“Now, while we are waiting,” Wizard said, “You may resume your narration, Tod, and fashion your storm shelter. There is hardly a more fitting place to do it than this.”
Tod laughed. “Indeed, it is appropriate. My most secret shame is from childhood. We had something to go to, I no longer remember what, maybe the library, and I was asked whether I needed to use the toilet before I went. I said I didn’t. Then I was caught by an urgent need and pooped my pants. I was so embarrassed that I sneaked into the facility restroom and cleaned up and washed out my shorts myself, wrung them out and put them back on damp. I never told anyone, always fearing that somehow it would be discovered, but it never was. So it remains my secret, until now.”
“That library,” Wetzel said. “That could be your shelter.”
They worked at it, and gradually Tod got it. He had his shelter.
Then it was Vanja’s turn. “Yours was poop,” she said. “Mine was similar. As a child once I was in a group event with several other girls, and my digestion turned on me. I got horrible gas. I managed to let it out silently, but it was a heroically worthy stink, worse than what’s here in this cave. Naturally the other girls soon smelled it, and made exaggerated choking and retching sounds before guessing who was responsible. They finally pinned it on another girl, who of course denied it, but they called her a liar and she was stuck with it.” Vanja took a breath. “I was silent, letting her take the blame. She was my friend. That’s my shame: that I did that to my friend. I swore never to do that again.”
“So the experience made you a more honest person,” Wizard said. “Now that is part of what we respect in you.”
“I still hate the thought,” Vanja said. Then she worked on it, and in due course had her storm shelter.
Then all they had to do was wait out the storm. They stood by their vents, breathing the turbulent drafts, and slept standing. When they needed to, they added to the refuse of the cave. Fortunately it was large enough to hold any amount, and the older material was composting.
Their primary enemy became boredom. “Let’s practice our arts,” Veee said. “Tell us a diverting story, Wizard.”
They had arts? Wetzel hadn’t realized. He had his own interest in Drama; would that mesh?
“Once upon a time there was a virgin in search of a unicorn,” Wizard said.
“I’ll be the virgin,” Vanja said. “That requires an extraordinary feat of acting. I will do a Virgin Dance to summon that handsome beast. Set the stage, Veee.”
“A cave in a forest, shelter from a storm,” Veee said.
Vanja accepted that. “Music, maestro.”
Tod got out a small musical instrument, an ocarina, and played a flute-like melody. It was surprisingly good; it was lovely music. Vanja danced to it, and in the gloom her body almost seemed to glow.
Wetzel, of course, was the unicorn. There was room in the cave; he transformed and allowed himself to be enchanted by the Virgin.
The story continued from there, involving the other team members; everyone had a part to play. Wizard had a talent for narration, and it was a fair diversion. The interim became almost pleasant despite the ugly setting. They were all pleased. Their several talents helped them to get along well. Even the crab monster seemed to be tuning in in its fashion.
Next morning, by Tod’s timepiece, the storm was abating. They broached the crab, who obligingly let them out. Vanja paused to give it another bite, extending the pain relief.
“There may be no redemption for your shame,” Wetzel said. “But what you have done for a creature you regard as your enemy might be a kind of redemption.”
“It’s what Veee would do,” Vanja said simply. “She wanted to spare this creature.”
“It taught us the need for storm shelters,” Veee said. “And how to avoid a dangerous summons.
They looked around. The local landscape was a wreckage. Many trees had been blown down, and much of the underbrush had been scoured away. They had to pick their way through; the path no longer existed.
“I’ll scout the best route.” Vanja changed and flew up. In a moment Wetzel caught her mental image: there were more wolfkeys prowling. They were scooting around and under the fallen wood, heading this way.
“Wolfkeys,” Wetzel said.
“We’re at a disadvantage in this wreckage,” Tod said. “They can hide and pounce from ambush.”
“No,” Wetzel said. “I can read their minds.” Then he reconsidered. “Their minds are locked. They’re not stalking us.”
“The crab!” Wizard said. “They came within range, and it caught them.”
They stood and watched as the first wolfkey emerged from under a trunk and walked toward the crab. The crab’s pincers caught it and cut it into pieces. Then the crab’s mouth crunched the pieces.
“It eats wolfkeys!” Vanja breathed. “Now I know why we spared it!”
“I thought it might have its uses,” Veee said.
“And here I thought you were just softhearted.”
“That, too,” Veee agreed, smiling.
“It surely helps keep down their numbers,” Tod agreed. “That pack won’t be following us beyond this point.”
They resumed their advance, no longer concerned about predators. Wetzel wondered when they would discover their mission. If this was all merely preparation for it, it could be some challenge.
Chapter 5
Mission
They picked their way back up the hill to the trail. This was miraculously undamaged.
Miraculously? Wetzel realized that the Amoeba was a creature of trails, so must safeguard them. They might have been safe if they had simply hunkered down on the trail and let the storm pass. Might have. He was hardly sure enough of that to risk it if another storm came. The wolfkeys had attacked them on the trail, after all, so it was not safe in that sense.
They made good progress, and in the early afternoon came to another village. “Caution,” Wizard advised. “Chances are they will ignore us, recognizing us as being on Amoeba business. But we should not assume too much. They might possibly be hostile.”
But as they approached it, a person came out to meet them. “Welcome, travelers!” he called. He was a handsome man of middle age with brick-red hair and beard. “We have been expecting you.” His mind indicted just such an expectation.
“Expecting us?” Tod asked. “We expected just to pass through, on our way to our mission.”
“Your mission is here,” the man said. “I am Red, mayor of RedBrick Village.” He smiled. “Because of my hair, you know; it matches. Whoever is closest in color is mayor. And you are?”
“I am Tod,” Tod said.
“Come, Tod, and party; we have reserved facilities for you.” Red glanced at Wetzel. “Though I admit we had not anticipated a unicorn or a bat. Will a stall do?”
“Before we proceed further,” Tod said quickly, “we need to be sure there is not some confusion. What mission are you thinking of?”
“Beetle Juice, of course,” Red said.
Those were the key words. “Then we shall gratefully accept your hospitality,” Tod said. “This is Veee, and Wizard. The unicorn and bat are also members of our party.”
Wetzel appreciated Tod’s caution. The villagers could have heard the words and recognized them as an Amoeba project, and set up to waylay the team when it appeared. Like wolfkeys or the telepathic hermit crab. So Tod was accepting the offer, but remaining on guard. Neither Wetzel nor Vanja made any sign.
“We may have a problem,” Red said. “Bats eat bugs.”
“They do,” Tod agreed. “What is the problem?”
“This is complicated, and you will need a thorough briefing. But the essence is that we are trying to preserve a vitally important beetle, which we call the scarab, and we dare not risk it getting eaten.”
This did not sound like a trap. “Vanja,” Tod said.
Vanja jumped off Wetzel’s head, transformed in mid air, and landed neatly on her feet, her scantily clad fle
sh bouncing. Red’s eyes were locked onto each bounce, exactly as she intended. “I am a bat, but not only a bat,” she said. “I am a vampire.”
Red was visibly relieved. “Suck all the blood you want, you luscious creature,” he said. “Just don’t eat the scarab.”
Meanwhile Tod caught Wetzel’s eye, silently querying him. Wetzel was ready. Red’s mind showed no subterfuge, no animosity, no trap. He was legitimate, and he did have a very serious concern with a beetle of some sort. It was not exactly a scarab, except in the sense that it was immensely valuable. In Tod’s mind was the information that scarabs had been regarded as sacred by an ancient culture.
Wizard dismounted, and Wetzel converted to manform. Veee immediately tossed him undershorts, and he donned them as he spoke. “And I am Wetzel, a were-unicorn.” He did not mention telepathy; that seemed best omitted. “I will not need a stall.”
Red smiled. “The Amoeba is handling this in style. This way, please.” He turned, offering his arm to Vanja, who took it. Tod and Veee followed, satisfied to become background, and Wetzel and Wizard followed them.
The village consisted of red brick houses with red thatched roofs. A number of men were there, going about their business, not paying overt attention to the visiting party. But their minds were attuned; they we eager for the mission to proceed. The mission of saving the beetle.
Wetzel knew the other members of the team were as perplexed as he was, because he read their minds. Their job, after all this preparation, was to save a bug?
Their house was spacious and clean, with kitchen facilities and beds for five. It had running water and a picture window. This was not a primitive village.
“Settle in, get rested,” Red told them. “This evening I will brief you on the situation. We certainly hope you can help us.”
“We hope so too,” Tod said.
“We will certainly try,” Vanja said, kissing Red on the cheek. Wetzel felt the impact on the man’s mind; Red was hungry for the favor of any woman, especially a beautiful one. Red departed, still feeling that kiss.
“This village has no women,” Veee said.
“I noticed,” Vanja said. “I could have seduced that man without even trying. Maybe I will, tonight.”
“There are no women,” Wetzel agreed. “Yet they are heterosexual men who crave female companionship. That is as far as I have been able to read, so far.”
“We can inquire during the briefing,” Wizard said. “Wetzel will get an answer even if they try to avoid it.”
They used the facilities, cleaning up and relaxing. “During the briefing,” Wizard said, “I believe we should be open minded but not demonstrate any more abilities than we have already.” He glanced at Wetzel.
Wetzel nodded. He would keep the telepathy secret. It was not something the villagers needed to know, and it was bound to be useful.
There was a knock on the door. A young man stood there, bearing a large covered platter. “Your dinner, if you please,” he said.
“Thank you,” Veee said, accepting it.
The man stood there, fidgeting.
Vanja approached him. “There is something more?”
“When—when Red brought you here, you—you kissed him.”
“Oh.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.
He departed, dazed.
“They really, really need women here,” Vanja remarked.
“They seem well enough off,” Tod said. “Surely they could attract women, if they tried.”
“They aren’t trying,” Wetzel said. “There’s some reason they don’t want women here, and it’s not because they don’t like them. I can’t read any deeper, so far.”
“I really must seduce the mayor, and get the truth,” Vanja said. She glanced at Wetzel. “Don’t worry; I’ll seduce you too, later.”
Wetzel smiled. She was serious, and he had to agree with her: whatever information he couldn’t get telepathically, she could probably get personally.
The food was excellent: bread, wine, eggs, vegetables, and pudding for dessert. There were five portions, accounting for all of them.
When they had eaten, the young man came again to remove the dishes. Vanja kissed him again, thrilling him again. “As payment goes, this is minimal,” she said.
Red returned. He settled himself on a chair and addressed them all. “Here is the situation: this is the neighborhood of the scarab, perhaps the rarest and most important beetle known. Here is a picture rendered by one of our artists.” He held up a painting.
“I’ll be damned!” Tod said. “That’s the Mandlebrot set!”
“The what?” Red asked.
“One of the most complicated and beautiful designs known,” Tod said. “It is derived mathematically. I’m not clear on the exact process, but I understand it is the plotting of a complex number geometrically. The border between the dark center and the light background takes the general form of a hairy bug, but it is vastly more than that. I used to get lost contemplating its detail pictures. The greater the magnification, the more complicated the pattern, seemingly without end. Every curlicue of its detail is anchored by a miniature bug like the original one, only much smaller. And that miniature bug has its own curlicues, ever more elaborate until the eye and mind boggle with the sheer wonder of it. That is this picture.”
“I don’t know anything about all that,” Red said. “This is a picture of a living scarab that is incalculably precious. Its dead husk is used for jewelry. A live one is squished for its juice, which promotes human health and longevity. Some even say immortality. That’s its real commercial value. That’s why poachers steal it and sell it, becoming fabulously wealthy. That’s why it is in imminent danger of extinction. When it is lost, the universe will be a worse place. We have to save it. That’s why we prayed to the Amoeba, and why the Amoeba has answered with your team. Your mission is to save the beetle.”
Wetzel was aware of Tod’s annoyance as his insight was sloughed off, but the man gave no outward sign. Wizard was similarly annoyed and similarly suppressed. Veee was intrigued by both Tod’s description of the design and Red’s description of the plight of the scarab. She was interested in art of any type and the mere suggestion of this complicated geometric set fascinated her, but she also had empathy for all living things. She would be the mediator.
“Of course we must save the scarab,” Veee agreed warmly. “Tell us more about it.”
Wetzel picked up how Red warmed to her. Naturally Vanja had impressed him initially, but Veee was female too, and not unattractive when allowance was made for her size and muscle. She could affect a man when she tried.
“The scarab is prettier than any picture can show,” Red said. “It scintillates with colors that go beyond what the eye can see. To gaze at it is to love it. But the predation has been so severe that now we seldom see one.”
“They have learned to hide,” Veee said.
“We hope so. Otherwise they are doomed.”
“I am not clear how we can save a beetle we can’t find,” Tod said.
“It must be possible, or the Amoeba would not have sent you.”
“Maybe it is saving itself by hiding,” Veee said.
“Yet that will not be enough,” Red said. “If they could remain hidden all the time, maybe then it would work. But they can’t.”
“Why not?” Veee asked gently, somehow making it seem like support rather than challenge.
“They are a dual-habitat creature.” Then, seeing their blankness, Red explained. “They have a complicated life cycle, and can reproduce only in the normal universe, on a planet orbiting a star in the vicinity of Betelgeuse. Then they enter the Amoeba and mature. RedBrick Village is by the gateway: the trail that connects the scarab’s world to the Amoeba. They are safe here, but not on their home world, which is where the poachers trap them. If they could reproduce here they could be saved, but they can’t.”
“There is no law forbidding poaching?” Tod asked.
“It’s an
unsettled planet, set aside as a scarab preserve. Intrusion is forbidden. But the poachers know no law. They sneak in, catch the beetles, and escape before the authorities can stop them. They are well armed, so that when they are caught, they simply blast apart the ranger’s ships and escape anyway.”
“We have poachers like that in my frame,” Tod said. “They go after rare wild animals, and they kill anyone who tries to stop them.”
“Exactly,” Red agreed. “The planet is too big to police completely. Many poachers are caught and killed, but the scarab is so valuable that there are always more, just as vicious. I’d like to kill them all, but that’s hopeless. As long as the scarab exists, there will be poachers. Too many people are desperate for the health and longevity the beetle juice provides. The beetles live a long time; they may even be immortal, as we have never heard of one dying naturally. But the poachers kill them.”
“How did they come here?” Veee asked.
“The Amoeba brought them in, to save them, centuries ago. We maintain the local habitat so that it is ideal for them. But it’s not enough.”
“I am not clear why they can reproduce only on their home world, if the Amoeba’s habitat is ideal,” Wizard said.
“They are mostly females,” Red said. “We believe that males are rarely hatched, maybe only once a century, and that occurs only on the home world. We’ve never seen a male, but it must be spectacular.”
“Indeed,” Veee agreed warmly.
“There is one other thing,” Red said. “We suspect they are telepathic. That’s how they know to avoid people.”
None of the team gave any sign, but all were electrified by the news. Now it was clear why Wetzel had been summoned.
“We will see what we can do,” Tod said. “We’ll think about the problem.”
“This is not a time for thinking,” Red said sharply. “It’s the time for action.”
“We must consider ways and means,” Wizard said. “At this point we don’t know what is appropriate. Inappropriate action would be worse than no action.”
“We are sure you understand,” Veee said. “We do very much value your help.”
Beetle Juice Page 9
