by Allen Steele
“Maybe, but…” Goldstein’s puzzlement gave way to stubborn resolve. “Joe, I’ve come a long way to find you. I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
“Mr. Goldstein…”
“Don’t ‘Mr. Goldstein’ me.” Morgan stepped closer. “That’s all there is to it. Come clean, or so help me…”
“Look”—Cassidy sighed—“I’ll make you a deal. If I let you know what I’m doing…”
All of a sudden, he stopped. An absent look appeared on his face. At first I thought that he’d simply lost his train of thought, yet there was a moment, when his head cocked slightly to one side and his eyes shifted to the ground, that he seemed more like someone who was listening to a comment whispered in his ear. He could have been wearing a comlink implant, but…
“If I let you spend the night,” Cassidy went on, looking straight at Goldstein once more, “and I show you that we’re fine, will you leave? Leave and promise to never come back?”
“Joe, you know I can’t…”
“Please. It’s the best I can do.” Cassidy’s voice became insistent, almost pleading. “If you’d only understand what I’m…what we’re doing here…”
“What are you doing here?” Until then, I’d kept my mouth shut. “I’d like to know myself, if you don’t mind.”
Cassidy scowled at me. “I do mind, Mr. Lee…but you’re here, so there’s no avoiding that, is there?” He let out his breath, as if resigning himself to the inevitable. “All right, c’mon. Least I can do is offer lunch.”
Already I was feeling uncomfortable about being there. There was something that wasn’t right about the place. Yet it would have been rude to turn down our host’s offer, however reluctantly it might have been made. I fell in behind Goldstein as Cassidy led us through the clearing to his camp…
And it didn’t occur to me, at least just then, that he’d called me “Mr. Lee,” even though I’d told him only my first name.
Lunch was rice and red beans, congealed and unappetizing, left over from dinner the night before. Cassidy told us that his group had been getting by on this ever since they’d made camp here; now and then, someone would go down to the creek, chop a hole in the ice, drop in a fishing line, and manage to pull out a brownhead or two. Otherwise, their diet pretty much consisted of what they’d bought in twenty-pound bags in New Boston.
We ate sitting on logs beside the fire pit. After a while, other residents of the camp wandered over to join us. It was obvious that they’d lost weight; their faces were gaunt, their clothes hanging off their slumped shoulders. There were open sores on their faces and hands, and one or two of them looked as if they’d recently lost teeth; one of the men walked with a makeshift crutch, in a bowlegged gait that was an early sign of scurvy. They smelled bad; when a woman bent over me to offer another helping from the rusty pot, I had to hold my breath to keep from gagging. Cassidy was the healthiest of the bunch, yet even he looked malnourished.
No one spoke. That was the weirdest part. On occasion, they’d exchange a word or two, perhaps a gesture, but otherwise they remained silent. Yet despite their hunger and obvious ill health, their eyes remained lively; they constantly looked at one another, exchanging glances that might have been furtive except that they didn’t bother to hide them from us. And between those glances were all the usual expressions—indifference, amusement, dissatisfaction, curiosity—that normally accompanied a conversation, except they came in the absence of speech.
Goldstein noticed none of that. He regarded the camp with disgust, his gaze roving across the dilapidated tents, the unwashed plates and skillets piled beneath the tarp that served as a communal kitchen, the rubbish carelessly discarded here and there. He did his best to be polite, making small talk with Cassidy about how the horses were doing at his estate, yet when a young woman ambled over to a nearby patch of grass to lift her skirt, squat, and pee, he lost his patience.
“For God’s sake, man,” he muttered. “How can you live like this?”
“Like how?” Cassidy shrugged. “You’ve got a problem?”
“Do I have a…?” Goldstein stared at him. “Look at yourselves. You’re living like animals.”
Cassidy studied him for a moment, not saying anything. A smirk inched its way across his mouth. “You’d rather see me back at the manor. Sitting around the fireplace, feet propped up, glass of cognac in hand…”
Goldstein’s face went red. “I didn’t…”
“You know, you’re right.” Closing his eyes, Cassidy arched his back, his hands resting lightly upon his knees. “I can almost taste it now. And there’s music…classic jazz, twentieth century. Herbie Hancock…no, wait, John Coltrane…”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not.” Opening his eyes again, Cassidy calmly gazed at his employer. “I miss those evenings, believe me. I wouldn’t mind having more like them. But out here…” He let out his breath, gave an indifferent shrug. “That all seems so superficial, so…limited, really. A rich man at home with his toys, lonely now because no one will share them…”
“Pet.” Standing nearby, a wild-haired man intently stared at Goldstein. “Nice doggy. Ruff-ruff…”
Goldstein’s face went pale; there was shock in his eyes. Seeing this, Cassidy became angry. “Ash…out!” he snapped, glancing over his shoulder at him. “Go away!”
The other man winced, recoiling as if he’d been slapped, then he turned his back to us and shuffled away. Cassidy watched him go. “Sorry. That was uncalled for.”
Morgan looked shaken. “Thanks…thank you,” he stuttered. “I…I…”
“Ash knows who you are. He assumes too much.” Yet there was a cool tone to his voice that had been absent before.
“Ash…” There was something about what Cassidy had called him that got my attention. “Is that really his name?”
Again, the others gathered around the fire pit cast knowing looks at one another. Yet no one spoke until Cassidy did. “His last name,” he replied. “No one ever calls him Gordon, though. Ash has become his tribal name, just as my original tribe gave me the name Walking Star. He’s called Ash because…well, because it fits him.”
“Your tribe. I see.” I glanced at the others; some glowered at me, others were defiant. “And the rest of these people…?”
“They’ll tell you if they wish to do so.” Ignoring me again, Walking Star picked up a stick, snapped it in half, and fed it into the smoldering fire. “You shouldn’t have come here, Mr. Goldstein…”
“Morgan.” Goldstein put down his plate, inched a little closer. “I told you, Joe. We know each other better than that.”
“I know we do.” Cassidy stared at the fire intently, as if closely examining every smoking ember. “Believe me, I do. But this is not the place for you, trust me…”
“How can I trust you?” Goldstein became insistent. “I gave you money, sent you to a doctor…”
“A doctor is the last person I want to see. What I want…what we want is be left alone. I appreciate your concern, but there’s a reason we’ve come out here.”
Goldstein looked away, gazing toward the edge of the field where we’d encountered the ball plants. “I think I can guess what it is. You and your…your tribe…have gotten hooked on sting. So much that you’ve decided to go straight to the source. Why buy it on the street in Liberty when you can…?”
His words trailed off as he became aware of the reaction of the people around us. For the first time since we’d entered the camp, they displayed some sort of emotion. A few concealed grins behind their hands, while others quietly giggled; some snorted back derisive laughter. Cassidy tried to remain respectful, but there was no hiding the smirk on his face.
“We’re just a bunch of junkies. Is that it?” His voice was seasoned with contempt. “Sting may be many things, Morgan, but even a doctor would tell you that it’s not addictive.”
“Not physically, at least,” I added.
Cassidy looked at me. “You’re right.
It can be habit-forming, at least in the psychological sense. But so is cannabis, and that’s cultivated in the colonies. If getting high was all this was about, we would’ve just as soon stayed home and taken jobs on hemp plantations.” He turned back to Goldstein. “But you’re half-right. Yes, we came here because of the ball plants. We needed to find a wild stand that hadn’t been discovered, and the privacy in which to…” Again, he paused. “Shall we say, experiment.”
“Experiment. Right.” It was Goldstein’s turn to show contempt. Standing up, he raised a hand to encompass the run-down camp. “Look at this place. You’re so far gone, you don’t even realize how…how sick you’ve become.”
“No.” Cassidy pushed himself to his feet. “Not sick. In fact, we’ve become something you can’t possibly imagine…”
“Don’t say.” This from the gap-toothed woman who’d served me earlier. Cassidy looked around, stared at her. A moment passed, then she seemed to wither, visibly recoiling from his dark brown eyes. Indeed, it seemed as if the others did the same, all at the same moment. Almost as if…
“Perhaps they should know,” Cassidy said. “It’s unfortunate, because I think we need more time to study this.” Then he looked at Morgan again. “But I know you all too well, boss. You’re tenacious. Once you learn about something, you don’t give up easy. And I can’t allow you to go home with misconceptions about what we’re doing here.”
Goldstein smiled with the confidence of a man so accustomed to winning that losing was no longer a possibility. “That’s all I want. Just straight answers.”
“Then you’ll get them. Not now, though. This evening…”
“Joe…”
Cassidy nodded toward a vacant spot within the campsite. “Pitch your tents over there,” he said. “Rest. Take a nap. Don’t eat, and drink as little water as you can. Around sundown, go over there…” He pointed to the log hogan at the periphery of the camp. “We’ll be waiting for you.”
Goldstein studied the shack with suspicion. “Why can’t you just tell me…?”
“Because you’d never believe me. This is one of those things you have to experience yourself.” Then he looked at me. “I don’t expect you to attend. You can sit this out, if you wish.”
“I’ll…think it over.” I was already considering the possibility of something going wrong. What, I didn’t know. But it was comforting to know that I had a satphone in my pocket. If worse came to worst, I could always call Mike Kennedy, get him to bring in the cavalry.
“I’ll leave it to your discretion, then. But…” Cassidy held out his hand. “One condition. I’ll need your satphone, please.”
I felt a touch of suspicion. “Why?”
“You’ll get it back. Promise.” A wry smile. “I just want to make sure that we’re not interrupted.”
Again, subdued laughter from those around us, as if Walking Star’s tribe had caught a whispered joke I hadn’t heard. I traded a glance with Morgan; he didn’t know what was going on, either, yet he reluctantly nodded. I dug the satphone out of my jacket and handed it to Cassidy.
“Thank you, Mr. Lee…Sawyer, I mean.” Then he turned away from us. “Tonight at bear-rise. See you then.”
The last rays of sunset were filtering through the trees when Goldstein and I left our tents and walked across camp to the hogan. The evening was chilly; we could see our breath before our faces. To the east, the leading edge of Bear’s ring plane was already rising above the forest, its silver bow bright against the twilight sky. Tall, slender torches had been lit on either side of the hogan, their flickering light illuminating the faces of the men and women waiting for us outside its open door.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Goldstein murmured, as we approached them. I noticed his pensive expression. We’d spoken little that afternoon; once we’d erected our tents, we’d spent our time taking catnaps and…well, just waiting. I regretted having surrendered my satphone; I at least could have called Kennedy with it, told him that we’d located Cassidy.
“Goes with the service,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Besides, I’m just as curious about this as you are.”
He looked as if he was about to say something, but then Cassidy stepped forward. “You’ve accepted my invitation,” he said. “I hope you’ve taken my advice not to eat anything.” Goldstein nodded, and so did I. “Very well, then. Before we go in, though, you’re going to need to do one more thing. If you’ll please remove your jackets…”
“Joe, it’s freezing out here.” Goldstein stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t see why…”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do so if it wasn’t important.” Even as Cassidy spoke, the others were pulling off their jackets and serapes, neatly placing them on the ground just outside the hogan before entering one at a time, ducking their heads to pass through the low doorway. “Trust me, it’ll be warm inside. But you’ve got to do it.”
Goldstein hesitated, then reluctantly unzipped his fleece-lined, Earth-made parka and placed it outside the door, just a little apart from the others. The evening wind bit at me as I did the same; I wore a light sweater beneath my cat-skin jacket, and Cassidy paused to look me over. “Take that off, too,” he said. “Loosen your collar and roll up your sleeves. It’s important.”
“Yeah, sure.” I removed my sweater, noticing that he hadn’t yet taken off his jacket. “Any reason why you’re not…?”
“No. Just waiting for you.” Cassidy unbuttoned his jacket, carelessly tossed it aside. “After you, gentlemen.”
One last, uncertain glance at each other, as if trying to decide who’d go first, then Goldstein lowered his head and, crouching almost double, entered the lodge. I was about to follow him when Cassidy stepped in front of me. He said nothing, yet it was plain that he wanted to be with his old boss. I waited until they disappeared through the door, then I followed them inside.
The hogan’s interior was dark, almost pitch-black; torchlight seeped through narrow cracks between the log walls, the only source of illumination. I smelled the dank odor of dirt, mildew, and roots, heard the faint scuffling sounds of a lot of people crowded into a small space. When I tried to stand erect, the back of my head connected with the ceiling; I snarled an obscenity, then someone grabbed the back of my shirt, roughly hauled me down to a sitting position.
“Hush,” Cassidy hissed at me. “Be quiet.”
My eyes soon adjusted to the gloom. Ten men and women, Goldstein and me included, seated in a circle within the hogan, so close to one another that our elbows and shoulders nearly touched. To my left was Cassidy; to his left was Morgan. Almost directly behind me was the door; a woman to my right leaned over to pull it shut, and we were all together in the suffocating darkness.
There was something in the middle of the lodge. A tall, rotund object, only half-seen yet so close that, if I’d leaned forward, I could have touched it with my fingertips. My nose caught a faint vegetable fragrance, the smell of something alive and growing. Suddenly I began to suspect what was in the room…
“See,” Cassidy whispered. “See and know.”
He broke open a lightstick and tossed it on the floor, and in the wan chemical glow we saw what grew from the center of the lodge. A ball plant, perhaps the largest I’d ever seen; nearly five feet in diameter, it rose from the ground like a giant tumor, malignant and obscene.
My immediate reaction was to shrink back in horror. Yet even as I did, I noticed that, despite its size, the planet was somehow retarded. By that time of the season, leaves should have sprouted from its upper shell, with the first flower stalks beginning to blossom. Deprived of sunlight, though, it did neither; only the most smallest, vestigial leaves had begun to appear, and those were withered and stunted.
That was when it occurred to me what Cassidy and his people had done. They’d found the largest ball plant in this field and built the hogan around it. I glanced up at the ceiling, spotted a circular crack of light. A ceiling hatch, like a removable skylight; once a day, I surmised
, they’d open the hatch, allowing in just enough sun and rain for the plant to remain alive, but not enough for pollination. In that way, they managed to keep the ball plant a captive specimen, contained within its own miniature greenhouse.
“Oh, for the love of…” Goldstein was just as horrified as I was. “Joe, what are you…?”
“You’ll see.” Then Cassidy raised his left foot and slammed his heel down on the packed-earth floor.
The others did the same, stamping on the floor, causing the plant to shake. When I realized what they were trying to do, my first thought was to get out of there as fast as I could. Yet by then it was too late; the door was shut, and there was no escape.
I couldn’t see the pseudowasps when they emerged from their nests within the shell; there wasn’t enough light. Yet I heard an angry buzz from the plant, and for an instant the immature leaves parted just slightly.
Something small purred past my face, and I felt insect wings against my cheek. I reached up to swat it away, and a white-hot needle lanced into the back of my hand.
I yelped, and instinctively started to clamber to my knees. Cassidy grabbed my shoulder, forced me to sit down. “Just be calm,” he said quietly. “It’ll all be over in…ah!”
“Joe, for God’s sake…dammit!” I heard Goldstein slap at something, then he cried out again in pain. “Holy…Get ’em off! They’re all over me!”
By then the air was alive with pseudowasps. They swarmed the small room, buzzing all around us, stinging everyone with whom they came in contact. I tried to bat them away, but there were too many; I was stung again on my face, and when I leaned forward to put my head between my knees and cover the back of my neck with my arms, they attacked my wrists and shoulders.
Glancing up from my folded arms, I caught a glimpse of Cassidy. It was as if he was in meditation; seated beside me in lotus position, his eyes were shut, his body relaxed. Others had done the same; although they occasionally gasped in pain, they weren’t bothering to fight off the insects. Goldstein was curled up on the floor, rolling this way and that, screaming in terror as he tried to ward off the insects. Then a pseudowasp alighted upon my face, just below my right eye. I managed to swat it away before it stung me, then I buried my head within my arms again.
