The drones moved first
- They swept low and fast through the forest canopy, cutting clean paths through branches and leaves as they advanced. Their engines produced a steady mechanical hum that did not belong to Pandora, a sound that carried further than the operators cared. Trees shook as rotors forced air downward. Smaller plants were flattened outright, pressed into the soil by repeated passes.
On the monitors inside the ISV's operations bay, the terrain shifted from dense green to exposed brown in neat, expanding shapes.
"Clear zone expanding," a technician called out. "No hostiles detected."
Grace Augustine folded her arms tightly as she watched the feed. The image made her stomach twist. The forest didn't look dead yet, but she knew better. The damage would not be immediate. Pandora didn't react the way Earth did. It remembered.
"You're tearing the skin off the planet," Grace said flatly.
Parker Selfridge didn't look up from the table display. "We're clearing space. That's what we're here to do."
Grace turned toward him. "You're clearing a network. You cut this much biomass at once, and the local fauna will respond."
Quaritch leaned back against a bulkhead nearby, arms crossed over his chest. His expression didn't change. "Respond how?"
Grace stepped forward, tapping the screen hard enough to make a technician flinch. "Predatory migration. Territorial convergence. Pack behaviour. You light up the forest like this, and everything with teeth is going to start moving towards it."
Parker sighed. "Grace, we've run the numbers. This site gives us a stable landing zone, room for refineries, a spaceport, and a defensive perimeter. Hell's Gate isn't a research station. It's infrastructure."
"And infrastructure gets people killed if you ignore the environment," Grace shot back. "This isn't just flora. This whole system communicates. You clear it this fast, and you're ringing a dinner bell."
Quaritch straightened slightly with a slight smirk. "My people can handle dinner."
Grace turned on him. "You're not listening. This isn't a fight you win by shooting harder. The forest doesn't stop coming."
Two scientists stood behind Grace, both xenobiologists, both silent until now. One of them finally spoke. "She's right. We're already seeing movement spikes on the motion sensors. Not random. Coordinated."
Parker finally looked up.
For a moment, there was calculation in his eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by resolve.
"This operation is not about discovery," he said evenly. "It's about the superconductive mineral under that forest. Everything else is secondary."
Grace stared at him. "You can't just bulldoze first contact."
Parker's jaw tightened. "We're not here to make friends."
He turned toward Quaritch. "Colonel."
Quaritch nodded once.
"Half your unit," Parker continued. "Deploy immediately. Secure the zone. Begin ground clearing."
Grace stepped forward sharply. "You're making a mistake."
Quaritch met her gaze. "That's above your pay grade."
The order went out within seconds.
Marines began moving through the ISV, armour locking into place, weapons checked with mechanical precision. Both Valkyries powered up, their engines rumbling through the hull. The drone feed showed the clearing widening, smoke rising where trees were being felled and burned.
Grace watched it happen, helpless.
The dropships punched through the cloud layer in tight formation.
From the open troop bays, Marines watched the forest rise to meet them. What had looked like clean geometry on a screen was messier up close. Smoke curled unevenly where drones had burned vegetation. Trees lay half-felled, tangled together, roots exposed like open wounds in the ground.
Quaritch stood near the front of the lead ship, helmet clipped to his side. He watched the terrain with a soldier's eye, already marking lines of fire and fallback positions.
"Touchdown in thirty," the pilot called.
Below, wildlife was already reacting.
Creatures scattered from the clearing edges, moving fast and low. Some fled deeper into the forest. Others circled back, hesitant but alert, watching the noise and movement with glowing eyes from the undergrowth.
Grace saw it all from the rear dropship, jaw clenched.
"This is exactly what I warned you about," she said into the comm, not expecting an answer.
The ships landed hard.
Ramps dropped. Marines poured out in practised order, boots hitting soil still warm from drone exhaust. Portable turrets were deployed within minutes. Motion sensors went up next, followed by perimeter beacons that stabbed thin lines of light into the canopy.
"Zone secure," a squad leader reported. "Beginning ground clearance."
Cutters roared to life.
Trees came down fast. Too fast. The sound was constant now, layered and violent, echoing through the forest. Every fallen trunk sent tremors through the ground.
Grace and her two colleagues stood well back, masks sealed, watching as the new forest just discovered was cleared with practised efficiency
A sudden alarm cut through the noise.
"Motion spike!" a marine shouted. "Multiple contacts. Fast."
Shapes burst from the treeline.
Viperwolves.
They moved as a pack, low and coordinated, darting between fallen branches and smoke. The first line of Marines reacted instantly, rifles snapping up as they fired controlled bursts.
The animals didn't retreat.
They surged forward, undeterred by noise or injury. One leapt onto a turret emplacement, jaws snapping before it was cut down at close range. Another darted beneath a marine's aim and was crushed under a powered boot.
"Hold the line!" Quaritch barked. "Keep formation!"
The pack broke against the perimeter after several tense minutes, retreating into the forest with sharp, frustrated cries. The clearing fell into a brief, uneasy quiet.
Grace didn't look relieved.
"That was just a probe," she said. "You've announced yourselves now."
Quaritch turned toward her. "And we answered."
Grace shook her head. "No. You fired. That's not the same thing."
More movement appeared on the sensors. Not a charge this time. Circling. Testing.
Parker's voice crackled over the comm. "Status."
"Perimeter holding," Quaritch replied. "Wildlife contact. Nothing we can't manage."
Grace leaned toward the comm. "You're escalating the situation."
Parker cut in sharply. "This is done. Science teams pull back to the ship. I want Hell's Gate operational within forty-eight hours."
Grace stared at the comm unit, then lowered it slowly.
"They're not listening," one of the scientists said.
"No," Grace replied. "They never do."
Reluctantly, she turned away from the clearing as more machines moved in, more trees falling with every passing minute. Behind her, the forest watched and waited.
By the time the science team returned to the ISV, the clearing below had doubled in size.
Grace stood at the observation window as the ship slowly rose, the engines vibrating through the deck beneath her boots. From above, Hell's Gate looked controlled. Organised. A clean shape carved into chaos. That was how Parker would present it in the reports.
She knew better.
The forest did not look wounded yet, but Pandora never reacted instantly. It absorbed harm first. It stored it. Then it answered in its own time.
Behind her, the two xenobiologists removed their masks and helmets, faces drawn tight with frustration and unease.
"They're not wrong about the site being defensible," one of them said quietly. "But they're blind to everything else."
Grace didn't turn. "Blind is generous."
She replayed the drone footage in her mind. The way animals had fled, then turned back. The way the viperwolves hadn't scattered like frightened predators, but advanced like soldiers testing a line.
That behaviour wasn't panic.
It was an assessment.
Grace crossed the room and pulled up the data logs from their short excursion earlier that day. Plant samples. Soil readings. Neural activity spikes in the root systems they had barely begun to map. The information was fragmented and incomplete, but it pointed in one clear direction.
Pandora was connected.
Not metaphorically. Not spiritually, as some would eventually reduce it to. Physically. Biologically. Information flowed here in ways Earth biology had never managed.
And they had just torn into it with blades and fire.
A sharp knock echoed through the lab.
Grace turned as the door slid open. A junior tech stepped inside, visibly uncomfortable. "Dr Augustine, Parker wants to see you."
Grace exhaled slowly. "Tell him I'm busy."
The tech hesitated. "He said it wasn't optional."
Grace closed her eyes for a moment, then nodded. "Fine."
The meeting was brief and one-sided.
Parker sat behind a console, hands folded, posture calm. Quaritch stood nearby, helmet under his arm, already dismissive.
"You're done interfering," Parker said plainly. "Hell's Gate is moving forward. You and your people will focus on cataloguing whatever you can before we pave over the rest."
Grace stared at him. "You're setting up a war zone."
Parker's expression didn't change. "We're setting up a mining operation."
Quaritch added, "And if the locals get restless, we'll handle it."
Grace laughed once, short and humourless. "You don't even know what 'locals' means yet."
Parker leaned forward slightly. "What I know is that unobtanium doesn't extract itself. You want to keep funding? You work within the operation."
Grace held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she stood.
"Fine," she said. "But when this place pushes back, and it will, you don't get to say you weren't warned."
Neither of the two replied as Grace returned to the science wing. Grace gathered her team.
"We're shifting focus," she told them. "No more arguing strategy. No more trying to slow them down."
One of the xenobiologists frowned. "Then what?"
"We study," Grace said. "Everything. Plants. Animals. Neural structures. Especially this."
She pulled up a magnified image of a neural queue taken from one of their earlier scans. The structure was clear now, unmistakable.
"It's an interface," she said. "A biological adapter. Direct connection between organism and network."
The linguist leaned closer. "Like a plug."
"Like a language," Grace corrected. "One that's physical."
The system tech nodded slowly. "If that's true… this planet isn't just alive. It's communicating."
Grace smiled, but there was no joy in it. "Yes. And we've just shouted at it with explosives."
She turned back to the window as the ISV stabilised in orbit, Hell's Gate glowing faintly below. Machines moved in neat patterns now. Lights dotted the clearing like artificial stars.
Somewhere beneath that canopy, the forest was adjusting.
Learning...
(DUN DUN DUNNNNN)