The Curiosity Machine

by Richard Newsome

  ‘And I found a freshwater spring running down from the tree line just a bit further up the beach,’ Ruby said. She handed a bottle to Gerald and he took a sip. Not bad—just the slightest hint of salt. He drank deep.

  ‘So, we’ve got water and somewhere to sleep,’ Sam said. ‘But no food—did I mention that I’m starving?’

  ‘Yes!’ chorused Ruby and Felicity.

  Gerald had the feeling he may have slept through a fair amount of Sam’s whinging.

  ‘So do we build a rescue fire?’ Felicity asked.

  ‘Maybe not yet,’ Gerald said. ‘The Archer is probably still the closest boat around here and we don’t want Ursus turning up. We need to get an idea of what’s on the rest of this island.’ He craned his neck to see the cliff face that rose high behind them. ‘If someone has built this platform and there’s fresh water, who knows: there could be a village on the other side of this mountain.’

  ‘What if there isn’t a village?’ Ruby said. ‘This platform could have been here for ages and we’re the first ones to sleep on it in years. We could be here for a really long time.’

  Sam drew a circle in the sand with his big toe. ‘Did I mention that I’m really hungry?’ he said.

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘Just checking.’

  Gerald scratched at his chin. ‘Here’s my idea,’ he said. ‘There could be plants in the bush that we can eat. Coconuts, bananas, berries…who knows. And there could be some useful tools out on what’s left of the sub. How about Sam and Felicity see what they can drag ashore from the wreckage, and Ruby explores further inland near the spring to find something to eat.’

  There were general nods of agreement. ‘And what are you going to do?’ Ruby asked Gerald. ‘Supervise?’

  Gerald hoisted his backpack onto his shoulders. ‘I’m going to climb to the top of the cliff and see what’s on the other side,’ he said.

  Ruby looked at him doubtfully. ‘Is that a good idea with your injured head? What happens if you fall?’

  ‘Then I roll back here faster than expected, and you better have breakfast waiting for me,’ Gerald said.

  Ruby raised an eyebrow. ‘Breakfast? Do I look like Anne from the Famous Five?’

  Sam peeled off his T-shirt and draped it on the platform to dry. ‘No, you look like Ruby from the Famished Four.’

  Felicity clapped her hands together. ‘Ooh, it’s just like being on Kirrin Island,’ she said. She and Sam walked off towards the water, chatting about sandwiches and ginger beer.

  Ruby showed Gerald where the spring emptied from the tree line, cutting a narrow channel through the sand to the bay. The sun was well into the cloudless sky by the time they found the source of the fresh water, bubbling up into a natural granite basin. Ruby filled the water bottle and gave it to Gerald. ‘It’s a hot day. You’ll need this,’ she said.

  Gerald took the bottle with a nod of thanks and stowed it in his pack. ‘I should be able to get a good start through here,’ he said, pointing to a gap in the scrub. ‘Don’t be too hard on Felicity. She was only doing what she thought was right.’

  Ruby shook her head. ‘You can’t expect me to just instantly trust her again,’ she said. ‘Not after what she did.’

  ‘Maybe not,’ Gerald said. ‘But a good person would at least try.’

  Ruby dropped her gaze.

  Gerald turned to go. Ruby caught him by the elbow. ‘Be careful up there,’ she said. ‘Don’t slip or do anything dense like that.’ She pulled him close and hugged him. ‘You’re my best friend, Gerald Wilkins,’ she said, her face buried in the crook of his neck.

  Gerald closed his eyes and savoured the embrace. Then he hooked his thumbs into the shoulder straps of his backpack and hiked into the trees.

  The air hung still and hot in the close confines of the island jungle. A flurry of movement and colour exploded by his shoulder as a bird darted out from a branch and disappeared into a mass of leaves. If there were birds, there must be something worth eating, Gerald thought. Even a handful of berries would be better than nothing. He took a deep breath and soldiered on, smiling at the memory of Ruby’s hug.

  Friend.

  Best friend, even.

  Boyfriend? Maybe?

  It was a shame there were no satellite maps to help people navigate friendships.

  The ground began to rise and the trees thinned. Sand gave way to rocky scree, and Gerald started the uphill climb. The craggy terrain afforded him ample foot- and handholds and his rock-climbing skills kicked into gear. Quite quickly he ascended a good way up the cliff. He had a bird’s-eye view of the bay below and the near perfect semicircle of rock that formed the reef. He could make out the remains of the mini-sub and what looked like Sam swimming back to the beach with some piece of wreckage. The treetops blocked any sign of their camp, but he guessed Ruby would be in the jungle somewhere. He called out a long and piercing cooooo-eeeeee! But there was no reply. Maybe the sound of the surf had drowned him out. He cupped his hands to his mouth and was about to let fly again when a faint coooooeeeeee came up from the beach. Gerald grinned. Who needed telephones? He turned and resumed the climb. In fact, who needed much at all? That beach camp seemed pretty ideal. All they needed was some fishing gear and maybe a new tarp, and Gerald, Sam, Ruby and Felicity could have a very comfy existence on their own little island paradise. It would certainly be better than second-guessing Sir Mason Green’s bizarre actions for the rest of his life. Gerald clambered on, hand over hand up the rock face. The muscles in his thighs and shoulders started to protest. Even if he did discover a village on the other side of the mountain, Gerald had half a mind to turn around and go back to their beach camp and say the place was deserted, and they would have to live out their days in isolated, suntanned splendour.

  Gerald paused to sit on a flat outcrop of rock. He fished out the water bottle from his pack and dangled his feet over the edge. He had an unobstructed view of endless deep blue sea to the horizon. This really was just a flyspeck in the South Pacific. Despite the tropical heat, a sudden shiver ran through him. Three rocket flares did not seem like a lot of ammunition to attract attention from any passing boats or planes. He cupped both hands around his mouth and shouted coo-ee as loud as he could. There was no response.

  Gerald scrambled back to his feet and climbed on, the sun beating straight down and drawing a stream of sweat from his brow. He paused to take off his T-shirt, which he pulled over his head to shield it from the sun. Finally, he emerged on a broad flat ledge, about twenty metres across. On the far side was one last rise and he should have a good view of the rest of the island. He studied the best path, and set to with fingers in nooks and toes in crannies. He puffed his way up the almost-vertical face and after only a couple of slips and near disasters, his head popped over the top like a curious meerkat. What he saw on the far side almost made him lose his grip and roll back down the cliff.

  Chapter 15

  Gerald gripped the rocky cliff top and stared down at a small coral-flanked harbour with a narrow outlet to the ocean beyond. A large black motor yacht was anchored in the shelter of the cay, together with what looked suspiciously like the jet boat that had delivered the gunmen to the Archer two nights before.

  Of all the islands in the South Pacific, they had managed to get shipwrecked on the one that Sir Mason Green’s goons were using as a hideout.

  ‘Terrific,’ Gerald muttered. He crawled over the rim of the cliff and shuffled to a flat outcrop that was shielded by sparse bush. Lying on his belly, he had a perfect view of the island below but would be invisible to anyone who might look up from the beach. There was some activity on the rear deck of the motor yacht: Gerald could make out two men leaning on the stern rail. He squinted, and then remembered his birthday present. He shrugged off the backpack and fished out the compass. He swivelled the telescope out from its base and rested it against his right eye.

  After a second of adjustment, the faces of the two men filled his view. They seemed to b
e enjoying a joke together. They could have been two friends on an idyllic island holiday were it not for the Uzi machine guns slung from straps over their shoulders. A moment later they were joined by a third man; he didn’t look like he was on vacation at all.

  ‘Ursus,’ Gerald muttered. The high sun cast shadows beneath the man’s cheekbones making his face look even more sunken and cadaverous than usual. Ursus stabbed a finger in one man’s chest, and barked orders at the other.

  ‘Someone’s grumpy,’ Gerald said. He looked up and blinked. Movement on the beach down to his left caught his eye and he trained the telescope on a thick stand of palms. The first thing he noticed was coconuts hanging like enormous grapes, and his stomach emitted a ravenous growl. Sam wasn’t the only one who was starving. Gerald focused the telescope on one cluster of coconuts and his belly protested again. Then the nuts began shaking from side to side, as if an earthquake had struck the island. Above the rumble of waves breaking on the reef came the discordant shriek of a chainsaw. Gerald zoomed out in time to see the palm tree topple to the sand. More chainsaws joined the chorus of destruction as tree after tree was felled, scores of them dropped and chopped and cleared away. Gerald scanned left and right; there must have been six or more men labouring in the jungle to clear a broad space adjacent to the narrow strip of beach.

  What are they up to? Gerald wondered.

  He lowered the telescope and shuffled along his rocky hideaway to get a better view. Then, from around the headland to his right, another boat appeared: an inflatable runabout powered by an outboard motor. It skimmed across the wave tops with ease. It bounced past the reef opening without slowing and aimed straight at the wall of coral. With a surge from the motor, the inflatable roared onto the reef, its nose spearing the air and launching up and over the ragged barrier to land with a bottom-slapping thwack in the sheltered waters of the bay. It kept its course and ran up the beach, sliding to a halt well onto the sand. Two men leapt out and motioned for others to follow. Gerald fumbled with his telescope, but even before he was able to focus there was a sickening churn in his stomach. He knew what he was about to see.

  Sam, Ruby and Felicity stumbled out onto the sand, their hands bound behind their backs. One of the men pointed to a patch of ground near the tree line and the three hapless captives sat. Gerald’s hands shook as he tried to steady the telescope on his friends. Ruby sat up straight with her chin raised, saying something to Felicity. Something comforting, Gerald hoped. Felicity’s head was bowed, slumped between her shoulders, so he could not get a clear look at her face. Sam’s back was to him but he seemed to be talking as well, nodding at Ruby. Then Sam turned his head, and Gerald gasped at the sight of a bulging black eye. However his friends had been captured, it looked like they had not gone quietly.

  Gerald lowered the telescope and rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes. It was time to take action. He picked up a flat stone and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, and he began to plan.

  The sun was balanced on the horizon like a ball on a beam when Gerald finally began his descent. Ursus and his men must know that Gerald was somewhere on the island so he moved with stealth. Each step was silent. No branches were disturbed.

  Gerald had spent the afternoon in his cliff-top hide studying activity around the bay and along the shoreline. Ursus had kept his hired helpers busy. The inflatable runabout had maintained a steady to-and-fro between the motor yacht and the beach, ferrying supplies and equipment. It was obvious to Gerald that Mason Green had hired Ursus to steal the plans for the curiosity machine. Whatever Mason Green was planning next, it looked like he was using the island as some sort of supply depot. Large steel drums were rolled up the beach and left close to where the palms had been felled. Tarps were strung between tree trunks and wooden palettes were laid down beneath them as rough floors on the sand. Men worked through the afternoon, stacking carton after carton inside four shelters. By the end of the day they were piled to capacity. Gerald was too far away to read what was printed on the cartons but they looked like boxes of tinned food you might see at a supermarket. One of the guards built a campfire on the sand and emptied the contents of some tins into a pot. Steaming plates were handed to Sam, Ruby and Felicity. Gerald had to look away—his stomach was cramping from hunger. A fifth shelter, a large tent, was also erected on the beach. Gerald had watched with interest as his three friends were shepherded inside. It looked like that was to be their home for the night. Gerald had no idea what Ursus had planned for them, but he knew their only hope was to hijack the motor yacht.

  Simple.

  Step by painstaking step, Gerald made his way down the cliff. Unlike the bare rock of the side of his ascent, this side was covered in foliage, and while it made for slow progress, it was easy to keep himself hidden. The ground flattened out and Gerald moved more swiftly through the trees. The sky had turned to buttermilk, but the tropical twilight was short; Gerald had to be in place before he lost the light altogether. The plan he had cooked up was ludicrous and sure to fail, but he had to give it a try.

  Shadows closed around him as he neared his initial target. Gerald slowed to a pantomime creep through the trees, lifting his feet and placing them down again in the leaf-littered sand with extreme care. He got to within twenty metres of the clearing and dropped to his haunches behind a large boulder. The day’s light was almost gone, but Gerald could still make out what he was looking for: a dozen steel drums in a tight stack on the far side of the clearing. In the distance, on the beach, he could make out the glow of the campfire and some battery-powered lamps on poles in the sand. The area around Sam, Ruby and Felicity’s tent was lit up like a maximum-security prison.

  Gerald cursed to himself—this was going to be a lot more difficult than he had hoped. He waited till he was sure no one was lurking near the clearing, then made his way around to the steel drums. He dropped to his belly and commando-crawled to the nearest barrel, and sniffed. He nodded to himself and smiled. He may have been a billionaire with his own air wing for less than a year, but he knew the smell of jet fuel. And that clearing in the palm trees had all the hallmarks of a makeshift landing zone. For whatever reason, Ursus was setting up a helicopter refuelling station.

  Gerald peeked around the fuel drums towards the beach. Three men sat on camp chairs by the fire, eating from enamel bowls. Gerald slapped a hand to his growling belly to muffle the noise. His mouth watered. Was that beef stew he could smell? He rattled his head to refocus his thoughts: rescue first, eat second.

  Gerald perched on his knees and removed the T-shirt he still had wound around his head. He placed it over the cap on the closest fuel drum, and turned. The cap came off in his hand with a soft pop. A strong aroma of jet fuel wafted out. Gerald twisted the shirt into a long wick and fed it into the drum to soak it in fuel. Then he pulled it two-thirds of the way out and let it flop down the side of the barrel. He emptied his water bottle and placed it on the ground beneath the wick so fuel would drip in to it. There was an even dozen of the barrels, and one by one he removed their caps.

  Once he had collected enough fuel, he screwed the top back on the water bottle and set off towards the four storage shelters. The moon would begin to rise any minute and Gerald needed to get everything prepared before the beach was bathed in its silver glow. His plan was really quite straightforward. The ultimate goal was to rescue his friends, capture the motor yacht and power off into the night. Then they could use the high-powered radio on board to call for help and let the authorities know that the Archer had been hijacked. The first step in the plan was to set up a diversion on the beach to draw the guards away from the tent. That bit was easy: Gerald would set fire to all the food supplies. But there would also be men on the high-speed jet boat anchored next to the yacht—he had to get their attention as well. That was where the inflatable runabout came in to the plan. While the guards were battling the fire, Gerald would sneak to the beach and drag the runabout to the water, jam the throttle on full and point it straight at
the reef wall. Any guards on the jet boat would think Sam, Ruby and Felicity were on board and making a run for it, so they would set off in pursuit. That left only the guards on the motor yacht, and that’s where the real fun would start. Gerald would race to the tent, free his friends, then shoot a flare right into the dump of open fuel drums. The resulting explosion would bring the last of the gunmen ashore, leaving the way clear for Gerald, Ruby, Sam and Felicity to swim out to the yacht and escape into the night.

  Easy!

  Gerald just had to do it all before the moon lit the beach like a Broadway stage. He dropped behind a fallen tree and waited. When he was sure that no one was looking, he vaulted the tree trunk and raced to the shelter of the closest stack of supplies. He ran his fingertips across the labels on the sides of the cartons: tinned peaches, self-saucing chocolate puddings, beef stew, baked beans, tomato soup, cans of lemonade, chewing gum…

  Gerald groaned. He would give anything to tear open the box of puddings just to inhale the contents. But there were heroics to attend to first. He had to find something that would burn, and tomato soup did not look helpful. His hand paused over the carton marked chewing gum. He would need something to jam open the throttle on the inflatable runabout. Chewing gum would be perfect.

  Gerald carefully lifted down the box. The whir of the night insects from the jungle provided enough cover for him to ease open the top and fill his pockets with packs of spearmint gum. He popped three pieces into his mouth and chewed. He had to brace himself against the stack of cartons at the sudden flavour burst that exploded on his tongue. He searched through the supply dump until he found what he needed: toilet paper. Rolls and rolls of toilet paper.

  This will do nicely, Gerald thought. He took three rolls and stuffed one into the waistband at the back of his pants and unwound the other two in a flurry of paper, trailing in, around and through the stacks of cartons. Then he unscrewed the top from the water bottle and splashed jet fuel onto the tarp and around the boxes of supplies. He grabbed the roll from the back of his pants, tied one end to the most fuel-soaked carton and trailed the rest back into the jungle, dribbling the last of the fuel from the water bottle along it as he went.