Gunther's Cavern

by Edward Etzkorn

  Gunther sensed he was approaching some sort of common ground from which he and the Tardies might proceed together. He sensed some sort of fear on Teddy’s part. They were afraid of him and the other kids. But why?

  “Teddy, my sister and I came to your world just because we like exploring caves. Our other friends came because they were curious about a hole in the ground that they could not explain. None of us came here to hurt you. We didn’t know you were here. It’s in the nature of humans to want to explore, and to find explanations for things we don’t understand. We’ve learned far more than we expected, and now we just want to go back home.”

  Teddy stopped wiggling, and his flagella slowed their flapping. “True. But you are the youth of your species. You are still full of idealism. You are willing to accept the notion that there can be differences between creatures, and all have a right to live. Can the older members of your species accept the same notion? Can they say live-and-let-live among humans and tardigrades and insects? Your species cannot even accept differences in sexual orientation and color between your own members. How will you accept differences between species? How will you accept an intelligence that is not human?”

  “How do you know so much about our species?”

  Gunther could not say precisely what it was, but something in Teddy’s demeanor changed. Were Teddy another person, he would have said Teddy had withdrawn, or pulled back in self-defense.

  “I have told you enough,” Teddy said.

  “And our language,” Gunther persisted. “How do you know our language? Can you tell us more about your language, and how you communicate among each other?”

  “Thank you for your interest, Master Gunther. But I have already told you more than you need to know.”

  Gunther groped for words, but could not find them. The simple fact that Teddy addressed him by name implied a dozen different concepts that he could not sort through in the few seconds he was permitted. It implied that Teddy appreciated his existence as a distinct human being, rather than one among many. Teddy recognized that his ideas might be different from Hood’s, or Rad’s, or June’s. Teddy realized that one human being was not a carbon copy of another. Could a person realize the same about tardigrades? Or was every human programmed to see tardigrades as merely one of many tardigrades without personality, as a wiggly shape on a microscope slide?

  To his surprise, Teddy looked pleased. “You cannot find words, Gunther. That is good. And Houdini—Hood, too, cannot find words. That, too, is good. As I suspect you have realized, I have identified you as the leaders of your group. I believe the rest of your companions will follow what you say. I am hoping we can find some common ground upon which we can achieve a ‘meeting of the minds.’”

  Gunther and Hood shared glances.

  “Hey, Teddy, we’re with you every step of the way,” Hood said. “Just get us out of here, and we’ll leave you all alone to keep evoluting any which way you want.”

  Had a tardigrade been capable of smiling, Gunther could have sworn that Teddy smiled.

  “Thank you, Hood. And thank you, too, Gunther. Are we agreed there will be no more escape attempts?”

  “You got it, man.”

  “Yes. Yes—no more escape attempts.”

  “Thank you. I will share our agreement with the Insect Leaders.”

  As an afterthought, Teddy said, “And perhaps we can reward you and your group in some way this evening to cement our new-found understanding.”

  Without another word, Teddy led Hood and Gunther out of the alcove and into the corridor. Gunther looked ahead into the farther reaches of the cave, but could see little. Several rounded, greenish masses just ahead glowed, and seemed to pulsate. On the far side of the greenish masses flowed the stream, swiftly but silently, a spectre keeping watch over its charges. Here he could see no Arachnocampa luminosa strands. The only ambient light came from the entry chamber.

  The harder Gunther tried to see what lay within this unknown portion of the cave, the more determined Teddy seemed to be to prevent him from seeing. Teddy’s body bobbed from right to left, whichever way Gunther tried to look.

  Got to get into this part of the cave, Gunther thought. But how?

  Ushering the boys back the way they had come, Teddy accompanied them as far as the dining area. There he left them, with another promise that they might expect something special this evening as a sign of their mutual friendship.

  Gunther’s emotions rode a roller coaster as he and Hood proceeded toward The Swamp. The excitement that bubbled within him was more intense than anything he’d ever experienced. But with it came a warning—a warning of something frightening up ahead that he could not quite name.

  On the one hand, he’d accomplished something that no human being in the history of the world had ever accomplished. He’d contacted an alien civilization and made some sort of pact with it. On a more personal level, he’d cemented a bond of friendship with a boy he’d previously considered an enemy, a boy he now recognized as perhaps the truest friend he’d ever had in his life.

  On the other hand, unsolved questions remained, questions that could bear a very adverse prospect for his and his friends’ escape. He still had no idea who the Insect Leaders were. Or if Insect Leaders actually existed. If they did not exist, that meant the Tardies owned this realm and Teddy was lying. And if Teddy was lying on this subject, what else was he lying about?

  Then again, he, too, had lied. He’d promised Teddy not to make any further escape attempts. But he had no intention of lying here in this dank realm and waiting until the Tardies—with or without the concord of the “Insect Leaders”—decided to permit the kids to walk back out into the sunshine. If he saw no progress within a day or two, he was ready to lead an escape attempt. He just needed some weapons, strong enough to penetrate giant salamander skin, sharp enough to slice off giant insect legs and antennae.

  He was bursting to talk to Hood, and suspected Hood felt the same sense of urgency. But neither of them spoke a word or looked in the other’s direction. The Tardies were listening. How they heard, he did not understand. But he was sure they did.

  The moment they reached The Swamp, he could hold back no longer. Stopping on the spot, he turned to tap Hood on the shoulder, to find that Hood had stopped at the same moment. They shared a moment of laughter. With unspoken communication, they moved to the edge of the garden and stood on tiptoes, holding one other’s shoulders for support.

  They spoke at the same time.

  “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  Both pulled back and looked at each other. Gunther could not mistake the intensity in Hood’s eyes.

  “We’re dead meat,” Hood said.

  Gunther nodded. “We’ve got to pick the right time.”

  “There are no Insect Leaders,” Hood continued. “Teddy, or some other Tardy, calls the shots. They’ll never let us out of here. We got to do it soon. You’re right, man—we’re wasting away here. The sooner the better.”

  “I figured give them maybe a day or two to let them think we’ve resigned ourselves to staying here until they’re ready to let us go.”

  “No way. The longer we wait, the more time they got to get organized. Strengthen the insect guard, increase the number of Tardies watching our movements. We’re an alien civilization that’s invaded their home, and they want us gone. Gone as in dead.”

  “What do we tell the rest of the group?”

  “The truth.”

  “We can’t. They’ll go nuts.”

  Through Hood’s eyes Gunther heard himself, heard what he’d just said. He’d proposed that they lie to their friends.

  “That’s not what I mean,” he added. “I mean we tell them the truth, but sugarcoat it. We can’t let Billy or Sass go ballistic, or the Tardies will know something’s up. We’ve got to tell them everything’s cool, we worked out a deal with the Tardies. They’re gonna let us go, they just got to work out the details with the Insect
Leaders.”

  Hood looked doubtful. “Think they’ll go for it?”

  “I think so. Then probably we tell them on an individual basis what’s really up. In the meantime, we figure out where to get weapons.”

  “Weapons! Think they got weapons down here?”

  “They must! I haven’t seen any, but there’ve got to be some around here somewhere.”

  Hood’s eyes grew crafty. “You know, Gunth—this might be our chance to flush out Simon. We’ve wondered all along if he’s in cahoots with the Tardies. We’ve been thinking he tells them secrets in return for some kind of favors. Like real food, maybe. Like, what else would you trade secrets for down here?”

  Gunther understood Hood’s concern, but felt it was of minor importance. “Yeah, I guess. If we tell the group everything’s cool, and that’s the message the Tardies get …”

  “See where I’m going with it?”

  “I guess so.” Gunther took a deep breath and let it out. A quick look toward the rest of the kids told him they were growing restless as they waited for him and Hood to conclude their tete-a-tete. “Okay, let’s go. You do the talking. You’re their friend, I’m the outsider. They’re more likely to trust you than me.”

  Hood dropped down to his heels. “No freaking way, man. You’re the diplomat, I’m the villain. You do the talking. Any questions come up—you got me for backup.”

  Ten pairs of eyes dug into Gunther as he and Hood joined the rest of the group at the edge of the garden. Deliberately, the two did not stand on tiptoes, but sat down and beckoned the others to follow. They wanted the Tardies to hear. They wanted the Tardies to think the human leaders had been won over and were about to communicate their feelings to the rest of the group. Compliance, understanding, and solidarity were the catchwords of the moment. Yes, the Tardies were working with the Insect Leaders to secure their release.

  With a knowing smile, Hood nodded to Gunther as Simon scurried off toward the dinner area as soon as the meeting ended. Gunther scarcely had time to acknowledge the nod before Rad grabbed him and pulled him into the middle of the garden. She stood on tiptoes, and motioned for him to do the same.

  Gunther imagined he could feel electric waves around her as well as he could hear her voice.

  “They’re playing you for fools!” she nearly shouted. “They’re not going to let us go! They …”

  He tried to calm her with his voice, as well as what he thought were calming pulsations on her shoulders. “We know, Rad. We know. But we’re prisoners—we’ve got to play the game. At the same time, we’ve got to figure a way to escape. I’m going to need your help. Can we get together somewhere, just you and I? Doesn’t matter if the Tardies hear.”

  She huffed and fumed, and squeezed his shoulders so hard they hurt. But at last she calmed down. “Ten minutes. Sink by the cliff. Wear your boxing gloves.”

  No sooner did Rad release him than June accosted him. She did not stand on tiptoes—she obviously felt no need. Her face looked as angry and hostile as Rad’s, and then some. “Kong fong no see so corly must!” she exclaimed. “Teddy phee kong stupid-o boy brain in la gadda da vida.” How can you not see what they’re up to! Teddy must think you’re as naïve as our ancestors in the Garden of Eden!

  “No, June, it’s not like that …”

  By the time he calmed her down, Rad was waiting for him in the “sink” at the foot of the cliff. Although she was tapping her feet, curling and uncurling her fist, her face relayed the message that she was open to what he would say.

  “Rad, I need you to tell me everything you know about tardigrades.”

  INTERLUDE 5

  Dicey felt as if she were a disembodied spirit cruising above this odd group of rescuers she had summoned. As if she were the Archangel of Light who with a strum of her lyre had brought about this confluence of Goodness to combat the forces of Darkness. Would that a strum of a lyre—or lute, or electric guitar could have done it. In reality, gathering together this many people on such short notice had required dozens upon dozens of phone calls and thousands and thousands of words, from jocular to syrupy-sincere to frank pleading.

  Spike led the way up the hill, with Zeke motoring behind him, creating a road through the grass and producing a cloud of dust for the people who followed to breathe. Cal and Hallie followed behind him, doing a reasonable job of keeping up. They spoke little, their breath devoted toward extracting oxygen from the dust.

  Next came Marge and Arthur, looking as if they were out for a Sunday jaunt along the lake. Dicey could barely notice Arthur’s limp as he climbed the hill.

  Luisa, looking like a competitor in an Olympic running event, muscled her way between Jimmy and Lola. “So when are you going to come over to save me from the flies?” she asked Jimmy, without the slightest effort at breathing.

  Jimmy choked, gasped, drew in a few breaths. “I … ah … Luisa …”

  “Huh?” she persisted, bumping him on the shoulder and almost knocking him over. “I’ve had to seal my whole guest room off because the flies have taken over. Every day there are new ones, buzzing on the window pane, spinning in insane circles around the floor. I can’t even walk into the room without all these disgusting crunching sounds. What would I do if my mom or my sister decided to come visit and needed to stay in that room?”

  Jimmy turned toward her, his eyes falling first on her face, then a foot lower. With an involuntary yip, he snapped his eyes back to the path ahead. “Luisa, I’m sorry—you know how busy I am.”

  “I know, Jimmy. I know. Tell me again, just for the record. What is it you do?”

  “Oh, you know …” He paused for breath. “I paint … I fix toilets … I chop weeds … I clear sink drains. I quote Plato to old ladies.”

  “So if I was to happen to walk by your house at, say, eleven in the morning, I wouldn’t hear the TV on—right?”

  “Only if Lola was home sick. I’d be out working.”

  “Understandable. How about if I happened by at, say, 3 o’clock—assuming Lola was not sick. Which she usually isn’t. Would the TV be on then?”

  “No way. I’d still be out working.”

  “5:30 PM?”

  “Working.”

  “Rough life. 7:30?”

  Jimmy hesitated. “I might be home taking a shower. Washing off the dirt and grime—you know. The TV might be on just so the house wouldn’t be so quiet.”

  All at once, Luisa bubbled with enthusiasm. “Hey—you catch the Mets game yesterday? Dark-horse team—don’t ever count them out!”

  At once, Jimmy smiled. “Man, what a great game! Who’d ever expect the Mets to pull that one out!?”

  Luisa throttled him by the back of his shirt. “Aha! I knew it! That was a day game! Why were you home watching the Mets in the middle of the day when the flies were buzzing around my floor and window frame!? Huh? Huh!?”

  A tug on Dicey’s sleeve drew her attention away from Turtle Ridge’s ongoing soap opera. Dicey’s heart skipped a beat—or two, or three. Cathy was panting fast enough to make any EMT reach for his emergency medical kit.

  “Dicey,” Cathy gasped. “Dicey, I’m sorry. Durrell and me … we gotta stop.”

  “It’s okay,” Dicey said, with a quick look at Cathy’s husband. He was breathing faster than Cathy and clutching his chest.

  A moment of panic caught her up. Time to call 9-1-1?

  “Durrell—are you okay?” Annie, Annie, are you okay? “Do you need me to call the paramedics?”

  “I’m okay,” Durrell said, then leaned over and puffed for nearly half a minute. “It’s like this all the time. Shouldn’t have had that big meal last night.”

  Or the past 365 nights for the past thirty years, Dicey thought—then wanted to slap herself for her nastiness.

  She stopped in her tracks to watch the couple a moment or two before she could feel sure they would not share heart attacks here, together, on her back hill.

  They were engaged in a
work of charity when they went down, she pictured the spokesperson for Albany Medical Center saying, as he pulled his rain hood tighter around his face. They were climbing a hill on an old farm, looking for two teens who disappeared while trying to track down a pupa …

  “We’re okay,” Cathy said, in response to Dicey’s concerned look. “Really. It is like this all the time.” Huffing and puffing together, the couple could not say anything more, but appeared genuinely remorseful.

  Two down, thirteen left, Dicey thought. “It’s okay,” she told them. “We have enough people. We’ll find the cave. You guys go home and take it easy.” Have a chicken leg for me.

  She jumped at a touch on her left side. She jerked her head to the left, to see Kelila’s gray-brown eyes, ingenuous as always, looking up at her. The faces of her parents, Vern and Lucky, looked on, beaming.

  Although Dicey loved the girl, and was happy Gunther and June included her among their friends, at this moment she was not about to let Kelila get away with this intrusion on her personal space. It was well past time she fixed her.

  With a movement as fast as a jack-in-the-box, she jumped to her left. “POP goes the weasel!” she shouted.

  Kelila jumped, pleasing Dicey immensely.

  “You jumped me, Mrs. Cowley,” Kelila said.

  “I’m sorry. I guess I am a little jumpy today.”

  Kelila pressed herself against Dicey’s body in a way that made Dicey uncomfortable. “I understand, Mrs. Cowley. Mrs. Cowley, I need to tell you something.”

  A series of protective devices locked and loaded into Dicey’s brain. She could even hear them locking into place, like the shields that protected Star Trek’s Enterprise.

  “Yes, Kelila?”

  Kelila smiled a secret smile. “I talked to Gunther last night.”

  It was all Dicey could do to keep from peeing in her pants. She knew the right responses to shut off further communication: Oh, that’s nice, Kelila, or Oh, I’m glad, Kelila—but she could not help herself. “What did he say?”