by Paul Kidd
“Jolly well done, though.”
“Oh, ta.”
Shaani made the introductions, making sure her guests were all fed. “This is our gallant captain, Xoota. Benek, the Overman. Our hive-mind friend over there is Wig-wig, and the three-headed chap with the satisfied grin is Rustle.”
The tribe called themselves Plodders, named after the mutant wombats on which they made their homes. The wombats trundled ever so slowly over the plains, chomping on grass. Every few weeks they telekinetically dug deep wells and drank vast amounts of water. The wombats lived their own lives, apparently unbothered by the beings who used them as ambulatory homes.
Xoota was puzzled. “But why live on top of giant wombats?”
“I suppose it’s convenient. They’re big enough to be safe from predators. They make an excellent base for spotting game. They reach water regularly …” Tadash sipped thirstily. He seemed to have quite a capacity for drinking tea, which he preferred with extra milk. “And they have telekinetic hands to help them gather grass. Can be a bit of a shock for anyone who decides to charge the herd and give us any trouble.”
“I see.” Xoota could only shrug. It seemed a reasonable lifestyle, in a twisted kind of way. “But you’ve contacted people from our side of the desert before?”
“Oh no, never. Quite impossible. Nothing that enters the desert can live.”
“Then how is it that you talk just like Shaani?”
“Well, I am the tribe’s archivist. Their scholar.” The man sipped more tea. “The accent is passed down as a tradition.”
“Quite right, old bean. Where would we be without it?” Shaani passed a plate. “Biscuit? They’re wattle seed. Rather good.”
They all shared tea and biscuits; even Rustle munched one or two. Shaani poured the tea and made a most genial hostess.
“Tadash, old man, it’s lovely to chitchat, but we’re on a mission of great importance. We’re looking for a pipe, a long pipe that runs east to west. Have you seen any ancient ruins around here? Giant machines, buildings …?”
The man elegantly twirled the ends of his mustache. “Oh, indeed. There are some massive places, rumored to be to the far east, the north, the south. Lost cities of the ancients. But they lie at the heart of radioactive wastelands or inside areas torn by nightmares.”
“Nothing closer? Surely you know the area well,” Xoota said.
The natives murmured together. Tadash nodded as he spoke to his companions then answered Xoota carefully.
“Ah. Yes, my chaps say they have spied a few buildings in the scavenging runs. They’re to the north, by the coast, about twenty kilometers away. But there are always a great many bones around the buildings. Usually fresh bones—fresh kills. They try to avoid the place completely.”
Xoota twiddled her whiskers in careful thought. “What sort of ruins?”
“Terra tech. Large cylinders and pipes. The whole thing emits steam.” Tadash looked at them quizzically. “Is that why you’ve come?”
“It might be. We’ll have to see.” Shaani checked the teapot then refilled it. “Were there any other ancient places in this area? Or, say, anywhere in a radius of about a hundred kilometers?”
“There were a few buildings that could be seen beyond the other ruins. But it was too far to walk. We rarely go more than a day’s march from the plodders.”
It was all useful information. Xoota was happy to move the ship onward, but Shaani leaned in for a quiet conference with her behind her hand.
“We should offer them something as a thank-you for the information.”
“But what?” Xoota gestured to the ship. “We’re really just carrying essentials.”
“What about tea?”
Tea? Xoota looked somewhat hunted as she flicked her eyes left and right. “Tea? What do you mean tea?”
“Well, they clearly really like it. It seems to be highly valued.”
“How much tea do we have?”
The rat looked pained. “Um … Well, we have three boxes left. Two of the longhorn, and one of the ‘strontium special reserve.’ About three hundred mugs?”
It was a real sacrifice for Xoota. She bit her lip then gave a sigh. “All right. Give them one box of longhorn.” She grumbled. “Let’s see if we can trade them some dried fruit for fresh meat. Maybe I can at least get a steak dinner out of this.”
As it turned out, the Sand Shark’s crew was treated to a very, very good dinner. The tribesmen were excellent hosts, and the strangers who arrived in a mighty sand rigger were definitely a sensation. The people piled off the titanic herbivores, dug fire pits, and had a joyous evening meal. There were roasted kangaroos, roasted birds, flatbread, and desert plums. The locals made a weird, fizzy drink out of fermented wombat milk. Shaani drank rather too much of it and held forth before an enthralled crowd, telling them stories of the leaps of science that man and rat had once achieved. She ended up dancing the Plodder dances and was painted up with color as an honorary member of the tribe. In the end Xoota had to carry her back to the ship before she embarrassed herself any further.
She waved a hand happily back toward the Plodders as she was carried back to the ship, her hat on backward. “F-field work. First contact with new cultures. We are explorers.”
Xoota rolled her eyes. “Yes, indeed. Explorers.” Who would have thought fermented wombat milk would be so potent. “If you need to throw up, do it now, oh mighty explorer. We’re putting you to bed.”
All in all, it had been a truly excellent dinner. Rustle flopped down on the deck, his mouths crammed full of meat. Even Wig-wig was replete. He climbed up into Rustle’s leaves and vines and fell happily asleep.
In all the time the party had lasted—many hours under a starry sky—the wombats had been snoozing. They made vast, warm, furry silhouettes that shimmered in the firelight. With her crew asleep, Xoota took a last turn around the ship. She seated herself on a deck chair, still with a crossbow at her side, determined to stand guard.
It was a bold attempt but doomed to failure. Belly full and the Plodder songs all around her, she fell happily asleep.
The next dawn saw the Sand Shark set sail once more. She passed the Plodder tribe, whose big wombats snoozed the night away but started walking again at the very crack of dawn. With red eyes and a face-splitting yawn, Xoota took the wheel, guiding the ship northeast. They ranged across a broad and grassy valley, zigzagging slowly into the wind.
The ground grew more sandy. The eucalyptus trees gave way to leathery, white paperbarks. Xoota used the engines to propel the ship over an old, dry watercourse and grumble up the opposing hill. Her sails flapped as the breeze shifted fitfully north and west.
The air had taken on a strange, sharp smell—a salty, almost chemical scent. Xoota drove with the windows open, puzzled by the breeze from the north but enjoying the cool. Driving took more of her attention as the breeze increased and the ship jounced along as they tacked.
Xoota heard a groan from behind her, and the quoll gave a malicious little smile. “Good morning, oh rat of infamy.”
Shaani—feeling very sick—spoke with a precious, fragile dignity. “I believe I … I acted in the best interests of … intercultural felicity.”
“Well, the dance around the fire was certainly memorable. As was teaching the Plodders that sea shanty.”
“Which sea shanty?”
“ ‘The Good Ship Venus.’ ”
Shaani sat down in the codriver’s chair. “Oh dear.”
“Never mind. They appreciated it.” Xoota kept her eyes on the way ahead, which was becoming more rugged. “We’re currently making about twenty kph. Tacking on a general course northeast. We’ve come about twenty-eight kilometers since dawn.”
“That’s good.” Shaani waved a hand at the earwigs, who were playing a game up in the rigging. “Wig-wig dear, I believe I might need your assistance.”
The earwigs gathered to do their duty.
Shaani caught a look at her painted fur in the side mirrors and m
ade a face. “Oh dear Darwin, is that an alpha mutation?”
“No, no. Just body paint.” Xoota raised a finger. “I think you might have damage reflection today. I tried to smack your butt, and I sort of smacked mine instead.”
“Oh.” Shaani rested her head against the cool, soothing metal of the cabin door. She opened one bloodshot eye. “Why did you try to smack my bottom?”
“It was there.”
Wig-wig did his soothing dance; mild poisoning was no real problem for the talented little empaths to cure. Shaani made a noise of gratitude, and nursed a jumbo mug of tea.
The rocks ahead of the ship were becoming more frequent and more jagged. Tangles of stunted paperbark trees blocked the valleys. Xoota brought the ship to a hilltop, saw what was ahead, and called out to Rustle to drop sail. She hauled on the hand brake and brought the ship lurching to a halt.
“That’s it. That’s the end of the trail.”
“Oh.” Shaani opened one pink eye. “Trouble?”
“Terrain. It’s gotten too tangled ahead.” Xoota rose. “I don’t want to risk us getting jammed. I’ll take Budgie out for a scout around and see what I can see.”
“Take Wig-wig as top cover.” Shaani made herself lurch to her feet. “Let’s get everyone armed and topside.”
Xoota filled her drinking flasks with cold tea then headed out of the cabin. Benek, fully armed and armored, met her on the deck. He was annoyingly intense.
“Are we headed to the ancient spaceport? To the cryogenic facility?”
“We are, we are—with just a little detour first.” Xoota slung her shield over her back and checked the set of her cog mace and her pistol. “Just stay with the ship.”
“Another pointless side mission?” Benek flexed his fists in anger. “My affairs should take priority.”
“We’re in the right area, Benek. We just have to scout around.” Xoota hoisted her saddle onto Budgie’s back. “Keep your pants on.”
She rode Budgie down the rear ramp, enjoying the saddle once again. The bird needed a good run to keep him in condition. Xoota breathed the air, sensing a strange throb and pulse like a distant heartbeat that filled the world. She put her brand-new headset on her head. Shaani had been unable to adapt the ancient armored helmets to either of their skull shapes, but she had at least been able to scavenge out the radio sets and earphones. Xoota tapped her microphone. “Shaani, hello? Does this thing work?”
“Working well.” The rat’s voice had barely a crackle of static. “Roger.”
Xoota tapped at her earphone. “Roger? Who’s Roger?”
“It stands for ‘R’—for ‘received.’ It’s radio talk. Ancient style.” The rat’s voice sounded exasperated. “Do you even listen to the orientation lectures I give you?”
“Not if they’re silly, no.” The quoll waggled her finger at empty air, forgetting no one could see her. “Let’s just forget all this ancient kack and just talk normally.”
“Oh, all right …” Shaani’s voice sounded full of grumbles. “Just make sure you stay in touch.”
“Right.” Xoota waved her hand to Wig-wig, who spread his many wings and whirred happily overhead. “We’re moving out, headed north.”
Budgie trotted through the strange, spindly undergrowth. The ground beneath his claws seemed to be mainly composed of sand and broken shells. The spindly grass grew everywhere in large, erratic bunches, often dotted with tiny, white snails. Xoota and Budgie made their way up over a hill, then off along a sandy gully. The earwigs flitted ahead from bush to bush, scouting for danger. As the trail became steeper, Budgie had to pick his path and hop from rock to rock. Xoota reined him in as Wig-wig came fluttering stealthily back to her and settled on her shoulder.
“Wig-wig sees a building.”
“Good.”
“But there be bones. Lots of bones—and an animal.”
The quoll dismounted quietly and followed Wig-wig through the scrub, using the clumps of grass as cover. Xoota crawled on her belly beneath the branches, moving silently across the sand. She evaded one bush that looked a tad hungry and saw it quiver in disappointment. There was a series of buildings on the crest of a low, level hill. A giant, oblong structure had been festooned with pipes and massive tubes. Some steam drifted out of the roof. Xoota could see that one of the pipes attached to the structure had broken and was gushing water into the building, spilling it onto a concrete floor that seemed to be rent wide with a dark, open crack.
To the west, the great desert pipeline they had followed led into the ground. As Xoota followed what should have been its trajectory, she reasoned that the source of flowing water emptied right into the pipeline. They had found the source of Watering Hole’s well. The only problem was the carrion. Several well-gnawed bodies lay around the buildings. One seemed to be humanoid; others included wallabies, sheep, and several legless things that might have been fish. The smell was damned ripe. Xoota felt her antennae quiver and reached out a hand, feeling the prickle of invisible heat.
“Ack. Wig-wig, be careful. It feels radioactive.”
“Owie,” replied the earwigs.
Just then Xoota saw the animal that had made a feast of the dead creatures as it crawled slowly among the rotting bones. Xoota tapped on her earphones, hearing a nasty crackle from the local radiation. “Hello, Shaani?”
“Hallo. Yes, we’re listening.”
“I have an animal of some sort here.”
“What is it?”
“Star shaped, heavily armored, it’s got some sort of shell about four meters across.” Xoota watched the creature carefully. It moved with painful slowness on little tubular feet beneath its carapace. From what she could tell, it seemed to be feeding on the carrion. “There’s lots of dead animals around here. I think it’s a scavenger, but I’m going to keep well clear.
“We’ve found the buildings,” Xoota continued, looking again at the structure. “There’s a huge spring here. It might be feeding into the desert pipeline.”
“You don’t think the star-shaped thing might have killed all those creatures?”
“No, not unless it has a mental power or a beam weapon of some kind. It’s pretty slow.”
“We’ll come out to you.” Shaani’s voice was all business. “Wait where you are.”
Wig-wig flew back to lead the others to the buildings. Xoota remained in hiding, using her binoculars to examine the ruins. There were several big, square buildings with tanks that occasionally vented steam. A quiet but steady hum gave the hint of some ancient machinery inside the main building. And from there, a long chute led over to some derelict silos.
Xoota continued to watch as the others took their time in arriving, not having the advantage of riding on budgie back. The star-shaped creature wrenched apart the skull of a cadaver and began to idly crunch away at its meal with a thoughtful air. It could have been philosophizing about life, for all Xoota knew. When Shaani arrived—looking ridiculous in her new armor, her straw hat, and her insane body paint—she carried her beloved fusion-powered chainsaw. Benek clanked up behind her with Rustle in tow. The plant stood out like a sore thumb, rising a meter above the brush. So much for concealment, she thought.
Xoota quietly pointed out what she had seen about the buildings and the many interesting, well-chewed corpses as Shaani looked over the area with the binoculars.
“It’s radioactive all right,” said Shaani. “I can feel it. The buildings and the bodies. Definitely the bodies …” She had a decided talent for such things. “Well, I suppose we can just flit past that star creature and stay out of reach.”
Xoota tapped at her antennae. “I have a nasty feeling about that thing. I’m not sure I trust something that eats radioactive corpses for lunch.”
“True.” Shaani pointed out a gully that ran around the hill. “Well, it doesn’t look like it moves very fast. We can circle to the other side and see if there’s a way into those buildings.”
The group moved off, keeping to cover as Rustle lumbered al
ong behind them, grinning, as much as a plant can, like a carnivorous idiot at a meat buffet. He had an alpha mutation that developed that morning—some sort of hardened outer skin—and he seemed to enjoy the way he clanked and rattled. He was a less-than-ideal stealth operative, but his toothy jaws were a fair compensation.
The team moved along the sandy gully until they found the pipeline. They ducked beneath it and continued. The air began to take on a stronger smell—sharp and strangely salty—and with northerly wind came a constant surge and crash of sound. The team struggled through some bushes then came to a clearing at the top of a rise. What they saw stopped them in their tracks.
The horizon was blue. It was water as far as they could see disappearing into nothing. It was a restless blue, covered with waves that broke and rushed against a wide expanse of sand. The adventurers stood and simply stared. It was like nothing they had ever seen.
“Darwin’s beard,” said Xoota. Her voice was reverent, utterly hushed. She stared at the sight before her with stars in her eyes.
Shaani’s voice was almost a whisper. “An ocean. This has to be an ocean.”
They had heard of it. Tales had been told of it. The salt plains back home had supposedly once been an ocean. But that was not the same as seeing it, beholding the thing for the first time in their lives.
The earwigs, not blessed with fabulous distance vision, seemed enraptured as Shaani whispered to him about what she saw. Rustle waved and swayed in the breeze, seemingly enjoying the new smells. Only Benek was unmoved. He gave the ocean a look and climbed the gully edges to examine the buildings up above.
Xoota was nervous of going near the sand but Shaani wasn’t. With Wig-wig settling all over her and clinging to her for security, the rat walked out onto the beach. It squeaked beneath her feet. She stood right on the shore, gazing in wonder at the sea.
“I have seen an ocean.” The rat closed her eyes and felt the sea breeze caress her fur. “An ocean …”
Benek had no time for romanticism. He had climbed a rocky knoll and stared off along the coast. He saw something, examined it carefully, and closed his telescope in satisfaction.
