The ladder rungs on the water tower were muddy. Security Chief Bren didn't remember them being quite so dirty before.
At the top she took a deep breath of the cool evening air with its tang of ozone and alien vegetation. Below nearly fifty porto-cabins were on full lockdown, not a sliver of light from any of them, it could have been a blackout. The miners had bitched and moaned, but they also wanted the water situation sorted.
She tapped the tank with a knuckle and listened to the dull echo. The orbital tanker had filled it two days ago and already half was gone. If the thieves tried again tonight, they'd catch them.
From below Mark, her deputy, called, "You coming back down?"
"Sure." Bren tucked her rifle at her back and climbed down. At the bottom she rubbed her hands on her jeans, getting rid of the muck.
"Where should we hide?" Mark asked.
Before Bren could respond the sound of a stiff breeze whispered around them. The night was still, the air crisp and cool like spring back home on Earth. Bren shone her torch down, to where the noise was, and the dust appeared to be flowing round her feet. She followed it with her torch, watching it move up the water tower and into the tank.
What the hell is that?" Mark said.
"Not sure, but it seems to be stealing our water. C'mon." They moved closer and Bren kept the torch on it. A fragile column of mud rose from the foot of the ladders, it glistened with moisture.
The top of the column began to move, pulling back, and oozing down the ladder. The base thickened and split in two becoming legs that rose, footless, from the ground; a torso thickened into shape, then arms, and a head; empty holes formed where eyes should be; a lipless mouth appeared.
Bren and Mark aimed their weapons.
"You cannot stop me," the creature said. Its voice had a clicking, echoing tone like small gravel sliding against each other.
"What are you?" Bren asked. The dark head stared at her. Her hand trembled, flickering torchlight across the creature's head and face, dancing in and out of the hollow eyes.
"I am the soul of the land, the body of the ground."
"You've stolen our water."
"Stolen? How can I steal my own life? It's being returned to where it belongs."
"We need that water to survive. And we brought it here"
The creature didn't respond. Bren got the impression it was thinking.
"Without the water we'll die," Bren said.
"With it you will die. All flesh and blood dies. It is the way of your life."
Its coldness chilled Bren to the marrow. "But we'll die sooner. We can only survive a day or two without water and we can't get anymore for a week."
"This water is needed." There was definitiveness, finality in the creature's words.
Mark lifted his shotgun. "Enough. Just put our water back in the damned tank."
"Or what? You'll kill me?"
"Damned right. Only thing to do with a water thief."
The creature slumped, losing its definition and coalescing into a mound. Gunshot cracked in the darkness, both barrels hitting the mud with dull slaps. Mark walked over and prodded it with his barrel. The mud moved.
It flowed up the barrel, climbed Mark's legs. He tried to pull free, and screamed, "Get it off me." In moments Mark was encased. He turned to Bren and opened his mouth. Mud poured in and chocked of whatever noise he tried to make. His thrashing limbs slowed, and then stopped.
The voice of the creature came from Mark's filled mouth. "From dust, to dust." The body convulsed, and fell, mud sliding away to reveal a desiccated husk.
Bren recoiled, her rifle raised despite knowing it would be useless. How do you fight soil and rock with bullets?
Before her the ground formed a crease, then a fold, and finally grew into a solid wall the width of a container unit and as high as the water tower. A rough head oozed from it and the hollow eyes and lipless mouth took shape.
"You come and gouge the land. Water is defiled, air befouled. Why did you come here? The water, and the water of the one who attacked me, will be returned to where it is needed. Then it will be time to deal with the rest of you."