Territory by Deb2

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CHAPTER SEVEN
VISITOR

DAY 14
BASECAMP

Danziger rubbed his eyes. Dawn. He looked forward to a few hours sleep after shift change. He noted Bess, his watch partner, manfully shouldering the MagPro. He grinned. Nearly four hours ago, she'd come out to relieve Morgan. Actually, Danziger felt safer with Bess at his back. That woman had a sixth sense. Came from living on the surface all her life, he guessed. She was planet-smart. The open spaces which in the beginning had the rest of them cowering, overtly or otherwise, never fazed her. She'd seen sky, and vast expanses of land. She'd seen it on Earth, protected only by an ecosuit, and here on G889, the little Earthgirl danced where they, the stationborn, stumbled.

John stretched, shaking his head. Waxing poetic. It *must* be the lack of sleep. He wandered to the side of the TransRover and leaned his weapon against it. He popped the lid of one of water barrels, dipped a convenient cooking pot in, and poured the cold water over his head.

It worked. Danziger shook his head vigorously. He wiped the water out of his eyes with his sleeve, and dug a stray couple of drops out of his ears. As John reached for the MagPro, he heard Bess calling softly. From the tone of her voice, she was repeating the call.

He picked up speed, dog-trotting in her direction. Yes, definitely, he was glad Bess was the Martin at his back. Silhouetted against the brightening sky was a man astride a horse.

"Van Heslin," muttered Danziger, drawing up even with Bess. "I imagine so," returned Bess calmly. Danziger strode toward the man, telling Bess over his shoulder to get "the others". She backed away cautiously several feet, turned and walked rapidly into the heart of camp.

The horseman backed away. John stopped. "Who are you?" the mechanic demanded. "What do you want?" "Van Helsing. *You* have been seeking me." He spoke so softly Danziger could barely hear him. The voice was even, almost toneless. Disinterested.

"Yeah," said John. He spoke loudly, to ensure the others heard. "Van Helsing." Morgan had screwed up the name. "Yeah, we've been looking for you."

Baines and obligatory MagPro materialized at the mechanic's side. A detached part of Danziger figured the man must sleep with the thing. Walman, Cameron, Magus soon followed. Bess returned with Morgan, who now carried the weapon.

Their visitor had staged his entrance well. They were looking into the brightening sun. His features were hidden, as were any weapons he carried.

Walman disarmed Morgan. He and Baines moved out on either side of the stranger, as if thinking with one mind. Danziger stepped forward again. Van Helsing moved back. He seemed intent on allowing no one to approach closer than 10 meters.

Devon joined them, squinting against the sunrise. "Mr. van Helsing, I'm Devon Adair, leader of Eden Advance."

The slight inclination of the shadow's head was his acknowledgment.

Devon continued forward. Van Helsing backed up. "Adair, what do you think you're doing?" Danziger grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her against himself.

She grasped the barrel of the MagPro. "What do you think *you're* doing? We need this man's help. Are you planning on shooting it out of him?" Devon pushed it--and John--away in disgust. "Mr. Van Helsing, I apologize for the--the reception."

He didn't respond.
Devon shielded her eyes with her hand. The sun was higher; it impossible to look at the rider. She felt unexpectedly defensive. "We've met some nasty characters here. It's made us a bit distrustful."

"I understand." His voice was soft and pleasant. "We'll be having breakfast shortly, if you'd care to j--" "At gunpoint? No." He added, "Thank you." Edenites glanced at one another, relieved at the refusal. Something about the man raised one's hackles.

"Sir," began their fearless leader, "we pose no danger to you."

No response.
"We crashed on G889 several months ago. We're making our way to our original destination, New Pacifica--"

"Evidently not."
"Granted, we have been camped here for a short time--" "Fourteen days." He bit it out with an impatient bluntness, the first emotion they'd heard in his voice.

Danziger's thoughts raced. Van Helsing had been aware of the Edenites at least since they'd camped. John wondered just when he'd begun keeping tabs on the group. Did he have allies? Where? The mechanic scanned the horizon, concentrating on the shadowy mountains.

"I assure you, we had no intention of camping anywhere longer than overnight. Our maps are inaccurate--,"

"Government provided?"
"Ee..yes," Devon admitted, tho' she was strangely reluctant to do so. "We knew nothing--"

"Yes," observed van Helsing.
Devon swallowed her growing annoyance with the man. She glanced at Danziger; he stood between her and the group, wary, but in control. The last thing they needed was for him to act impulsively. The woman turned back to van Helsing and tried again. "In retrospect, yes, I'd say we were naive; it was foolish to trust them. But we are here, and we will be on our way just as soon as we know where to cross..."

She stopped, irritated by van Hesling. She had the distinct impression he had yawned.

Morgan, distressed by Devon's amateur fumblings, pushed past her. The man was even more reticent than he'd been back in the woods. Morgan stopped about six feet from the horseman, slightly to the north so he wouldn't be looking into the sun. The man shifted, but he didn't back away. Morgan felt encouraged.

"Mr. Van *Helsing*," said Morgan carefully, "I'm usually better with names, the circumstances must have muddled my mind--"

"No doubt," said Van Helsing.
A polite, diplomatic chuckle issued automatically from the station bureaucrat. "I must apologize for confusing--"

"Accepted."
Morgan was no more pleased with the interruptions than Devon had been. He did know how to deal with them, tho', unlike Devon. It was just that the people behind him weren't schooled in the intricacies of diplomatic relationships. Morgan was intentionally allowing Van Helsing to establish dominance, and surely Bess could see that, but the camp...they wouldn't know. He'd have to endure the humiliation for the good of the group. Morgan tried again.

"We need your help, Mr. van Helsing. We need your guidance." An entire statement, whole, complete! It was met with silence for several heartbeats.

"Babes in the wood," observed Van Helsing. Several of the male travelers glanced at the women, then warily back to the horseman. They'd misunderstood the allusion. Devon had not.

"Alright, yes, we *are*," she said. "We need guidance." "Exactly," agreed Morgan heartily. "This is new to us. We've learned a great deal on the way, but we have so much further to go, and so much more to learn."

"Go," he said, as if giving permission. "Leave my territory."

Two sentences. Granted, they were short, but there were two separate sentences. Morgan felt he was accomplishing something. Van Helsing just needed the right handling. "Of course! As soon as we know how to cross the river!"

"Build rafts."
Morgan blinked. Van Helsing looked serious. "That *is* a possibility, but we were thinking more along the lines of... fording the river."

Baines, from his southern vantage point, could see no weapons on the man or the horse. He slowly raised the jumper for a closer look. "Uh-huh," he said under his breath. A quiver was secured to the saddle, directly in front of the rider's leg. Evidently Van Helsing was left-handed. And it appeared he had only the most primitive weapons.

Van Helsing offered another solution. "Head South." He looked directly at Baines, who was more to the Southeast. The technician lowered his jumper and very deliberately repositioned the MagPro. Van Helsing turned his attention back to Morgan.

By now, every adult except Yale had gathered to witness the exchange between Morgan and the mysterious van Helsing. The latter spoke softly; no one in the group risked even a whisper, lest anything be missed.

"South," repeated Morgan. "That will be considered, but the way North appears to be much more suited to our vehicles. Even if it were a longer distance, the smoother terrain--"

Van Helsing leaned over toward Morgan, the only real movement he'd made so far. "Northward, the river runs east to west," uttered so softly only Morgan heard. He sat upright.

"It runs east to west," repeated Morgan, for the benefit of the others. "Down out of the mountains. Of course." He motioned, signaling a desire to move closer to the horseman. The man stiffened, then leaned over again. Morgan spoke very softly, hoping van Helsing could hear. "What about the cannibals?"

"North of the river."
Morgan stepped back, nodding. He'd hoped van Helsing would deny they existed. Morgan had nothing else to say. He looked at Devon and shrugged.

"Van Helsing," she said.
His silhouette once again acknowledged her with a nod. Devon couldn't see him clearly for the glare. She walked slowly to Morgan, gauging the effect it had on the horseman. He backed away, reestablishing the distance of approximately ten feet.

"Devon," said Morgan softly, putting up a warning hand. She felt like she was like trying to capture a wild animal. This man was nothing like Gaal or Shepherd's flock, so far as approaching other humans went. Whether he feared them or abhored them, he wasn't interested in their company. Devon decided to consider that in his favor.

"Mr. van Helsing, our maps are inaccurate. The river isn't even on them. If you could just give us any information you have about the area,--" she pleaded.

"Follow the river South."
Devon tried again. She rephrased, offered explanations, offered payment (at which he laughed aloud, an incongruously merry sound); she attempted to reason with him; his response didn't vary. Build rafts, or follow the river south. Morgan fared no better. Danziger's entry into the discussion caused van Helsing to turn and ride away. Devon vetoed stopping him or following. Even so, only the possibility of being led into an ambush stopped Danziger and Walman.

Danziger was still mulling the name over, examining it from all sides, as it were. Van Helsing. It was an unusual name. He was certain he'd heard it before. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

"Yale," he called.
The older man said something more to the children, probably about being realistic concerning horses, smiled, and answered Danziger's summons. "Yes, John. May I be of some assistance?"

"Yeah, thanks." Danziger crossed his arms and tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed. "Does the name 'van Helsing' mean anything to you?"

"Van Helsing?" echoed the older man. "Yeah, Morgan got his name wrong. 'Van Heslin' is 'van Helsing'."

"Indeed." The tutor considered briefly. He smiled and gently chided Danziger. "John, a teller of ghost stories such as yourself should not have to ask about 'van Helsing'. Have you not read Dracula?"

Danziger stood very upright as the realization hit him. "Doctor van Helsing. The vampire killer."

"I can search my files for other references, if you wish." Danziger shook his head. "Naw. Don't worry about it. Thanks, anyway." He strode away, feeling sheepish.

Yale stood, a finger over his lips, thinking. His curiosity had been piqued.

There was, of course, but one topic of conversation at breakfast. They reviewed everything about van Helsing from his savage appearance to his aristocratic disdain for them. A number of the 'socially disadvantaged' Edenites were rather ashamedly gratified to see Devon treated like a slow-witted child. Nothing personal; just amusing to see one of the elite experiencing what they had all their lives.

Uly and True ran the topic of horses into the ground. They'd seen from the safety of camp a gigantic animal, all but breathing fire. In truth, van Helsing rode quite an average horse, 15 hands high; the man's small stature made the animal seem larger. That didn't matter to the kids; a horse is a horse, and for most of the day, so were they, galloping and prancing throughout and around camp.

Among the adults, the excitement of van Helsing's visit wore off by midmorning. Foraging was limited to the immediate vicinity of home. Most effort was given to preserving what they already had: peeling and slicing the vegetables suitable for drying; culling out the underripe or overripe berries; and splitting some of the tart pods. Bess wasn't sure whether they'd dry completely if left whole. Those who weren't risking their lives foraging sat around a canvas sheet piled with berries, putting the good ones in a pan, and tossing the bad ones over their shoulders. Some of the best were popped into mouths. Uly and True galloped by from time to time to get a handful from the culled pans. They didn't take too many at once, lest they be forbidden to take any.

Devon suggested the topic of van Helsing be dropped until later. It was interfering with people's concentration. Some jobs would have to be done over, especially in the berry culling. She'd emphasized her point by pouring a 'culled' pan out on the canvas sheet. The topic was dropped.

Baines, Danziger, and Walman rigged a dehydrator of sorts. The device was placed centrally in a tent. Whatever could be used as a rack or tray for the food, was. It worked. By evening, the camp smelled wonderful. Bess, Magus and Denner passed out samples of the raisin-like dried berries, which were sweeter, and samples of the split pods, which were, to put it mildly, tarter. Bess, Magus and Denner kept this to themselves. They were greatly amused by the reactions of their companions.

Cameron acted as if nothing unusual was happening to his salivary glands. Maybe he'd gotten a mild one. Maybe he just didn't want to alert the others, since he was first. Danziger, Walman, and Mazatl spit the stuff out; they'd been 'greedy' and taken large pieces. Everyone else managed to swallow it, tho' a few tongues seemed to momentarily forget their role in the operation. The kids had sensed something was up. They didn't eat any until after all the adults had, and then they nibbled off tiny bites. The pods were pretty good that way.

"It's quite astringent," commented Yale, blinking. "Quite!" agreed Devon. She rubbed her jawline. Alonzo cleared his throat. "That's powerful stuff!" Bess, Magus and Denner kindly gave their friends all the water they could drink.

"Well," chirped Bess cheerfully, "shall we eat supper?" "Is it safe?" Morgan snapped.
His lovely wife took his hand. "Oh, Morgan. Would we do something like that again?"

Still, only Bess, Magus and Denner ate with no qualms whatsover.

DAY 14, EVENING
BASECAMP

As the sun sank lower, so did the mood in camp. By the time the stars were out, Eden Advance was tense, alert. With no distractions, van Helsing dominated their thoughts. The children were put to bed. Several of the adults sat together in the dark, idly watching the bugs flying around the few lights scattered just inside the perimeter. The Edenites called them 'moths', altho' there were several unrelated species and none of them resembled what an entomologist would call 'moths'.

"The man's hiding something," Danziger said. "Of course he's hiding something, he's a penal colonist!" Morgan sounded exasperated.

Yale spoke. "His crime could be anything from offending a member of the Council to murder."

Magus shuddered. "Gaal," she muttered. "Yeah," said Danziger. "We're better off assuming he's a murderer."

This was seconded by most of the group. Yale said thoughtfully, "He does not appear psychotic, or even particularly dangerous. With Gaal, there was always a feeling of mistrust."

Danziger jerked around and faced the tutor. "Are you saying you trust this guy?" It wasn't quite a shout, but it did bring Devon out of her tent. She scolded John for disturbing the children and settled herself next to Yale.

"No, John, that isn't what I meant at all. Gaal was too eager to befriend us, thereby arousing suspicion. Yes, he had been isolated for a very long time, but such extreme isolation usually results in the desire to maintain a distance from others." He looked at those seated around him. "Are you familiar with the story of Robinson Crusoe? The novel is based on the experiences of an actual man, marooned alone for years. He returned to his island after finding life in civilization unbearable."

"And because Van Helsing is unfriendly, he's trustworthy?" asked Baines doubtfully.

The general consensus was "no".
Dr. Heller offered a reason for van Helsing's aloofness. "He may fear us as possible vectors."

"Yes," agreed Yale. "That could very well be it." "'Vectors'?" echoed the pilot. "V-e-c-t-o-r-s?" It sounded like the doctor's 'vectors' had nothing to do with direction.

"Disease carriers," defined Julia. "Like mosquitoes." "Yeah? Yeah, that makes sense," said Alonzo. "But he was exposed to Morgan's blood," Bess said. "And maybe it made him sick," suggested Danziger. He smiled at Morgan. "Think so, buddy?"

"How should I know?" Morgan answered sourly. Walman repeated Danziger's statement. "He is hiding something. It may be his past, or it may be something else. He certainly wants us out of his 'territory'." He looked at the others meaningfully.

Agreement murmured through the group. Baines put forth a theory. "Where'd he get that horse? There may be a whole herd of them in these grasslands. And we could use them."

Devon cut short the chorus of agreement Baines' comment had started. "Feeding them--assuming they exist--would present a problem if we encounter more desert." Not 'when', as she'd thought before learning the maps were misleading.

"But we could use them until then and release them where they can forage," said Magus.

"I didn't see any manure out there a horse would've produced," said Cameron.

"You didn't see any manure, period, or you wouldn't have kept stepping in it," observed Alonzo.

"Y'all are assuming we can persuade Van Helsing to tell us where they are, and how to get them, and how to tame them, and how to make bridles, for that matter," Bess pointed out.

"Yale has the specs for bridles and saddles," said Magus. Yale and Devon attempted to halt the discussion on the pros and cons of horses and their procurement--not to mention what they'd make the saddles and bridles from--but it grew louder and more heated as it progressed, until a barefoot Uly wedged his way between Devon and the cyborg, asking eagerly, "We're getting horses? Mom, can I have one of my own?"

Sudden embarrassed silence. The adults, for the most part, became fascinated by the flames. Sheepishness descended like a cloud of gnats. Danziger, who'd sat amused and not joined an argument over imaginary horses, laughed tiredly. He was rescued from a collective glare by True. She placed a small hand on her dad's shoulder and demanded to know, "What's going on?" If Uly was getting a horse, she was getting a horse. No ifs, ands or buts.

"True, you're supposed to be in bed," said Danziger. "Uly's up," replied the ten-year-old, who still held on to the childhood fantasy of fairness in life.

"Uly is supposed to be in bed, also," said Devon, giving her son a look.

"But what about the horses?" whined Uly. "Yeah," said True, knowing instinctively that there is strength in numbers, and with whining kids, the whole is much greater than the sum of its parts.

Danziger pulled his girl in for a quick hug. "We don't know that there are any horses," he said gently.

"Van Helsing has one," said Morgan. He could whine with the best of them, having had ample practice.

Devon and John stared him silent.
"Come on, Uly, back to bed," said Devon as she rose to escort him back to their tent. "Good night," she said. "It's been an eventful day. We all need to get some rest." Which, in effect, was telling the others to go to bed, also.

Devon tucked her son in. She lay her hand atop his head, marveling at the serenity and contentment being with her little boy gave her, even in the most uncertain of times. A lock of his hair wrapped around her finger. Her thoughts drifted maternally, and Devon remembered how unsure she'd been when first nursing him, afraid he wouldn't get enough nourishment. An ancient nurse had told her to let Uly hold her finger when she fed him. The tiny fist grasped tightly, loosening when his belly was full.

"He's really old," said Uly.
"What?" The newborn Uly vanished into memory as Devon tried to follow the nine-year-old's line of thought.

"Mr. van Helsing. He's really, really old." Devon smiled. "Morgan thinks he's about thirty-five or forty; that isn't old, Uly. Yale is nearly twice that age."

Uly frowned. "He's old, Mom," he insisted. "He's older than Yale, or Alonzo, even. He's the oldest person I've ever seen."

"Do you think maybe he's a sleep-jumper?" Uly considered this for a moment. "I don't know. I guess he could be. But I don't think so. He doesn't feel like Alonzo."

"Oh. I see," said Devon. 'Feel like Alonzo'? What was her child sensing? Was this another gift from G889? She didn't understand Uly's relationship with the Terrians, or what they'd done to him. Were still doing to him? She gave Uly's curls one last stroke. "Good night, Ulysses Adair."

Devon kissed his soft, smooth cheek. In another nine years, he'd be shaving. She wondered if the future nine years would go as quickly as the past nine years. Devon blinked back tears as she prepared for bed. Her son would be the first Syndrome child to have need of a razor. What a ridiculous thing to cry over.

Uly watched the roof of the tent as it breathed. He knew it was the wind, but it looked like it was breathing. He sighed. His mom *didn't* see. She didn't understand. Mr. van Helsing was older than Alonzo, but like Yale was old. Uly rolled his eyes. He himself didn't understand how he knew this. He just did.

Sometimes, being part Terrian was a pain.

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