"Good."
They drew closer to the aircraft. It was clear that the same engineers who had built the lander had built this. The metal hull was dark maroon, almost a rusty color, unpolished and spotted with patches of corrosion. The lines and corners were rough as well, as if no consideration had been given to aerodynamics or style. It was like a boxcar, ugly and bulky and strictly utilitarian.
The aircraft lay on its side so that the top of it faced Mazer. It was taller than he was. He approached it and kicked the metal with his boot. It gave a light, hollow clang. He moved around it to the opposite side. Fatani was there, standing on a slight rise in the earth, affording him a better view of the aircraft's side, now its top. Mazer climbed up beside him and saw where the bullets from the Chinese helicopter had hit it. Nothing had penetrated the hull, but the bullets had left small, near-imperceptible depressions in the metal. It struck Mazer as strange.
Fatani must have been thinking the same. "This doesn't make sense," he said. "The bullets didn't break through. There's no leaking fluid. No visible damage at all from the gunfire. Why did it go down?"
"Maybe the sheer force of the impact knocked it out of whack. Like a punch to the side of the head. The pilot wasn't expecting it. Or maybe the aircraft is difficult to realign once shaken. Any number of reasons."
The craft moved: A large piece of metal on the top, like a bay door, rose up twenty centimeters.
Mazer stumbled backward, startled, nearly tripping over himself. Patu and Fatani stumbled back as well, guns up and tight in their hands.
"What's it doing?" said Fatani.
The door was a wide, flat section of hull nearly as tall as the aircraft. Another grinding noise sounded, and the door--now the roof--slid backward, revealing a deep empty space inside.
"I don't like this," said Patu.
The door slid all the way to the back and stopped. The interior was wide like a cargo bay. Mazer couldn't see far enough inside to see the bottom. He stepped toward it.
"Easy," said Fatani. "That door's not opening on its own."
Mazer drew closer. One me
ter, then two. His gun up and aimed. He was right at the side of the thing. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to see inside.
A red hand to his right reached up out of the space and grabbed the edge.
Fatani swore. Mazer stumbled back again. Patu stepped forward, ready to fire.
Mazer threw up a hand. "Wait! Don't shoot." He backed up, getting his feet back under him, his heart racing.
The red hand was muscled and hard, with fine wisps of short hair. It was maybe two-thirds the size of Mazer's hand and was a claw as much as anything. Mazer watched it and heard a sound inside. A hiss. Not a mechanical sound, but a biological one. Breaths. Shallow and raspy. The sound an animal makes when it's in pain.
"Back up," said Mazer.
They retreated a few steps.
The red hand clinging to the edge strained again, tightening, clutching, pulling. The breathing was heavier, more labored. The animal was trying to lift itself.
A second, smaller hand appeared near the first.
Then the creature's leg came over the edge, and the body quickly followed. Now Mazer could see that the smaller arm and hand wasn't an opposing limb, but a second, smaller arm on the same side beneath the first. Or perhaps the middle appendages were an extra set of legs. It was difficult to say; there didn't appear to be much anatomical difference between the two.
The creature lay there on the narrow edge, catching its breath, rasping, like a tightrope walker taking a break mid performance. It wore no clothing. Strapped to its back was a large semitransparent canister filled with fluid that sloshed around inside. Its head was turned away from them. It looked to be about four feet tall. It's skin was covered in a short, fuzzy fur, yet the hair was thin, like the hair on a man's arm, affording Mazer a clear view of the creature's skin, which was earth tones, mostly deep reds with splotches of orange and yellow and green. Like an insect.
"Let me shoot it," said Patu.
"Wait," said Mazer. "Let's see what it does."
After a moment the creature seemed to compose itself and gather strength. It tried to maneuver its hands in such a way to lower itself to the ground, but when it shifted its weight, it tumbled over the side and fell hard to the ground. The creature inhaled sharply as if stabbed with pain but made no other sound. It lay still for a moment, breathing. Then slowly, with great effort, it tried to get to its feet. At first it failed. The arms on its left side were limp and apparently broken. The left leg was twisted slightly, bent at an angle that didn't match the right leg it was using. It must have been thrown around violently during the wreck.
Mazer could now see that a tube extended from the bottom of the canister on the creature's back. At the end of the tube was a short wand, not unlike the pack a pest-control worker might wear.
The creature got its good leg under it. Then, pushing upward with that leg, putting its back against the aircraft as support, it slowly got to its feet. Mazer almost pitied it then. It was such a short, broken thing. But the feeling lasted only an instant. He tightened his grip on his gun, aiming at the creature's head.
The creature hobbled forward, still oblivious to their presence. One painful step after another it put weight on its bad leg as it shuffled along. It reached the end of the lander and continued moving forward in the grass.