunkered down on his haunches, looking concerned. The entire team of Marines were ranged in a semicircle, looking less concerned.
“Harmer,” Handler said. “Dev. Look at me. How are you feeling? Are you back with us?”
“Yes. Fuck. Yes, I think so.”
“You were going into anaphylaxis. I gave you an epinephrine shot.”
“I offered to urinate on you,” said Milgrom. “I would have if the lieutenant hadn’t stopped me. Just remember that. I was prepared to piss all over you. That’s the kind of girl I am.”
“It wouldn’t have worked,” said Sigursdottir. “Urinating on stings to relieve the inflammation – that’s an old wives’ tale.”
“Who said anything about inflammation? I just thought it’d be amusing.”
“Your generosity is appreciated,” Dev said, struggling to sit up. “Urghh. Those little fuckers. They seemed to cute as well.”
“Stickerfish?” said Handler. “They are cute – until they start stabbing you with their tongues.”
“Once they’ve put enough neurotoxin into you that you’re paralysed and helpless,” said Milgrom, “they start snacking on you, nibbling off your skin, burrowing into your flesh. They’ve got sharp little teeth.” She grinned with relish. “It’s not pleasant.”
“Really? Because it sounds like an absolute hoot.”
“Well, the good news is the feeding frenzy only last about five minutes. Once they’ve filled their bellies, the stickerfish just go. The bad news is, by then there’s enough blood in the water to attract a big predator. Either way, you’re a goner.”
“Is there anything in this stupid sea that doesn’t try to kill you?”
“Nope. That’s one of the joys of Triton. It’s a wonder they don’t make this place a holiday resort.”
Handler reached out and helped Dev to his feet. “Actually Triton isn’t as bad as all that. The corporal is exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’ve just been desperately unlucky, that’s all.”
“Unluckiness seems to be the defining characteristic of this mission so far,” Dev remarked. “But maybe that’s about to change. Maybe I’ve had my quota.”
He wouldn’t have laid money on it, though.
20
G UNNERY SERGEANT J IANG remained with the boats, tasked with replenishing their fuel tanks. Triton was plentifully supplied with deep-sea deposits of methane which, in liquid form, drove almost every vessel on the ocean. A few kilometres north of Llyr lay a couple of the drilling rigs that tapped the gas from the seabed and condensed it. They were crowned with feathers of blue flame, burning off the over-pressure to protect the plant equipment.
The refuelling would take a couple of hours, so in the meantime everyone else – Dev, Handler, the other Marines – headed for the centre of town to find a place to eat.
On Sigursdottir’s orders, all weapons and body armour were removed and left behind on the boats. This was temporary shore leave, and standard etiquette
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