Behind the gimbaled gun placements and metal catwalks, behind the encircling double-meshed fence and walkway, lay living quarters, laboratories, administrative offices, quartermaster’s stockrooms, a communications center that would be the envy of any operator on a planet with a million-plus population, skimmer hangar and service bays, solar energy concentrator and power plant, plus a host of peripheral chambers, alcoves, and rooms. Even a casual traveler, with minimal outplanet experience, instantly would have recognized the extraordinary expense that had gone into the construction of this first station.
“Here goes,” said Logan.
In theory everything had been thoroughly pretested, and nothing in the way of automatic weaponry would vaporize her before a thorough check on body and type was run. In theory. She had never had the chance to verify it personally. She had it now.
There was a half-cut cubble leading in the general direction of the station. She stepped out of the green wall and into the open. Two stubby nozzles immediately swung around to cover her. She hoped whoever was on shift at the computer board was not sleepy, doped up, or just itchy for a little target practice. Nothing happened for long moments. She waved, made flapping motions. Cohoma waited expectantly, while Born and Losting kept wary eyes on the open sky and fingered their snufflers.
Other thoughts fought for attention in Born’s mind. The half-dream of the giants station-Home was real. It existed, sat solidly before him. Whether it held all the wonders promised remained to be seen. For now, while exposed to all manner of sky-demons, they would put their trust in the efficacy of jacari poison and not promises.
Figures could be seen moving rapidly and carefully toward them. As they neared, Logan looked down at her feet, then up, and saw that a path—doubtlessly one of many—had been traced out across the forest top. She had been briefed about the existence of such pathways but had not committed them to memory, since she never expected to have to use one.
The figures carried handguns and were clad in the same kind of gray jumpsuits Born had first seen on Cohoma and Logan. As they drew nearer their eyes grew wide. There were three of them. The one in the lead pulled up before Logan, looked her slowly up and down. His expression was half hysteria, half astonishment.
“Kimi Logan! I’ll be damned!” He shook his head slowly. “We lost all contact with your skimmer weeks ago. Sent out scouts and didn’t find a thing. You missed a nice burial ceremony.”
“Sorry, Sal.”
“Where the hell did you come from?”
“I couldn’t have put it better myself, Sal.” She turned and called back into the brush. “All clear, come on out, everybody.”
Cohoma stepped clear of the treetops. At the appearance of Born and Losting, the man with the gray sideburns and cleft chin temporarily ran out of expletives, “I’ll be double-damned,” he muttered finally.
After a glance from Logan he holstered the handgun. His gaze went back to the two hunters. Born fought down the urge to fidget nervously under the evaluating stare. Besides, he was occupied studying the three new giants. The biggest one, the one Kimilogan called Sal, was no different from Cohoma, though slightly taller and heavier. The other two giants were Logan’s size, though only one was female.
“Pygmies, no less!” He eyed Logan inquisitively.
“Natives.” She smiled back at him. “Too many similarities for parallel evolution. We can’t be positive, of course, until they’ve been given a thorough run-through in Medical, but except for a few minor differences I’ll bet they test out as human as you or I. Jan and I figure they’re the remnants of a century’s-lost colony ship. Maybe even pre-Commonwealth. Incidentally, they speak excellent, if sibilant, Terranglo.”
Sal continued to stare in wonderment at Born and Losting. “Sounds right. There were enough of those first colonizers who ended up in the wrong place. Might not have met the thranx for another millennium if it hadn’t been for a lost ship.” He grunted. “Minor differences … you mean those toes and their size?”
Logan nodded. “That and their acquired protective coloration. Look, Jan and I have been going through that theoretical hell you just mentioned. I’ve spent weeks programming the kitchen in my head to turn out everything from steak to afterdinner mints. And I haven’t had a real bath since we left.”
“And some decent clothes,” Cohoma added fervently. “Oh Lord, for clean underwear!”
“Hansen will be glad to see you both back,” Sal smiled. “I wish I could see the old man’s expression when you walk in with your two friends, though. Priceless!”
“You ought to see him when we tell him some of the discoveries we’ve made. You ought to get out and walk around, Sal. It’s the only way to learn about a world.”
“Yeah? If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the hiking and grubbing to you two enthusiasts.” Cohoma took a playful swing at him. “Tell me about ’em?”
“Sorry, Sal.” Cohoma grinned. “Province of the discoverers, you know.”
“Oh Churchfire, Jan, I wouldn’t try to mad any of your bonus money. How could I prove any of it, anyway? But it’s good to hear you had a profitable little walk. The old man’s been under some heavy pressure from the home office, story has it, ever since Tsing-ahn killed himself.”
Cohoma and Logan weren’t too tired to be shocked. “Popi killed himself?” Logan whispered, using the biochemist’s nickname.
“That’s the chat they’re handing out. Nearchose—you know, the security whale who was a friend of the prof’s—was the last one to see him alive. Report from Nick was that the guy was depressed about something, but hardly suicidal. Went vibrato and blew up everything in his lab. ’Course, when a guy gets as dependent on the silly stuff as Tsing-ahn was, you can’t tell what he’s liable to do. Company assumes a calculated risk hiring guys like that. This time it didn’t pay out.”
“Too bad, I liked the little joe,” Cohoma muttered.
“Everybody did.”
An awkward silence followed, each absorbed in his own thoughts and fully aware that he or she was on this world because of some serious weakness of their own—money, drugs, or something best not mentioned. Whenever the subject surfaced, it was quickly dropped. Discussion of such things was avoided by mutual consent.
They walked in silence halfway to the station when the something that seemed to be missing finally surfaced in Logan’s mind. She looked behind them, then over at Born. “Where are Ruumahum and Geeliwan?”
“Both said they would feel uncomfortable away from the forest,” Born replied truthfully. “They do not like open space. You didn’t say you wanted them to come with us.”
“Well, it’s not important.” She stared longingly back toward the emerald, flower-speckled rampart. To parade the pair of omnivorous hexapods like a couple of lap dogs before the excitable Hansen was a pleasure she had been looking forward to. But she was halfway to that bath and steak, and she was not going back into the jungle now. That could wait.
Omnivorous—she had assumed the furcots were omnivorous. Come to think of it, she had never seen either of them eat anything. Oh well, as Born said, they felt uncomfortable in certain situations. Probably they liked to eat in private as well as make love away from prying eyes. Still, it seemed odd she had never seen either of them take a bite out of anything.
Further speculation was interrupted by a cry from Born. He spotted the demon first. “Losting! ’Ware zenith!” Again she felt that shock at words which didn’t seem to fit Born’s way of life.
Losting looked overhead, reaching simultaneously for his snuffler. Then she saw the tiny brown spot circling far above. There were many such spots, always clear of the station. Apparently, Born had somehow detected belligerent motion in this one. He was right. The spot became a recognizable shape, one she had hoped never to see at close range again. Broad wings, clawed feet, long jaw armed with razor-sharp teeth.
She could not entirely repress a faint smile of superiority as she noticed them hurriedly going for their primitive airguns
. “Don’t worry, Born, Losting. Relax and watch.” Born eyed her questioningly, but managed to force down his natural inclination to load and set.
Logan studied the diving demon. It drew nearer in a tightening spiral, mouth agape.
She could not see which of the weapons on the perimeter had turned to cover that particular section of sky until the red beam lanced out and up from one of the gimbaled turrets. The sky-demon disintegrated in a brief flare of carbonized flesh and powdered bone.
Born and Losting stared quietly at the sky where the demon had been plummeting toward them only seconds before. Equally silent, Logan watched them. So did Cohoma and Sal and the other two.
“It’s something like a very advanced kind of snuffler, Born,” she explained finally. “How to make you see … Well, it uses a kind of light to kill with.”
Born turned and pointed to the spherical turret which housed the cannon. “In there?”
“That’s right,” said Cohoma. “There are others placed around the station. With them and the electrical shielding on the supporting trunks, we’re quite safe here.”
“Remember, Born,” Logan told him excitedly, as they resumed the walk to the station, “how your people arrayed themselves to meet the Akadi? A system of weapons like that one,” and she indicated the motionless turret, “could be set up around your village to protect the Home. You’d never have to worry about the Akadi or silversliths or anything else again.”
“Have to fire very fast, and move it quickly at such close distance,” Losting commented.
“Oh, that’s no problem,” a self-assured Cohoma explained. “Once you’ve cleared a space around the Home like we have here and set up a decent detector system, a predator couldn’t even get close without being spotted.”
“Clear space?”
“Yes, you know, cut away the close-in vegetation like I originally proposed to stop the Akadi. Just leave a few cubbles or vines to serve as a kind of drawbridge. It would be easy. We can give you tools similar to these light weapons, which would make the cutting a simple job. You could obtain them for the asking, and for helping us find our way around your world and locate certain substances, you’d earn the goodwill credits in no time.”
“Cut away,” Born murmured. “Clear space.”
“Yes, Born.” Logan looked puzzled. “Is something the matter? Can’t you just emfol first and then—?”
“Nothing’s the matter.” The hunter’s expression brightened. “So many wonders all at once. I’m a little overwhelmed. I would like very much to learn more about such things as light weapons and defensive systems and what we must do to get them.”
“The details of the last part aren’t for us to decide, Born. We’re only minor employees of a great concern, of the people who established this station here. A man named Hansen will decide those particulars. You’ll meet him soon. But I don’t see any trouble working out an arrangement that will be advantageous to both our peoples. Especially after what you’ve already done for Jan and me.”
There was a lift waiting for them. It took them through a gate in the underside of the charged grid and up into the lower floor of the station. As they passed the grid, the ever curious Born asked again about the principle behind it. Cohoma had a hard time making him understand, but references to lightning seemed to satisfy both hunters.
The lift pulled Born and Losting into a world of new wonders. First among them was the sudden, almost physical shock of color change. The all-pervasive green, flecked with bright colors and every shade of brown, was abruptly replaced by a stiff, straight-angled world of silver and gray, white and blue. The only touch of green in this section of corridor was provided by a row of parasitic bushes growing in a long deep planter, which served as a divider between sections of corridor.
Born saw that the chaga was not well. The flowers were big and colorful, but the leaves were not straight and were not reaching for the sun the way they should be. He had time for only a quick glance. There were too many new things here to see and try to understand. More giants, engaged in various inexplicable tasks, hurrying on alien errands, filled the corridor. Some were clad in garb even stranger than the gray suits worn by Logan, Cohoma, and Sal.
A man saw them, came over to speak in a whisper to the one called Sal. Born heard him clearly. “Hansen wants to see the two natives immediately. He’s up in his office.” He looked over at Logan and Cohoma. “You two also.”
Logan groaned. “Can’t we at least get cleaned up a little first? Andre, what we’ve been through, these past months—!”
“I know. You also know Hansen. Orders.” He shrugged helplessly.
“Hell, let’s get it over with,” Cohoma grunted.
“This Hansen person,” Born asked as they walked toward an interior lift, “he is chief of your tribe?”
“Not chief, Born, and not tribe,” Logan explained with a hint of irritation, which was caused by the order, not Born’s question. “This station houses people who are engaged in similar hunts. But it’s not the same kind of organization as you have in the Home. You might regard the people in this station as a hunting party, with Mr. Hansen the leader. That’s the best I can do. I’m not sure I could explain what a corporation is if I had a month.”
“It is enough,” Born replied as they turned a corner and started down a white, brightly decorated tunnel. “He is the one we must ask for light guns and other wonders for our people.”
“You understand, Born. I knew you would,” she declared cheerfully. “Help us in exploring your world and finding a few things you don’t use yourselves, and wonders will be granted gladly in return. It’s an old principle among my people. Among your own ancestors.” And just a touch illegal in this one instance, that’s all, she thought, but did not say to him.
“What sort of man is your hunting party leader?”
“That depends on where you’re coming from,” Logan told him enigmatically. She seemed ready to explain further, but they had reached a door, and Sal beckoned them to be silent. He held it open for them and then remained behind while the other four entered.
Hansen sat behind a narrow, curved desk which he managed to give the appearance of wearing, like an enormous plastic belt. The desk was piled high with tape spools, cassettes, reams of paper, and dozens of separate reports bound in simulated leather binders. The walls were given over to shelves lined with books and tape holders. The rear of the room was filled by a floor-to-ceiling window which offered a panorama of the Panta and the suffocating forest beyond.
As they entered, Hansen was staring at the screen of a tape viewer mounted on a flexible arm. “Just a moment, please. Jan, Kimi, good to find you alive.” He spoke without turning, his voice mellow, reassuring.
His stature enhanced his middle-aged pudginess. He was not much taller than Born. Hair started halfway back on a forehead that seemed to be made from dark putty and fell to his shoulders in long waves. Save for the thick brush mustache which clung to his upper lip like a hibernating insect, his hair had turned completely gray.
He was sweating despite the air-conditioning. Indeed, that was the first thing Born had noticed upon entering the station—an apparently deliberate, abnormal chill. Even on cool nights in the world, it rarely got this cold.
Neither hunter minded the extended wait. They were fully occupied with studying the room and its contents. Born did not miss, however, the respectful silence with which the tired, impatient Logan and Cohoma waited.
Hansen touched a switch on the side of the viewer, then pushed it back and away on its arm. It locked into place out of his way as he turned to eye his visitors. His right arm rested on an arm of the chair and he rubbed at his perspiring forehead with the other. He looked tired, and he was. Running this station had prematurely aged as experienced and toughened an old hand as Hansen. If it was not something breaking down that he could not get replacements for because of the risk of a supply ship running afoul of a Church or Commonwealth warship, it was some nonmechanical crisis. It s
eemed like every time one of his people put a foot on this world they were promptly stung, bitten, punctured, nibbled at, or otherwise set upon by the local flora and fauna.
Nor had he recovered from the loss of the life-prolonging burl extracts, the burl itself, and Tsing-ahn, the man who knew most about them. If only that poor madman had not been so thorough in the destruction of his notes and records! The news of the biochemist’s suicide and concurrent destruction of everything relating to what had come to be called the immortality extract had not gone over well with Hansen’s superiors—not gone over well at all.
He did manage a slight grin as he examined the two returned members of the skimmer team. The mental lift provided by their miraculous survival had come at a badly needed time.
“We’d given you up for sure, for sure,” he told them. “Couldn’t believe my ears when Security reported four people standing at the edge of the forest.” A corner of his mouth twitched at the remembrance. “You two’ve caused me no end of trouble, you know. Now I’ve got to recall all the paperwork detailing your deaths, the requests for replacements, everything. Somebody in Budgeting’s not going to like you two.”
“Sorry, Chief,” Logan said, smiling back.
“Now,” Hansen puffed expansively, leaning back slightly in the chair and folding his hands over his slight paunch, “tell me about your aboriginal acquaintances, here.”
“They saved our lives,” she replied, matter-of-factly, “and I doubt they’re aborigines, sir. Near as we can figure, they’re the descendants of the populace of a colony ship that lost its way and wound up here. They’ve lost the memory of that origin, all Commonwealth and pre-Commonwealth knowledge, and nearly all their technology. They have developed a rudimentary tribal social structure. As a result, our friends Born and Losting are convinced that they are in truth natives of this world.”
Midworld Page 18
