Generation 7

by Ross Richdale

  You're so cool and confident, the human woman complimented. How do you do it?

  Sheer survival instincts, Holly, Jaddig replied with a nervous glance at her friend. I'm all honey inside.

  You mean sweet and tasty?

  No, explained the clicker. It means all stuck up and scared.

  We call it butterflies in the tummy, Holly smiled. You know, George and Graham were all ready to rush out and rescue you if things had gone wrong back there.

  I know, Jaddig replied in a somber voice. She turned briefly and smiled at the others behind. Thank you, My Friends.

  She changed up a gear and they continued their journey through rolling farmlands. The afternoon sun appeared from behind a cloud for the first time since leaving the human village and bathed them in light. Perhaps this was an optimistic sign. The female wingless clicker grimaced; or maybe it was just a brief lapse before further storm clouds drifted in.

  The following afternoon, after taking turns to drive and passing two more check points, several towns that became smaller the further they went, and a mountain pass with the return of snow conditions, George drove the reliable Charlie into a broad and lonely valley near their destination. The last diesel had been emptied into the combo's tanks and food was getting low.

  More worrying, though, was Jaddig who had fallen asleep ten hours earlier. Whether it was the cold temperatures or a natural reaction to her retro-metamorphosis, nobody knew, though attempts to awaken her had been unsuccessful.

  I am inclined to think it is a natural occurrence because her heartbeat is steady. If we gave her a stimulant it could do more harm than good, Suzi diagnosed. It's been pretty cold up in those higher roads and she has only been wearing ordinary clothes.

  I hope so, Holly replied and cast a worried eye over her friend lying at the back. It's the uncertainty and not knowing what's best for her that is frustrating.

  I know, Suzi replied. She glanced out the window where dust was now blowing up behind them. It's warm outside now. If she doesn't wake up before this evening I'll risk using one of our drugs.

  Graham turned around from the front seat and smiled at the two women. I'm sure she'll be fine, he said. Look at her face. There's eye movement that wasn't there in the middle of the night. I'd lay odds to say shell be awake by the time we arrive. He turned to the map brought from home that was placed on his knees. The original note says we have to find a rock face that looks like a human hand, I guess that means it has five fingers.

  Then what? muttered George. He cursed as Charlie shuddered when he attempted to change to a lower gear. Can't get used to these damn controls, he cursed. I need Jaddig's four hands.

  In spite of his muttering, the sergeant proved to be an excellent driver and had done most of the hard driving over the narrow trails, they couldn't be called roads, since the clicker had fallen asleep.

  South of the rock is a small blind valley we have to go up. We need to find a cliff where a cave entrance is hidden, Graham continued. That's it! I guess there is a sign of some sort there.

  After seven generations? Holly grumbled. It could have been obliterated by the weather decades ago.

  Now they were close to their destination, the remote land depressed her. It was almost better in the clicker towns. Here, if they had an accident or Charlie broke down they had no way of getting help. They'd driven around the last clicker settlement, a small military outpost marking the border of Vybber, two hours and one mountain pass earlier and were in forbidden territory. Not that this meant a lot. The Vybber maps called all the land outside their own country that and the neighboring country of Pulgibr wasn't even recognized.

  There it is! Suzi called and pointed through the windshield.

  Where? snorted George. I can't see anything that looks remotely like a hand.

  Look up, Suzi said with excitement in her voice. That high hill above the trees.

  Holly squinted in the direction indicated. Yes, there was a jagged rock there but it didn't look like anything.

  It's pointing down with folded fingers, not up, Suzi persisted. See! That horizontal rock could be the thumb, that tipped over bit the forefinger and three bumps beneath, folded fingers.

  You're right, Graham supported. See it, Holly?

  Holly couldn't really but gave a tiny grin of encouragement.

  My oath, you're right, George suddenly burst out. The trouble was we were all expecting fingers pointing upwards or along. Good on yah, Suzi.

  He grinned, changed gears and accelerated. You know, he added. This trail has been cut in the hillside. There's been a slip and it's overgrown but look at the sides. They're cut straight and the ground below is level. I doubt if a natural formation would be like this.

  Holly stared out and, almost in spite of herself, felt a twang of excitement. It did look like an old road. There were even patches of smooth gravel poking out from the grass covering.

  That's not gravel, George exclaimed. Bits are cracked and broken but I'm sure it is concrete. I'll have a look.

  He stopped the combo and the four humans climbed out to examine the trail. Graham kicked a strip of mossy grass aside, crouched down and pulled a clump with his hand. It lifted off like a large strip of carpet to reveal a blackened smooth surface beneath. You're right, George, he said in wonder. This is concrete all right. Look how smooth this section is.

  The next bend proved to be even more exciting. The remains of a stone building stood tucked in beside the trail. It was covered in creeper, there were no windows or roof but it was distinctly human looking with rectangular walls and doors and not a pentagon or hexagon in sight. When they stopped in front of the ruin, the hand on the far off cliff appeared to be directly above it.

  It's pointing, Suzi gasped. That must be the way to the valley.

  Not according to my map, George mumbled.

  Oh George, Suzi laughed Turn the map upside down and look again.

  George did and a slow grin came over his face. Bloody scientists, he said. Do you always have to be right?

  Not always, the young woman replied. We deal in facts but sometimes one has to think laterally.

  It's fifteen hundred hours, Holly added, so we should have about three hours of daylight. Shall we keep going or look around here?

  Keep going, interrupted a sleepy voice. Everyone turned and saw Jaddig grinning at them from under the opened back door of the combo. I guess I overslept.

  You could say that, Holly grumbled but relief showed in her voice. Sixteen hours. You're constantly surprising us, Jaddig.

  I'm sorry, the clicker girl replied. The sister at the hospital did mutter something about sleeping it off but I wasn't expecting it to be this a length of time. She yawned. I'm hungry, she added and reached for the bag of fruit she'd bought at the clicker town just before her long sleep.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Eight

  When Bowman Clay Farrell leapt from Charlie's rear door as it crossed the pontoon bridge, he was prepared for a buffeting but not the icy wind that cut into his cheeks and wrenched his breath away. Seconds later, he saw Graham's white face staring at him. He waved and dived off the upstream side of the bridge, a move he calculated would sweep him under the pontoons and out of sight before the enemy would see him. The water did but also sucked him under. He gasped! It was as if a million needles penetrated, not just his skin but the very bones and organs beneath. His eyes couldn't focus and pain slashed across his lungs. With super human effort, he lashed out with his arms, found a piece of framework and held on. The battle with the elements continued as the natural enemy tried to sweep him away, drown and freeze him, all in one fatal move. Even though only seconds had slipped by, Clay realized his battle to survive would be lost if he did not act immediately.

  He found the surface and another immediate problem. His head hit the underside of the wooden decking so hard stars flashed across his vision. He gasped, spat out water, opened his eyes and realized his right foot was lopped through a metal gr
id connected to the pontoon. The force of the water tore at his body and the metal cut into his skin but Clay clung on and managed to bring one leg up the grid and take the pressure off his foot. Panting and close to exhaustion, he used his left hand to pass a strap of the canvas bag he had inside his jacket through the grid.

  The bag held three cylinders of high explosive. With trembling frozen fingers he knotted the strap to anchor the bag. Now, though, it had to be armed. Thank God it wasn't a fuse that needed to be physically lit. He clung on with one hand and used the other to grab the small mechanical clock attached to the explosive. Back home the method was easy. There were two test tubes jointed to the clock hands. The minute hand of the clock shifted one tube up so the liquid inside tipped, ran down to the second test tube and, when the chemicals mixed, exploded.

  However, here in the choppy water the test tubes were almost impossible to set up. It only took a few drops of the opposing chemicals to splash through the connecting tube and there would be a premature explosion that would kill him, and possibly those in the combo above, instantly. Clay gritted his teeth and kicked so his shivering arms and chest were out of the water. He removed the first cork stopper, fitted a rubber hose on it and looped it over to the other test tube. The device was now armed but where was he going to secure it? He reached up and felt along the underside of the decking until he found what he was needed, a small gap between the grid and wood above. Barely aware his teeth were chattering, fingers numb and legs stiff, he tucked the metal clock handle through and secured it with a piece of twine. The whole contraption hung down mere centimeters above the raging flood. With luck, the chemicals would not mix for fifteen minutes. Clay grimaced, checked to see the main explosive was secure and let go.

  After five minutes of being tossed in the raging torrent, his frozen fingers grabbed an overhanging branch and he managed to haul himself onto a muddy bank. For the moment, he was safe.

  A small tree covered bank stretched up above him and beyond, unknown territory. Clay's chest heaved as he gulped in still more freezing air and let the rain clean his mud-splattered face. Finally, after his pounding heart returned to a more regular beat, he wedged himself behind a small tree trunk, wiped his eyes and focused on the river he'd just crawled out from. The combo, silhouetted against overhead electric lights, could be seen driving up off the pontoon bridge on the opposite shore.

  Good on you, Jaddig! Clay muttered through chattering teeth. Well, bridge, you can blow whenever you like.

  Now all he had to do was get past the clicker army, over the ranges and back to New Seattle. The task seemed impossible but Clay was a bowman, a human and the lives of a thousand souls could depend on him getting his message through. But priority one was to get warm. He was out of the freezing water but with soaked clothes and numb limbs he could still fall victim to hypothermia. He glanced around and wondered how he could get warmth back into his frozen body and screaming lungs.

  The bush clad river bank led up to the highway that was thick with traffic and pedestrians, mainly foot soldiers marching in single file along the road edge. Worse, though, were the powerful electric lights that flooded everything in a harsh glare. Clay knew the area, as it was once the human border town of New London where, for years, the so-called peace talks were held with the Clicker Empire. When occupied by humans, the village consisted of half a dozen roads and a collection of wooden buildings to service the population of less than two hundred. Now, by what they'd seen on the way through in Charlie, thousands of clickers were encamped in the vicinity.

  Clay wiped freezing water from his eyebrows and blew a cloud of condensation on his frozen hands. Though his clinging clothes warmed his body a little all his fingers had turned white. He studied the immediate area and noticed a muddy track, almost obliterated by encroaching foliage, that followed the river.

  Well, here goes, he muttered and brushed through the bushes in the direction away from the bridge.

  The track was slippery and wet. Every tree or scrub seemed to cascade him with icy water that added to the discomfort of the murky drizzle but Clay continued on and gradually his body heated the damp clothes and his teeth stopped their monotonous chatter. His limbs, though, were numb, as were his cheekbones, nose and lips. He pulled the woolen beanie down over his ears and forehead so only his eyes and lower face was exposed to the biting wind. Though wet, it provided warmth and helped his blood circulate.

  Five minutes later there was a sudden clap of thunder behind and Clay grinned when he saw the bright orange flash above the trees from the direction of the bridge. In the flash he saw a small shed a few meters ahead. Clay stumbled up to it, made light work of the feeble lock and pushed into the musty darkness. The shed appeared to be empty but as Clay's eyes adjusted to the dim light he saw the outline of a small window opposite and a row of lumpy sacks stacked along beneath it. He opened the first sack and found it filled with pinecones. Probably this was a boat shed and the owner had brought back a supply for winter fires.

  The contents were of little use but by tipping the pinecones out; Clay soon had a pile of dry sacks. He returned to the door and used some twine still in his pocket to tie it shut. Next he removed his outer clothes and hung them on a protruding nail. It was cold and dark but the sacks seemed as luxurious as a tavern bed to lie on.

  Thoughts turned to the combo and his companions. Their journey into the unknown was more dangerous than his, he reckoned. Once he was beyond the township, he was certain the journey over the ranges would be free of enemy. They didn't like the snow and it would still be lying in the high country. He took a bar of cheese from his pocket, nibbled on it and, for the first time since leaving Charlie, began to feel warm. The half a dozen pinecone sacks he lay under scratched and tickled but he was dry.

  Clay intended to stay only an hour in that little boat shed but it didn't work out that way. Without even realizing, his body succumbed to the snugness and he fell into a long asleep of exhaustion and natural tiredness. The last he remembered was the rain drumming on the roof above and the wind rattling one loose sheet of iron.

  A cold but soft hand covered his mouth when Clay jerked awake from the middle of a dream.

  Quiet, Human, whispered a highly accented voice in English. Just listen.

  Adrenaline rose and Clay's first reaction was to lash out at the intruder but he realized the hand on his mouth was not tight, another hand was holding his shoulder and a small blue light was shining. Whoever the clicker was, at the moment it meant him no harm so he nodded and scrambled into a sitting position.

  A clicker was crouched beside him with a concerned look in its eyes. Clay had no idea of its sex. Except for the winged females, of course, the two genders looked similar. This one was dressed in the usual body suit that looked black in the blue light.

  I listening, Clay whispered.

  My name is Wunep and I saw you come out of the river just before it blew up...

  What's the time? the bowman asked as he orientated himself. He felt cold and stiff but noticed the rain had stopped beating on the roof.

  A little after three hundred hours. You've been asleep six hours but the time has come to move. By daylight this shed will be searched by the security patrols. The place is alive with military police trying to find those responsible for the sabotage. Wunep's eyes looked green in the light.

  So why are you here and not calling in the police? I'm sure there would be a nice reward for finding a dreaded Biped-rat? Clay could see only one clicker and knew, if it was necessary he could overpower it. But common sense prevailed. There could be an army waiting outside the door and, even if there wasn't where could he go?

  This question was answered with another one. Do you know Jaddig Qarte?

  Yes, Clay replied cautiously. She is safe with my people.

  And you did not torture and kill her?

  We don't do that to prisoners, Clay retorted. Nor do we assassinate family members of our kind just because they fall into enemy hands.

 
; You heard about that? the clicker continued with a sigh. Forgive me but I had to ask.

  It was a somewhat futile question, if I must say, Clay continued. His aim now was to play for time. The clicker had let him go and was crouched a meter away. If we had killed her, do you think I would have admitted it? He shrugged. You have all the advantages .Why don't you just come out and tell me why you are talking to me. After all, it is not a pleasant Sunday afternoon chat in the tavern, now is it?

  I do have ulterior motives, the clicker replied. My friend Snimel is in need of help and... the clicker's face in the reflected light looked sad, almost desperate as he switched to his own language. I saw you and thought that if you helped Jaddig you may also help us but what's the use? You're in as precarious situation as we are. He stopped and changed back to English. I'm sorry, he muttered and glanced away.

  I understand Crucnon, Clay replied in that language. Who is Snimel and what are his problem?

  Like Jaddig, Snimel is a female, my mate, I guess you humans would call her. She was called up to take the treatment.

  To become a winged female? Clay asked and mentally shrugged. So Wunep was a male clicker! He seemed no larger in size than Jaddig but he'd heard that male and female clickers were of similar size.

  Exactly. Instead we decided to leave the university together. The story of Jaddig is everywhere. The government's story is she was a traitor who went across to the enemy but was killed by them, anyway. However, unofficial stories are circulating that she is safe and well. They say you humans are looking after her and will treat any crucnon with compassion. The eyes of the young male clicker, amazingly human in appearance, were filled with emotion. We had nothing to lose. If Snimel reported for duty, I would never see her again. We heard that more and more winged females are being called up for an all out attack on your country. Those not killed are afterwards sent to concubines to become egg layers. He stopped and blew his nose. Nobody survives those places.