A235-06 was the second planet from its solar system's sun. Its atmosphere had been analyzed by an exploratory satellite launched by the Sector Logging Company and deemed potentially suitable for timber extraction.

 

The Paul Bunyan, a mill ship, was dispatched with orders for its crew of loggers and foresters to make a closer study of the planet's trees to determine whether any of them might be of use to the galactic lumber industry.

 

The vessel landed two years and three days later, in a clearing made by a lightning-sparked wildfire in the middle of a continent-spanning deciduous-like forest.

 

Captain Yale sent out three crews.

 

Tack Reem was in one of them. He rode beside Jo Machaaen in a hover skidder towards the northeast corner of the clearing. The trees were tall here, and the underforest was clear.

 

Jo drove the long, bladed craft around the perimeter while Tack consulted the monitor and watched the data the sensors fed it.

 

"I haven't seen a single animal," said Jo. They spoke in a seesaw manner, with clipped consonants and drawn-out vowels, which was common among New Neptunians. "There might not be any fauna on this planet."

 

Tack pointed at a dark-barked tree a few feet away. "These trees are all the same species, it seems. Similar chemical properties."

 

"They sure look the same. Almost like an oak. But the leaf and the acorn are different."

 

"Pull up by one."

 

Jo did. Tack stepped off the skidder and went up to a tree. He ran his hand along its bark and around a woody circle of growth in the center of the trunk. "This might be a tumor of some kind."

 

"I don't know," said Jo, looking back. "If so, all these trees seem to have them."

 

Tack nodded and tapped the tree. "Let's take this one and see what's underneath that bark."

 

Jo pulled the skidder off to the side and returned carrying the lasersaw, its case cradled against the bend of their left elbow. Tack checked the trajectory with his instruments and marked the tree where he wanted Jo to cut.

 

Then he radioed into the ship. "We're going to take a tree on the northeast side of the meadow. Sending coordinates now. Standby."

 

"Ten-four," replied Captain Yale.

 

Tack nodded at Jo. They started up their laserjaw. The blade teeth undulated in glowing electric waves as they brought it against the trunk.

 

Woodchips flew.

 

As did blood.

 

It burst like sap from the cut, splattering Jo's face and goggles. Simultaneously, the strange growth on the trunk split open, its wooden sides pulling back, revealing a round white eye.

 

"The tree—" yelled Tack, struggling to be heard over the buzz of the lasersaw. "It's alive!"

 

Jo Machaaen was still cutting into the tree, spitting with a grimace on their face from where they had been splattered, when a branch swung seemingly of its own accord and struck them in the head.

 

All around, Tack heard snapping sounds. It sounded like an old forest splintering in an ice storm.

 

Jo dropped, the lasersaw cutting into the grass. The end of the branch was like a closed fist as it bashed into their head with a pulpy crunch.

 

Tack turned and fled towards the waiting skidder. He was almost at it when he felt something wrap around his ankle and yank him off his feet.

 

The ground became the sky for him as he was lifted into the air and carried back towards the tree.

 

In the distance, around the ship, upside down from his perspective, he saw other loggers running from other trees, which had somehow uprooted themselves and were now chasing the men in long, root-footed strides.

 

Captain Yale was standing on the open hatch of the Paul Bunyan, firing a laser pistol toward an approaching tree. Others circled from the back towards the ship, raising their mighty branches to rain blows down on it.

 

Tack swung around in the air. The tree that held him came into view, its trunk bending backwards. A slit opened in it, below the eye, and parted. He noted woody fangs.

 

"We come in peace," he begged.

 

THAT IS A LIE, thought the tree, and the thought boomed in Tack's head like the voice of an angry god, echoing off the walls of some cavern inside his skull.

 

Until it bit him in half.

 

* * *

 

Captain Yale, minus her left arm, crawled across the cockpit floor. She left an oozing trail of blood behind her. She knew she was dying fast. She also knew that there was no escape.

 

She had to warn Management.

 

The trees were outside, rocking the ship. Glass shattered and metal crunched.

 

She reached the base of her captain's chair and managed to pull herself up into it. Blood dripped onto the floor. She reached for the long-distance communicator button. And looked up.

 

A row of tree trunks crowded around the front of the ship, each dotted with a solitary eye, and they stared at her through the starshield.

 

She pushed the button.

 

A branch burst through the glass and speared her through the chest. The Sector Logging Company received only a brief bit of audio in the three seconds before her dying finger slipped off the button, cutting off the recording.

 

All they heard was the rustling of leaves.