Territory by Deb2

[Reviews - 1]
Table of Contents [Report This]
Printer

- Text Size +

CHAPTER FOUR
REACTION

DAY FIVE evening by the river
BASECAMP

The prior weeks of easy, unthreatened travel had spoiled Eden Advance a bit, and they overreacted to the knowledge of others in the area. Paranoia was taking hold within the group. Baines had evidently developed an obsessive/compulsive need to check the perimeter alarm. No one went anywhere alone; even the men adopted the buddy system when nature called. People were very careful not to startle anyone else, after Bess nearly filleted Walman along with the "fish" provided by True, Uly, and Yale.

As she picked at her supper, Devon reflected on how van Heslin was affecting them. If his treatment of Morgan was indicative, the man was cut from the same cloth as the Elder; however, Baines, Magus, Walman and even Bess didn't think that one incident reason enough to rule out his being another Gaal. They chose to assume he was dangerous, and acted accordingly. Foolhardily, in Walman's case. If Walman had managed to track down van Heslin, and was right about him, likely *his* body would have been dragged home with an arrow thru it. The rest of the camp looked to their leader, and she looked to Yale.

Yale advised a moderate approach. It would be unwise to provoke the man; and it would be unwise not to take precautions. The cyborg thought searching useless; they'd known nothing of van Heslin until he revealed himself, and quite possibly they'd never see him again. Also possibly he'd feel threatened if hunted, and seek to remove the threat, especially if he had a family.

Devon was certain van Heslin was familiar with the area. If he couldn't tell them where to cross the river, he could give them an idea of its course. Yale was probably right about searching for van Heslin. She'd be alarmed in his place. But, would he come to them? Morgan was right. If van Heslin wanted to meet them, he wouldn't have left. Devon twisted the thoughts over and over in her mind.

The campfire gathering that night in no way evoked 'camaradarie'. In the twilight, Julia tapped the bottom of her cup and absently stared at the flames. The animal, which resembled a hyena more than a canine, was edible. She'd know of times when they'd have wolfed it down without question. Full stomachs may have changed that; she herself didn't want to find that thing on the table. There was no telling what *it* found edible. She shuddered, bad memories stirring.

Uly and True sat at Yale's feet, playing tic-tac-toe in the dirt. The cyborg had convinced Devon the children would be less frightened if they knew what was happening. The kids he'd advised to be quiet, lest Devon change her mind.

Devon rose, wordlessly taking command of the gathering. The others fell silent. Aside from Magus, who was nervously braiding and unbraiding stalks of grass, all present looked expectantly at Devon. She made eye contact with each of them, reinforcing the unity of the little group while giving herself time to think.

"I suppose you're all wondering why I called this meeting," she joked, and they chuckled or groaned. Devon took a deep breath and began going over what everyone already knew. "Late this morning, Morgan encountered, from all indications, another penal colonist. Julia thinks that Morgan will recover fully within a few days; it seems that once the source of the toxin is removed, the body neutralizes the remaining toxin. Regarding the man who rescued Morgan, he calls himself "van Heslin". Van Heslin appears to be alone, he is armed with primitive weapons, and is apparently not hostile. Walman found no trace of him."

Several Edenites murmured, but only Magus spoke aloud: "He is *apparently* not hostile?" She looked up from the braiding, challenging Devon with her eyes.

The stare was disturbing. Devon prudently did not respond to it. "Yes. But I am certainly *not* interpreting that to mean he's friendly. As Morgan pointed out, he'd have stayed if he wanted to meet us."

"What about that dog?" asked Baines irritably. Walman had taken 'his' MagPro and left him standing there buck naked. Or so it seemed.

"Yeah, doc, what'd you find out?" seconded Mazatl. "Julia?" said Devon, relieved to yield the floor. Dr. Heller's first remark was a correction. "It's more hyena than canine, and that only superficially. The internal structures are quite different. For example, alongside the salivary glands are sacs of 'anti-venom', for the lack of a better word. This permits the animal to feed on other animals which have been poisoned by the thorns. It fits with what Morgan said about their hunting methods."

"Amazing," commented Yale. "Generally in such an arrangement, both parties benefit. I wonder what the plant gains." He looked speculatively at Julia.

"I don't know. Fertilizer, maybe." "That 'anti-venom': do you think it might counteract koba stings?" asked Baines.

"I don't know," repeated Julia.
"You don't know. Overeducated chromotilt and you don't know," muttered Baines, picking at the doctor in lieu of Walman.

Julia glared at him. It was just under the surface, then, bias against chromotilts. Did he speak only for himself? "Mr. Baines," she replied politely, "in order to determine the effectiveness of the 'anti-venom', I need a fresh sample of the venom. Perhaps *you* should antagonize a koba." She smiled.

Except for Yale and Devon, the campers, particularly the children, were watching the show with great interest. Devon was disturbed by the conflict. She thought they'd overcome the prejudices born in the stations. Months of literally depending on each other to survive had forced them to see the person, not the status, or the background.

"That's enough!" she said firmly. The look she gave Julia and Baines was one Uly recognized. He studied the reactions of the chastened grownups. Wow.

"Thank you. Julia, is there anything else you want to add?" The doctor shrugged and offhandedly replied, "It's edible." The consensus, if expressions meant anything, was, "Thanks, but no thanks, please pass the whiteroot."

"I believe," said Yale, wisely changing the subject, "you recovered the arrowhead, Julia?"

"I gave it to you!" she said, pushing hair behind her ear. Her tone was concerned and defensive.

"Ah, so you did." He smiled and pulled a folded bit of canvas from inside his shirt. Carefully, the tutor unfolded the bundle. Yale knew how to get and hold attention. After all, he taught children.

The children he was currently teaching stood up, game forgotten and soon scuffed out of existence as they watched Yale's hands. "Move back, Uly, True; you are not the only curious ones here," he said gently. If only they found their day to day lessons as fascinating!

"And here it is," he announced, seeming for all the world a magician. He tilted his palm so that the arrowhead caught the firelight. The glimmer and sheen made the artifact seem more jewel than weapon. "It appears to be a form of obsidian. The edges are razor sharp," he warned, passing it, nestled in the canvas, to Devon.

"The tip has been broken off," she observed. "It was lodged in a 'rib' on the left side of the chest," explained Julia. "The arrow entered the right side, slicing through the corresponding bone."

"It wasn't poisoned?" asked Mazatl, taking the offered bundle and studying it, shifting the stone. The arrowhead was a beautiful thing in the firelight.

"No," replied Julia. "As sharp as it is, I guess that isn't necessary."

As the small piece of obsidian made the rounds, the group wondered about its beauty, its source, and if van Heslin had fashioned it himself. All agreed that Grendlers weren't built to handle bows and arrows. Upon its return to him, Yale rewrapped the arrowhead and gave it to Julia. The kids hadn't been allowed to touch it; they kept the disappointment unspoken, mindful of Yale's advice.

The group sat in silence again, reluctant to separate. Julia began tapping her cup, realized how loud it sounded, and stopped. Uly yawned; True nudged him in the ribs, knowing they'd both be sent to bed if an adult thought one of them was sleepy. That was another reason she missed her dad. She stayed up later than Uly, when Dad was home.

"The only thing certain is that we don't know only one person is out there," mused Devon, thinking out loud.

Mazatl disagreed. "I think it's certain we have got to find that man. If he's dangerous we need him where we can see him--"

"Or dead," interjected Magus with a heartless practicality that caused Devon to cringe inside.

Mazatl nodded his agreement and continued. "--if he isn't dangerous, you, Devon, said we need his help crossing the river."

"And just how do we tell the difference? Do we just walk right up and ask him if he's dangerous?" asked Julia.

"Try to be more constructive, will you, Julia?" griped Baines. He began tapping his empty cup, coldly regarding Julia.

Julia sat up straight, clutching her own cup much tighter than need be. "It's a legitimate question! It *is* a point we must consider! How can we know for sure he is or isn't a threat?"

"Keep it down, Heller," Walman recommended from the dark. Bess's voice from the shadows scattered them. "Y'all make real good targets sitting around that fire."

They regrouped outside the light, huddling closer and speaking in hushed tones. Bess's use of the word 'targets' had spooked them. Yale shooed the children bedward.

Devon missed Danziger. His often negative input served to focus her thinking. She rubbed her forehead. Devon could feel the eyes of 'her' people.

"Everyone, we have endured a very trying day. The wisest course is to post guards, and get some sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning."

After the group dispersed, Devon stood for a time at the door of her tent. Yale joined her, a silent companion. Suddenly, she laid a hand on his arm.

"Yes, Devon?" he asked softly.
"What's happening to us, Yale? We've faced worse than this, and stood together. This bickering...it's getting out of hand, it's malicious, stronger than during our first weeks on G889. I thought we'd outgrown our station prejudices."

Yale squeezed Devon's hand. "A number of our group hope to return to the valley. A few don't want to leave at all. And now, van Helsin. He is a fly in the ointment. So, we take our frustrations out on one another. At least, that is what I think."

"Do you want to return to this valley, Yale?" "I would not be adverse to establishing a colony here," he said honestly. When Devon made no reply, he said goodnight.

She remained outside and missed the conversation between Uly and True after they'd been tucked in (a ritual which True tolerated, and made sure they were well aware she was simply tolerating). Yale, preparing for bed himself, heard clearly only because he'd come to quiet the whispering kids, and stopped, listening.

"We don't *how* to make bows and arrows," Uly protested. "We can find out," insisted True. "When we find that man, we can get him to teach us."

Uly's reply was doubtful. "I don't think the Terrians want us to find him."

"The Terrians?" True was intrigued. Yale heard the sheets rustling as she sat up. "Why not?"

"I don't know," said the boy. "But they don't want us to find him. And they won't let us stay here, or come back, either."

"Then why didn't the Terrians stop us from coming here in the first place?" demanded True.

Uly was slow in answering. "The Terrians didn't expect him to let us know about him, or something. They thought he'd hide or run away."

"Why?" encouraged the girl. This was almost as good as one of her dad's stories.

"I don't know," Uly said matter-of-factly. "Maybe they thought he'd be afraid of us." Sheets rustled again as the boy's imagination kicked in and he sat up in excitement. "Or maybe, maybe he's a ghost, and he drowned in the river years and years ago--"

"No, he got eaten by the hyenas!" suggested True. "Yeah!" agreed Uly. "And he didn't really save Morgan's life, he just took over his body--"

"Children, it is time to sleep," announced Yale. "And ghost stories are not conducive to restful nights."

The kids settled down, each continuing to silently add to the tale. They'd talk about it tomorrow.

Yale pondered what he'd heard. Was it entirely the boy's imagination? Probably not. He decided to tell Devon in the morning. She needed to sleep.

SCOUTS

Darkness didn't stop the scouts. The path was clear, beaten relatively smooth by millions of hooves. Denner and Cameron dozed in the back, jarred awake whenever the 'Rail hit a rough spot. Alonzo rode shotgun. Or MagPro, as Cameron had joked when 'Lonz took over the job.

The pilot smiled grimly. The adrenaline rush was long gone, leaving determination. Funny, how, in a place he'd never intended to be, doing what he'd no idea he could do, or how to do it until he did, that he felt more in control of his life than ever. Alonzo looked at the stars. The twin moons outshone many of the lesser magnitudes tonight. Too bad. Stars, he thought, are meant to twinkle. It takes planetary atmosphere to bring them to life. Hey, that's pretty good. Gotta remember it, use it on Julia.

Julia was something else he hadn't planned on. Danziger wasn't much company. He concentrated on the machine, listening for anything he shouldn't hear. If John was right, the DuneRail was good for another hour and a half at their present speed. Then they'd stop for a while, letting the engine cool down. Alonzo's body looked forward to the rest. He himself wanted to keep going.

Night insects chirped and chirred happily. Eden group called them 'crickets'. Devon, of all people, had owned a pet cricket as a child. He'd have thought the Adairs would own dogs or cats. They could afford them. But, a very young Devon Adair had been fascinated by the idea of crickets being lucky. She decided she couldn't go to sleep without the sound of a real cricket, so her folks had gotten her a (unbeknownst to himself) sterile male.

The night was uncomfortably cool when the mechanic finally, and unwillingly, brought the machine to a halt. The team crawled out, stretching. Danziger inspected the 'Rail meticulously by Luma-lite while the others set up the tent. No one mentioned building a fire. They hardly spoke at all.

Cameron contacted Eden Advance. Morgan was better. Walman had returned at dusk with no news. There was no sign of anyone outside of 'family'. True was fine; she was with Devon. As for the elves, Morgan had explained that van Heslin reminded him of an elf: he was a small, slender man. Seemed to be a penal colonist. Morgan was almost certain he was alone.

The scouts slept three (or unintentionally, four) at a time. They were exhausted and slept soundly in spite of the chill.

BASECAMP
DAY SIX thru DAY NINE by the river

Devon was wrong. Things were not clearer in the morning. 'Things' weatherwise could hardly have been more obscured. Sometime before dawn, clouds had barreled in, cramming as many as possible into one space. A good number of the clouds were forced so close to the surface, they were in danger of becoming fog.

The rain began a few hours after the unseen sunrise. It rained. Steadily. It rained with a 'water-torture' persistence. There was no wind; evidently, this was to be the weather of the day, unchanging in tempo or strength.

Yale spoke to Devon briefly first thing in the morning. He emphasized the possibility of Uly's imagination being solely responsible for the past night's conversation. However...

"If the Terrians are involved in this, it complicates matters further," finished Devon. She wrinkled her brow, thinking.

"When Uly wakes, speak to him about it." She did. She allowed the kids time to eat, then sat them both down on the cot across from hers.

True glanced over to Uly, questioning him with her eyes. He shrugged. Probably they were in some kind of trouble again. It was a lot easier to get in trouble here, where his body did pretty much what he wanted it to. Or maybe they weren't in trouble at all; maybe Morgan had died in the night.

"Uly, I want you to think very hard, and tell me the truth," began Devon.

True carefully set her features on 'neutral'. Her mind raced as she tried to think of anything they'd--or she'd--done lately which would displease Devon. It was harder to narrow things down with her. Little stuff her dad would ignore, Uly's mom blew all out of proportion.

"You aren't in trouble," she assured them, belatedly. "Uly, have you been in contact with the Terrians recently?"

The boy looked over at his 'lightning stick' by the door, and back to his mom. "No, not really."

"Yale heard you talking about van Heslin last night. He thought you said the Terrians didn't want us to talk to him."

"Oh, they don't," agreed Uly. Pensivefully he added, "I don't know why."

Devon felt rather uneasy. "If you haven't been in contact with the Terrians, how do you know they want us to stay away from him?"

"I just know. Sometimes they just tell me things." "In dreams?"
Uly shrugged. "I guess so. But not like Alonzo's dreams. I just know how they feel, sometimes."

Devon wasn't comforted by his explanation. Her son's link with the Terrians puzzled her. The boy's unquestioning acceptance of the change in himself was not shared by the mother.

"They want us to go away from here, now," Uly volunteered. "Now? Since we know about Mr. van Heslin?" "Sort of. They really don't want us to be here, anyway." "But they didn't stop us from coming here." "That's what I said," said True, feeling, well, a bit jealous, maybe. Left out. After all, she'd been part of last night's conversation. "They figured the guy in the forest would hide."

"Hide?" repeated Devon. She looked from one child to the other.

"I think so." Uly wrinkled his brow in a manner quite like his mother's. Yale smiled. "The Terrians *assumed* he'd stay far away from us. He's supposed to be afraid of other people, or something."

Devon pondered, much as Yale had the night before. Her boy did have a very creative mind, a trait common to Syndrome children. "Are you certain the Terrians told you this?"

"Sure, Mom," replied Uly. "Who else would?" "She wants to know if you made it up," said the older and more perceptive True, unwisely. Even more unwise was her disgusted expression. Too late, the child settled the neutral mask back into place. Devon's expression was not neutral.

"No, Mom, I didn't make it up! We have to leave, soon. And we have to leave Mr. van Heslin alone."

Devon and Yale silently consulted one another. "Alright," said Devon. "But let's not say anything about this to the rest of group. Okay? Not until after John and Alonzo and Cameron and Denner get back." She looked at True, who was rubbing at a spot on her shirt. "True?" The girl sulkily raised her head. Devon smiled warmly. "We'll just keep it secret for now. That's only fair."

True brightened, and nodded. They could tell the scouts over gear, but if agreeing with Devon would get her out of trouble, sure, let's keep it secret.

As it turned out, True was subjected to a gentle lecture from Yale later in the day. He agreed she was a lot more grownup than other 10-year-olds, but explained she needed to mind what she said and did. It made some adults uncomfortable to have a child speaking to them as if they were the same age. Funny how the tutor's reasoning made her feel more ashamed than her dad's yelling.

During the night, the temperature rose and the rain gave way to heavy mist. The guards sat together in the middle of camp, facing the compass points. Patrolling was worse than useless. By what passed for dawn, the rain was back, harder than before and just as steady. It was a more unpleasant day. The saturated ground refused to absorb the water, which pooled most inconveniently. The group switched around people and things, leaving the moisture resistant and seldom used items in the water-carpeted tents.

Eden Advance huddled miserably, enduring the confinement, passing time by viewing VR programs or playing cards, easing the tension by biting each others' heads off. Yale repaired Morgan's defective gearset and presented Bess with the farewell recording her husband had made; she viewed it several times, then tucked the tiny disc away for safekeeping. Morgan recounted his adventure with remarkably few embellishments. It didn't change much from one telling to another. And another. And another.

It wasn't raining *hard*. It was raining constantly. As the day progressed, the temperature became quite warm. Inside the tents was almost as damp as outside. On the third day, with the exception of the children, the group ignored the wet and went about their business. Most shucked as much clothing as was decent. The kids remained inside, bribed with all the VR they could stand.

News from the scouts wasn't encouraging. The weather was slowing them down a lot. If what they'd met with so far was any indication, it would be five, maybe six days 'til they'd be home.

On the fourth day, the rain moved out, pushed by strong winds. Two tents went over, and the wind scattered most of the contents throughout the camp and beyond. Everything was recovered, but all was not salvageable.

Devon, balancing on a tussock of grass, looked about her. She noted the state of the camp and its inhabitants. The wind, destructive as it was, had cooled the air. Now, in the calm, the temperatures again climbed, and the humidity increased. Devon wondered if the moisture gluing her clothes to her skin was perspiration or condensation. She snorted. "So much for Paradise."

You must login (register) to review.