Me Ma Supial!

by Ged Maybury

  KYNN BROWSED THE THOUSANDS of discs, the racks and racks of tightly packed, superbly catalogued repositories of everything she could think of knowing about, and of a hundred more things she had never heard of. Great chunks of history she had never been aware of. Cultures and societies she had never heard of. Movies and magazines and newspapers and writers that were all a complete mystery to her. And then she came upon a new set, with hand-written titles:

  Success! Personal impressions of our FTL journey.

  First Surveys & Conferences, The Big Decision.

  Landing, First camp, Pod crash & Loss of Ob Unit.

  Year 2: Food crisis, Marama’s birth tragedy, Cutting the Caves

  G-Mod Project 1#, Food-crop gene mapping, Marsupial future?

  There were about twenty of them. Carefully she slipped them all into the outer pocket of her small pack, whispering out loud to no-one in particular (or perhaps to the Lord), “He's got to believe this! Got to!”

  PRAYERS

  IT HAD BEEN A TERRIBLE night for Pastor Wheeler, wrapped in the soldier's silvery blanket in the crook of a tree. Numerous creatures had come to investigate him and he had blasted each one away with the pistol. Later, below the tree, he heard the happy grunting of some scavenger, noisily feasting on the carcasses.

  Disgusting animals! All of them, disgusting!

  In the morning he cut down two trees, dragging down a lot of extra foliage in the process. The skimmer was now in full sunlight. He sat beside it, eating a soldier’s breakfast and softly murmuring some favourite passages from the Wordolord. Now and again he would stand up, lean over the screen, and order another reading of her position. Still the same:

  Unit does not respond. It has failed, been destroyed, or is currently out of range.

  He would resume his seat with a low growl.

  So I guess she’s still shacked up with her bestial bed-mate. Oh if I could just catch them at it! That would be sweet justice indeed! He hefted the soldier’s pistol and smiled. Three bullets left, but perhaps, Lord willing, I will only need one.

  IT HAD BEEN A TERRIBLE night for Kynn and Mica, wrapped in the one-person space blanket, huddled uncomfortably upon another makeshift bed deep within the caves. There had been little in there that was soft. Finally they made what they could of several dozen small drums of springy communications cable, unravelled and matted together into a crude mattress. The last tube of compressed food did not satisfy their craving for a solid meal. And they slept badly.

  There was no sense of time to their waking. Kynn and Mica got up and went directly to the main entrance. It was a blazingly sunny day.

  “Good, the skimmer will be getting a charge,” she murmured, “Now let’s find some food. Please teach me how to find those roots you like, and which trees make the best firewood.”

  “Sure!”

  PASTOR WHEELER ACTIVATED the skimmer and flew it gently to the top of the nearby ridges. Here he re-laid the solar panels in the more generous sunlight then called the pilot on the GP.Com. “Report, soldier!”

  “Yes sir,” came the reply, “Ah... the plane now has battery reserve of five days. We tried to assess the damage but don’t have the correct tools, however it looks as if the main damage is to the intake fan. I contacted base computer and checked the manifests. There is an entire spare motor on the mother-ship so we should order another Drop as soon as ... ”

  “I'll order what we need, soldier!” interrupted Wheeler sharply, “Now what about the others? Have they secured our position?”

  “Yessir!”

  “Good. Shoot any of those blasted monkeys yet?”

  “No sir.”

  “Pity. I’ll be back when the Lord’s Work is done. Over and out.”

  Then he sat, unclasped his big black book, and began reading his favourite chapter: all about the punishments meted out to the sinners who were left behind on the Evil Orb.

  MICA AND KYNN EXPLORED the area at a leisurely pace. Kynn’s main interest was in the domes near the stream. One was empty but the contents of the other two proved more interesting; aircraft parts and wheeled vehicles, still wrapped in tough plastoid covers.

  Mica was restless, pacing and sighing. He did not like being in the domes. Eventually he said, “Kynn Wheeler, why do we waste good village-time looking at all this? Supials do not want technobytes.”

  “You may need to,” she answered grimly, “especially if my people continue to be your enemies.” Then abruptly she stopped trying to peer through the covers. “Maybe you’re right. Let’s go. But I’m glad I came here. This could really change the balance.”

  Once outside she added, “I’ll have to at least tell your people what’s here.”

  Mica sighed and glanced back at the dome, still unsure. Then he gazed up at the sky, reading the time Supial-style. It was getting on. Kynn took out the skimmer remote-com and triggered it.

  “Odd, no connection.”

  Her heart began fluttering with fear. Had her father found the skimmer? Could he have disabled her connection?

  “Must be the valley,” she said aloud, glancing up towards the huge block of tree-smothered rock that marked their point of entry, “We need to get higher.”

  THE SKIMMER BEEPED and Wheeler sprang up. She had just tried to connect, but it had not responded, just as he had set it. However his little trap had worked exactly as he had hoped. The screen now showed her position.

  “So, Maggot, I’ve got you now,” he murmured, “and the Hour of Justice draws near!” Hastily he folded in the panels and mounted the seat. Easing on the power, he swung southwards and resumed his hunt. But he could not hurry. The landscape here was a chaotic sprawl of steep crags and sudden drop-offs, bush-choked hollows and serrated ridges. The skimmer was only half-charged. He flew low, and carefully.

  Besides, he wanted to arrive quietly.

  By late afternoon he was within five kilometres of her position. The landscape had changed, the complex detail having merged into one deeply trenched river that skirted to the east of a huge block-shaped hill that seemed to guard a major valley beyond. He could not see any way forwards, not without crossing the gully, and he knew that was going to be risky on such a low charge.

  It was time to wait.

  Wheeler parked, opened two of the recharge panels, reset the alert for any remote-com calls, and resumed his waiting game. He was close now, very close.

  THEY CAME UP OUT OF the cleft, their feet heavy with the thick wet clay left over from the rain. The forest here was already in the shadows of afternoon. Kynn kept on, striving for the highest, most open position. She would get reception here, surely. Had to!

  She stopped, puffing, and unslung the remote. The screen lit up at once.

  “Contact! Oh thank the Lord! Now, what's the charge?” Mica heard the disappointment in her voice as she spoke the figure out loud, “Six percent?”

  It must be the shade. It was such a bad position.

  “We’ll move it,” he heard her say with determination, “Another day of charging should get us away. Now, when is the next window with Dr K? Damn, just missed it! Okay, next one tomorrow, five-0-five a.m. Set alarm.”

  Then she shut the device and slumped to the ground beside him. “I’ve got to let her know. Got to!” She pressed her fingers to her head, feeling that terrible tiredness again, “Or do I risk a satellite link-up right now?”

  She gazed away to the north-east, rigid with anxiety, “Lord, I wish I knew how bad the plane is! Did they get it fixed? And where is he?” She gazed tiredly at her muddy feet, murmuring, “Right, Tomorrow. Reach the skimmer...”

  Mica squatted behind her, murmuring a soothing chant as his fingers massaged her tense muscles. She sighed and relaxed a little. “It’s going to be alright,” she said, seemingly speaking at the sky, “You won’t let him do anything bad now, will You? You must know how it is; You must!”

  “Shush, my lovie,” murmured Mica, “Relax. We should go back to the Place of the Ancestors now, and start again tomorrow
.”

  “No, Mica, I want to get on. We’ll camp out. I want to be home by tomorrow night. Don’t you?” She did not believe it was going to be possible, but she said it all the same. He smiled, nodded.

  “Once we’re across the bridge it shouldn’t be so bad,” she added, entirely for her own benefit. Mica nodded thoughtfully, like he was already mapping out the return journey in his mind. She could picture him remembering every twist and turn of that nightmare ridge, the position of every useful vine, of every rotten log, of every petrol-wood tree.

  She sighed, smiled, and finally relaxed. She was safe with him. There really had never been anyone even remotely as wonderful as Mica in her life. No-one. She found herself praying, as she so often did when times got tough. “Lord, thank You for giving me Mica. He really is wonderful. And no matter what happens to me, please, please look after him.”

  THE SKIMMER BEEPED and Wheeler sat up, alert. In moments he was back on the saddle, studying the screen. This time he had let the skimmer respond normally, giving the system enough time to fix her exact position via satellite. She was a kilometre away to the south west.

  “Ahhhh,” he whispered, “so close. So close.”

  He let the connection continue, curious to know what she up to. She checked the charge, but had not asked for a position. So she suspects nothing. Good.

  Once the link was closed Wheeler ordered a local scan. The screen filled with a complex topological image of the surrounding landscape. He loaded in her position. A pin-point of light appeared on the screen.

  “Damn! She’s on the other side.”

  He glanced at the charge indicator. “Six percent. Just enough, but she’ll hear this infernal machine crossing such a big hole. Wait a minute; what's that? ...”

  Unstrapping all but the pistol and holster, he picked up his book and began downhill on foot. Within minutes he spied the bridge and found a way to its eastern end. There he stopped, studying the lie of the land, murmuring his thoughts aloud once again, “In order to come back for the skimmer she will have to cross, and she is coming back for it. Why else would she have been checking the charge? Yes, this is very good. In fact,” his face broke into a broad grin, “absolutely perfect.”

  He found the ideal place to wait, a tree-shrouded step of stone, just a few metres above the final narrows. From there he could see clear across the arch.

  “Oh yes my Lord, you really do take care of everything,” spoke Wheeler softly as he tucked his Wordolord under his left arm so as to unholster the pistol.

  AT THE FIRST SIGHT of the bridge, Kynn felt her anxiety begin to surge. But she kept on walking, telling herself, I have done this once so I can do it again!

  Still, she would need Mica. Without slowing she moved behind him, took hold of his belt, and told him to keep moving. He understood immediately. Glancing back to grin at her briefly he went straight on across.

  PASTOR WHEELER STIFFENED and hissed the moment he saw Mica. His mind turned dark with disgust and rage, 'So she's still with that vile beast! You'll pay for this, Monkey. You'll both pay!'

  “Lord,” he whispered, “Guide my aim and Deliver your Justice!”

  SOMETHING WENT CRACK. Kynn startled, thinking it was the rocks beneath her. Mica stopped. A second crack followed and she felt air bat at her face, heard a whiz past her ear, all in the same moment. Mica made a little noise. She looked over his shoulder just in time to see him raise his right hand protectively. Then Mica slammed into her suddenly, knocking out her breath and folding her backwards onto the bridge.

  Terror. She clawed at the stringy plant-cover with her free hand, felt Mica rolling over her, perilously close to the edge. She was still holding his belt, and now, instead of him holding her from the edge, she held him.

  Little by little she secured herself, heaved Mica over and began to drag him back towards safer ground. Her pack, twisted sideways, suddenly spilled some of her precious data discs over the edge. She glimpsed them fluttering away, their polished faces flinging back brief rainbows of reflected sky.

  Damn! Lost! But what is the matter with Mica? What is happening!

  He seemed a dead weight, and was making no sound. Gasping, whimpering in terror, she pulled him backwads onto wider ground before she could finally look at him properly.

  “NO!!”

  He had both hands clutched to his chest, so smothered in blood that one hand seemed almost unrecognisable. And he did not seem to be breathing. She tugged off her pack, thinking of the medical kit, then realised it was going to be hopeless. Hopeless!

  He’s shot! He’s dying!

  Her chest seemed to lock up, an immense pain seemed to push up inside her throat, and terrible fluttering began in her guts. She was going to be sick.

  Then she heard that all-too-familiar voice behind her, laughing.

  SHE TWISTED ABOUT, frozen in shock and fear. The Pastor was there, standing upon the rocks just beyond the bridge, just as he always stood in the temple. Tall, assured, and righteous in the power of the Lord. Except now she saw that the way he stood had nothing to do with the Lord. It had always been his own doing, his own arrogance, his own sense of power.

  “You murderer!” she screamed at him across the bridge, “You evil murderer!” The force of her words caused her to spring up, to stride towards him. All her grief, all her rage, all her accumulated fury poured into her actions and words, “You will go to the Pit for this, you murderer! The Lord will see to it!”

  “Shut your face, you filthy maggot!” he growled.

  “I will not be silent!” she screamed, “and I am not evil! You are the evil one! You are the one who...”

  “I said SILENCE!” he roared.

  “No!” she roared back at him, equally loud, “I am standing up to you, Father! You are the evil one! I will not allow you to kill any more innocent people! I will not!”

  “Your mother is dead!” he suddenly announced.

  That silenced her. Utterly, for many seconds.

  “Thanks to your treachery,” he continued into her sudden silence, his voice loaded with poison, “thanks to your evil friends!”

  She had to do something, and she did. Wrapping a mental blanket around her shock and disbelief she shouted over his tirade, “The Supials did nothing! You started it all! You are the fly-blown one!”

  She was now standing only metres from him, separated only by a step of limestone and a few scrawny shrubs, in so much of a rage that she was in no fear of the open space below her. In fact given the means, she would have killed him right then and there.

  And so they stood, he on high, she below, neither yielding, for several long seconds. He seemed speechless with rage as he hefted his big black book, shook it at her and scowled like the monsters depicted in her Big Book of Wordolord Stories.

  “How dare you!” he finally spluttered, “How dare you insult the memory of your mother with such blasphemy!”

  “I am insulting nothing!” she screamed, raising her hand to stab a finger at him as he had done so many times to her, “I am just telling the truth. You are the evil one! Evil, evil, EVIL!”

  She had seen it before, the moment when he would abandon words altogether and begin with his hands instead. But this time she was beyond his reach. He could not lunge as usual for it meant taking several careful steps through a tangle of shrubs and down a sloping step of slippery moss-covered limestone. But his impatience and rage were too much. He could not wait to get at her.

  With an insane roar he threw the book straight at her.

  ANSWERED

  IT WOULD HAVE HIT HER in the face but her reflexes were fast. Her hands came up and she caught it in time, but still she was knocked backwards onto the bridge. Instinctively she twisted to fall upon her hands and knees. With one hand she grabbed at the tough wiry vegetation that coated the ground, skidding perilously close to the edge before she got herself and the book under control. Now she lay full length, facing towards the narrowest part of the bridge, her back momentarily towards him. />
  'The codes! I have them!'

  Scrambling hastily to her knees she flipped open the brass clasp and quickly ripped out the last page. She heard a sound behind her, the snap of twigs and the rip of fabric, as he came blundering down after her, exactly as she had feared. Would she have time?

  Lifting her face, dizzied by the sight of the great hollow to either side of her, she crumpled the page and shoved it hastily down the neck of her coverall.

  That was it; her time was gone.

  Twisting back to look at him she knew that this time he was bent not on punishment, but on murder. As he strode the last few paces, some instinct compelled her to try one last defense. Grunting with the effort, she flung the book up and around, spinning it directly at his face. He flinched, tried to fend it off, then quickly changed his mind. He grabbed for it, tried to save it, but it was already too late. His first instinct ruled and the book followed its new arc, out off the side of the bridge, spinning, pages flapping, rolling over and over, going down, getting smaller. It took at least five seconds to fall all the way, bouncing twice off the steep rocky cliff-sides before vanishing with a silent splash into the swollen muddy river below.

  He staggered for a moment, wind-milling his arms for balance, his loose robe flapping like the wings of some strange black bird. It gave her a few precious moments to escape.

  But she didn’t. There was something mesmerising about a man about to fall, poised between stability or the void.

  He recovered.

  Too late she decided to escape.

  Springing up she made to run for the other side. He sprang after her and shoved her hard. She fell with a terrified cry onto the narrowest point of the bridge.