Survival Type

F. Bone Jesse

Description

American science fiction author Jesse F. Bone had an illustrious career as a lieutenant colonel in the U.S. Army Veterinary Corps, a veterinarian, and a professor and textbook author in the veterinary sciences. Along the way, he began penning SF stories and novels that achieved a significant amount of acclaim, including a Hugo Award nomination. "Survival Type," a story that follows the exploits of intrepid interplanetary explorer Arthur Lanceford as he navigates the deadly terrain of the planet Niobe, was one of Bone's first publications.

Sujets

• Science fiction

Informations

• Publié par: The Floating Press
• Date de parution: 01 octobre 2016
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781776672394
• Langue: English

Extrait

SURVIVAL TYPE
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JESSE F. BONE
 
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Survival Type First published in 1957 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-239-4 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-240-0 © 2016 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
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Score one or one million was not enough for the human race. It had to be all or nothing ... with one man doing every bit of scoring!
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Arthur Lanceford slapped futilely at the sith buzzing hungrily aroundhis head. The outsized eight-legged parody of a mosquito did a neathalf roll and zoomed out of range, hanging motionless on vibratingwings a few feet away.
A raindrop staggered it momentarily, and for a fleeting second,Lanceford had the insane hope that the arthropod would fall out ofcontrol into the mud. If it did, that would be the end of it, forNiobian mud was as sticky as flypaper. But the sith righted itselfinches short of disaster, buzzed angrily and retreated to the shelterof a nearby broadleaf, where it executed another half roll and hungupside down, watching its intended meal with avid anticipation.
Lanceford eyed the insect distastefully as he explored his jacket forrepellent and applied the smelly stuff liberally to his face and neck.It wouldn't do much good. In an hour, his sweat would remove whateverthe rain missed—but for that time, it should discourage the sith. Asfar as permanent discouraging went, the repellent was useless. Onceone of those eight-legged horrors checked you off, there were only twopossible endings to the affair—either you were bitten or you killedthe critter.
It was as simple as that.
He had hoped that he would be fast enough to get the sith before it gothim. He had been bitten once already and the memory of those paralyzedthree minutes while the bloodsucker fed was enough to last him fora lifetime. He readjusted his helmet, tucking its fringe of nettingbeneath his collar. The netting, he reflected gloomily, was like itsowner—much the worse for wear. However, this trek would be over inanother week and he would be able to spend the next six months at acomfortable desk job at the Base, while some other poor devil did thechores of field work.
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He looked down the rain-swept trail winding through the jungle.Niobe—a perfect name for this wet little world. The Bureau ofExtraterrestrial Exploration couldn't have picked a better, but thefunny thing about it was that they hadn't picked it in the first place.Niobe was the native word for Earth, or perhaps "the world" would bea more accurate definition. It was a coincidence, of course, but theplanet and its mythological Greek namesake had much in common.
Niobe, like Niobe, was all tears—a world of rain falling endlesslyfrom an impenetrable overcast, fat wet drops that formed a grievingbackground sound that never ceased, sobbing with soft mournful noiseson the rubbery broadleaves, crying with obese splashes into forestpools, blubbering with loud, dismal persistence on the soundingboard of his helmet. And on the ground, the raindrops mixed with theloesslike soil of the trail to form a gluey mud that clung in hugepasty balls to his boots.
Everywhere there was water, running in rivulets of tear-streaks downthe round cheeks of the gently sloping land—rivulets that merged andblended into broad shallow rivers that wound their mourners' coursesto the sea. Trekking on Niobe was an amphibious operation unlessone stayed in the highlands—a perpetual series of fords and rivercrossings.
And it was hot, a seasonless, unchanging, humid heat that made aprotection suit an instrument of torture that slowly boiled its wearerin his own sweat. But the suit was necessary, for exposed human fleshwas irresistible temptation to Niobe's bloodsucking insects. Many ofthese were no worse than those of Earth, but a half dozen species weredeadly. The first bite sensitized. The second killed—anaphylacticshock, the medics called it. And the sith was one of the deadly species.
Lanceford shrugged fatalistically. Uncomfortable as a protection suitwas, it was better to boil in it than die without it.
He looked at Kron squatting beside the trail and envied him. It wastoo bad that Earthmen weren't as naturally repellent to insects asthe dominant native life. Like all Niobians, the native guide wore noclothing—ideal garb for a climate like this. His white, hairless hide,with its faint sheen of oil, was beautifully water-repellent.
Kron, Lanceford reflected, was a good example of the manner in whichNature adapts the humanoid form for survival on different worlds.Like the dominant species on every intelligent planet in the exploredgalaxy, he was an erect, bipedal, mammalian being with hands thatpossessed an opposable thumb. Insofar as that general description went,Kron resembled humanity—but there were differences.
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