Wake of the Hornet

by R. R. Irvine

  Yali looked mesmerized. “It must be wonderful to fly like the gods.”

  Nick was tempted to offer him a test flight when Coltrane returned. But that might cause trouble if there were others who demanded similar treatment. Besides, she wasn’t certain how Coltrane would react to joyriding sightseers.

  “There will be time for talk of airplanes later, Henry,” Lily intervened. “But first Nick must meet our chief, Jim Jeban.” With that, the woman led Nick to the man who’d been walking in Yali’s footsteps.

  Nick blinked in surprise. She’d assumed the man to be Yali’s disciple, not the chief. Never make assumptions. Her father’s dictum, drummed into her since she was old enough to accompany him on her first dig, echoed in her mind.

  So where did the real power lay? she wondered. By following in Yali’s footsteps did the chief take a back seat? Or were there subtleties involved? Perhaps by leading the way, Yali announced Chief Jeban’s coming?

  Nick sighed. The answers would take a while, though there was no guarantee that the nuances of Balesin’s culture would ever be completely understood by outsiders. But she had to keep an open mind, that was for sure.

  She glanced at her father, who answered with a raised eyebrow as if he, too, had been taken by surprise. Well, she’d let Elliot and Buettner worry about island ritual while she stuck to airplanes.

  The chief, unlike Yali, looked Nick up and down in open appraisal before focusing on her Cubs cap.

  “Do you know about baseball?” she asked, taking off her cap.

  Both Jeban and Yali laughed as if she had made a joke. Behind him, Buettner arched his eyebrow suggestively and shook his finger at her. His other hand held a small two-way radio. Probably it didn’t have much range, though over water that might be amplified somewhat. Their gear, she knew, contained a radio capable of reaching just about anywhere via satellite. Cellphone technology hadn’t caught up with the remote islands of the Pacific.

  “We will take you to our village,” Jeban said. At his signal, villagers began loading the expedition’s supplies onto their shoulders. They were about to start for the village when one of the Widgeon’s engines coughed to life. The roar stopped everyone in their tracks. As one, they stood and watched as the second engine started up. They clapped as the seaplane began its takeoff run. At liftoff a loud cheer went up.

  Only then did Lily lead the way off the beach. Strangely enough, Yali and Jeban fell in behind Lily and Nick. Once under cover of the palm trees, the deep sand gave way to a hard-packed path that meandered along-side the river. On solid ground, Nick’s legs stopped wobbling and her strength returned.

  Within a hundred yards, the palms gave way to a heavier, jungle-like growth. The air came alive, humming with insects. To keep from breathing them in, Nick pressed her lips tightly together, all the time squinting against their swarming attacks.

  Beside her, Lily seemed oblivious to the onslaught.

  “You see,” Lily said, holding onto Nick’s arm as they moved along the well- trodden track. “Now it’s an old woman’s turn to lean on you.”

  But as far as Nick could see, Lily was only being kind. She needed no help. In fact, the pace she set had Nick bathed in sweat by the time they reached the outskirts of the village. There, they crossed the river on a hand-hewn timber bridge. Another quarter of a mile brought them to the village square, which was ringed by the large buildings that Nick had seen from the air. Up close, they looked rough-hewn and very solid.

  By now Nick was exhausted again, and Buettner and her father didn’t look much better. All of them were constantly swatting at insects, though with no apparent effect.

  “We would like to set up camp here.” Buettner indicated an open spot in the square.

  Lily pressed her lips together, then replied, “As you wish.” Immediately, their gear was stacked on the spot.

  Through the dense cloud cover they suddenly heard the roar of an airplane. Lily and the others moved to the center of the square, where they stood staring up at the grey sky.

  Buettner used his handheld radio. “Coltrane, this is base. Do you read us? We don’t have our long-range set unpacked yet.”

  “Loud and clear. I decided to circle a while to make sure they didn’t eat you.”

  Off-mike, Buettner said, “He’s only kidding. I asked him to stick around until we got settled.”

  “Don’t tell me you believe his cannibal stories,” Nick whispered, then looked around to make sure none of the natives had heard her.

  Buettner snorted. “Not quite. Besides, Sam Ohmura was here before us, though not long enough, thank God, to fully study the island culture. Otherwise, there’d be nothing left for us to do. Anyway, there was always the chance we might lose some equipment in the water. Had that happened, Coltrane would fly in replacements tomorrow.”

  “How about a prefab house?” Nick suggested.

  “We don’t have a big enough payload for that,” Buettner told her before going back to his radio. “Lee, the weather has closed in down here.”

  “That’s no surprise this time of day,” Coltrane answered.

  “When we set up the main radio, we’ll be able to contact you on Guam tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “Roger that. By the way, I spotted what looks like another airfield at the base of the mountain. I couldn’t get much of a look at it because the cloud cover was closing in there, too.”

  Nick beckoned for the transmitter, which Buettner handed over. She hit the transmit button and said, “Lee, did you see any planes on the strip?”

  “I caught a glimpse of something, but the light was bad.”

  “Anything else?”

  “At the edge of the trees, I thought I spotted something that looked man-made. But it was starting to rain by then and I couldn’t get a close enough look to verify that. Hell, maybe I was seeing things anyway.”

  Nick doubted that. “Can you give me a precise location of the airstrip?”

  “It’s on the far side of the mountain, out of sight of the village. We didn’t see it on our approach because of the heavy overgrowth in that area. Chances are it’s an abandoned strip. If you’d like, I could make a low-level approach on my next trip, assuming the weather’s better.”

  “You might want to keep an eye out for Walt Duncan too,” Nick said.

  “Sorry, Doc, the visibility’s not good enough.”

  Elliot tapped Nick on the shoulder to warn her that Henry Yali was heading their way again and already in earshot. Lily was close behind him.

  “Stand by,” Nick said.

  “Sorry, Doc. I can’t hang around any longer. I have to head for home and I’ll be out of range damn fast.”

  “Understood.”

  “Just take care of yourself, Doc.” Static punctuated the remark.

  Yali came to a stop in front of Nick, his face only inches away. His stare was so intense that the skin around his eyes quivered. “John Frum has many places on Balesin,” he said. “Some are known only to His people.”

  Nick understood the implication, that some areas of the island were off-limits to outsiders.

  “Lee,” she transmitted, “no more low-level surveillance until we contact you. Is that understood?”

  Yali walked way.

  “You’re breaking up, Doc.”

  Nick repeated herself.

  “Okay, Doc. I get the picture. Over.”

  “Out,” Nick said and handed the transmitter back to Buettner. She felt suddenly cut off from the outside world. The sooner they got the tents up and assembled the radio gear, the better.

  CHAPTER 10

  At Nick’s urging, the three of them went to work on the tents. The villagers lent a hand, surprisingly under Lily’s supervision. Yali and Chief Jeban stood aloof, alternating between approving nods and negative head shakes.

  The work progressed quickly and soon their three individual tents, each a bright yellow for easy spotting from the air, were up and pegged into place. After that, work began on a fourth, la
rger tent, also yellow, that would serve as their radio shack and mess tent. The last to go up was their communal shower tent, which included a self-composting commode, said to be state-of-the-art.

  Once everything was in place, Jeban walked slowly around the perimeter, his expression clearly radiating condemnation. Finally, he stopped beside the radio tent, fingered its material, and said, “You would be better off staying on the beach, or in your airplane if it had remained behind.”

  “Trekking back and forth would waste too much time,” Buettner told him.

  “The chief is right,” Yali said.

  “It’s better we stay here,” Buettner insisted.

  “Absolutely,” Elliot agreed.

  Nick felt uneasy. If they set up the camp somewhere else, their observations of village life would be limited. To be out of the mainstream of activity would be a fundamental error in scientific procedure. But she was bothered by the insistence of the village leaders.

  “An associate of ours came here a few days ago,” she said to Yali. “Walt Duncan. Where is he camping?”

  “You are the only outsiders on Balesin,” the shaman said.

  “He flew in just as we did,” she insisted. “You must have seen his airplane.”

  Yali shook his head.

  Buettner started to say something, then bit his lip.

  Yali said, “Moving back to the beach would be for your own good.”

  Nick, scratching the worst of her insect bites, muttered to her father in pig Latin, an old childhood code, “Ixnay, adday. Etslay evelay.”

  Yali and the chief exchanged looks but said nothing. Instead, all eyes turned toward Lily, who began circling the tents. When she’d completed her tour, she smiled benevolently. “Our guests don’t have the advantage of our experience and knowledge. They must do what they think is best.”

  Yali slapped his thigh and laughed. Soon all the villagers joined in. Once the laughter subsided, Lily said good-bye and led the exodus away from the campsite.

  Most disappeared from sight, but Yali, Jeban, and Lily lingered on the porch of one of the communal buildings at the edge of the square. There, they looked to be in animated conversation, though they were too far away to be heard.

  “What was that all about?” Elliot turned to Nick. “Why do you want to leave?”

  “I think we’re in trouble.”

  “How do you mean?”

  She sighed. “The tents.”

  “They’re guaranteed,” Buettner said. “The best money can buy. They’ve been used on Everest. They’ll stand up under anything.”

  “It’s colder on Everest,” Elliot pointed out.

  “They don’t want the tents here,” Nick persisted.

  “Why ever not?” Buettner replied blandly. “Lily said it was okay.”

  Elliot nodded his agreement. “She may be the real power here, at least in temporal matters.”

  Nick eyed the four long houses that surrounded the square. All were built on pylons and raised well off the ground, no doubt for good reason. Probably the square flooded during heavy rains. She was about to suggest that they negotiate for more permanent quarters when she noticed Lily and Jeban returning.

  “There will be a feast tonight in your honor,” Lily announced. “I will come to fetch you when it’s time.” With that, she and Jeban walked away.

  “What do you make of that, Nick?” Elliot asked.

  “I’ve got better things to worry about.” Frantically, she began swatting at the ever-increasing mosquitoes.

  “Did you see the way the chief was looking at you?” Elliot wiggled an eyebrow. “My guess is, he’s looking for another wife.”

  “Forget me. What about Walt Duncan?”

  “Knowing Walt,” Buettner assured her, “hell keep out of the way until he’s ready to spring some discovery on us.”

  Elliot shook his head. “Maybe. I just hope he didn’t get himself lost somewhere.”

  “Will you two shut up for a minute,” Nick said, squirming, “and help me find some bug spray.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Lee Coltrane leveled off at five-thousand feet, verified his position with the satellite tracking system, and set the autopilot. Once satisfied with the Widgeon’s feel, he settled back and tried to relax. But Nick kept getting in the way. Usually women like her turned him off. He found their self-sufficiency and intelligence intimidating. She had a Ph.D., for Christ’s sake. So what would she want with a bum like him?

  And he was a bum, no getting around it. He’d knocked about all over the world and never managed to settle down. Now he made a pretty good living, but there wasn’t much between him and destitution if something went wrong with the Widgeon that he couldn’t fix himself. What was he thinking? He had nothing to offer her. Besides, all she was interested in was the Widgeon. He’d have a better chance with her if he grew wings and a propeller.

  Coltrane shook his head. To think that he’d meet a woman like her in a godforsaken place like Balesin. All it had to offer was heat, bugs, and those damn crabs. And now Nick Scott.

  Most women would run screaming from such a place, at least the ones he knew. But Nick was another species altogether. If any woman could cope, she’d be the one. Probably she was tougher than he was. Still, wouldn’t it be nice if she needed rescuing, so he could come flying over the waves like an airborne knight. He laughed at himself. The best he could probably do was find her lost luggage.

  He allowed himself a small daydream. Developers had been sniffing around Balesin, so said the bush pilots’ telegraph. In his mind’s eye a thirty-story Hyatt rose up on the Island’s beach. The tourist trade was good for the charter business and in his daydream he was rich. Balesin’s awful weather was magically transformed into balmy trade winds. And amidst the tourist throngs there was Nick dressed in some kind of sarong thing draped around her body, welcoming him home after a hard day’s flight.

  He laughed so hard he nearly disengaged the autopilot. He caught his reflection in the Plexiglas side window.

  “Look at you.” He winked to himself. “Stick to flying and don’t get your underwear in an uproar.” But he couldn’t help wondering if things could have been different. All those choices he’d made over the years. He’d never been sorry until now.

  Grimacing, he verified his position and course once again, then switched radio frequencies to check the weather. A major storm was building to the northwest, but still a long way off. The drizzle shrouding Balesin was localized to the small land mass and normal for this time of year. Guam was overcast though, which might make a night landing touchy. He searched the horizon, looking for any sign of the incoming storm. Ahead of him there was nothing but blue sky and a bluer ocean. No doubt the weather forecast was wrong as usual. At the moment a cloud would be welcome, anything to break the monotony.

  Come on, he told himself, relax and stop feeling sorry for yourself.

  Usually, he didn’t mind flying alone, especially when the fuel was already bought and paid for by someone else. But today he felt lonely. That was the trouble with female company. Give a man a taste and he wanted more, particularly when it came to a good-looking redhead like Nick.

  Coltrane checked his watch. Guam was still a long way off. To pass the time, he fiddled with the radio, searching for an active frequency. Even commercial airliner traffic would be better than nothing. As a last resort, he could always tune to one of Guam’s radio stations, though the strongest signal over this part of the ocean was country and western, not his favorite.

  A burst of static crackled in his earphones. He adjusted the dial, fine-tuning.

  “Another scientist,” someone said. “Over.” The voice sounded distorted and grating like the screech of chalk on a blackboard.

  “Understood. Over.”

  “What additional action do you want taken?” the voice croaked. “Over.”

  Coltrane tensed. The only scientists he knew were the ones he’d flown into Balesin, though that was no proof that this transmission had a
nything to do with them. But the signal was strong. Either it was coming from somewhere as close as Balesin, or atmospherics were playing tricks.

  “Take no action. Watch only. Over.”

  “Understood. Over.”

  “There will be no further discussion on an open channel. Out.”

  Coltrane didn’t like the sound of that. He switched to the frequency that he and Buettner had agreed upon. “Balesin, this is Coltrane. Over.”

  There was no response.

  “Come in Balesin. This is Coltrane. Over.”

  Maybe they’d hadn’t set up their long-range radio yet. And even if they had, they certainly wouldn’t be monitoring it on a full-time basis. Buettner had promised to make contact tomorrow morning.

  Coltrane took a deep breath and advanced the throttle, pushing the Widgeon. Probably he was being an old lady. Probably the transmission had nothing to do with Nick and her father, or Buettner either for that matter. But he’d sure as hell feel better when he could talk to them. Or see them.

  “Listen to yourself. You’re thinking like a love-struck teenager.”

  But knowing that didn’t help any.

  CHAPTER 12

  A downpour had driven Nick into her tent, where she lay huddled with a towel over her head to fend off the mosquitoes. Their hum, thank God, was drowned out by the rain drumming on the fabric roof. But their blood-thirsty persistence was downright Transylvanian. This was worse than anything she’d experienced in New Guinea.

  “We’re going to try the radio,” Elliot announced from just outside her zippered flap.

  “I have nothing to say,” she shouted back. What she needed was sleep and a pizza. And maybe a flamethrower to use against the bugs.

  “The rain’s slowing up.”

  “Call me when it’s dry.”

  “You might as well come out, Nick. The sun’s going down and we’re expected for dinner in a few minutes.”

  “We’re probably the main course,” she said, going along with Coltrane’s litany. The real truth was, the bugs had half-eaten her already. But her stomach was beyond caring. It wanted to be fed, or put out of its misery.