“The first assignment is as follows: three teams of two will investigate, assess, and propose plans to mitigate the ecological damage of the three major meteorite impacts. Each team will visit one site only, chosen at random by me, and will be accompanied by one COVEX observer. Expeditions will begin tomorrow morning at oh-seven-thirty. And the pairs as are follows…”
Please give me either Carlisle or Prabang, thought Jan. Somebody harmless, somebody who isn’t going to cramp my style.
“…Doctors Thiem and Carlisle; Doctors Quell and Prabang; Doctors Hopper and Intaglio.”
Shit.
“Remember, there are no strict guidelines on how you are to proceed with this. It’s a unique challenge, and each site will have its own unique concerns. But you’re not competing with one another. Your primary goal should be to do right by Hesperidia in whichever ways seem most appropriate to you. This isn’t a game. We’re assessing the damage we as humans failed to prevent. So be yourselves, work together, and let’s see what solutions our elite rangers can come up with.” He paused to rake his fingers through his combover. “Any questions?”
Six voices piped up simultaneously.
* * *
The following morning, a plush sapphire glow flooded into the cabin as Jan’s automatic window blinds opened, delivering their verdict of what lay in store for Hesperidia, weather-wise. But the blue was far too deep and generous to be purely atmospheric in this sub-tropical latitude. It reminded her of a south polar dusk, with its aurora australis ribboning striking colors onto the reflective ice. That was ironic for two reasons. First, her and Ruben’s meteorite had struck on the fringes of the north polar circle, and they were heading there in a couple of hours. Second, and this she only discovered when she stood naked at her bedroom window and gaped out across Miramar glade: thousands of navy longneck geese (sylfaen onopteryx), whose migration to the south occurred like clockwork to augur the onset of the winter season, packed the lawn for as far as the eye could see.
She’d died and gone to heaven!
That gorgeous blue glow was Hesperidian Nature letting its human visitors know, at their headquarters no less, that things were about to change. Bizarrely, it was a full two weeks earlier than previous years, but Jan was more concerned with photographing it for her research portfolio. She stubbed three toes on her right foot trying to reach the camera case on its shelf. Then she forgot to insert a recharged power cell. The concept of clothes also eluded her; the only covering she remembered was her breather. Finally, force of habit led her to open Stopper’s pen in response to his pitiful scratching. The combination of these resulted in a somewhat inauspicious start to her audition for the role of First Ranger. Stopper sprinted like a wild dog into the squadron of geese, flocking them into an ear-splitting panic. The loud caws either frightened or further incensed him, which made him leap up to grab one by the throat. Luckily it squirmed away when he landed in a heap. If Jan’s photographic acumen had matched her eye for opportunity, it might have won her several naturalist images for the ages. But when she clicked, nothing happened. Persistence and foul language did little to persuade the uncooperative camera. Finally, when all the geese had flown south for the winter, she was left on her porch, limping about in pain and frustration, in a state of nature even more eye-catching than sylfaen onopteryx’s.
Nor did her day improve much over the course of the next few hours.
Despite enjoying years of almost tiptop health – a few wicked bouts of fever caused by insect bites notwithstanding – Jan found herself battling waves of nervous nausea whilst assembling her gear for the trip. She had to lie down several times. Not only did it knock her confidence and leave her feeling weak and decrepit, it led her to suspect that someone had micked her Tangy T before the contestants’ shared toast last night. She swallowed a couple of herbal stims to gee her up, but their effect would be slow-burn, if they worked at all. Stopper appeared to sense her anxiety, rubbing against her more than usual and creasing his brow whenever he made eye contact.
“We’ll be okay once we’re out in the field,” she tried to reassure him whilst fondling his ears. But a rubbery sensation in her knee joints, and a general ache in her bones, did not augur well as she left the porch with two kit bags slung over sore shoulders.
Being uncharacteristically early for the departure rendezvous didn’t work in her favor either. The others were already there, prepped and loading their four-seater rovers. Ruben had stacked three lab equipment boxes the size of steamer trunks into his and Jan’s shared cargo area, along with dog food, two large tents, spare O2 canisters, and a pair of gym bags stuffed with personal items, leaving much less than half the storage space for Jan’s own gear. Flavia was already inside on the passenger seat, barking her excitement at Stopper’s arrival.
When Jan made the comment that “It’s supposed to be the woman that over-packs,” their assessor for this first expedition, a willowy, pale, middle-aged female with raven hair and a striking spread of freckles across her stony, pretty face, remarked, after observing Jan’s bags, that she hoped Dr. Corbija had “brought more than a picnic”.
“I didn’t realize we were settling a new colony.”
“No harm in being over-prepared.”
“Unless you have to leave in a hurry.”
“Oh, it’s not that kind of expedition,” replied the woman, whose VIP visitor’s tag read Kirsten P. Zeller.
“It never is,” said Jan, “until it is.”
“Suit yourself. Doctor Intaglio says he has everything he needs. If that’s true, you can’t say the same now, can you.”
“If that’s true, I’ll eat my boots.”
“Your picnic of choice, Jane?” Ruben cut in, combing his well-coiffed hair behind his ears. “It usually is.” And to the freckled frau: “Jane’s well-known for putting her foot in her mouth. It’s what we love about her – always says exactly what she thinks, never afraid to risk being wrong. More rangers should be like that, if you ask me. Too many are wary of saying the wrong thing to the wrong client and getting the company sued. That might be one of the reasons we’ve had so many leaks recently. Which reminds me, Kirsten, I haven’t shown you my new design for camp perimeter security…”
Foot in her mouth indeed! Not afraid to get the company sued! Any more back-handed compliments like that and Jan might have to swing her foot toward another orifice altogether. But she let it go this time, because the freckled frau was busy blushing, nodding, generally hanging on every word that slobbered from the unctuous Ruben’s lips.
It took Jan an inordinate effort to hide how much it fatigued her to fetch two spare O2 canisters from the storeroom, and again to lift them into the rover. She had to crouch and bow her head to quell the surge of nausea, hanging onto the vehicle’s rear fender.
“Are you all right, Jane?” asked Frau Zeller, cupping a sympathetic hand on her shoulder. “You’re sweating when it’s cool out. Do you want to sit in the lounge for a bit? Come on, I’ll see if I can find the MO. Maybe he can give you something.”
Jan couldn’t summon the strength to refuse. Having to be supported back into the HQ by her assessor and her rival, before the expedition had even started, was like one of those bad recurring dreams in which she’d turn up for a big interview with no credentials, no skycab fare home, no memory of the answers she’d revised, and no pants. And to rub it in, she overheard Ruben hint that “perhaps she couldn’t say no to the Vodka McCormick’s last night – I hear she’s partial to a bottle now and then. Who can blame her? It goes down a treat when you’re feeling stressed.”
Not as decisively as he’d be going down when she got her strength back, the conniving shit!
The Medical Officer, Doc Cochran, diagnosed an acute, likely short-lasting bout of food poisoning. As Jan maintained she hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary, he promised to test that batch of packaged frozen fish dinners at once. “There’s no harm in postponing the trials, is there?” he asked Frau Zeller and Tynedale, who’d
delayed his own sortie to see what the problem was. “Jane’s one of the best rangers we’ve got,” added the wheezy doc. “It’d be shooting yourselves in the foot if you cut her just for a little case of the Delhi belly.”
“No, I think—” Though from the judicious chewing of his bottom lip, Tynedale was clearly conflicted, “—the other teams can make a start. How long will she need, roughly, if you had to guess?”
“See what she’s like in a couple of hours. Might be a tad groggy – did you hear that, Jane?”
“Uh.”
“I said you might not be quite with it for the rest of the day, but if you dose yourself regularly with those antiemetic pills I just gave you, travelling shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Uh, yeah. Thanks…uh…Doc. I will.”
Tynedale sighed, whispered something to Zeller, then wished Jan a speedy recovery before setting out on his expedition with Quell and Prabang. The others left her alone so she could get a quiet power nap. A couple of hours didn’t sound long to recover after that wrecking nausea. Was there any point making the trip at all if she was going to feel like a limp dinghy in fog for the foreseeable future? Ruben would make her look clueless – would relish it, milk it. Hell, the freckled frau had probably already made up her mind who was fit for First Ranger and who was fit only for first aid.
The idea would have made her whole body clench in defiance, but she was too tired even for that. The effort left her coughing instead, then achy as a wraithulia tree bent over a swamp. Stopper and Flavia were barking outside. Jan glimpsed the female husky chasing him in circles around the packed rover. When she caught him, as she always did, being bigger, springier and more agile, Flavia pounced on his back and brought him down. After flipping and pinning him on his back, she stood tall and proud over him, victorious. A sidewise look at her owner yielded an approving nod, and another, equally knowing, almost as sickening, from Frau Zeller.
They think they know who they’re dealing with, she thought. They think we’re going to roll over in the field, Stops. Okay, let them think it. Let him think he’s won already. This is our world. This is our…home. Ain’t nobody…gonna…no…body…
She woke to the tinny jingle of the airlock alert, a familiar five-tone sequence that told her everything was all right but that the integrity of a single hatch now stood between her and the poisonous air outside. After equalizing the airlock, Frau Zeller entered, and checked her wristwatch as she approached.
Jan spied the lounge clock. 09:02. She’d slept an hour and a half.
“How are we feeling?” asked the COVEX rep, a little out of breath. Had she been for a run? With Ruben? With Stopper and Flavia as well? How…diligent of her.
Jan uncrumpled herself from the sofa – the twisted posture she’d adopted in her sleep had given her pins and needles in her right arm – and yawned as she got up. Tired, that was all. Tired and foggy. No longer nauseous. Doc Cochran’s pills had done the trick. “I’m good. Not quite ready for the velodrome, but a field trip I can manage.”
“Good for you, Jane.”
“Where’s Stopper?”
“In the rover, on the front seat. Looks like you’ll be piloting.”
“What about Ruben?”
“Flavia wouldn’t let Stopper in while Ruben was there – she wants her master all to herself when they’re travelling, apparently. It’s a jealousy thing. So Ruben’s having to take his own rover. I’ll travel with you and Stopper, if that’s okay?”
Jan finished lacing up her boots. “By all means. Those two always were highly strung.” A cheap shot perhaps, but it was a relief to be on the front foot again. And in the driving seat, no less.
“He said he’ll follow your lead,” added Zeller, “so we can go at your pace. Nice and easy.”
“He clearly hasn’t seen me drive.”
The freckled frau flashed a set of perfect white teeth, then excused herself. A quick confab with a stocky, balding man on crutches – his left foot was bandaged severely – ended with him handing her a thermos flask. She didn’t recognize him from the lineup of COVEX reps from yesterday’s briefing, but he was wearing a VIP nametag. He was too far away for Jan to make out the name.
“A colleague of yours?” she asked Zeller when they were alone in the airlock.
“Papademos, yes. He’s a personnel coordinator from CS Two – the Stage Two Colonization office. It’s the first time I’ve worked with him.”
“A good guy?”
“He seems very thorough.”
“How did he get the injury?”
“An accident in the shuttle cargo bay. Something about a loose tether and a falling crate.”
“So not as thorough as all that, then.”
Zeller ignored that last remark, and they set off for the frozen north in a tense but cordial silence, Stopper relishing his privileged place in the passenger seat while Frau Zeller rode behind, alternately busy typing notes on her digipad or rapt in wide-eyed fascination as she took in the arboreal wonders of the mid-continental rainforest.
By sky shuttle it would take a couple of hours to reach the meteorite site; by rover, hogging the ever-changing terrain, the best part of a day. But that was the way the COVEX people wanted it – to watch their rangers interact with alien nature en route, rather than skip over it – so Jan was more than happy to oblige. Happy, that was, until an amber warning light flashed under the power console on her dash.
Not an hour into the journey, the rover’s fuel cell was almost flat?
The word thorough regurgitated with ironic persistence in her mind as she ran a series of diagnostics on the engine’s electrical systems, to rule out an instrumentation problem. It was hard to believe the rover hadn’t been recharged before they’d set out. But the computer confirmed it: the fuel cell was indeed running on empty.
Jan glimpsed Frau Zeller’s judgmental gaze in the rearview in between bouts of vigorous typing, and sighed. Thorough. Either she hadn’t been…or somebody else had.
Chapter Six
A two-thirds power transfer from Ruben’s reserve cell to Jan’s main, technically perfectly executed, was another point in his favor, much to her chagrin. It also forced her to traverse the terrain at a more leisurely pace, to conserve fuel. At least that afforded her more opportunities to impress her chaperone with a detailed tour guide narration. Though even that felt unwanted after a while, Frau Zeller dragging her gaze up from her digipad less and less.
They set up for lunch at Elkanah’s Dell, a canoe-shaped valley whose treetops were webbed by a wispy lichen netting that billowed up in each stiff gust, catching wayward insects and other airborne organisms for slow digestion. The valley, bisected by an iron-oxide-lined river that shone orange in the sunlight, was named after a tourist who’d given his life to save a tour guide and five children during a flash flood. The company had planted a memorial aguarbor tree for him, which still stood over a decade on. Subsequent safaris had used a bare spot in its shade to start campfires, and as Frau Zeller had always wanted to try her hand at lighting one, Jan instructed her in what to gather for kindling and firewood, then demonstrated the use of a flint striker. It wasn’t as easy as lighting a fire on Earth or the terraformed worlds – Hesperidia’s atmosphere had a lower oxygen content, and the methane could cause it to flare unpredictably in a punchy breeze – but they got one going after several tries. The COVEX delegate fried their lunches with a girlish smile on her face the whole time.
Afterwards, Ruben and Flavia walked with her down to the river to inspect the carefully manicured forest path all visitors had to stick to. It was a vital conservation measure to protect the delicate woodland ecosystem. Such ‘lesser-footprint’ protocols had been implemented along most of the tour trails, but policing them had proved increasingly difficult. No doubt Ruben would expound his draconian man-monitoring ideas – tracking tags, fines, even electric-shock warnings were just a few of the deterrents touted. Jan’s solution was much simpler: to lessen the human footprint, cut the freaking f
eet. Fewer tourists equaled fewer headaches.
She lay on a travel rug next to the campfire and chuckled, imagining that as her election slogan: To Lessen the Human Footprint, Cut the Freaking Feet. Vote Jane Hopper for First Ranger. Hasta la Vista, Suck-baits! Then she closed her eyes and dozed off, with Stopper snoozing at her side.
A faraway row of barks and growls grew so loud, so close so quickly, Jan leapt up in the middle of the furor, convinced they’d wandered into the territory of Hesperidus tridenticus by mistake. She’d encountered that fearsome amphibian, a three-headed apex predator that rarely left its great lakes and rivers to the northwest, only twice in her twenty-odd years on the Hesp. Both times had proved damn near fatal. She set a hand on her breast when she realized it wasn’t Stopper warning her; it was Flavia playfully pummeling him, pinning him again and again, and loving every minute of her superiority.
She wasn’t the only one. Ruben and Frau Zeller were in stitches watching Stopper’s pitiful attempts to get away from her. She was so much faster than him; whenever he tried to evade her, she brought him down and kept him there in her clutches. Despite Jan’s instinct to pull him away – more than simple play, it smacked of sport for Ruben’s amusement – she didn’t want to appear defensive at all. Not with what was at stake. It would be a sign of weakness, of petty indignation. A little humiliation was a small price to pay for…oh, who was she kidding? Ruben’s gamesmanship would only get worse if she let him have his way like this. Bit by bit, snide remark by snide remark, stunt by stunt, he could and would make Jan look stupid if she kept quiet and let it happen.
Panting, full of muck, tail still wagging, Stopper cast her a confused, pleading look. He’d had enough of this game, and he wanted Jan’s permission to end it. But damn it, she didn’t want to give her rival the satisfaction.
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