Territory by Deb2

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CHAPTER 11
JUST CALL ME PAULINE...

DAY 24

True needed to take care of personal business again. Only, she couldn't. If she'd been a boy, no problem, but girls aren't as conveniently equipped as boys. And there was no room on the ledge to settle comfortably near the ground.

She sniffled. Crying wouldn't help anything. Screaming hadn't, either. The little girl leaned against the steep ravine wall, wishing she had Uly's Terrian ability to pass thru the earth. Her shoulder blades dug against the wall. True closed her eyes. Looking down was scary, a drop of twenty or thirty feet, she guessed, before there was a gradual enough slope to climb, and beyond that, the meadow where the horses had been. From the top, only a few feet higher than her reach extended, it looked like a person could find plenty of hand and toeholds. Climbing down hadn't looked hard, but one of the bushes she'd used for a handhold had uprooted and gone tumbling into the trees below. True thought she'd probably used up all her luck for the next ten years when she didn't follow the bush down. Now, after what had to be *hours* of screaming, the girl was sure she had. No one had heard her.

"I'm scared," she admitted. "I don't like being scared." Talking made her feel better. True decided God must be listening to her. "All I wanted to do was see the horses. No, that's not exactly true," she hurriedly admitted. "If I'd just wanted to see them, I wouldn't have tried to climb down to them." She paused, eyes still tightly closed. "I don't think I want a horse anymore."

God didn't reply. True felt less scared, but she'd feel a whole lot better if He'd do more than listen.

"I just want to go home! I want to see my dad! Make him find me, okay? He's the big guy with the curly blond hair. He'll really be mad, but I deserve to be punished. He can even whip me if he wants to," offered the girl.

It was so quiet. True wished God wore gear, so she could really talk to Him. The thought made her smile in spite of her situation. If she'd worn her own gear, someone would have found her by now, so it didn't matter if God had any or not. She was the one who'd left her set behind.

The growing ten-year-old body, evidently intent on procuring fuel for continued growth even when in grave danger, signaled an empty stomach. True felt altogether miserable. Everything was wrong. She was hungry, she had to pee, her legs and arms were getting tired, and her screaming ability was greatly diminished.

A twig snapped above her. True looked up to see one of those wolf things of Morgan's looking down. She choked out a hoarse cry. The animal backed away. It couldn't have reached her, but that didn't make her any less apprehensive. True kept looking upward, minute after dragging minute. Her neck began to ache. She was getting angry. That was better than scared.

"Get me out of here!" she demanded. "Alright."
True's mouth gaped open. "God?" she asked softly. "No." Van Helsing peered over the edge at her. "Help me up, please," True pleaded, automatically using the puppy dog eyes which melted her father and every other male in camp except Uly.

The man disappeared for a few seconds. He reappeared, lying on the ground, and stretched down for her. True inched one arm up the ravine wall; van Helsing motioned for her to reach for him. She did, determined to appear careful, not scared. He grasped her forearm and motioned for her other arm. True bravely reached up and van Helsing held her securely. True grabbed his arms, viselike.

"Slowly," he said, beginning to draw her to safety. True wasn't interested in taking her time. She needed to relieve herself badly; it would be terribly humiliating if her body took over. The girl stood on tiptoe, her weight bearing down on a stone which supported a good part of the ledge. The stone rocked loose, sifting dirt down the wall before stone and ledge fell away. True didn't scream. She stared at van Helsing, too stunned to feel frightened. He held her tightly by the arms as she dangled in the air. His expression was unchanged; True didn't understand. She could die, and even if van Helsing didn't like her, she was just a kid, and he should be worried, especially since her life was in his hands.

"Walk up the side," he instructed. True clenched her fingers around his arms, digging her nails into the skin. Van Helsing flinched, she noticed. He drew her carefully upwards; the girl managed to get her feet against the wall and did walk up the side as he'd said, a few steps. Then he swung her up and over the edge, releasing her before she let go of him. Her nails raked grooves along his forearms. True landed on her knees, scraping them a bit, scrambled to her feet and raced off into the woods.

Relying on Uly's assurance Van Helsing wouldn't hurt anyone, True controlled the desire to get away and returned to him in a few minutes. She watched from behind a tree as he slowly rose from a sitting position, then inspected the scratches on his arms, wiping the blood away barehanded. A whistle brought his horses to him; he withdrew a length of cloth from the pack and wrapped it around his arm, withdrew another cloth and bound his other arm. True ventured out into sight; at her reappearance, the man paused with the bandage half completed.

"I had to go to the bathroom," she stated with pretended confidence.

Van Helsing returned to binding the scratches. Blood seeped thru to stain the cloths.

"I'm sorry about your arms."
He glanced at her and nodded awkwardly, using his teeth to aid in securing the ends of the bandage.

"Want me to help?" offered True. She automatically stepped toward him. His backing up puzzled her, made her uneasy.

"Okay, do it yourself." The girl occupied herself with trying to clean the debris from her hair, all the while studying van Helsing. He *was* weird, just like everyone said, maybe even weirder. Maybe living on planets did that to people. No, Bess was one of the least weird people she'd ever known, if you didn't count marrying Morgan against her. Maybe van Helsing was kinda mad at her for scratching him. True checked her fingernails and immediately scraped the revolting skin bits from under them. Yuck. She couldn't wait to tell Uly.

"They're expecting me back at camp," True announced. She considered it a safer thing to say than, 'I'm lost'.

Van Helsing seemed to be ignoring her. He moved some of the stuff on his horse to the pack animal, like the quiver and the bow. The small man worked quickly, with an elfin gracefulness that entranced the girl in spite of herself. He moved away so that the horses were between them when True clasped her hands behind her back and diffidently approached. She wanted to see if he left footprints and felt a trifle let down to find he did.

He stepped back from his horse and gestured toward it. "Get on."

"Really?" True didn't attempt to keep the excitement out of her voice.

Van Helsing nodded, face blank. True found that annoying. He'd saved her life and now was going to let her ride his favorite horse and he didn't seem to care one way or the other. She frowned. His unresponsiveness was nerve-wracking. A person had no clue as to what he was thinking.

"Get on," the expressionless man repeated. The girl did, placing her foot in the stirrup and lifting herself into the saddle as if it were a long-standing habit. *That* should impress him. She wished the stirrups had been adjusted so she'd be more sure of herself. "What's his name?" True reached for the reins. Van Helsing kept them.

"His?"
"The horse's," explained True, nudging the animal with her knees. Its only response was a flicked ear.

"She has no name." The woodsman began walking, leading the mare which bore an embarrassed little girl. The pack animal followed.

True's face grew red. She was glad van Helsing had his back to her, and that he didn't like to talk. This was one part of the adventure she'd keep to herself after getting back to camp. Slowly the color leached out of her cheeks, leaving her pale beneath the tan. What if he didn't take her back to camp?

Those at camp were preparing to resume the trek southward. The absence of most of the men meant extra work for everyone else, without exception. Most worked without grumbling. Morgan, however, was rather irritable.

"Get True to help if you can't do it yourself! Come on, kid, don't you ever think?"

Uly immediately set out to find True. It got him away from Mr. Martin. The boy looked in the Danziger tent, one of the few still standing, one which True should have been dismantling. She wasn't there. He methodically checked from one end of the camp to the other, weaving around the half-crew of Edenites breaking camp, then tried to raise her on gear before saying anything to any of the adults. He'd last seen his friend about a half-hour ago, right after the lesson. Uly made a beeline for Yale.

"I can't find True, and we were too close to home for her to have gotten lost."

Yale agreed. "Perhaps she is still playing in the forest." The tutor reached to position the eyescreen on his gear.

"I already tried that." Uly squinted up at Yale. "Maybe she didn't answer me on purpose."

"That is a possibility," Yale responded. Especially given her unpleasant mood this morning, he thought. "True?"

Uly watched anxiously, dancing from foot to foot. Bess joined them, alerted by the concern on the boy's face. She raised her eyebrows.

"True, do you hear me? True?" repeated Yale. He flipped the 'screen back, but maintained an open audio channel.

"How long has she been missing?" asked Bess quietly. "Half an hour at the most," replied the old cyborg. That child; in half an hour's time, True Danziger could get into more trouble than Uly could in a full day. Yale smiled and ruefully shook his head.

"She can't be far off, then," Bess said, relieved. "You know, I'll bet she's with John. Don't you think so, Uly?"

Uly hated to disagree with an adult; it was too close to disrespect. However, he said, "Mr. Danziger gave us strict orders never to go around where they're clearing trees. So did my mom."

Bess sort of shrugged. "Well, we are talking about True." Eyescreen back in place, Yale contacted Walman. Eden Advance had learned the surest way to get a message to Danziger was thru someone who actually wore gear.

"No, she's not here, not in sight, anyway. We'll look around for her. If that kid hears us calling, she'll run home."

"Let us know if you find her," requested Yale. "Yeah, sure." Walman laughed. "We probably won't have to if Danziger gets ahold of her. You'll hear him hollering for miles!"

"Yes," smiled the cyborg. He broke the connection and turned rather wearily to Bess. "I suppose we'd best begin a search of our own." Yale strode to a more central location and called the group to him. Of the men, only Morgan and Yale were present. Julia was the only woman missing; she'd accompanied the 'lumberjacks'.

Most of them were annoyed at True. She knew better than to wander away by herself. They divided the area around camp and split off into pairs. Uly tagged unhappily along with Devon and Yale, aware that he was the only person really worried about the missing girl.

True was hungry. Her belly rumbled from time to time, increasingly insistent on being filled. True stubbornly said nothing to van Helsing about it. She said nothing even when he paused and dug up a spindly little whiteroot, and her mouth watered like she was one of those Pavlof dogs Yale talked about. As they travelled slowly along, van Helsing peeled the tuber with the knife he wore in his belt.

Although she could and did avert her eyes, the girl couldn't block off her nose; True had never realized how good a raw whiteroot smelled. Her stomach gave a gurgling shout. True began 'singing' to hide the sound. Her abused vocal cords weren't up to the job.

"Quiet," the guide said bluntly, cutting his eyes at her. True obeyed. She'd have obeyed the look alone. Van Helsing cut the root into half inch thick slices. He offered one to True at arm's length. She had to stretch to reach it, clutching the horse's mane in one fist.

"Thank you." The whiteroot was crunchy; the juice ran down her chin and she wiped at it with a dirty hand, making a bigger mess. "Are we close to camp?" she ventured.

"No."
"You are taking me back to camp, aren't you?" "No."
True hid her apprehension; she demanded hoarsely, "Where *are* you taking me?"

"The next meeting place."
"Oh. Oh, that's okay." It made sense, sort of. The peculiar man offered True another piece of whiteroot. He continued to give them to her one at a time; only two were left when she realized he wasn't eating. True wiped her hands on her shirt and lied about being full. Still, he offered another, holding it out to her until she said, "No, I don't want anymore."

"You're still hungry."
True gently stroked the horse's neck. "I don't want anymore." She jerked her head up and looked directly in the man's eyes. "Why aren't you eating? Is it poisoned or something?" she demanded, frustrated that he didn't recognize her effort to be considerate of him.

He blinked; just for a second his expression changed. True wasn't sure what she saw before the impassivity returned. Van Helsing dropped his arm and looked at the remaining slices in his hand. "No. But you're still hungry."

"Aren't you?" asked True.
The woodsman let the two last ovals of whiteroot fall to the ground. Without a glance at the little girl, he started on again, taking them deeper into the forest.

True interlaced her fingers with the mare's coarse mane. She didn't look up as they proceeded onward.

"She's been gone three hours," said Devon. "Where can she have gotten to?"

Bess removed a crumbling leaf from Devon's hair. In their crisscrossing of the woods, the Martins and the Adairs had crossed paths and were taking a short break. They sat or leaned against trees in a fairly clear patch. Morgan, who kept nagging everyone--in person or via gear--to look out for those toxic thorn bushes, was a leaner. His periodic warnings had prevented Mazatl's repeating Morgan's mistake, but Mazatl had no intention of telling Morgan. It wasn't that he was ungrateful; it was that he wouldn't be as grateful as Morgan thought he should be.

"Who knows about that kid? She's probably back at camp, playing in VR, while we search this wilderness--" Morgan slapped impatiently at an insect on his sleeve "--and provide a quick snack for a gazillion bugs!"

"No, if True was home, she'd contact us," defended Uly, tugging at his headset.

"I'm not so sure. Her father is pret-ty mad at her," argued Morgan.

"Oh, yeah. You might be right, Mr. Martin." Morgan smirked.
Bess shot her immature husband an effective 'not another word' look. Devon folded her sweaty, itchy arms across her chest and glared at him, as displeased with the man's reminder of the insects as his words to Uly. Yale chose to ignore Morgan. The cyborg sometimes wondered why God had inflicted Morgan Martin on Eden Advance.

Devon's gear demanded attention. John Danziger appeared on the 'screen, face flushed. Devon's heart went out to him. She wanted to comfort him, to hold him close. She could tell the men had found no sign of his daughter.

"Anything, Adair?" tho' he knew the answer was 'nothing'. "I'm sorry, no. John, I'm sure we'll find her soon," Devon assured him confidently.

"Has anyone checked back at camp?" burst in Uly. "Hey, Sport," said Danziger. "Cameron's there now." The frown on Uly's face prompted John to add, "Hey, don't worry! We'll find her before long."

It was wonderful to be sitting flat on the ground. True stretched her legs out straight and leaned back on her hands. Being on a horse for a long time wasn't much fun, yet.

"How long does it take to get used to riding all day?" she asked casually, still attempting to befriend the strange little horseman.

"I don't know."
Danziger's kid rolled her eyes. Well, at least it was an answer. Usually he ignored what she said or told her to be quiet. True carefully observed van Helsing, never taking her eyes off him. She'd decided to pretend the man unstrapping the load from the pack horse was an enemy agent who didn't know the young girl he'd kidnapped was actually a well-trained spy. Any little detail might be important. Anything, however insignificant, could be the key to unlocking the secret.

She wasn't exactly afraid of him now and hadn't been for a while. He was an odd one, alright, but he wasn't actually hostile or anything. They'd been together all afternoon and van Helsing hadn't said a word that wasn't in response to something she'd said except "Get on." He hadn't eaten. He hadn't changed his expression except that one time. He *had* gone into the bushes once, leaving her alone with the horses, free to climb off and run away. Maybe he'd wanted her to.

The horses cropped the sparse grass in the little glade van Helsing had brought them to. The glade was dappled with sunlight. Its most beautiful feature was a pool from which flowed a tiny stream. G889 version ferns grew in the dampness. Live things that had rolled off leaves and plopped into the pool when the humans arrived were crawling back onto the leaves. True didn't notice them; she was studying van Helsing, if that was really his name, watching him as he squatted and brushed clean a flat rock before laying the leather bundle on it. The guide opened the bundle, removed a square of cloth, and rolled the bundle up again. The cloth he left at the pool's edge; from the greenery there, van Helsing selected a handful of the ferns and carried them back to the flat rock.

"Wash," he said, pointing at the rag. True hesitated. She wanted to see what he'd do with the leaves, which might be hard to do with her back to him.

"You're filthy."
True plodded to the water, angling around so she could watch him at least part of the time, and picked up the 'washcloth'. She dipped it in the pool and sucked in her breath. "That's cold!"

"Yes. And wet." Van Helsing spread the leaves on the rock. "You're kinda fanatic about being clean, aren't you?" the girl said, steeling herself before scrubbing her face with the icy rag.

"Some would think so." With precise motions, he slit the fleshy center rib from one of the leaves.

"Bet you don't like the Grendlers." "No." Van Helsing dissected another leaf. Danziger's daughter carefully washed her arms, 'ouching' softly and intentionally when the water stung the scratches acquired during the day. No reaction from her companion. "What about the Terrians? They *live* in the dirt."

Van Helsing looked up at her. He shrugged and went back to his task.

True soaked the cloth again and attacked the grime on her legs, saving the scraped knees for last. She was shivering now. Some of the heat from a few days before would have been welcome. "Do you ever go on the Dreamplane, like Alonzo?" she chattered.

"No. Not like Alonzo."
The chilled girl inspected herself, eliminating the few spots she'd overlooked first time around. "Do you know which one is Alonzo?" True asked in the most offhand tone she could.

"Sit in the sun," he directed, pointing with his knife. She chose to stand in the sun so as to see what van Helsing was doing. "I mean," the girl rattled on, taking advantage of the fact that 10-year-old kids sometimes don't know when to shut up, "do you know our names? Do you know who I am?" True held the washcloth up and inspected it in the sunlight so van Helsing would think she was just talking. "Weird," she muttered.

He rose, clutching the leaves tightly, and looked at True with those flat, disinterested eyes. The eyes bothered True. When the eyes weren't visible, van Helsing was easier to deal with. When he looked at her so steadily, True found it difficult to remain a well-trained spy. She couldn't look away and might get nervous again.

The man came just close enough to give her the pencil-like leaf ribs, much as he'd offered the whiteroot. True took them.

"What're these for?"
"Antiseptic."
True looked at van Helsing questioningly, then gingerly daubed at one of her smallest injuries, just in case it burned or something. There was no burning; in fact, the plant's juice was immediately soothing. She happily painted every scratch or scrape within reach. A few were hard to get to, but van Helsing refused to help her.

"Afraid of getting germs?" she asked scornfully. He didn't respond. True shrugged and limberly finished applying the herbal antiseptic herself. Van Helsing sat down and leaned against a tree, eyes closed; it looked like he intended to remain in the glade for a while. True wandered around, inspecting the ferns and the little creatures living among them; she picked up a rock flecked with sparkles and made the sparkles flash in the sun for a time before pocketing it. When she glanced at the man resting against the tree, he always looked like he was asleep, but True doubted he was.

Eventually, her eyelids began to droop. She didn't want to sleep at all and hit on the idea of plunging her arm as deep as she could in the pool. That worked, waking her up completely. The washcloth was dry now, so it made a pretty good towel.

"Why did you do that?"
True jumped. She whipped around and stared at van Helsing, who was watching her, an undeniably curious look on his face. For a moment, the girl thought about not answering, just like he'd been not answering her all day. During her short hesitation, van Helsing evidently recovered from his lapse of disinterest. The familiar nothingness returned to his features.

"I don't want to sleep," True stated firmly. Van Helsing closed his eyes and settled back against the tree.

True sat at the edge of the pool. She pulled her legs up and inspected her greenish knees. Julia would be interested in the 'antiseptic'. In a few minutes, True had the now shriveling ribs wrapped in the washcloth, and the little bundle in her pocket. She turned her attention back to van Helsing. The girl stared at him. You sure couldn't see much of his face. How could he stand all that hair, especially on his face? True unbraided her own hair, used her fingers as a comb, and braided it again.

"You need to do something with your hair," she observed. "Cut it or comb it or something."

Van Helsing showed no sign he'd heard her. True sighed. "You don't like me, do you?" she said under her breath.

"True," he said, opening his eyes. "Is that a yes, or my name?" she demanded belligerently; she'd not intended he hear the first question.

Van Helsing didn't reply. He simply trapped her in his gaze, and as the little girl stared back at him, into those impossibly expressionless eyes, she became convinced Uly was right: van Helsing was *old*.

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