Territory by Deb2

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CHAPTER TWO
PARADISE

DAY TWO by the river

The scouts left later than intended; Danziger had overslept, and True hadn't bothered to tell anyone that he wasn't getting ready to go. She figured that if he was still asleep, in spite of the noise around camp, he must need the rest. She was right, but her dad was annoyed with her. He was embarrassed at having held up departure. John hid his discomfort by growling and grumbling at everyone. Devon thought he was still angry at being overruled by Alonzo, Cameron and Denner. True's daddy should have been pleased his little girl was looking out for him: Devon would have suspected something if the stubborn mechanic had been pleasant, or even acquiescent.

Those who remained in camp caught up on repairs of all kinds: machines, garments, tents, whatever. Anyone helping Bess in the 'kitchen' caught up on gossip. An unspoken rule banned talking behind a person's back. It was a lot more fun to talk about someone in his/her presence, so they could offer a rebuttal.

Bess and Julia took advantage of the lay-over to concentrate on a little project of interest to the whole group. On the far side of the mountains, Walman and Magus had dug up a tuber rather like the potato. Julia pronounced the 'white root' not only edible, but an almost perfect food. It had been easy to find on the lower slopes of the mountains, tho' scarcer in higher elevations. Here, white-root was abundant. There were two problems with the plant: it had the shelf life of manna and was, well, bland. The resourceful Earthborn woman managed to improve the flavor, but had discovered no method of preservation. Within days of harvest, a tuber became rank and gray. Dr. Heller and Bess were determined to find a way to keep the vegetable wholesome; the nutrition supplied was too valuable to lose when the group moved out of its range, or the season ended.

'Paradise' was easily the most enjoyable part of the journey so far.

The four scouts were missed, of course. They reported in several times a day. If there were no problems to report, there was no progress, either. Mostly the grass was cropped short, or there were paths worn by the moving herds, but these paths didn't necessarily accomodate the vehicle. The grasslands weren't quite as easily traversed as initially supposed--some of the grass was tall and thick. Alonzo had made a crack about needing a scythe, piquing Uly's curiosity and triggering a lecture from Yale.

Herding animals fled from the DuneRail. The scouts were astonished at how great a distance the beasts could detect them. Danziger and Alonzo on foot crept closer, but even with the jumpers, it was impossible to get a good look. Quadrupeds, of varying sizes and colorations, was as specific as the scouts could describe them. Cameron stated, as he sat cleaning his boots late the first afternoon out, that at least three different species were fertilizing the immediate area.

Whenever feasible, they *did* follow the trails. If there was a way across the river, the animals would know.

As Danziger had said, food was plentiful. Plenty and variety, however, aren't synonyms. In fact, the four enduring the hardships of sweet smelling grass, balmy breezes, heartstoppingly beautiful vistas, and run-ins with the occasional meadow muffin were better off than those in camp. The tart, vining berries they'd first encountered several weeks ago became more common, as did the low bushes which produced a chewy red pod.

"White-root again!" complained Uly, catching the aroma of supper on the boil. He thumped his 'Terrian' staff on the ground.

Devon frowned. "Uly, do you remember winter camp?" Uly nodded humbly. His contrite expression told Devon there was no need to pursue matters further. He remembered; they all remembered having to eat the same thing every meal and leaving the table hungry.

His mom knelt to eye level with him and smiled forgiveness. "I know it gets tiresome, Uly. But you don't want to hurt Bess's feelings, do you?"

Uly played his part in the ritual and gave the obligatory shake of the head.

Devon rose, patted him on the back, and dismissed him with another smile.

True had stood fast next to her friend, a staunch ally in the face of insurmountable odds. Uly looked at her, screwing his face up in disgust. She gestured a 'come on' with her head and the two kids trotted to the edge of camp. A tree, probably twisted because of a storm, grew with the trunk parallel to the ground for several feet before turning upwards. Uly had christened it the "Sitting Tree". They were making for it, not surprisingly. Once she was certain they were out of *Ms. Adair's* earshot, the mischievous girl muttered, "White *rot*."

Devon and Julia looked over at the children, enjoying the music of their laughter.

DAY FOUR at the riverside

Yale approached Devon at the fireside. She sat alone, watching Uly throw rocks at nothing in particular. True was sitting on a crate near him, listlessly tossing pebbles into a circle of stones she'd built for that purpose. Her mouth was set unhappily, lower lip protruding just a bit. She missed her dad.

The tutor sat next to his former charge, sighing contentedly as he settled himself in the chair.

"Look at him, Yale," said Devon in a slightly awed voice. "Did you see how far he pitched the last rock?" She glanced at Yale only long enough to ascertain he had, and returned to admiring her son. "He's been doing this for nearly half an hour."

"G889 has been good for the boy," said the old man. "On the whole, it's been good for all of us. Except Eben." Devon didn't take her eyes off Uly as she spoke. "Yale?"

"Yes, Devon?" He sensed a subject change. "Do you think Elizabeth was right? *Will* the planet reject us?"

"I can't say, Devon. This is not the world we left behind. The rules, so to speak, are different."

Devon furrowed her brow in dissatisfaction just as she had as a child.

"In this world, two plus two does not always equal four," he explained. Yale pointed a finger at the healthy boy throwing rocks simply to burn off excess energy. "Wouldn't you agree?"

The frown was replaced by a smile. Devon looked fondly at Yale. He'd seemed unfathomably wise to the girl; the woman's decisions and opinions were colored by this. She knew him to be careful and precise in reaching conclusions. Yale would not be optimistic without reason.

"We were told that New Pacifica was the area humans could most likely survive," he said.

"Yes," agreed Devon, wondering where this would lead. "We were not told about Uly's River." "No," she agreed again.
"If New Pacifica is more hospitable than our present location, it must be paradise, indeed."

Devon waited for him to complete the thought. Yale scanned their surroundings, appearing to soak up each bird song, every shade of green in the landscape; he inhaled deeply, savoring the clean scent of the air. The old cyborg yawned. The sunset caught his eye. "Isn't it a pity," he said finally, "that the CommDish is there, and we are here?"

"We have to make it to New Pacifica," insisted Devon. She was taken aback by *Yale* falling under the spell of the valley.

He reached out and clasped her arm reassuringly. "We must. There is no question of that. And we will, Devon."

Devon and Yale were silent together. One by one, members of the family completed chores or put away other diversions and joined the circle. The places, defined only in their minds, where Alonzo, Danziger, Cameron and Denner belonged remained empty. Morgan fed the fire, using enough green wood to set up a fair amount of smoke. Smoke, they'd learned, discouraged insects.

True drifted over to her dad's space. She sat cross-legged, plucking at what little grass had survived her previous attacks. Devon was stupid if she thought Dad would turn around after seven days. The general chatter died down, and Magus began telling more of her boring prairie story. True pulled a tuft out by the roots and tossed it toward the fire. She'd rather be listening to one of her dad's ghost stories.

DAY FIVE by the river

Morgan wanted to surprise everyone. He had stumbled upon a grove of 'tree-strawberries' not four miles from the camp. He'd tucked a mesh bag inside his shirt, picked up his VR gear and headed out. Baines had given him a disdainful look and made a comment about grown men playing in VR; Morgan ignored him. At lunch, Baines would eat his words. Hopefully, they would adversely affect the taste of the fruit provided by Morgan Martin.

VR wasn't needed today. Old-fashioned daydreams occupied the brave forager as he fought his way thru the (scanty) underbrush. Bess would be delighted. And he could well imagine the expressions of appreciation and gratitude on the faces of his other campmates. He saw them circled together, stuffing themselves with strawberries after a tasteless meal of whiteroot. The kids would have juice running down their chins. His imagination provided whipped cream for the berries. Morgan's mouth watered.

He stopped to survey the area. Yes, he was right on course. That big tree with the purplish vine climbing it was one of his landmarks. Just 20 minutes or so, and he'd be there. Morgan strode on.

Ouch.
Insect? Venomous spider?! Tiny G889 version snake!?! No, just a thorn. He'd brushed against a bush. Morgan inspected the plant carefully. It was covered with briars. "Lucky it got me only once," he said to himself, pulling the 1/2 inch thorn from his leg. His pants had prevented it from doing more than just scratching his knee. "Better keep my eyes open," he muttered.

Within a hundred meters of the thornbush, Morgan became aware he was being followed. He turned, expecting the kids, or Baines, maybe, wanting to embarrass him. A canine type animal was looking at him. Its mouth was open, and it definitely had canine type teeth. It aimed its muzzle at the sky and howled. Wonderful, G889 wolves.

The gear was on in seconds. "Bess." Nothing. "Bess, answer. I have a small problem here." Nothing. Morgan began to back slowly away. The animal watched him, but remained in place.

"Magus?"
"Yale?"
"Devon?"
It had to be his gear. Great, nonfuctional communication equipment when he really needed to communicate. Why? Why him, why now? Morgan ran. The beast, joined by another, followed at a leisurely pace.

Morgan leaned against the tree, trying to remain on his feet. The numbness in his leg was spreading. His knee wouldn't bend on command. Once again he fumbled for his gear.

"Bess? Bess? Devon, Yale, anybody, I really need some help here, guys. Those wolf-things are a lot closer and I am not in any condition to outrun them. Get Walman out here, he can beat 'em in the head with a club or something." He laughed weakly and sank to the ground, injured leg extended. It didn't hurt. Thank God, it didn't hurt.

But it didn't function, either, and the animals settling themselves in a rough circle around him threw Morgan into a panic. "Oh, God, no, get me out of here! Please, God, get me out of this, and when I get back to the stations, I'll be at church whenever the doors are open, I promise." He dragged himself over to a potential weapon, a fallen branch. It came apart in his hands. Rotted. The smell of humus revolted him. Right now, everything about this place revolted him, the majestic trees, the sunlight dappling through the leaves, the wolf-things patiently waiting for him to die. 'How many are there? Will there be enough of me to go around?' No, don't think like that! Morgan looked around for anything else which might work as a weapon. He had to keep those things away long enough for someone to find him. It was only reasonable they be looking for him, either because they were receiving him, or because he hadn't checked in for hours. Probably. He found nothing. Not even rocks.

He tore at the tiny hole the thorn had left in his pants. The fabric held. He tried his gear again. "Bess, please," he quavered. He took a breath and calmed his voice, altho' the rest of him was primed with adrenaline. "Bess, please respond. I know I can't be out of range." Morgan realized he hadn't activated the transmittor. Maybe that had been the problem all along! But it wouldn't explain his not receiving them. And Bess would have tried to raise him by now; she'd mentioned needing him for some chore or another. He turned the transmittor, and the recorder, on and began speaking. If they could hear him and he couldn't hear them, okay, talking would help calm him down. If they couldn't hear him, at least he could leave some last words for Bess. He didn't think those things would eat the gear. Yes, some last words for Bess. And the others, but Bess was the only one that mattered.

"I, uh, I really would like to see you all again. All of us together, enjoying ourselves, like at the wedding, remember? Bess, you were so beautiful..."

One of the beasts arose and walked toward him. "...so beautiful. You know, I always hoped our little girl would look like you. The boy I wanted to resemble me, of course. I never said much about a family, but you know, Bess, I wanted to firmly establish myself, set us up so that the kids would never have to worry about anything. I wanted to send them to the right schools, have them meet the right people, make contacts early in life that would help later..."

The animal was obviously gathering itself for an attack. Morgan closed his eyes. "Bye, Bess. I love you," he whispered. He thought it amazing that he felt so calm now that death was right here. He heard a thunk, and a yelp, and the wolf-thing was on him. Morgan had time to realize he wasn't going to scream before the darkness.

Shortly after his escape from camp, Bess *had* attempted to contact her husband. Anger at being ignored prompted her to stomp off into the woods after him, certain he'd be nearby. Julia came, as she wanted to check out some promising vegetation in that general area. Baines came as bodyguard. And because he wanted to witness the show.

Bess's continued attempts to reach Morgan failed. Worry replaced anger as the distance from camp grew. Even Baines was concerned. He reached Magus on gear and asked her to home in on Morgan's set.

"He's nearly 3 1/2 klicks to the northwest of you," she said.

"Thanks. We'll keep in touch." Baines flipped back his gearscreen and looked at the two ladies with him. "We'd have never found him."

"You said he was headed this way!" accused Bess. "He was! He must have changed direction. Maybe he doesn't want to be followed," Baines defended himself.

Bess turned, hair flinging prettily as she did, and headed north.

"This way." The man took the lead, walking northwest. The women fell in behind.

Bess glared. Julia clasped her hand. "I'm sure he's alright."

Something howled, too nearby, and directly ahead. Bess jerked her hand from Julia's and began running in the direction of the howl. Baines cut in front of her.

"Together," he said, drawing the pistol he carried. "I lead."

Bess grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, then pushed. "Then you better stay in front," she said sharply, her Southern accent strengthening as it always did when she was upset.

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