Genellan: Planetfall Part 26

"I'm embarra.s.sed," she replied.

"You mean embarra.s.sing," Fenstermacher chuckled. Dawson' s thrown boot missed badly.

Wilson stood up. "I used to sing. I remember some old songs." "Don't go singing beer-drinking songs," Shannon jibed. "Yes! Keep it clean, Gunner," Buccari requested.

"He can't even breathe and do that," Fenstermacher needled. Everyone laughed as Wilson chased Fenstermacher into the cold pa.s.sageway. Buccari turned back to the dweller writings and pondered the future. It was going to be a long winter. She looked up to see MacArthur staring at her. MacArthur grinned bashfully and turned away, his color rising. No one but Buccari noticed.

Dawson and Wilson began harmonizing an ancient carol. Soon all were singing, and it was beautiful.

Chapter 29.

Spring The alpine lake in MacArthur' s Valley was large, a full day's hike to circ.u.mnavigate. At its southern end, on the eastern side, a finger of forest protruded, forming a cove. Wooded islets protected the mouth of the harbor. MacArthur had seized on the locale early in his explorations. Besides sheltered access to the lake, there was an abundance of wood-evergreen and hardwood-and the soil seemed favorable for planting. But the primary attraction was the spring, an irrepressible knuckle of sweet water bubbling from the ground. It flowed energetically across flower-margined stones to the cove's sandy beach.

"Ouch, this water's cold," Goldberg said, squatting next to the gurgling spring, rinsing fish entrails from her hands. Fat lake fish lay beheaded and gutted on the rocks. A hunter perched near-by, watching with obvious interest. Dawson had named him Bluenose.

"Chief Wilson's got a pot of water on the fire," Dawson said, cleaning her knife in the sand. "Let's see if we can clean off some of this smell."

"I feel like I've been gutting fish all my life," Goldberg moaned.

"Cheer up," Dawson said, throwing Bluenose a piece of fish. The hunter deftly caught it in his long jaw and swallowed it whole. "Hudson says today is our anniversary. We've been here one Earth year."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" Goldberg asked, looking up at the sound of a tree cras.h.i.+ng to the ground. Tookmanian and Schmidt were clearing timber up the hill. Downhill, near the cove beach, Lee and Mendoza tilled black, muddy soil, only recently uncovered by receding lake waters. Oneof the tall dwellers-a gardener-scurried about, hoe in hand and a satchel of seeds about its neck.

"Give me a hand, little momma," Dawson pleaded, collecting her gear, including a pistol. At least one person in every work group was armed; the cove's largest drawback was the number of Gargantuan bears that still considered it their territory. Two grizzled monsters had already paid with their truculent lives; their furs stretched on tanning frames downwind from the tents.

"d.a.m.n, Nancy, are you getting big!" Goldberg exclaimed, helping the awkward Dawson to her feet, both ladies grunting like teamsters. Dawson' s clothes no longer fit, and she was draped with loose furs and hides. Makes.h.i.+ft robes s.h.i.+fted indelicately as Dawson gained her feet. Above a pair of men's s.p.a.ce boots rose the twin pillars of her bare white legs, sharply-muscled and covered with fine red hair. A tangle of pelts attempted to cover her heavy-boned frame and distended belly. Her freckled, coa.r.s.e features were sunburned. An explosion of fiery red hair shot from her head.

"A pregnant cave woman!" Goldberg hooted.

"Don't tease, Pepper!" Dawson pleaded. "You ain't no bargain."

"Thank you," Goldberg replied with exaggerated sophistication, posturing a lean body that had been made hard and wiry by unending work.

"Let's haul this bear bait up to the tents," Dawson said, eyeing the opportunistic hunter. "Can't leave it here."

"I stink," Goldberg whined, putting the cleaned fish into a basket. They walked uphill to the tent circle, where the odors of wood smoke and leather blended flagrantly. Fenstermacher, laboring with strips of precious hide, sat on the ground next to the cook fire. He struggled to st.i.tch two strips together, binding them around a wooden frame.

"Brat's awake," Fenstermacher grumbled, concentrating on his work. "She's making noises. Already makes more sense than her old man, but what ain't smarter than a Marine?"

"Thanks for watching her, Winnie," Goldberg said, putting the fish next to the fire and taking a dipper of hot water. After was.h.i.+ng the scales from her hands, Goldberg leaned into one of the tents. Honey lay on her back, nestled in furs, playing with her toes. Goldberg leaned over and grabbed the brown infant, saddling it on her hip.

A layer of clouds scudded darkly overhead, threatening more rain. They had already seen one ferocious storm. Goldberg draped a plush nightmare skin over Honey's back. The baby clung tightly to her mother.

"I can't believe Shannon is letting you use those hides to build a boat," Dawson said. "What a waste."

Fenstermacher squinted in concentration, a length of rawhide in his mouth. He mumbled something obscene.

A monotonous thumping drifted across the clearing; Tookmanian and Schmidt still labored at the forest's edge, their axes arcing in the sharp light. Uphill from the tents, near the gus.h.i.+ng springhead, sat Chief Wilson, his ample bottom firmly planted on a stump carved into a chair, a dweller ax at his feet. Buccari and Shannon stood with him, gesturing with sweeping motions. Tonto, Buccari's ubiquitous companion, perched on a fallen log.

"Hey, Chief," Goldberg shouted, "I'm tired of women's work. All we do is sew and clean fish."

Wilson and Buccari turned. Shannon was already facing the women, his eyes affectionately on Dawson. Wilson was wet with perspiration.

"Too d.a.m.n bad, Goldbrick!" Wilson snapped. "I don't know what to say. Here!" He reached down and grabbed the ax, throwing it at Goldberg's feet. Tonto' s head jerked upwards. "Take my job and chop and haul those logs. I'll be happy to do a little sewing. Yeah! And after I get some sewing done, I'll still have time for my other job. Yeah! Real man's work-cooking!"

"Whoa, Gunner! Easy does it," Buccari interjected. Her auburn ponytail, streaked from the sun, twitched across her shoulders. "Goldberg wasn't trying to make trouble."

"Hrmmph," Wilson snorted. "She never tries tries to." to."

"You hit Chief Wilson at the wrong time, Pepper," Buccari said. "Be patient. You have a baby to take care of, and Dawson' s not in shape to do much of anything. Give it time."

"Sure, Lieutenant," Dawson jumped in. "Gosh, Chief! Didn't know you'd lost your sense of humor, or we would've been extra special nice to you, just like we usually are."

"Pick on someone your own size, Dawson!" Wilson snarled.

"That's more like it," Dawson replied. She winked at Shannon, put her arm around Goldberg's back and gently pushed her up the hill.

"Come on, Trouble, let's go see how the guys are doing," Dawson said. The two ladies continued walking, leaving the tent clearing. Goldberg s.h.i.+fted the baby to her other hip and readjusted her furs as they walked into the forest toward the quarry where most of the men were hewing rocks. Large-boled trees and thick underbrush lined both sides of the climbing path.

"The b.i.t.c.h!" Goldberg spit.

"Pardon me?" Dawson replied. "You can't-"

"Bulls.h.i.+t! Who's she to tell us to be patient!" Goldberg snapped. "She's the boss man. An officer! She has no idea what it's like for us."

"Come on, Pepper! Enough," Dawson replied.

"She's not one of us. She doesn't know what it's like to be treated like a woman! We get all the c.r.a.p jobs, and she gets to be king s.h.i.+t!"

"Slow down, Goldie. You're not making sense." Dawson grabbed her large belly and inhaled.

"I'd like to see her pregnant. That'd get her off her high horse...the b.i.t.c.h."

"Pepper! That's not right!" Dawson stopped. "We're lucky she's strong. You wouldn't want her job, not even for a ticket home. She's got all of us to worry about! And how would you like to try and tell these muscleheads how to act? You think that's easy? She's doing it! And they listen to her. She's the boss!" Dawson belched.

"She outranks everybody. They have to listen," Goldberg reb.u.t.ted.

"Nonsense! If Buccari showed even the slightest weakness, they'd run over her like dogs. It'd be the law of the jungle, and you know it." Dawson hiccoughed.

"But-" Goldberg started to say.

"n.o.body got us pregnant but ourselves!" Dawson interrupted, hiccoughing again.

"Didn't know you could get pregnant by yourself," Goldberg retorted.

"You know what I mean. The law's on your side. Until you get pregnant. And then the responsibility's all yours. You take the consequences. Right? Give Buccari credit for not getting pregnant. Give her a lot of credit. I bet she's been having a tough time."

"n.o.body would have her. It'd be like humping mud...frozen mud."

Dawson laughed. "That wouldn't stop these Marines. She's smart and she's gorgeous, and you know it. You're just jealous." Goldberg started crying, and so did Honey.

"Come on, Pepper," Dawson said softly. "I'm sorry, but it's just not fair to pick on Buccari." Dawson pulled Honey away from her mother.

"You're right," Goldberg sobbed. "But I'm tired of being cold and dirty. I'm tired of cleaning fish-of eating fish. Oh, Nancy, we're never going to be rescued."

"Oh, Pepper," Dawson said. "Who knows? But getting down on Buccari isn't going to help matters. She needs our help." She put an arm around Goldberg's shoulders and pulled her close. Goldberg stiffened, but the embrace was irresistible; the fetus kicking in Dawson' s womb became a shared sensation, and Goldberg's short arms moved reluctantly around Dawson' s tall waist.

Doworn.o.bb and Kateos flew as loading crew for the fuel-staging flights. They were on the fourth and final leg of the last staging flight, prepositioning barrels of fuel for subsequent search flights. Scientist Lollee was the pilot and Et Avian the copilot. Their destination was a large, steep-sided plateau that Lollee had been to once before-four years earlier.

"Et Silmarn told us about flying creatures that live in the mountains along the river," Kateos said. "Mountain flyers. Have you seen them?" Kateos leaned over the backs of the pilots. Doworn.o.bb slept on the floor of the pa.s.senger compartment.

"Three times," Lollee answered. "But always from the abat. You only find them in the far north. Very elusive-they soar on the updrafts, reaching remarkable alt.i.tudes." He adjusted trim and reset the autopilot to track the river channel.

"The official reports are from the early days," Lollee continued. "In the early days mountain flyers and other Genellan animals were hunted for their fur. Mountain flyers were found in abundance, even in the south, but their numbers were greatly reduced during the fur harvests. An ugly business."

"Et Silmarn joked about the creatures' intelligence," Kateos said.

"No joke," Lollee replied. "They possess intelligence. Some were found wearing leather garments and carrying weapons. I have seen pictures of their relics. Early science teams spent time in the northern lat.i.tudes looking for rare metals, but an organized science expedition has not come this far north in nearly two hundred years."

"Why has there not been more exploration?" Kateos asked. "I should think we would want to find out more about these creatures."

"Our government does not want to expend the resources. It is difficult and expensive to support extended operations this far north-and dangerous. The upper Corlian Valley is an unforgiving place," Lollee responded. "Herds of musk-buffalo abound. Your breathing units will not help around musk-buffalo. Huge bears, too! There are many, many bears in the river valley, not to mention predator lizards, real abats, and growlers. You must be wary at all times. And the volcanoes in the Corlian Valley have high sulfurous gas emissions. And it is very, very cold. A most treacherous region."

The river curved in a wide arc to the west, and Lollee banked the craft to follow its course. The sun, setting behind the majestic mountains, shone like spun gold through wispy auroras of blown snow.

Buccari stood on the lodge site discussing building plans with MacArthur and Shannon. Lizard stood at her shoulder, stylus and parchment in hand. Two guilder stone carvers watched and listened, their tools laid neatly before them. Tonto and X.O. waddled uphill from the cove. With ear-splitting suddenness, the two hunters screamed, whipped out their membranes, and pounded into the air. The guilders jumped with alarm and hopped about nervously, clasping bony hands together. MacArthur leapt to his feet, his eyes jerking skyward. Buccari started to speak, but then her ears also detected the sound. It took a second for her brain to process the mechanical signal. An airplane engine! An airplane engine!

"Airplane!" she shouted. "Get under the trees! Kill the fire!" The aircraft appeared from behind the valley's northeast rim, still catching the full light of the sun, starkly white against the deep blue sky. So civilized in appearance, so familiar in design and function-it was difficult not to run into the open, yelling and screaming, difficult not to throw armfuls of wood on the fire, signaling the craft to return, to rescue them from their barbarism. But it was not a rescuer. It was the enemy. The airplane's undeviating course carried it along the river and out of sight to the west. The sound of its engine echoed from the high mountains long after it had disappeared.

The campfire had been small, and Wilson doused it completely with a large pot of water. The valley was emerged in shadows; it was unlikely the plane's occupants observed the cloud of steam.

The earthlings recovered from their amazement, dropped their tools, and converged on the camp area. Tonto and X.O. dropped from the sky. The other cliff dwellers joined them, chattering intently. Within minutes, everyone was a.s.sembled around the smoldering campfire, looking like frightened children.

"Have they found us?" MacArthur asked.

"They're close," Buccari replied. "It's taken them long enough."

"What do we do, Lieutenant?" Chastain asked, for everyone present.

Buccari looked at the worried faces and tried to hide her own fear. "There's not much we can do," she said, straining her troubled mind for a plan. "No fire-at least tonight. We have plenty of dried fish and biscuits." She stooped and picked up a rock.

"We've talked about this before, and I keep arriving at the same conclusion. Sooner or later we'll confront them." She sat down on a stump. "When that time comes, we must not show hostility or aggression, and-this is the hardest-we must not show fear. We must appear strong and confident, yet cooperative."

"What happens if they start shooting?" boomed Tatum.

Buccari looked down at her feet, hiding her face behind a fall of copper-bronze hair. She swept the sun-streaked tresses behind an ear.

"We'll probably die," she said, lifting her chin.

The humans stirred nervously. Hudson jumped to his feet.

"We can't run and we can't hide-for long," he said. "We can try to stay hidden for as long as possible, but once they find us, they'll catch us. We can't fight them."

"Why can't we hide?" MacArthur asked. "This is a big planet. They don't live here."

"Several problems," Buccari responded, looking into the Marine's serious face. "They'll narrow down the search area. Then our biggest problem comes into play-we're a group. Maybe Mac, you by yourself, and possibly the Marines as a group, could avoid detection and capture indefinitely, although I wouldn't give good odds. The only way to survive the winter is to be prepared, and that means building shelters and raising crops while the sun s.h.i.+nes- activities that leave big tracks." She glanced around the clearing, noting the straight lines and clutter of their nascent settlement.

"The rest of us are less adapted to running and fighting," she continued. "Sooner or later we'll leave a trail that brings them to us. When that time arrives, when they show up, we must show strength, strength of character. And then be prepared for the worst."

"It's better to fight," Tatum said. "Can't the rest of you adapt?"

"Look at Goldberg and that little baby! Look at Dawson!" Buccari almost shouted. "Try to tell me you can run and fight with that on your hands."

Tatum looked at his feet.

"Once you start shooting at them, you become their enemy," Buccari said, pressing the point. "And they will hunt you down."

"But they shot at us, in s.p.a.ce," Chastain complained.

"It's their system. They make the rules," Buccari answered. "We have a chance of convincing them we mean no harm. That's our best hope. You shoot at them, and I guarantee you'll p.i.s.s them off, and then we're all dead. Or worse."

"Shouldn't we go looking for them-the aliens?" O'Toole asked. "I'd rather find them before they found us."

"Yeah! We could take them out!" Tatum said, fire in his eyes. His tone surprised Buccari. Tatum, even with one arm, was transforming back into a soldier, a trained performer of mayhem. She looked at the Marines and noted similar transformations in all of them; an enemy was near. They were not listening. She looked to Shannon for support.

"O'Toole!" Shannon snapped. "How much ammunition-?"

"Sergeant!" Buccari snapped louder. "Come with me." She pivoted on her heel and marched to the cove beach. Shannon followed.

"Bad move, Sergeant," Buccari said when she was out of earshot of the crew. "You don't know where the plane went, or even if it landed." The waters of the cove were mirror flat. Two gaudy ducks navigated across the serene cove opening, creating smooth and persistent wakes. On the far bank of the lake, seen through the opening of the cove inlet, a herd of lake elk watered, at peace and unafraid.

"Sir," Shannon insisted, "there can't be many bugs on this planet. We take out the airplane, we buy time-weeks, maybe months. Perhaps the difference between being rescued or not."

"I understand. I don't agree, but I understand. Why not just lay low?" she asked, trying to stay calm.

"And I understand your point of view, Lieutenant," Shannon said. "Commander Quinn told me I needed to make the decisions for the Marines. I would like to exercise that professional discretion, sir. We're not in a Legion s.p.a.cecraft, now. We're fighting for our lives-on the ground. That's my job."