Nature's Way

by Jay Caselberg

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  Nature's Way

  by Jay Caselberg

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  Science Fiction

  * * *

  Fictionwise, Inc.

  www.Fictionwise.com

  Copyright ©2003 by Jay Caselberg

  First published in Electric Velocipede, August 2003

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  The slither hound was pregnant. The swell of spore tickled beneath her flowing tresses. Of course, she didn't know she was a slither hound. That was just what the others called her, the strangers. She scanned the horizon and snuffed at the air, searching for a hint of ungulate, but the taste of ungulate on the gentle breeze that stirred the slim stalks around her was missing. It had been a long time since she had smelled the tang of the huge herbivores on the air. She rippled her multiple tiny legs and shifted position, sensing. The ground lay still beneath her.

  Since the coming of the strangers, the ground had been still more often than not. It had not caused her too much concern up to now. The land teemed with insects and the small wriggling larvae she liked to feed on, but the steps of the larger beasts had been strangely absent. Now, with her burgeoning spore, her needs were different.

  She shifted position again, seeking movement, testing the air and listening. Sound and taste guided her mostly. Her large brown eyes were adequate at close range, but with her head so close to the ground, they were little use at a distance. Her multiple sensitive feet helped, picking up vibration from the ground beneath her.

  Her ears pricked up as she noticed noises from beyond the rise in front. Perhaps there she would find what she needed. With a low keening deep in her throat, she shot to the top of the low hill.

  * * * *

  “What the hell was that?"

  “What?” Luke looked over at his client with a barely disguised frown. He liked this one less than most, but the man was paying the bills.

  “That noise?” Janus Margate was peering down his rifle sights and scanning the horizon.

  “Nothing to worry about. Probably just a slither hound, Mister Margate. You don't get many of them, but they're pretty harmless."

  Margate snorted, lowered his rifle and rested it in the crook of one arm. Multi-pocketed khakis and a slouch hat completed the image. Most of his clients liked to dress the part. He lifted his water bottle and took a healthy swallow. “So where are these animals that are supposed to be here? You promised me big game. Nothing for two whole days. Perhaps I should just bag one of these slither hound things and call it quits."

  Luke crouched down in the long reddish grass and sighed quietly. “I don't think you'd want that, Mister Margate. They look kind of like a short Cocker Spaniel. I doubt you'd really want that in your trophy room."

  Margate snorted and went back to scanning the horizon. “Well, something had better happen soon. I've paid you good money, McEvoy, and damned if you're not going to deliver."

  Luke rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. Margate was within his rights to be annoyed. He plucked a grass stalk and turned it between his fingers. There'd been no sign of the large bison-like creatures they'd come hunting for a full two days. Migratory patterns should have dictated they'd be here, but so far nothing. Luke wondered what had changed to cause them to alter their seasonal movement. They'd been here every year for the last six seasons. What had changed now?

  The slither hound's low keening came from a nearby hill. Luke turned, but there was little chance of seeing the creature in this long grass. He pushed himself to his feet, brushed off his hands and crossed to stand behind his red-faced client. He stared at the man's bull neck and phrased his next statement carefully.

  “Listen, Mister Margate. If there's no sign of them by sundown, we'll break camp and head to another spot I know. I'm sorry, but that waterhole is usually a good bet. I don't know why we've had no activity yet."

  Margate grunted and peered over at the waterhole. Nothing. Nothing more than a few lizbirds spiraling lazily above the water and hopping around the muddy edges. Six seasons and he'd never seen the place so quiet. He'd spent too long building up his lucrative one-man business to see it all going wrong now.

  “Humph,” said Margate. “Seems like there's a lot you don't know."

  Margate was clearly unimpressed, but there was nothing he could say to the man.

  A sudden rustling from somewhere nearby spun them both around. A wave of motion was bearing down on them, snaking through the long grass.

  “What the—?” said Margate. He took a step back. Then another—slamming right into Luke who stood directly behind. The big man went flying, his rifle spinning off to one side.

  “Arghh, you idiot!” Margate yelled as he went down. Then, “Ooof,” as he hit the ground and the air was driven from his lungs.

  Whatever it was cutting through the grass made straight for him. A slither hound shot from beneath the concealing grass, leaped from the ground and landed right on Margate's chest. It rested on top of him, looking down at his face with its big brown eyes, quivering slightly.

  Margate looked petrified. His big face had gone pale and he held himself rigid, staring at the creature perched on top of him. “What should I do?” he forced from between clenched teeth, barely daring to move.

  Luke, trying very hard not to explode with laughter at the sight told him. “Nothing. I told you, they're harmless, Mister Margate. It'll get bored in a minute and then it'll be gone."

  “Get the damn thing off me!"

  The slither hound gave a low keening cry, then proceeded to shake itself. It was not unlike a wet dog, shaking its coat free of water. Long tresses whipped from side to side and a cloud of dust enveloped both the animal and the man who lay beneath. It stood quivering for a moment more, then shot away again, into the concealment of the long grass. A second later and there was no trace of it. Margate lay where he had fallen, his eyes wide.

  Still suppressing his urge to laugh, Luke bit his lip and crossed to help Margate up.

  As Luke hoisted his client to his feet, Margate found his voice again. “There'll be hell to pay for this, McEvoy. Hell to pay.” He proceeded to brush down his clothes, sending up fine puffs of brown dust. “What was that thing? Look at this, it's left dirt all over me,” he growled. “I'm telling you McEvoy, if—"

  Luke turned away so Margate couldn't see his face. “That was the fearsome slither hound, Mister Margate. I'm sorry that your dignity's been compromised, but it's perfectly harmless."

  “Dignity! Why I—"He spluttered, then stalked off to retrieve his rifle.

  Luke pressed his lips together tightly and turned to watch the big man. The slither hound was certainly harmless —as far as he knew. He'd never seen one do anything like that before, but he was glad he'd been here to see it now. The memory of Margate's face was going to stay with him for a long, long time. He'd seen enough of the corporate types who came on these hunting trips over the past six seasons. They didn't give a damn about the countryside or the beauties of this outpost world. All they cared about was another set of trophies to massage their over-inflated egos.

  Margate was stalking back towards him, swinging his rifle with one hand and brushing at his shirt with the other. By the looks of him, there'd be no more hunting for the rest of the day. If nothing else, it gave Luke an excuse to shift to a new campsite where they'd have better prospects. He scanned th
e horizon and nodded to himself.

  “Well?” said Margate.

  Luke gave him a slight frown and tilted his head in query.

  “Well, what are you going to do?” said Margate, looking flustered.

  “About what, Mister Margate?"

  “About that damn animal, that's what?"

  “What would you like me to do?"

  Margate grumbled to himself then dropped his gaze. “All right then. What now?"

  “I suggest we shift camp, Mister Margate. We can head for that other location I told you about. I think we'll have a better chance there. It's about a day's drive, but there are some great sights along the way. We can start first thing in the morning and be ready for a full day's hunting the day after tomorrow with an early start."

  “Scenery! What do I want with scenery? I came to this God-forsaken place to hunt. So far, there's been precious little of that. It's about time you started earning your keep, McEvoy."

  “We'll see what we can do then,” said Luke. “But let's just call it a day now and head back to the campsite."

  It took them about forty minutes to make their way back. Margate strode beside him with a face like thunder, muttering to himself under his breath. Luke ignored the performance. It was just one more thing he was paid to put up with.

  It was strange they'd seen none of the veldt bulls in the grasslands around the waterhole. He could think of nothing that would cause them to change their pattern after so many seasons. Perhaps they'd have more success at the next location. They'd better. Next thing Margate would be asking for his money back and Luke could ill afford that at the moment. The local authorities didn't exactly condone his activities, but they turned a blind eye if he made the appropriate ‘considerations.’ Carlin's World was becoming one of the few places left where people could hunt, and even here, it was becoming harder with each passing season. There ought to be a better way to make a living.

  When at last they reached the campsite, Margate's humor had improved none. It was going to be a long few days.

  * * * *

  Morning light saw the touch of rose and gold across the red-hued grasslands, and it saw Margate's mood hardly improved.

  “Did you sleep well, Mister Margate?” asked Luke as the man emerged from his tent.

  “No. It was too hot.” He scratched at his neck and yawned. “And something's given me a rash. Kept me up half the night."

  “I'm sorry to hear that. Well, there's some coffee there."

  Margate grunted and moved to help himself. As he passed, Luke caught a whiff of something sweet like cologne. Strange for a man to wear cologne out here, but to each his own. While Margate sat and sipped at his coffee, Luke busied himself stowing gear in the ATV. He'd had the vehicle painted in black and white zebra stripes—the clients seemed to like that. The solar-powered vehicle also gave more of the frontier illusion—two men alone against the wilderness.

  By the time full light had arrived, tingeing the sky with pale greenish blue, Luke was just about ready. Margate was propped on one of the foldaway chairs, scratching at his shoulder and muttering. Luke stooped to retrieve Margate's carelessly discarded mug, rinsed it, shook it out and stowed it with the rest of the gear. He looked down at the man with distaste.

  “If we're ready, Mister Margate?"

  “I suppose so. I don't mind telling you, if you don't come up with the goods soon, you're not the only one who's going to hear about it. If you don't start delivering, you won't get another client when I'm done. I'll see to it."

  “All right, Mister Margate. I'm certain we'll find what you're after soon. Just be a little patient."

  “Patient! I learned a long time ago just how far patience gets you.” He pushed himself to his feet and made for the vehicle, leaving Luke to fold away the chairs and stow them. By the time Luke climbed up in the driver's seat, Margate was drumming on the doorframe with his fingers. “Well, are we getting under way or are we going to spend all day sitting here looking at your scenery?"

  “Yes, Mister Margate. Just sit back and enjoy the view. We've a pretty long drive ahead of us."

  “Humph. About time. And when we get there, you can find something for this damnable itch.” Margate was scratching at his thigh now, his big red face looking even redder. If he went on like this, he'd burst a blood vessel before the day was out.

  Luke kicked the motor over, thankful for the growl of the engine noise to cover Margate's complaints. The man was still scratching and the sweet cloying odor of his cologne filled the cab. Luke knew both were going to get worse as the day wore on and the cab grew steadily hotter. Inwardly he sighed, not looking forward to the journey ahead.

  * * * *

  By the time they reached the next campsite, Margate was no better. He scratched persistently at varying locations on his body and cursing under his breath. Luke pulled into the campsite and killed the engine.

  “I put this down to you, McEvoy."

  “Look, Mister Margate, it's probably just an allergy. You've come into contact with something you're allergic to, that's all. I'll check the med kit once we've set up the camp. There's bound to be something in there that'll ease your discomfort."

  “Look at this!” Margate thrust his arm under Luke's nose. Large red bumps covered the skin, angry and raw from all the scratching. A waft of sweetness washed over Luke's face.

  “It looks like an allergic reaction to me,” said Luke. I'm bound to have some antihistamine cream in the med kit. Um, Mister Margate, if you don't mind me asking ... what cologne do you wear?"

  “Cologne? What the hell are you talking about?"

  “That smell. Sort of sweet?"

  “I don't smell anything. Stop trying to change the subject. It won't do you any good."

  Luke frowned as Margate clambered from the vehicle and slammed the door.

  There was one consolation. There had been plenty of signs of veldt bulls on the way in. The sooner they could bag a couple and get out of there, the sooner he'd be rid of Margate. He only hoped the man hadn't caught anything. They were at least two days from a relay station and professional help if Margate really was sick. He'd deal with that possibility later. He lowered himself from the cab and with a quick glance at Margate, set about unloading. Margate simply propped himself on the side of the vehicle and watched.

  “Mister Margate, the sooner we get this stuff unloaded, the sooner I can look for that stuff for you."

  “Well, you'd better stop flapping your jaw and get on with it."

  Luke narrowed his eyes and did just that without saying another word. Finally, he dug out the med kit and located the cream. Margate snatched the tube from his hand, which was just as well. The smell from the man was becoming overpowering. Luke left him to it and set about starting a fire. A slight breeze ruffled the tent flaps and gently stirred the flames. He peered off through the fading light, across the red-grassed plain and felt a brief sense of contentment. He could almost forget that he was not alone. This is what had drawn him to this place—the unspoiled beauty and the solitude. But the illusion was quickly shattered. Margate stalked across and tossed the tube at Luke's feet.

  “That seems to have done something, but the damn rash is still there. First, you take me on a wild goose chase. Then you drag me through the heat with lumps breaking out all over my body. Allergy! Like hell. I bet it was that ‘harmless’ creature of yours."

  As if on cue, a low keening sound broke out over the grasslands—from more than one direction.

  “There you go!” said Margate waving his arm. “More of the damn things."

  Luke sighed. “I assure you, they're harmless. Look, why don't you sit and enjoy the view while I fix us something to eat. There's nothing quite like twilight over the veldt."

  “Listen, McEvoy, I've got no use for your views. If I wanted that, I would have brought a camera and gone somewhere civilized. I came here to hunt and we've done damn all of that. My patience is wearing pretty thin. You'd better come up with some results in the
morning or you'll have some real trouble on your hands."

  Luke bit back his reply, clamped his jaw shut and started preparing their evening meal. It gave him an excuse to stay far enough away from the man not to want to lash out at him and far enough that the stink of him didn't invade his senses.

  And it wasn't just the physical stink—that sweet, cloying cologne-like scent. It was the stink of his attitude and his arrogance. For six seasons, he'd seen a succession of men like Margate and now, finally, it was beginning to wear thin. He picked at his food in silence while Margate shoveled at his without even a word of thanks. Luke stared out over the darkened plain, wondering what the hell had brought him to this.

  * * * *

  The slither hound turned, snuffing. Something new filled the air—a sweet indefinable urge. He knew the taste, the sense of it. He turned to face the direction where he'd last caught the tang of ungulate, but there was nothing. Confused by this, he turned and sought. Another scent wafted over the grasses and with it came the smell he sought. Trembling, he shifted position. A low, deep sound grew in his throat, and he lifted his face to the sky.

  An answering call came from beyond a small rise and another from a short distance away. The scent was driving him now, stirring within him. It was his. He would be the first. He had to be.

  * * * *

  The keening of the slither hounds grew as the evening wore on. The breeze had lifted and the fire fluttered and danced. With every new call, Margate started in his chair and looked around nervously. The calls were definitely getting closer and they were deeper, different to the noise Luke was used to.

  A call came from behind them, not twenty paces away. Margate shot to his feet, scratching at one arm and peering into the darkness. “I thought you said they were harmless, McEvoy. What are they doing?"

  “I don't know. I've never seen anything like this before."

  The grass stalks shifted around them and the sound of rustling came from not only behind them, but also from the opposite side of the fire. A slither hound called again, and its cry was answered from a spot from where movement had stirred the grass before. Suddenly, a slither hound burst from the clumped grass behind them and shot across the clearing. It was halfway across the circle when another burst from the grass on the opposite side and rushed to meet it. Both animals rose on their hind sections and, snapping and snarling, launched themselves across the intervening space.