by Darrell Bain
“Have you confirmed that he's actually sent an expedition out to investigate? Are you tracking it?"
Randall answered Bascombe's question with an emphatic nod. “It's confirmed. We're already picking up traffic between the Enclave and the expedition. It's scanty, though; they're not talking much, and as soon as they got into the forest, we lost any real chance of following them visually from space. We just don't have satellites any more with that kind of resolution."
The mayor leaned as far back as his hard chair would permit. “I'm still not totally convinced. The whole thing sounds just too fantastic, but I suppose we have to act as if it's all true, given our present circumstances. Any advanced technology which might help improve conditions here simply can't be passed up."
Selene Brown shifted her gaze from her notes to the rest of the council members, considering whether to release the results of a months long analysis now, or wait for the final refinements. The grim look on Bascombe's face decided the question. “If there's the remotest chance of gaining access to any sort of advanced technology, we have no choice but to act. I have been preparing and running projections of future resources for months. None of the projections are good. Based on the most reasonably optimistic assumptions, we still come up with no better than one chance in three of Moon City and the satellites becoming self-sufficient before a total collapse of earth's economy and possibly even the complete environment. The Enclaves just can't maintain enough commerce between them to ensure an exchange of vital components which one might have and the other lack. I don't think they realize themselves how bad their situation is becoming. Our imaging satellites continue to show how the massive population of enhanced animals is changing the environment for the worse. The Houston Enclave is better off than most, but I don't give them more than another twenty to thirty years, barring some unexpected development like a universal animal parasite or some method to limit breeding of the animals. Neither they nor we have had any success at either in the past, and there is nothing I see now to suggest a solution in the future."
The mayor's pale face blanched even whiter than usual. He could not have been unaware of the decreasing volume of necessary imports from earth, but to have the consequences of the shortages placed so squarely in his face buckled a little of his spine.
“Do you two go along with Selene's analysis?” He asked the other two men. They both nodded reluctantly.
“All right, then, let's try to beat them to the prize and hope the expense is worth it. Have you thought about methods yet?"
“I have a number of contacts in the Dallas Enclave,” Passing said. “I understand from them that the situation there is going rapidly downhill. I think we might be able to convince their authorities to help us if we could get a landing craft down."
“They do have a large airfield there, although it's really only designed for atmospheric craft like their floaters. I think I could manage a small lander, though, if we could get them to clear the field when we come in,” Randall said.
“We?"
“Yeah. I'm going. Someone from up here has to make sure we get what we're after. You can't trust earthers."
Bascombe smiled. “Don't worry about having to operate on trust. I have a few contacts there, myself. I assure you, the governor of the Dallas Enclave and most of his staff will do anything I ask them to, including outfitting an expedition for us. All I have to do is promise them space on the return flight. Things are very bad there. However, I agree: One of us should lead whatever force we raise, and you're the only candidate here."
Randall frowned. “That wouldn't leave much room for return cargo if we're thinking of bringing back immigrants. Suppose we need the lift capacity promised to passengers?"
“No problem, just promise another ferry flight. Take my word for it, they'll cooperate.” Bascombe glanced at his thumbnail. “Let's move on. Craig, you take care of getting the craft ready and alerting the personnel you want. Selene will see to it that you have top priority on any supplies you need. Rob and I will get in touch with our friends and lay the groundwork for getting your lander down and a force of reliable troops put together. OK so far?"
The other three nodded agreement.
“Fine, that's settled. Now let's consider some other questions. I assume that once you're on the ground you will head directly for that suspected landing site. How close do you have it pin-pointed?"
Randall looked pained. “There's a problem there,” he admitted. “We haven't been able to locate it precisely, although we're sure that it's in or near the ruins of what was once Shreveport/Bossier City, and it might be on either side of the river, or possibly even in the river. We've gotten nothing from satellite photos, like I said, nor any clues from what sensing devices the satellites carry."
“Then how do you find it? Or more important, how do you find it before the Houston force does?” Selene asked.
“We'll monitor their communications. Once they get there, I'll have a satellite ready to suppress any further contact so they won't be able to call for reinforcements. A search party from Houston could find them, of course, but before they can, we hope to have our own party there."
Selene started, sitting bolt upright. “You hope! Is there a chance you can't?"
“It will be close,” Randall admitted reluctantly. “They have already started, while we're just getting organized. Remember, though, their expedition is moving on foot. We'll be able to do most of it by floater, at least to the general vicinity."
“Why aren't they going by air?” The mayor asked, plainly puzzled.
“The dog which brought the message apparently isn't too bright. He has to stay on the ground to find his way back. I'm sure they will use floaters to keep in contact, though, and for re-supply, and you can bet that if they do find something, they're planning on sending a relief expedition by air."
“And we need to be there and take control before the relief arrives,” Bascombe concluded. “Let's get cracking then. We can fine out the details along the way.” He dismissed the others by disappearing into the holobubble of his desk console as they filed out the door. He trusted them to carry out their assignments, especially Randall Craig. Randall was no stranger to violence.
* * *
CHAPTER 10
Jamie had thought he was in good physical condition. He exercised on a somewhat irregular basis and swam a lot during his time off, but neither had given him much preparation for an extended hike over rough ground while carrying a thirty pound pack.
Their march had begun along the ruins of old Highway 59 north, but there were frequent detours because of broken concrete slabs and rusting piles of old ground cars, twisted and jammed in groups like the petrified remains of extinct animals. The rangers had evidently traveled the same route before because there was no hesitation when they left the old highway and routed the group into the dense woods of oak and pine and sweetgum bordering the ruined road. The median strip was far gone in unhampered growth and bushes and small trees had taken root in every crack and crevice of the broken pavement.
Jamie was extremely observant and curious during the first part of the march, half expecting to see feral animals abounding on all sides and strange, unfamiliar flora, but the landscape remained depressingly familiar and his attention soon waned. He did see insects in abundance and became intimately acquainted with more mosquitoes and gnats than he ever desired to know. The further from the Enclave they traveled, the worse they got, swarming around his face and hands like a thick black mist until he was forced to pull the head net of his coveralls from it's pocket in the thrown back hood to protect his face, and to smear some repellent over his hands. No sooner had that problem been solved when his attention became diverted by his packstraps, which seemed to have turned into piano wires rather than the nicely padded straps he had started with. They dug into his shoulders and pulled at his neck like some fiendish torture instrument.
Judy Neilson remained as his marching partner, walking beside him except when the tr
ail narrowed enough to force them into single file. He noticed that her chatter stopped whenever they left an open space and detoured into the forest. Then, her eyes ranged left, right, up and down in a repetitive pattern like that of the Enclave sentry robots, and she spoke not at all. He wondered what she was looking for and began imitating her, hoping that would detract some of his attention away from his aching back and the pack straps cutting into his shoulders.
Eventually, the route led up an access ramp onto an intact overpass. There, vegetation grew in cracks and along the guard rails where earth had blown and gathered, but it was thin and stunted. At the top of the ramp, Masters called a halt. Jamie gratefully shed his pack. He flexed his neck and shoulder muscles and looked around.
A forest of pine and oak and sweetgum stretched below as far as the eye could see, but near the ramp he could discern the block-like patterns of old streets, overgrown with brush, but still much shorter than the encroaching forest. Occasional buildings showed partial roofs and faces through the growth; some appeared to still be in relatively good condition while others were crumbling into ruins.
While he was still stretching and looking around, Kristi separated herself from the group she had been marching with and walked over. Judy's face brightened as she approached, then fell as she spoke to Jamie rather than her.
“Hi, Jamie. Are you making it all right so far?"
“Fine, except for this thing,” he said, touching a toe to his pack. “I haven't added anything to it, but somehow it's weight has doubled since this morning."
Kristi laughed. “You'll get used to it in a few days. Would you like to see something interesting?"
“Sure. Show me."
Kristi fished a small monocular from a pocket of her coveralls and placed it briefly to her eye, then handed it to him. “Focus in on that big brown building that doesn't have much growing in front of it. Watch the door and the area in front of it for a ways.” She stood close behind him and pointed over his shoulder as he closed one eye and put the monocular to the other. The front of the building sprang into focus as if it were only twenty yards away.
At first, he could see nothing unusual, mainly because most of his attention was distracted by the warm pressure of Kristi's breasts flattening softly against his back and the tickling of her breath in his ear, but presently he spotted the movement of small animals traveling to and fro from the open entrance. He adjusted the focus the tiniest bit and the scene became even clearer.
“Rats! Is that a rat town?"
“That's what it is. Look some more, up and around.” She backed a step away from him and withdrew her arm, but left a hand resting lightly on his shoulder. He moved the view up and found the second story balconies of the building thick with rats, enjoying the sunlight which had finally broken through the fog. Young rats moved among the adults, playing or tussling. Some gnawed on bits of food. Below and in front of the building covering what had once been a paved parking area was an expanse of small and scanty vegetation, mostly weeds. There, lines of rats were moving along several narrow trails, appearing and disappearing from sight as they wound their way through and among the bits of growth. Individual rats also scurried here and there on errands of their own.
He watched one line for a moment, then exclaimed, “Why, they're carrying packs of some kind!” As near as he could tell from the distance, many of the rats were burdened with pannier type baskets slung from each side of their back. He thought they were made from woven grass, but couldn't be certain.
“They are bringing in food and other supplies. Can you see the guards?"
He could. They wore sharp pointed sticks slung on their backs for easy access. Every few moments, in a pattern not immediately obvious, one of the guard rats would unsling it's spear and sit upright on it's back legs, peer around, then reharness the tiny spear and continue on it's way.
“I see them,” Jamie said. “I'll bet the other rats envy them, not having to carry packs."
“Are you sore?” Kristi bought up her other free hand and began kneading his back and shoulder muscles.
“Yeah. That feels good."
“I'll give you a good back rub tonight. You'll really be hurting by then, but right now I think we're about ready to move on.” She left off the massage and turned to Judy, who had been watching. Her long lashes were damp. Kristi put an arm around her shoulder and led her off a few paces, talking to her in a low voice, then rejoined her own marching companions as Masters called for them to resume the trek.
As Jamie re-shouldered his pack, he wondered about the coming night and promised back rub. Did she mean for them to sleep together or was she talking about activities beforehand? He had heard no discussion about sleeping arrangements so far, other than Master's admonition not to sleep alone. He had been assuming, perhaps incorrectly, that since Judy had been staying near him that they would be sleeping in the same tent. He wasn't thinking of the assumed arrangement as automatically implying a sexual union, but was considering it as more of a safety measure as outlined by the ranger captain. In any case, the way his back felt, rest would be preferable over sex anyway. Oh, well, he thought, in his usual easy manner, it will sort itself out soon enough. He began concentrating again on the scenery and trying not to think about the shooting pains in his neck.
After the overpass had disappeared from sight behind them, the route detoured a mile or two back into the forest, then emerged again onto sparsely overgrown pavement. Judy stopped her silent, alert searching and began to talk.
“I think Lt. Carson likes you,” she said abruptly, without preamble.
“I like her, too. She must really know her business to be a lieutenant so young,” Jamie said.
“What I meant is that I think she's attracted to you.” She hesitated, then added, “It's unusual for her to feel that way about a man."
“Oh,” Jamie muttered, feeling mildly complimented. He had completely missed the disconcerted expression on Judy's face at their break, when Kristi focused her attention on him rather than her. Same gender sexual preference was certainly no novelty within the Enclave, so he would have felt sympathetic toward her in any case, but he was still at a loss for an appropriate response. To change the subject, he asked, “How long has that rat town been there?"
“Several years that I know of. Why?"
“Couldn't we come back and wipe it out when this business is over with?” Like most Enclave inhabitants, Jamie had an abiding loathing for rats, derived from horror stories handed down from refugees of the past disorders during the formation days.
Judy looked surprised. “Why would we want to do that? There's a million more just like it in the country. Besides, we've been noticing an increase it the cat population in this area lately. They will keep the numbers down, not that it matters that much. Cats can be worse than rats, in some cases, or dogs, or any of the other smart animals. What we're really worried about is the birds. The more exotic species that were enhanced are doing OK; they are smart enough for most of them to get along, but there never was much work done on the everyday variety like sparrows and robins and wrens and so forth. They seem to be dying out, and that's why you see so many insects these days. There just aren't enough birds to keep them in check."
Before Jamie could fully consider the implications of that remark, he spotted Fuzzy Britches and Princess waiting by the side of the trail. They had been traveling with Kristi while Woggly and Conan had been accompanying him and Judy. The dogs woofed a greeting to him and the cats, then ran on ahead, presumably to join up with Kristi and leave the cats back with them, under some arrangement of their own.
“Hi, Fuzz, Princess. Are you guys doing OK?” He asked as they began padding along beside them.
“Not guy. Girl.” Princess corrected him with the first words he had heard her speak.
“Nice girl, too,” Fuzzy Britches purred, stopping to nuzzle her neck and lick a stray bit of debris from her face, then running a few paces with her to catch back up.
“So
rry,” Jamie apologized. “Just a manner of speaking, and I agree with Fuzz. You are a nice girl. And pretty, too."
“Like Kristi,” Fuzzy Britches said.
“She's pretty, too,” Jamie agreed.
“Woods coming up,” Judy interrupted, and the conversation died. During this interval, Jamie finally discovered one of the reasons for Judy's constant alertness. Without warning, a rock whizzed by his head, traveling with a force that could easily have broken his skull had it hit him. He ducked instinctively after the missile had already spent it's force against a tree trunk. Judy whipped out her sidearm and aimed it up at the trees but didn't get off a shot.
“Come on,” she urged, poking Jamie in the back to get him moving again. “It's already gone."
“What was it?", he asked.
“Tell you in a minute. Don't talk now.” Very shortly, they followed the trail back up onto pavement. “That was a monkey of some sort; maybe a chimp. They don't care much for humans. Can't say I blame them much if what I've heard in history classes about all the experiments we used to do on them is right. Anyhow, there are quite a few in this area, and you always have to watch for them. They've learned ways to conceal their scent from the dogs, so it's we who have to spot them. Dogs are mostly colorblind, you know, so they have a hard time seeing them, especially from below."
* * * *
Jamie was bone weary by late afternoon, when the rangers finally called a halt for the day, again choosing the top of an old overpass as a stopping point. He dropped his pack with a grateful sigh.
He wanted mightily to sit down and rest but refrained when he saw that none of the rangers were doing so. They were moving about with silent efficiency, feeding their dogs and erecting their transparent shelters. One of them was talking over some sort of communications device, apparently contacting headquarters to let them know where they were. Captain Masters was engrossed in a conversation with Wolfgang, his dog, presumably giving him instructions for the night watch.
