Marooned on Eden

by Robert L. Forward

  "Might as well," I admitted. "Although, if we do that, it will probably stop raining! You know how cooperative weather is!"

  Awkwardly, we draped the thick blankets over rocks, to rinse and drain, if they will. The rain shows no sign of letting up, so perhaps it will do some work for us. Jinjur glances skyward all the time, I notice—searching for some break in the clouds.

  Those heavy blankets, after their soaking in salt water, are matted, and smell most peculiar. We are all noticing this; after so many years of filtered air, our olfactory senses are almost overburdened now. As David said, cheerfully, "When I smell that water I realize I'm getting used to the air!"

  The "salt" water in the lagoon, to distinguish it from the springwater, is definitely not the same as our oceans on earth. Between us, we have swum in many seas, and we agree on that point.

  "I spent a summer near Annapolis, once," John reminisced. "And we did a lot of swimming in the Bay, where the rivers come in. Thick as soup, the stuff was—you couldn't see far enough ahead in it to avoid the jellyfish, sometimes, and it tasted . . ." He apparently couldn't think of an apt comparison. "But you get used enough to it not to mind particularly, and . . ."

  "Why did you even try to swim in it?" Shirley interrupted, curiously.

  He shrugged. "Gets pretty hot and muggy there in August." I remember that, myself, having spent the summer in the Capitol awaiting the start of the Barnard mission. In many ways, I realize, this climate is similar. I never notice heat, but even I am grateful for the access to both sea and pond.

  "At any rate," John concluded, "This water tastes worse than that water, and while I might get used to it, I doubt if I'll ever like it."

  Cinnamon and Carmen have retrieved many containers from the efforts of the flouwen, and have arranged them in a long row according to no other criterion than size. Some of the things can be used for water, others have no immediately recognizable value to us here, but we cannot afford to discard them; we may have to contrive some very basic necessities. Some of the stored foods from the lander are still sealed in their tough wrappings, and we will be able to use them. I was surprised and pleased to observe, among these, several large packets of the oats and barley that had been among my personal stores.

  "Look, Cinnamon!" I said. "These came through intact—we'll be able to have porridge, or soup, or something!" She looked at the packets with a curious intensity, and took them from me without a word. However, other foods such as the fresh fruit, were less carefully stowed, and are sodden and spoiled. For the time being, we placed these in a separate pile, to be destroyed later. Jinjur's command is adamant: "Our rule has always been to disturb an alien planet only as much as is absolutely necessary. We are already doing much more 'disturbing' than I like, but we'll keep it to a minimum, understand? At least," she added in sudden doubt, "For now." We are all complying, though privately wondering how long we can continue to be so scrupulous.

  As I was returning to the stack of discards with a very salty bit of overripe fruit, I saw a sudden movement—one of the little creatures was examining the stuff! It was so intent on its survey that I was able to move quite close, silent and undetected. I observed the blue-green fuzz which covered it, and saw that it has six appendages, which it uses like four legs and two arms; these are stiff and jointed, very like an insect's. When it turned towards me I saw that it does indeed have just one eye, and that very large and dark and bright. Instantly, it clutched an overripe strawberry in its front legs and scuttled off on the other four, looking so like an insect that I understood Arielle's simile. It made no attempt, that I saw, to put anything into its mouth—in fact, I didn't even observe a mouth—but it certainly was quick of movement.

  I reported my observations. Nels was most intrigued. "We need to catch one, I think. Just to take a closer look!" he added quickly, as Jinjur frowned.

  Cinnamon had joined us in bringing up armloads of stuff from the beach, but by common consent she has returned to the care of our fire. None of us is willing to let it go out, even though we are not cold, and we have quickly learned that it can be a temperamental element. I happened to be nearby, when, as I thought, it needed fuel, so I tossed on several large pieces. To my dismay the coals rolled apart and began to smoke dismally. Fortunately, Cinnamon was close by and came running to sweep the coals together and coax the flame anew, but I resolved not to interfere again. Indeed, I watched with sympathy, later, as Arielle, in similar circumstances, added such tiny twigs that they were instantly consumed, and she had to hurry back and forth for half an hour while the fire continued to languish. It was in sad state by the time Cinnamon came to the rescue again. We were both relieved when she announced she would take care of it. Indeed, what with the constant search for more fuel she will have no time for other work, at least until we can build up a reserve of suitable size. Carmen and John seem to be nearly as adept at nursing the thing along, so she can share the chore.

  It all seemed well worth while as the inky hour of eclipse approached at noontime. We are all weary—the constant warm shower of rain from the gray sky above is enervating, and we are finding the changed gravity adds to our fatigue. It was a joy to both mind and body to head for the yellow firelight, flickering there under the sheltering leaf, and to eat something hot. We've had some precious minutes of relaxation and rest, as we wait for the light to return. When it does, we shall be busy, as Jinjur, as much from exasperation as anything else, I suspect, has decided we should erect some sort of temporary shelter.

  "We'll all take a break from salvage operations, and do something to get us out of this frabbled rain!" was the way she put it. "Can't send a signal, can barely keep the fire going, and durned if I want to sleep wet!"

  "I'd just as soon stay out from under those trees," added Shirley, glancing at the dark line of forest.

  Carmen was rubbing her ankles in the pleasant warmth. "I think I'd rather have a floor I can walk on without my slippers than a roof over my head," she said.

  "A roof would be nice, though," said Cinnamon. "Out of the smoke, if that's possible."

  "Wall, please? Wind blows sand—and smoke—in my eyes," requested Arielle.

  "Here it goes, you see," grumbled Richard. "Give 'em a tropical Eden, with a warm ocean, sandy beach, a good spring—and they want carpets and furniture."

  I closed my mouth; I'd been about to suggest erecting the structure above the rock a step or two, to escape the sandy grit under our slippers. Oh, well—we shall see how this little effort proceeds; Carmen has apparently had some experience in make-shift construction, when she survived the Salamanca earthquake all those years ago, and several of us have camped out in various locales. I myself worked for a construction firm in D.C. briefly, but had left as soon as I'd mastered the new computer. Privately, listening to the discussion around me, I anticipate the shelter will resemble most things built by a committee! Curious, Richard's mention of Eden—it's the last word I'd have selected. The feeling I have is that of being a castaway on a desert island, with no preparation or warning. Indeed, recalling the enormity of the disaster, I am a little surprised at the recovery we have already begun. The natural instincts to survive are doubtless driving us, and although this place so far seems relatively benign, we are working hard at ensuring our mutual safety.

  It was indeed a strenuous afternoon. Selecting a site for a temporary shelter was simple; we are all loath to leave this gentle slope of beach, with its open visibility in all directions and at a reasonable distance from the unknowns in the forest. There is plenty of wood available in the forest. From a hasty survey, it looks like bare-trunked saplings, thin and strong, but we think the poles are actually downshoots from the mammoth trees, which support the heavy branches and their massive leaves. The leaves themselves, wide and stiff, would serve almost as boards, but they are very irregular in shape, and of course we have nothing to cut them with except Shirley's knife, which makes slow work of them. Nor have we fasteners, except for the long snaky vines and roots, which even
Jinjur has agreed to use freely as lashings.

  Eventually we collected enough material to begin. How awkward and difficult it was, to make even the simplest plan! Accustomed, as we all are, to plenty of charts and graphs and measuring devices, as well as to having James coordinate instantly all ideas, we were now reduced to talking, explaining, describing, waving arms and hands around; even, primitively, drawing in the sand! Like children, we find our dream castle becoming humbler and humbler, as the difficulties of construction become apparent. Somewhat discouraged by the evolution of the building into a sort of shed, I went off with Cinnamon and Carmen to begin fetching supplies.

  I had cut several lengths of vine, using Shirley's knife, when yesterday's blisters began to burn. "I'll take a turn, Reiki," said Carmen kindly, and gratefully I handed her the tool. Shortly, she too was glad to pass it along to Cinnamon. By taking turns we were able to continue cutting, gathering, and carrying the vines. "George would be shocked, you know," said Carmen. "Only one tool between us, and so painful to use we give it up happily!"

  "George would soon find out for himself," I said tartly. The blisters were becoming raw.

  Finally, by dint of much trial and error, we succeeded in erecting two sturdy towers, connected at their top by a ridgepole made of the tallest sapling we could find. Along that support, and with its back to the strongest winds, we laid a lean-to sort of arrangement, alternating bases and tips of the saplings, and covered over with layered leaves, lashed down well by the vines. While Jinjur shouted directions from below, countermanded at nearly every step by Shirley—"Wait! I have a better idea!"—David crouched patiently at the top of a tripod, supported at its base by Richard and John. Like the spider monkey he somewhat resembles, he clambered agilely about, seizing the tips of the wavering saplings Nels extended, grunting, to him.

  "Stay up there, David, and keep twisting those vines around that beam, while we make another support!" And he did wait, while the architects dithered about the exact spot for the second tripod. But when Arielle climbed to the top of the new one, she found the vines too stiff for her to knot. David swung to the ground, then, and replaced her at the job. Both of the slender workers compared palms later—there is considerable blood in the construction!

  The structure is necessarily sturdy, because it must stand against these strong winds; it is also both wide and tall, as the slender trunks are surprisingly long and stiff for their weight—somewhat similar to bamboo. Both ends are enclosed, so that the whole affair is about seven meters deep and ten meters wide, and rises some three meters at the front. We covered the "floor" with as many springy softer branches as we had the patience to cut, and they make a welcome cushion between our bodies and the sandy rock. Viewed dispassionately, it is the most miserable "building" I have ever seen, but it feels wonderful to sit inside, out of the rain! To feel the warmth of the fire, and stare at the fresh blisters and scratches on my hands and arms, and sip from a steaming cup—while the thin fabrics in my clothes toast themselves dry! It couldn't last, and soon we were hard at it in the shallows again, sorting debris.

  John said, "I'd really like to have something soothing to put on everyone's skin—the Christmas Branch could supply us with just the thing from its chemical synthesizer! But, in the absence of ointment, this seawater is probably just what's needed to keep your wounds clean and toughen up your skin. Fortunately, we probably don't have to worry about dangerous bugs in the soil, like tetanus, anthrax, and staph. There may be alien equivalents to them in the dirt, but hopefully they don't know how to attack anything as alien as our cells." The seawater treatment stung, but pretty soon our blisters and welts began to recede.

  The rain stopped, briefly, about mid-afternoon, and we all paused in our labors to stare upwards. Alas, although there was no water falling from those thick clouds, they were roiling ominously; the winds above must be even stronger than they are here on the surface, and there is no hope of their being penetrable by a signal fire yet.

  "If I'd known it was monsoon season, I'd have stayed home," grumbled Jinjur. Oddly, there popped into my head the ancient tradition of the Emperor of Japan decreeing, officially, the beginning and ending of the rainy season; I chuckled, and told Jinjur about it. "Oughtn't you to have that right, Jinjur?" I asked.

  "Of course!" she responded. And in her most authoritarian tones, she proclaimed, "I hereby declare the rainy season over! Signed . . .Me, the Me!" To no one's real surprise, the slow drops began to fall again.

  With occasional breaks for their own needs, the flouwen continued to bring items from the drowning lander. With commendable patience, they gathered up all the small items which were drifting about, and we harvested quite a crop of dead imps and housekeeping motiles which could be disassembled into pins, nails, and fasteners; coffee squeezers, drink flasks, spoons—I for one had no idea of the number of spoons we'd had with us! A great many more useful items we normally kept secured, either by straps or in compartments, and we left them for the time being, reluctant to instruct the flouwen to start pulling on things below. They can be very strong, when they can get sufficient purchase to tug, and their capacity for destroying something we might be able to obtain somehow, sometime, in better circumstances, were very real.

  One of the treasures secured by Little White was the plastic bag in which I had packed my laces for this trip! There were a dozen of the ones I like best, and I was foolishly delighted to have them back. After rinsing, I hung them in the shelter of the trees, and they make a rather startling sight, their crisp elegance outlined against the rough bark.

  With fire and water, Nels was able to mix together a large communal pot containing several sorts of our fast-thawing frozen foods, in a vessel I had never seen before. "Don't ask," he had said with a grin when he saw my look of inquiry.

  It seemed to take a very long time for the pot to get hot enough to cook sufficiently, and while it was slowly getting to that stage we were able to smell the aromas of cooking—for the first time in how long? Arielle was increasingly fascinated, and rummaging through the small tins and bottles of the few retrieved seasonings, pounced on several which she insisted on adding to the mixture. The smells became even more savory, and by the time the meal was pronounced ready, our appetites were also. Indeed, with the unaccustomed exertions of hauling supplies, dragging wood, climbing and bending, I was very hungry, and the aroma from the stew made me dizzy. We have no means of preserving any of the meal, but that was not a problem as there was not a trace of it left.

  Once more sipping some marvelously comforting tea from the cut-off bottoms of our squeezers cups (and what a nuisance they are! It takes a polishing with sand to remove the last traces of stew in order not to spoil the tea-flavor—I was surprised, for the cleaning imp in the galley had always taken care of that detail for us before), we lounged in the front of our lean-to to stare at the flames and plan for the morrow.

  "It's tough not to be able to make any long-range plans," fretted Shirley. "And by long-range, I mean a week!" she added.

  Carmen smiled, her tiny dimple darkening in the firelight. It struck me again, how lovely she is without a trace of her cherished cosmetics! "We had plenty of long-range plans. Maybe we still do. They're just on hold, and counting."

  "Right," agreed Jinjur. "We need to stay alert, ready to take advantage of a situation, or to protect ourselves, but in the meantime establish some sort of working routine. I've been in campaigns like that! So, we'll continue to stand watches, we'll keep on salvaging and sorting whatever the flouwen can bring up, and we'll keep the fire going. Eventually, this rain will let up enough for us to signal. We'll keep using the food we brought with us—no experimenting with anything that might be edible here—yet." The final word was soft, but flat. "Now about this signal fire—our options are still limited. With all the lightning-caused fires we mapped before landing—we need to make it clear this isn't a natural fire."

  "How about a geometric shape? A circle, or square of several fires?" suggested David. />
  "A circle would look like one big fire from that high up," objected John. "And a square would have to be so precise; I'm not sure, without anything to measure with . . ."

  "Possibly a long straight line?" asked Shirley.

  "In Canada, forest fire sometimes make long line," said Arielle. "So straight, look like road."

  I thought of what primitive tribes and clans might do under the same circumstances. They were almost as destitute as we. Then I remembered, the clans used to call their gatherings with a burning cross! I explained, eagerly. "They used a wooden one standing on the top of a hill, but we would need to make a series of fires in two rows. They needn't be exactly straight, for if we can get the whole thing going simultaneously, the configuration won't be like anything which would naturally occur."

  To my surprise, Jinjur frowned. "A fiery cross . . .that's not a very civilized symbol, as I recall," she said levelly.

  "A cross is a very ancient symbol of civilization," I maintained. "And the Celts used it, burning, to gather all the families for important meetings. It was an honorable symbol between allies, and the misuse of it by the vile Klan"—I practically spat the "K"—"couldn't permanently debase it!" The rest agreed, and Jinjur was persuaded. The long-dead Klan certainly means nothing to this planet, or this century, and the simple device will make as clear a message as we can send, with our limitations.