Bridgers 3_The Voice of Reason

by Stan C. Smith

  “I’ll be damned,” Oliver said, staring in the direction of the bridge-in site.

  Desmond turned. It was Infinity, leading a group of at least fifty refugees. They were all holding venomcrooks, and some of them even had two.

  Desmond and Oliver went out to meet them. Many among Infinity's group looked shellshocked, and Desmond realized that they were new arrivals—group thirty-two. The newcomers were obviously still coping with their expectations of easily integrating into a modern society having been replaced by a brutal new reality.

  When Infinity’s group came to a stop, she grabbed Desmond’s arm and led him out of earshot of the refugees. “I need to know one thing,” she said quietly. “Do you really think the mongrels will keep their promise?”

  “I have to believe they will,” Desmond replied.

  “Because it seems like they’re screwing with us.”

  Desmond sighed. “Yeah, it does. But I believe the venomcrooks were just their attempt to make it more interesting. We have no reason to think they won’t keep their word.”

  She gazed at him for a moment and then nodded. “Okay, then we’re going to close this goddamn deal.” She returned to the refugees and Desmond followed. She spoke to Oliver. “Can you take these newcomers aside and get them up to speed? Stick to the short version because I’ll need everyone’s attention in about ten minutes.”

  Oliver nodded. “You got it, Infinity.” He then asked the newcomers to please join him for a few minutes. As Oliver led them away, Desmond heard several demanding to be returned to their own version of Earth.

  Desmond noted the determined look on Infinity’s face. She obviously had a plan. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  She glanced at him and started to say something but was cut off by someone yelling.

  “Here! They’re here!” It came from a painted man about fifty yards away. And he wasn’t alone—he had seven others with him.

  Infinity turned to the forty or so armed refugees who had not stepped away for orientation. “We have to take them out, now!” She charged full tilt toward the natives, and Desmond and the others followed.

  “They’re here!” one of the natives shouted again. “Over here!” The eight men, only two of whom had venomcrooks, started to brace themselves for the onslaught. Then they seemed to realize how hopeless it was and turned to run.

  But it was too late. Infinity had already overtaken them and she struck two with her venomcrook. Desmond and the refugees overwhelmed the remaining natives, striking at them furiously and repeatedly. It was over in seconds, and all eight natives were curled up on the ground, paralyzed by pain or rapture.

  Desmond pulled the two venomcrooks from the fallen natives’ fingers and handed them to a couple of refugees who each had a free hand. “It’s not over,” he said. “The natives still have at least a few dozen venomcrooks.”

  Infinity nodded. She turned to the refugees. “We need everyone to come together now so I can talk to them. Could you please gather them up?”

  The refugees, who now appeared to be feeling triumphant, nodded and took off toward the main group.

  Within a minute or two, the entire group of naked refugees were gathering around. Just hours ago, many of them had been acting like belligerent, complaining tourists. Now most of them had descended into silent brooding, a condition that spread quickly to each group of new arrivals. Desmond could hardly imagine the despair they were all going through.

  “Our plans haven’t changed,” Infinity said, loudly enough for all to hear. “We’re going to convince the natives to coexist with all of you. Once we do, the mongrels will begin providing food for the entire combined colony.”

  Desmond added, “As we’ve already explained to all but the newest arrivals, once we convince the natives to cooperate, you’ll be allowed to begin building a civilization, as long as you don’t disturb what the mongrels see as the natural state of the land. This is your best possible chance to thrive on this world. Everything hinges on what we do next.”

  Some of the refugees were attentive, while others stared at her with vacant eyes.

  Desmond went on. “Whatever we do, we need to do it near the mongrel bubble. We want the mongrels to see that we’ve convinced the natives to cooperate. That’s the deal.” He paused for a moment. “I know this isn’t what you had hoped for, but it will ensure your long-term survival.”

  About half the refugees continued staring vacantly, their will having clearly already been broken. The other half nodded with grim determination. They would have to be the ones to carry this colony forward.

  “The plan is simple,” Infinity said. “I’ll give you a crash course on how to incapacitate a foe in hand-to-hand combat. We’ll go back to the mongrels’ bubble. You’ll get into groups of two or three, and each group will subdue one native, using a venomcrook if you have to. Once they’re all subdued, we’ll bring them together and force them to listen, convince them that their best chance is to coexist with our colony. The mongrels will see that we’ve succeeded. That’s it.”

  “Disorderly! Chaos and clutter,” Abel warbled from above. “My, but you have an aptness for chaos and clutter.”

  Desmond spotted the musk monkey at least thirty feet from the ground, descending a red oak. He was amazed that the creature had been able to approach through the canopy without drawing attention.

  Abel dropped the last eight feet to the ground, alighting gracefully on two feet and two hands. Some of the refugees stepped aside as the musk monkey strode into the group’s midst and stopped before Desmond and Infinity, his oily smell arriving well before him.

  “Always the hard way with you humans. Did you ask help of your friend, Abel? No, too smitten with chaos and clutter, I reckon.”

  “You’re willing to help us?” Desmond asked.

  Abel blew out a puff of air. “Not that I didn’t consider running off to join the ferals. I sure as slithering snakes ain’t sticking around here much longer, what with all these venomcrooks wreaking havoc.” He held up his own venomcrook. “Ain’t no way I can continue reining in the herd with this wretched contraption.”

  “If you’ve got an idea that can help us, get to it,” Infinity said. “Otherwise, you’re wasting our time.”

  Abel glanced at Infinity but then turned to Desmond. “Unfettered rapture didn’t cure her cantankerousness, did it?”

  “I wasn’t aware curing cantankerousness was one of the common side effects,” Desmond replied. “But she does have a point.”

  “Yes, yes. I keep my nose out of herd conflicts, by and large. But this morning’s dawn unveiled shenanigans heretofore unwitnessed. My last act as purveyor of order in this bailiwick will be to quash this chaos.”

  Infinity raised her weapon. “You going to explain or not?”

  “You may have venomcrooks,” Abel said. “But so does the painted herd. Unsavory business. You need help.” The creature then tweaked the tendon on the handle of his venomcrook and stepped over to the eight native men, who were just now starting to recover. With casual flips of his wrist, Abel struck the two natives nearest him.

  The two men, obviously not fully aware, looked up at the musk monkey in confusion. Their eyes then rolled back in their heads, and they both went limp.

  Several of the other natives extended their hands toward Abel’s weapon. “Please,” one of them pleaded.

  “Humph,” Abel muttered. He stepped around the two still bodies and dosed the other six.

  They, too, collapsed into unconsciousness.

  Desmond exchanged a glance with Infinity, and she shook her head, obviously losing her patience.

  Then, the bodies of the eight painted men began changing. Their limbs grew shorter. Their heads became featureless lumps. Colored paint peeled off and fell to the ground, revealing skin that was rapidly turning green and tan. Desmond realized the men were transforming into musk monkeys. But then each of their bodies split into five smaller pieces. Arms, legs, and a tail formed on each piece. Each p
iece grew a softball-sized head, which then grew dark eyes, a mouth, and a strange, flattened nose, which was characteristic of musk monkeys.

  The miniature musk monkeys began moving. They stretched their arms and legs, curled their tails into tight coils, and sat up.

  There were forty of them, five created from each unfortunate native.

  “Ain’t that dandy,” Abel said. “And on my first crack at it.”

  Desmond, Infinity, and over four hundred refugees stared, speechless, at the beagle-sized creatures. They were about twice the size of the musk monkey that had bridged back to SafeTrek with the other bio-probe animals.

  “We’re trying to get the natives to cooperate with us, not kill them,” Infinity said.

  Abel stepped back from his creations. “Yes, yes, but such a small price to pay. These here musk monkeys will be eager to please. And quicker than a hungry mink chasin’ a tadpole. You give them your venomcrooks, and they’ll scamper over and prick each and every one of them painted vassals without you having to risk your own hides. Then you walk over there, take the herd’s venomcrooks, wait till they recuperate from their rapture—if indeed they ever do—and tell them what you gotta tell them. There you go, the gist of it.”

  Desmond looked over at Infinity. She met his gaze and raised her brows. She was actually considering this. Desmond was uncomfortable with this idea for several reasons. How could the mini musk monkeys be trusted? Could they even differentiate between natives and refugees? And then another potential problem came to mind.

  “Um, Abel?” he said. “I told the mongrels we would convince the herd to cooperate. I didn’t tell them you would help us. They’re going to see this and know. Isn’t that going to be a problem?”

  Abel rubbed his chin with one of his lower hands, an uncannily human gesture. “Confounded hitches and hindrances. You’re right.” He let out a gargling sound, waving all his hands at the tiny musk monkeys. “Off with you! You’re of no use here. Git!”

  The creatures began to scatter.

  “Wait,” Desmond said. “Do you think those musk monkeys might be useful to the colony? I mean, after the mongrels start providing for all of us?”

  Abel gargled again, louder than before. “Hey, you puckish pygmies get your sorry carcasses back here! You might be of use after all.”

  The little musk monkeys dutifully circled back and returned. They arranged themselves in a cluster, sitting with their tails coiled around their butts, staring up at Abel.

  “I got another conception, one I reckon you’ll find more agreeable,” Abel said to Desmond. “You want to hear it?”

  Desmond tried to scan the surrounding forest for approaching natives, but four refugees blocked his view. “Do you see anyone coming?” he asked no one in particular.

  “I’ve been watching,” said a man on the outer periphery. “There’s a group of six natives watching us, but they’re keeping their distance.”

  Desmond turned back to Abel. “Yes, we want to hear it.”

  “Stealth. That’s what you need. And swiftness. You need to deliver your plan to the minds of the vassals without delay. To turn them from doubters to believers in the blink of a gnat’s eye, especially seeing as they now have their own venomcrooks. And I’ve an idea how to do this, without the mongrels knowing you got help from old Abel. It’s a sure-fire thing.”

  Desmond, Infinity, and the refugees waited.

  “Well, what’s your idea?” Infinity finally demanded.

  Abel’s face distorted, the creature’s mouth stretching into an almost perfect circle. His expression then relaxed. “I’m contemplating.”

  Several seconds passed.

  Then, Abel touched the handle of his venomcrook, manipulating the tendon with his slender fingers. Finally, the creature looked up at Desmond. “You’ve chewed the fat with the mongrels, so you’ll understand before the others will.” He approached casually. Abel flicked out his venomcrook without warning, puncturing Desmond’s forearm.

  “Ow! What are you doing?”

  Abel immediately turned to face Infinity as she stepped forward menacingly. “No need for that!” the creature said, holding three arms out to stop her. “He ain’t hurt—you have my word. Nor did I mete out rapture.”

  Desmond looked down at his arm and saw four pinpricks, a blood droplet forming on each. His heart began pounding as he imagined himself turning into five miniature musk monkeys. But so far he felt nothing unusual. “What’s going to happen to me?” he asked.

  “Nothing worth getting your hackle hairs up over. Be patient.”

  “I’ve had enough of this,” Infinity said, taking another step toward the musk monkey. “What the hell did you do to him?”

  “Yes, yes, perhaps it’s been long enough.” Abel grabbed Infinity’s arm and pulled her over to Desmond. The creature then eyed Desmond. “You know how this works. Muster up a manifestation of your affections for this here woman. I know you got some. Keep the manifestation in your own noggin, but make sure it’s clear as can be.”

  Desmond stared at Abel as he realized what the creature was suggesting. No way. It wasn’t possible. “You’re not serious,” he said.

  “Save your yammering and muster up your vision,” Abel said.

  “We’re wasting time,” Infinity growled through gritted teeth.

  Desmond had become curious, though. Why not try it? If the mongrels could convey thoughts telepathically, why should he doubt that there could be a way to transfer that ability to humans? Yes, he definitely wanted to try it. He formed an image in his mind of Infinity standing before him. He visualized pulling her close and kissing her passionately.

  He watched the real version of her face as he formed this image. She didn’t respond. Of course she didn’t. This was ridiculous.

  Abel took Desmond’s hand and moved it toward Infinity. “Place your paw on her hide. And then cogitate on sending your manifestation from your noggin to hers.”

  Desmond sighed and shook his head. But goosebumps had formed on the back of his neck. He put his hand on Infinity’s shoulder and concentrated, creating the same passionate image. He then imagined pushing it outward, forcing it to leave his mind and enter hers, as he had done with the words he had projected to the mongrels.

  The corners of her mouth turned down in a slight frown. Abruptly, her eyes widened. She stepped back, breaking the contact between their skin. “What the hell?” Her chest began heaving as if she were hyperventilating. “What the hell just happened?”

  “Well, ain’t that dandy,” Abel said. “And again on the first crack. I am indeed a jack-of-all-trades.”

  Infinity continued staring at Desmond, her eyes wide.

  “Don’t look so dad-blamed flummoxed,” Abel said. “Your brain sends signals to your toes all the way down at the south end of your leg, don’t it? So why be surprised to learn it can send visions right on through your hide and into someone else’s noggin? It ain’t surprising at all. Only thing surprising is that you couldn’t always do such a thing, that you require mongrel-made tonic conjured in a venomcrook.”

  “I guess it worked?” Desmond asked Infinity. Which was a stupid question—her expression made it clear it had worked.

  She nodded, her head barely moving up and down.

  Abel reached up and massaged the top of Desmond’s head with his fingers. Desmond pulled his eyes from Infinity to glance at the musk monkey, and Abel said, “Muster up another vision, this one with regards to what you want the painted vassals to make sense of. Be sure it includes the whole story, snout to tail. Everything you want them to know.”

  Desmond was eager to try this. He formed images of the key elements of his conversation with the mongrels, followed by brief, imagined scenes of the painted herd living side-by-side with the colonists: feeding on abundant food supplied by the mongrels, cultivating and harvesting native plants like pawpaws and blackberries, and constructing log homes from young, overabundant trees.

  “Now send your manifestation to that m
an right there.” Abel pointed one of his lower hands toward a nearby colonist.

  Desmond stepped over and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You okay with this?”

  The man twisted his mouth to the side in skepticism. “Go for it.”

  Desmond repeated the sequence of visions, this time more forcefully, trying to mentally project them.

  The man’s eyes widened and he gasped. He put a hand to his temple. “You were inside that bubble? Breathing liquid? Jesus Christ, man!”

  “It worked?” Desmond asked.

  “It played in my head like a freaking video recording,” the guy said. “I still see it, like it’s my own memory. This is going to work. Those painted natives are going to have a perfectly clear picture of exactly what you’re planning to do, and why they need to cooperate.”

  “Hallelujah,” Abel exclaimed. “One last good deed before old Abel gets transfigured into skittering varmints. It’s time to get to it. I aim to prick every last one of you with this here venomcrook. This feller here—Desmond—he’ll send the manifestation he just sent to this other feller to every last one of you. Then you’ll all go after them painted vassals, get your hands on them, and make them see the light. With any luck, the mongrels will have no notion you got old Abel’s help.”

  20

  Conflict

  September 3 - 8:40 AM

  Infinity gathered as much speed as she could in ten yards. Then she threw her right leg forward and skidded on her left side like she was sliding into home base. She struck her opponent’s leg as she slid by, and then leapt to her feet, readying herself to strike again if necessary.

  “It’ll work almost every time,” she announced to the hundreds of refugees gathered around her. “They won’t be expecting you to drop low like that. But without clothing to protect your skin, you’re going to be timid about doing it. That’s why you need to practice it now. Prove to yourself that it’s not all that painful to slide a few inches on your leg and hip—then you’ll be less likely to hesitate in a real fight.”