Territory by Deb2

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CHAPTER THREE
RESCUE

DAY FIVE

Heaven. Must be. That blinding light. It was abruptly replaced by a face. Morgan snapped back to reality. This was no angel peering down at him. Morgan struggled to sit up. The man helped him prop against a tree. Trees, trees, trees. "There are just too many trees!" Morgan complained aloud.

The bearded man raised his eyebrows. "Forest." Morgan looked around. "Where are those animals?" They were gone, except the one over there with the arrow sticking out of it.

"Gone. Where'd the thorn scratch you?" The man had a knife. Morgan thought it wise to answer. "Here, just above the knee. I pulled it out."

Despite Morgan's assurance the thorn was gone, his rescuer cut through the trouser leg, exposing the area. The skin around the wound was a shiny white. He prepared to cut into Morgan's leg. As he worked, he tersely explained, "The tip of the thorn remains embedded. The toxin causes paralysis."

Morgan braced himself and looked away as the blood began to well. Then he looked back, wondering. "It doesn't hurt." He turned away again. "I don't feel a thing." Except nausea.

"You will."
"Is, ah, is the toxin fatal?"
"No. Being eaten is." He rationed his words as if they were in short supply.

"I...I thought that might be what they wanted." Morgan looked at the man. He was rather small, shaggy haired, and dressed in leather. Thank God for small favors, he didn't smell. "My name is Morgan Martin. You've saved my life. Thank you." The woodsman showed him the knife, bloody, with a small black dot near the tip. "That was poisoning me?"

He nodded, and appalled Morgan by wiping his knife blade on Morgan's pant leg. "Give me your shirt."

"What?"
"For bandages."
Morgan complied. "As I said, I'm Martin Morgan. And you are...?"

"Van Helsing," he replied. He began cutting strips from the back of the shirt.

"Mr. van Helsing, I really am grateful you came along when you did. Without your help, I hate to think what would have happened. If there's anything I can do for you--"

"Shut up."
Morgan was startled. He was working on a blistering, yet tactful, retort when he realized van Helsing was listening to something in the distance. Morgan immediately thought of the animals. Hungry animals. He picked up a strip of former shirt and began bandaging his leg. As soon as the woodsman relaxed, he asked about them.

"They prey on victims of the thorns. They'll run from any attacker."

"They didn't run from me," declared Morgan. "They prey on victims of the thorns," was repeated with no change of tone or rhythm.

Morgan instinctively sucked up, encouraging the other man to demonstrate his greater knowledge. "So these animals live in packs?"

"No. In pairs. The baying attracts others." Van Helsing checked the bandage. It suited him, evidently, because he polished his knife with the remains of Morgan's shirt.

"And you heard them and got curious?" "I sometimes take their dinner." He watched the sunlight on the knife blade.

Morgan involuntarily drew back. Van Helsing noticed. He smiled (didn't he?), sheathing his knife. "Only the herbivores."

Morgan attempted to recover. "Well, of course, I mean, I didn't think you were, ah,---"

"Cannabilistic." Again, the semi-smile. "Some are." He nodded northwards.

"Oh? Penal colonists? I'm not surprised." Morgan stopped suddenly. Almost certainly, his rescuer was a penal colonist. The man stared expressionlessly at him. The bureaucrat smiled weakly and shrugged. If he'd been so equipped, he'd have tucked his tail and cringed away. "Not that everyone here is a criminal. No doubt some were framed, or...whatever... Well, we're headed west, anyway." Morgan remembered his gear. He attempted contact again, and received no response again. An uncomfortable thought of the scouts chanced by. "How far north?"

The man looked at him. "What?"
"The cannibals," Morgan elaborated. "How far north are they?"

"Five or six weeks."
Morgan said, "Oh." He'd expected a less subjective unit of measure.

They sat silent for a time, Morgan apparently absorbed with 'repairing' his gear and van Helsing listening to the woods. He would advance a few steps toward any scavenger which ventured out of cover. It would disappear, silently.

"How *did* you come to be here, Mr. van Heslin?" Morgan's curiosity overcame his cowardice and good sense.

"I followed the baying."
"No, I mean, on G889."
Van Helsing looked steadily into Morgan's eyes, raising the hairs on the bureaucrat's neck. "I earned my passage." He picked up his longbow and stood. "Your companions are near." With that, he disappeared into the forest. There was a quiver of arrows on his back. Morgan noted that van Heslin was not a tall man.

DAY FIVE by the river. DAY FOUR scouting.

John was dozing in the shade. He'd have first watch tonight. So, he'd flattened a bed of sorts in the calf-high grass, and stretched out for a short, mid-afternoon nap before they moved on again. Travel today was easy. They were taking what was evidently a major thoroughfare in the herding community. It was free of grass, for the most part. The earth was beaten solid. The DuneRail really ate up the miles.

"Danziger."
He reluctantly opened an eye. Cameron was dangling a set of gear at him. "There's a problem at camp."

Danziger was on his feet, immediately alert. He seized the gear and roughly set it in place, asking, "Is True okay?" as he positioned the eyescreen.

"She's fine, it's not her. It's Morgan," replied a contemptuous Cameron, flipping his 'screen down.

Magus was there, seriousness personified. She was answering someone else. "Julia doesn't know. She said he's stable. They're on the way back to camp now."

"Magus, what's going on?" cut in Danziger. "Morgan said he got stuck by a poisonous thorn. A man calling himself van Heslin rescued him. Shot the animal wanting to eat Morgan, and cut the thorn out."

John recalled his conversation with Devon. Yeah, it looked like there were some hellish aspects to this paradise. "How far from camp?"

"An animal wanted to eat him?" asked Denner at the same time. Well, it did make sense there'd be predators around. All the herds would attract them. At least, that's what she'd learned in school. Herbivorous animals usually were eaten by carnivores. She wondered anxiously *where* in the food chain humans were, if an animal wanted to eat Morgan. Maybe Morgan was wrong. But if he was right...she suppressed the urge to whirl around, to check behind her.

Magus answered, "Morgan called it a wolf. Julia wants to dissect it, so Walman and Matazl are bringing it back."

"How far from camp, woman?" repeated Danziger impatiently. "A little less than 2 1/2 miles," was not an encouraging response. The scouts shifted uneasily.

"What about the man, what's he have to say for himself?" demanded John. He went strictly audio and began checking the DuneRail in preparation for the trip back.

"Morgan's the only one to see him. He came out of the woods, saved Morgan, and went back into the woods before Bess and the others showed up."

Alonzo rephrased Danziger's question. "Well, what does Morgan say about him?"

"Not much. Last time Baines checked in, he said the feeling was coming back in Morgan's leg, and he's hurting pretty bad. About all he's told us is, van Heslin is a bearded man, wears leather, is armed with a bow and arrows, and is familiar with the flora and fauna of this area. I'm not sure how much credence you can give it, tho'; Baines also said Morgan was talking about elves."

"Elves? As in, pointy ears and wings?" Alonzo laughed. "Elves don't have wings," muttered Cameron. Magus shrugged. "Baines said Morgan has been talking about *elves*."

"Sounds like he's out of his head," opined Danziger. "Could be caused by the poison," suggested Magus. "That's the consensus here."

"Yeah. That, or maybe Morgan's encountered another intelligent species on this uninhabited world," said Denner.

"We've tossed that idea around, too. They'd be primitives, judging by the weapons," said Magus.

"Bow and arrows? That's primitive, alright." Danziger agreed.

"Yep. And he's dressed in leather. If he isn't a native--or an elf--he's probably a penal colonist and he may have been here for a long time," affirmed Magus.

"I was thinking the same thing myself," said John. "Not necessarily," said Alonzo. "He might just not have access to any other weapons or clothes. Grendler's have gotten scarcer since we entered the mountains. We haven't seen *any* for about two weeks."

"Or he could be some psycho playing Robin Hood," added Cameron.

Satisfied the 'Rail was in top condition, Danziger repositioned the 'screen and went to video. "Magus, is he alone?"

She pursed her lips, hesitating. "We don't know, John. There's been no sign of others, but then, we didn't know he was around, either."

Denner and Alonzo climbed into the vehicle at John's signal, anxious to be headed home. Cameron wasted no time taking his place riding shotgun. Danziger would drive; he intended to push the DuneRail as hard as it would take.

"We ought to make it back in three days," he estimated. Magus agreed. "That's what we thought. Just don't burn out the DuneRail. Don't take any chances."

John dropped back to audio and settled into the driver's seat. The 'Rail started perfectly, and they were on their way to camp.

Cameron had an idea. "Hey, this isn't some trick of Adair's to get us to turn around, is it?" he asked hopefully.

Magus was momentarily confused. "No, of course not." The confusion evaporated. "You guys weren't coming back in 7 days, were you?"

Alonzo, Denner, and Cameron replied with variations of "Sure, we were," in tones which revealed the truth. Magus grinned in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

Danziger's mind was on True. "Those kids will need to be watched constantly, Magus. Constantly. Keep a real close eye on them, especially True. She's a little too brave for her own good, sometimes."

"Yeah, I know. She comes by it honestly," Magus replied. "Yale's looking after both kids right now."

"Where's Adair in all this?" The mechanic was surprised she hadn't put in her two cents yet.

"She's maintaining contact with Baines," said Magus. "I guess she wants to know immediately if Morgan has anything else to say about van Heslin."

"Or if they are attacked," said Alonzo. "Yeah, I guess that's possible." Magus didn't seem happy with that idea.

"It doesn't look like van Heslin would save Morgan's life and then attack them. Especially if he's alone," argued Denner.

"We don't know he's alone," Alonzo pointed out. "He could have talked to Morgan, got information from him about us, and reported to his buddies. We don't know."

Danziger pushed the 'Rail harder. The conversation around him faded, drowned out by his own thoughts. Three days, at the very best. He was three days away from True.

BASECAMP

By the time they had Morgan back in camp, the paralysis was gone, and feeling was back; van Heslin was right: it hurt. Morgan was torn between "taking it like a man" and "milking it for all it was worth". The decision was made for him: he passed out. The doctor brought him around and administered an analgesic after what Morgan considered an interminable examination. He had no interest in how the toxin had been produced by the interaction of enzymes in his own body with enzymes in the thorn. He'd risk the possible interaction with any drugs, if it meant relief.

Devon was peeved when she came into the tent. The entire camp was alert in the same sense a rabbit is alert. The scheduled guards had been augmented by volunteers. Yale had the kids practically on leashes. *She* had questions for Morgan. Julia had barred her, Devon Adair, from the Med-tent until she was satisfied with his progress. On her way to inspect the animal, the good doctor had kindly granted Devon a few minutes with the patient. Morgan wanted sympathy. Devon was more concerned with Walman, who'd gone searching for the stranger, alone, without consulting her. Her head hurt. She was worried about the scouting party. She needed someone to bounce ideas off, and he wouldn't return for several days.

"How's the patient?" she asked, forcing a pleasant expression.

Bess smiled. "He'll be fine. Julia gave him a painkiller, and I think it's helping. Isn't it, Morgan?" She squeezed his hand.

He smiled at her, a practiced "poor me" smile. She recognized it, and wisely reacted as Morgan wished. Sometimes Bess controlled Morgan by letting him think he was controlling her. "He's still in some pain. The stock is getting low and Morgan didn't ask for a full dose." No, he'd asked for enough to put him out. But only a fool tells everything he knows. Bess Martin was no fool.

"We all have to make sacrifices, Bess," he said. "Someone else may need it." He looked to Devon and smiled wanly.

Devon returned the smile, mildly amused in spite of everything. No matter what, Morgan could be depended on to be Morgan. "I'm glad you're alright. Are you up to answering some questions about the man in the woods?"

"Van Heslin. Of course, Devon. I'll help out any way I can." he replied generously. "What do you want to know?"

"Are you certain 'van Heslin' was alone?" "I didn't see anyone, but the way he disappeared into the woods, I..." Morgan reflected on what had happened. "Well, he said he found me because *he* sometimes eats what the wolf-things run down, so I'm inclined to think he was alone."

Devon thought that might be so. "He had only the knife and bow as weapons?"

"He had arrows for the bow, of course." "That goes without saying, Morgan." Devon rubbed her temples. Prior to Morgan's misadventure, she'd been lying on her cot, easing a headache out of existence. Supplies *were* low; no one asked for help with minor pain these days. She posed another question. "Does he know how to cross Uly's River?"

'I should have asked him!' thought Morgan. Aloud, he said, "He didn't mention the river. I didn't think to ask him. Devon, I am sorry."

"You had other things on your mind, like staying alive," said Bess quickly.

"That's true," Devon conceded, inwardly agreeing with Morgan's assessment of himself. "Now, Walman is wandering around out there, tracking him. Do you think he's in any danger?"

"No. Walman's a great poker player, but he's not much of a tracker."

Bess and Devon exchanged a look. Bess said gently, "What about Walman? Is he in danger?"

"Maybe from the briars. Not from van Heslin, judging from my experience. I never felt threatened by him." Much. "But I do think if he'd wanted to meet anyone he wouldn't have left." Morgan winced. It was genuine. The fire in his leg was now more of a campfire than an inferno, but pain is pain.

"What about those dogs?" Devon demanded. Walman and Matazl had lugged the dead one back to camp. Julia was studying it alone, much to the disappointment of the kids.

"Well, they aren't actually dogs," Morgan began pedantically, pushing himself up on his elbows. "They're cowardly creatures, stalking only much smaller animals or those which have been poisoned by the thorns. Unlike wolves or genuine dogs, they don't live in packs, and don't hunt together. And Walman is armed." Morgan paused. "His gear is working?"

"Yes, his gear is fine. He's contacted us twice so far." 'In two hours time, out in the woods by himself, tracking a man who probably is completely at home in the woods. He's picking up John's bad habits.' She looked disgusted.

Morgan misread it. "Devon, I didn't just pull their natural history out of the air." Elaborated a bit, perhaps. "Van Heslin told me, and he strikes me as a man who won't waste the breath to lie. He's not much of a conversationalist."

"What? Oh, yes, I see." Devon nodded, causing her headache to reassert itself. She cut short the interview. "Thank you, Morgan. I'll talk to you again later. You need your rest. You went thru an ordeal out there."

"It's like I said before, we all have to make sacrifices. Feel free to disturb me if you need to," he said nobly. He lay back down carefully.

Their leader smiled another thanks and left. She just didn't feel like coping with Morgan Martin.

"Morgan, honey, I don't think she was doubting you," Bess said gently. "Devon's got a lot on her right now."

He winced again.
"Morgan?" Bess stroked his forehead. "If you're in a lot of pain, I can ask Julia--"

"No," he said, "supplies are getting low." He looked up at his beautiful wife. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and as wise as she was kind. He couldn't believe God had given him such a woman.

God! Morgan remembered his promise. He wondered if God expected him to keep a promise made under such circumstances, under duress, in fact. Bess would say yes. Morgan sighed. She had a closer relationship with the Almighty than he did, and might be right. But Yale would be impartial; Yale could clarify things. Later. Devon was right, Morgan needed his rest.

Devon found Yale comparing maps of the region. He was trying to find discrepancies that might reveal where changes had been made. She looked over his shoulder as he worked, not speaking for the moment.

"We'll certainly need to double the guard, Devon," said Yale. It seems his thoughts had digressed from the maps.

"I know," she replied wearily. "Morgan thinks he'll avoid us, but I'm not taking that for granted."

"Magus has contacted the scouting party. They are returning," he said, "but it will take at best three days for them to reach camp, and until then, half of us will stand guard duty on any given day."

Devon pinched the bridge of her nose, which had no effect on the headache. "Communication was Walman's responsibility," she muttered. She took a breath and sighed. "Do you think we can trust True to help on daywatch?"

"Devon!" Yale, shocked, turned to look at her. He studied her face for humor and found none. "Devon, the situation is certainly not that desperate. We aren't traveling. Teams will have sufficient rest between shifts. And we do have a functional perimeter alarm." He took her hands in his own. "Devon, are you alright?"

She smiled weakly, grateful for Yale's stability. "I wasn't serious. I'm okay. A little worried, overstressed, maybe. The scouting party, out there..."

"A little worried," repeated Yale. The tutor smiled warmly. "John will be fine, Devon. He won't allow anything to prevent their return to us. To you, Devon."

Devon blushed. Altho' the growing affection between John and herself was generally suspected in the camp now, she still felt it was inappropriate. A leader, to her mind, was impartial, except where family was concerned. John was not family. A quick mental image bounced into her head, a sepia-toned photograph from the late nineteenth century, she and John, Uly and True, and John, Jr in her lap. Devon stifled a laugh.

She just wanted to go somewhere private and quietly have a breakdown. How had that man become so important?

Yale looked at her quizzically. She shook her head very slightly, and extricated her hands.

"I'm worried about *all* of us, Yale, and particularly the scouts. *All* of the scouts."

"As you say, Devon," humored Yale. Things weren't the same here as on the stations. Social barriers crumbled, a luxury for those who didn't have to struggle to survive. He couldn't quite understand her aversion to falling in love. Details were sketchy, but he seemed to remember it being a most pleasant experience.

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