SG-3 was moving before the sun rose. They walked in the gray light of predawn, stepping softly, quietly. It wasn't raining now, but it had for most of the night, and the forest dripped with excess moisture. Water glistened on the leaves, spraying in all directions anytime the foliage was disturbed. The mud was several inches deep, and puddles obstructed the path where the ground couldn't absorb any more precipitation. The men stoically marched through it all.
Needless to say, the last traces of footprints had been washed away. However, the hunting trail appeared well-used, and the Marines still found the occasional trail marker left by their missing CO that reassured them they were on the right path. In some places rocks had been kicked so their dirty sides faced up, a sign of recent displacement. Even P1Y-233's near-eternal rain needed more than a day to wash off that much encrusted mud. In other places they found a single, cleanly broken twig, or a leaf with a tiny, uniform tear.
After a while the weather got damp again. A persistent, annoying drizzle fell from the sky. About half an hour later, SG-3 came upon an encampment, and ducked down behind some prickly bushes with jagged, red-brown leaves before they could be spotted.
Warren motioned to Andrews and Henderson to check the place out. They nodded and moved into the surrounding brush. Warren skirted the edges, watching carefully for any signs of life. All he saw were the alien equivalent of camouflage netting, conical tents hanging from trees and insulated with moss, smoothed-off tree stumps, a lot of mud, and a large, cloth-covered box sitting near a big hole in the ground. No aliens. He spoke quietly into his radio, "Nothing here."
The other two replied with the same intel. "Looks clear," Andrews said. "I'm heading in." The drizzle turned to rain as he carefully moved out into the clearing. Nothing attacked him; the area appeared deserted. He walked over to a tent and peered inside. Moved on to another. "Shit."
"What is it?" Warren asked.
"Found the boss's stuff in here. Damn, we missed 'em."
The clearing stayed peaceful. No aliens jumped out of hiding to defend their ill-gotten gains. Warren and Henderson left the cover of the forest and joined their teammate at the tent.
Inside they found all of Makepeace's supplies—the rucksack and its contents spread out; his knife and sidearm; sleeping bag and tent, both unrolled and dumped in an untidy pile; two canteens, one empty; his clothes—and his rain suit and boots.
Henderson lifted the Gore-Tex trousers with a worried frown. "Why wouldn't Colonel Makepeace be wearing... Oh, my God." He cast an imploring look at Warren. "Sir..."
Andrews stroked his rifle, a terrible expression on his face. "Goddamn this fucking place."
Warren felt his stomach lurch, but refused to accept the horrible images that came to mind, the same images that he'd refused to entertain yesterday, that he hadn't even permitted the men to discuss. "Let's not jump to conclusions. There might be a different explanation."
"There better be, or I'm gonna depopulate this entire fucking planet!" Andrews snarled. "I'm gonna hunt those fucking savages down and put so many fucking bullets in 'em—"
"That's enough!" Warren held up his hand, and ordered, "Divide his stuff three ways. We'll take everything but the ruck and the sleeping gear." Those items weren't particularly valuable and were simply too bulky and heavy to hump on this search mission.
In silence, they packed Makepeace's supplies into their own rucksacks then systematically checked out the rest of the aliens' tents. Although they found a number of bizarre and unrecognizable tools, there was nothing to indicate Makepeace's fate, which Warren thought something of a relief. He'd been half terrified that they would find human remains, a blood-stained chopping block, scraped or chewed bones... He took a firm grip on his thoughts and moved on to the covered box. He pulled off the drop cloth and made a disgusted noise as his imagination again ran wild. "What the fucking hell is this thing?"
The box was actually a wooden cage. Inside it lay a revolting mound of rubbery black. Warren saw tentacles. Lots and lots of tentacles, and rows of suckers lined with sharp hooks. He picked up a stick and poked at it, watching the wrinkled flesh quiver like old gelatin. Otherwise the thing didn't move. It was still, lifeless. Dead.
"I hate this planet," Henderson said quietly.
Andrews's face was impassive as he turned away from the dead monster and went to inspect the pit. He glanced briefly at the wood latticework and pile of branches lying beside it, then peered over the edge. "Nothing down there— Wait a sec—" He dropped to his hands and knees, unmindful of the thick, clotted filth, and practically stuck his nose into the mud.
"What you got?" Warren asked.
"Some impressions. They're not clear, but they kind of resemble bare feet." Andrews looked up. "Human feet."
"From last night?"
Andrews shook his head. "Not in all this rain and muck. These have got to be fresh. It's hard to tell, but I'd say they can't be more than an hour old. Probably less."
Warren felt a surge of hope. So close... If only they'd gotten an earlier start!
Henderson looked into the pit. "You think he spent the night down there?"
"Can't tell," Andrews replied. "Hope not, but probably."
"It doesn't matter," Warren said impatiently. "We need to find where he is now. Spread out and check the entire area for tracks. I want to know where those aliens took him."
"There's also more of those weird snake tracks here," Andrews warned.
Warren didn't care. With renewed vigor and painstaking care, the men combed the muddy encampment. Warren watched Andrews scour the earth among the tents. Watched Henderson wind his way to the far side of the clearing, where it again met with dense vegetation. Saw nothing but sloppy muck beneath his own feet.
Let there be a trail, Warren thought, pleading with any deity who might deign to listen. Somewhere. Just a few footprints to point us in the right direction. That's all I ask.
P1Y-233's gods must have been in a good mood, because at that moment Henderson cried out, "Here!"
