Junction

by Daniel M. Bensen

  “Is it safe to touch with my boot?” he asked.

  Once Anne had assured him it was, Daisuke proceeded to prod the alien corpse with his toe. It flopped over, the size and shape of a child’s fist, the eye-stalks and frills on each end of its tube-shaped body as ragged as old leather. Below it was mucus and dead grass. No maggots or other carrion eaters, as if the worm had bled poison. In a way, it had.

  “Tell me what you smell,” Anne instructed. She was squatting in the grass, looking up at him with her blonde hair and honey-colored eyes.

  Daisuke tried to think more about the chemicals assaulting his nose and less about the freckles on the bridge of hers. “I smell yogurt,” he said. “Grass. Strong alcohol.”

  “Correct,” said Anne. “At first I thought the alcohol might be just a by-product of its metabolism, like with yeast? Now I think treeworm biology actually uses the stuff as a solvent.” She chuckled. “Which means they must have some pretty wild structural compounds.”

  Daisuke was beginning to see how he would be able to get Anne to relax on camera. Like most technical specialists, she got so few chances to talk about her interests with normal people that she needed barely any encouragement to lecture. Now he just needed to preserve this energy while they were filming. Perhaps the little cameras they had around their necks would get her used to the big one Rahman used.

  Anne shoved herself to her feet, puffing a little in the gravity. “And that’s not all. Look over here!”

  Daisuke watched her, feeling a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. How long had it been since he had taken it upon himself to explore a new environment? Back in his show’s first season, when he’d just been a voice speaking from behind the camera? Then it had turned out that viewers liked watching Daisuke fling himself at dangerous organisms. At the time, he’d thought he did too. Not that any of the video the wallet-sized bodycams captured would be usable. Daisuke didn’t even try to angle the inadequate little lens at Anne or the objects of her study. He just…wanted her to tell him more. There was nothing he would rather do on this chilly, high-gravity, odd-smelling morning.

  Pearson had called Imsame a village, but it wasn’t really. The place was only currently full of people because the Nun had been displaced from their permanent home on Earth. On their walk here, Anne had explained what Tyaney had told her: the Nun weren’t supposed to live in Imsame, but worship here. And in this case, ‘worship’ meant ‘build dams’.

  Nun dams were man-high, crescent-shaped walls across the river, linked together to create a series of pools shaped like the scales of a fish. Holes could be opened in these walls to let in water, then closed to allow the settling-out of detritus from the treeworm forest upstream. The Nun carefully collected sewage and agricultural waste from the Terran ecosystem, which they dumped into the pools, killing any alien organisms that might be living in them. A stinking pool became a pond, then a marsh, then finally a grassy space on which the Nun could plant windbreak trees, sheltering and feeding pigs and game birds. After enough time, the soil was ready for crops, and the human-friendly ecology thus ground slowly upstream, a green and leafy glacier.

  Daisuke walked over to where Anne squatted over another dark lump. This second treeworm had decomposed into a little mound covered in lurid green growth, which extended maybe a centimeter onto the soil around it. Another centimeter out and the ground was brown and dead, then a more normal green, dotted with tiny Earthly plants and the tracks of insects and birds.

  “Ah.” Daisuke groped for vocabulary he hadn’t used since college. “That is succession.”

  “In both directions,” said Anne. “See the alien algae growing on the contaminated soil? We’re looking at the border in a very small war.”

  Daisuke smiled. “Is our side winning?”

  “Oh yes,” said Anne. “Thanks to the Nun. Here’s a trick I learned from them.”

  She spit on the ground. Daisuke, thinking of Amazonian chicha-making parties, watched as the spongy alien growth under Anne’s saliva changed from the color of absinthe to the color of old ivory. Creatures the size of grains of rice tumbled, writhed, and inched away from the spot where Anne’s saliva had landed.

  “There’s a lot of talk at Far Side Base about protecting the Earth from alien plagues,” Anne said, “but it just isn’t an issue. The organisms here…their cell walls are dissolved by amylase. We’re invading them.”

  Daisuke remembered the soldier from yesterday who had been stricken with an exotic allergic reaction. Before he could remember the necessary vocabulary to bring up the subject, though, Anne shifted sideways in order to harass some other plant life.

  “See this horsetail?” She poked it. “The one like a little Christmas tree? See those weird brown bristles sticking out under the green shoots? I think they’re for shading the ground. Preventing water from evaporating, controlling solute concentrations. And smell this.” She plucked a nodule off a fat green succulent and passed it to Daisuke.

  It resembled the ice plants Daisuke had seen growing along the beaches of the Garden Route in South Africa. When he squeezed the little green lump, a drop of clear liquid emerged from a hole at one end. He sniffed. “More alcohol.”

  Anne raised an eyebrow at him. “And why might that be?”

  Daisuke blinked, rusty wheels turning in his head. Alcohol could be used to poison alien life…except no, the aliens made alcohol too. “Some kind of mimicry?” he said, then immediately shook his head. “No. The treeworms keep alcohol inside like blood. And when they die,” he said, light dawning, “the blood dries, leaving their poisons behind. This plant drops alcohol on the ground to wash those chemicals away.”

  “That’s my guess too. The plants are flushing ethanol-soluble compounds away from their roots. Or methanol, because who knows? If we turn out to be right, I’ll name this species after you.” Anne smiled up at him. “Good show, Daisuke.” She pronounced it ‘Dye-Sue-Key.’

  Ha. This was getting more like college all the time. “Thank you,” said Daisuke. “But the pronunciation is ‘Dice-Kay’, not ‘Dye-Sue-Key’.” It was an explanation he’d given so many times it came almost automatically, along with the college-era pickup line. “Daisuki actually means ‘I love you’.”

  Anne’s face went bright red. It was a fascinating phenomenon to watch, like dropping an octopus into boiling water. “Shit!” she said. “Sorry!”

  Daisuke waved a hand back and forth in front of his nose. “I don’t mind. Really, I shouldn’t say anything about it. If you say ‘I love you’ on film, it will be very good for our ratings.” Although probably bad for his divorce proceedings.

  “And we’re always on film, aren’t we?” Anne stood, flicking her bodycam. “Fuck, I hate dealing with people.” She glanced back at him. “Except you.”

  She was asking for help, and Daisuke felt a sharp jab of annoyance at this woman for having problems he needed to deal with. Wasn’t it enough that his life was falling apart? He shook his head and brushed his left thumb along the ridged base of his ring finger. No wonder she left you, you asshole.

  Daisuke’s boots were already halfway sunken into the polluted mud. Shit, how much time had he wasted out here with just the stupid little body cameras recording this?

  Anne pushed a sweat-dark blonde curl off her forehead. “What?”

  “I’m sorry. We are in a difficult situation.” Daisuke turned, looking out past the dams to where the river curved around a broad, flat plain. Last week, Anne had told him, that plain had been a treeworm forest. Now, it was a flat, charred field: an impromptu runway for the airplane.

  “You want to catch up with the others?” said Anne. “I suppose if we’re late to the plane, Pearson and Hariyadi will yell at us.” She sighed and started walking, Daisuke following behind.

  Anne spoke as if to the settling pools, loud enough that Daisuke could hear her. “And I know I’m going to have to do som
e more yelling to get Hariyadi to let Tyaney on the plane, and yelling at Tyaney to let on his wife. And they’re all going to have these fucking cameras…. Do you think you can help me? Give me some acting tips?”

  Daisuke frowned down at the walls along which they walked. On either side of him, milky green water bubbled and stank. He did not want to speak at the moment. He wanted to climb into the treeworm forest and watch the poisonous life flee from his spit.

  “Tips,” he forced himself to say. “It will get easier to ignore the camera after practice. For now, I only say ‘don’t worry’. I know what I’m doing. When we’re on, I will ask you questions and give you distractions from the camera. Just respond to me.”

  Daisuke watched the work crews on the hills, burning back the treeworm forest. He wasn’t a real biologist. He might have been, but he’d gone the route of fame and fortune instead of solitude and study. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, except now here he was with less than no fortune, squeezing out the last drops of his fame like alcohol from a mutant cactus.

  “You think that’ll be enough?” Anne said obliviously. “Believe me, mate, I’d love to just talk to you, but there’s also the problem that everyone behind that camera hates me.”

  “You mean Colonel Pearson’s men?”

  “They’ve classified everything they could, Daisuke.” This time she pronounced his name correctly. “They would have classified the whole planet’s existence except I sent those photos I took to everyone I knew. I have no idea how much of the real story is getting out. Or what people back on Earth think of me.”

  “Many people on Earth call you a hero.”

  “And the ones who don’t? The soldiers sure as hell think I’m a traitor, and they’re the ones with guns! Last night, and the night before that, I woke up dreaming of standing in front of a firing squad. Can you give me any tips about that, Mr. Cheekbones-and-stubble?”

  Daisuke nearly missed his footing and fell into a settling pool. Anne was flirting with him. And, once he’d regained his footing, he realized how scared she must be.

  “Well?” demanded Anne. She’d turned to look at him.

  Daisuke tried to look away from her chest and the camera that hung there. He rubbed the stubble she’d mentioned, considering how best to translate the extremely idiomatic phrase on his mind. “Um. Fuck them.”

  She raised a pale eyebrow. “Pardon?”

  “It doesn’t matter what they think of you,” Daisuke elaborated. “You talked about simulating humanity on camera. Well, everyone simulates humanity all the time. Everyone is an actor. Everyone is faking. Playing a part.”

  “You mean you think I should manipulate people?”

  “Manipulate is a very negative word, but….” The next sentence was tricky. Daisuke spent a moment composing it while they walked. “What else should you do with the people who don’t think you are a hero for discovering this world? They deserve to be manipulated.”

  Daisuke wished someone had given him that advice back at the start of his career. Then he might have stayed a real person with real emotions, and not devolved into a puppet animated by a hollow, glowing box. A ‘TV personality’.

  “Entertain them,” he told the biologist, feeling like Ko¯ji Yakusho, an actor whose style Daisuke had always striven to emulate. He managed not to say “Shall we dance?” replacing that incomprehensible movie reference with, “Just follow my lead.”

  “Okay.” Anne turned back toward the airplane and strode ahead, leaving Daisuke to muddle along in her trail until they reached the airfield.

  The Mekimsam River looped away from the eastern wall of the valley and its bank went from a half-meter-wide shelf between cliff and riverbed to a wide, flat field. People were on that field, burning back vegetation and erecting equipment. Daisuke recognized a short conning tower, and, like a fish baking on a bed of charcoal, the gleaming white lozenge of their plane.

  “If you’re wondering why it isn’t a helicopter we’re flying in…” Anne said, “…a helicopter could land anywhere. A plane can only land here, where Pearson’s or Hariyadi’s people can shoot it down if they want to.”

  She was speaking too loudly. A passing soldier hefted his flamethrower and glared at her, and Pearson, standing next to the plane with Hariyadi and the Astarinas, put his hands on his hips and yelled back.

  “Thank you for finally showing up! I’m glad you appreciate keeping this unknown hostile valuable environment under control.”

  “And good luck with that, Colonel!”

  Daisuke’s head came up at the new voice. It had come from the plane, from whose hatch now swung a man with a suntan almost as painful to look at as his Hawaiian-print shirt.

  “Hello, my friends!” said the man, contacting the ground with a high-gravity thump. “Welcome to the plane ride to nowhere!”

  The man – presumably their pilot – was no taller than Daisuke, but about twice as big around. Daisuke was reminded of a compressed, sunburned version of Wakanoho¯ Toshinori, the dope-head Russian sumo wrestler. That may have just been the man’s accent, though.

  “Ladies first.” The Russian swept off an imaginary hat in a bow, and took Anne’s hand to kiss. “A pleasure to meet you, my dear Ms. Houlihan.” He turned to Daisuke and executed another bow, one he probably believed was Japanese. In any case, it did not include hand kissing. “Konichiwa, Matsumori-san.”

  He straightened. “Culturally appropriate greetings having been accomplished, allow me to introduce myself. I am Mikhail Sergeyevich Alekseyev. You can say ‘Misha’. Easy even for Japanese, right?” He winked at Daisuke, who hoped one of their cameras was getting this display. This was annoying as hell, which meant the average viewer would eat it right up.

  “We ready to go?” Pearson asked Misha.

  Misha grinned, showing a set of teeth perfect enough to grace the jaw of an American. “Soon, soon,” he said. “When my little plane is done guzzling his breakfast. You can already climb in. The black man and his woman are already aboard.”

  “The black man and his what?” said Hariyadi while Pearson rubbed his temples.

  Tyaney’s head popped out of the hatch, followed by his too-young wife.

  The Nun man was formally dressed in a simple grass smock and western-style raincoat. He’d tied his hair into a poof at the back of his skull, and if he was wearing a penis-sheath, it must be a fairly modest one.

  “Ibu Anne!” Tyaney called to them, followed by a stream of angry Indonesian.

  “You tried to take him off the plane?” Anne’s brows lowered and her jaw firmed. Daisuke widened his stance in preparation to stand against her next burst of righteous wrath.

  Colonel Hariyadi turned to Pearson and contributed to the confusion. “I was under the impression that you and I were to accompany this mission.”

  “Of course we’re accompanying it,” said Pearson. “We have to be on that plane!”

  “Not according to the Papuan,” Hariyadi said. “Or maybe I should say ‘not according to Ms. Houlihan’, who invited him.”

  Anne wheeled on the Indonesian captain. “Yes, and we discussed this last night. You saw me invite him.”

  Hariyadi jerked his chin up. “And I rescinded that invitation.”

  “I agree,” said Pearson. “We talked about this, Ms. Houlihan. There’s no space on the plane. The colonel and myself, our aides, you and Matsumori and the Astarinas—”

  “And I!” said Misha. “Unless the tiny black woman can fly my tiny airplane.” He laughed.

  Pearson ignored him. “That’s nine people. We don’t have space for one extra person, let alone two. No.” He turned to Anne. “Tell him he can go on the next flight.”

  Anne braced herself as if to attack the two trained soldiers. Daisuke wanted to get this over with, but he wasn’t inclined to side with the military. Plus, he’d promised Anne he would help.

 
; I’ve faced down more violent primates than this, anyway. Once I imagine these men are male macaques, the next step becomes clear.

  Daisuke stepped to the side, not quite between her and the snorting soldiers. He centered his stance, bracing his arms on his hips and raising his chin into a position of calm dominance. The focus of the scene shifted onto him as easily as swinging a spotlight.

  “The natives will look very good on camera,” he said. “Much better than extra soldiers.”

  Pearson rolled his eyes. “I don’t care how it looks.”

  “Yes, you do, or we wouldn’t be here, would we?” said Anne. “With these bloody cameras dangling off our necks. And anyway, it’s their bloody planet! The Nun discovered and started transforming this place while our ancestors were still figuring out basic agriculture.”

  “We do plan to use this footage, don’t we?” Daisuke asked.

  But Anne had pushed Pearson too far. The soldier didn’t even look at Daisuke as he said, “Damn it, Houlihan, can’t you ever just do what you’re told?”

  Anne’s lower jaw slid forward. Daisuke was reminded of the leopard that had nearly eaten him. “If Tyaney and his wife aren’t going, I’m not going.”

  “Fine.” Pearson flung up his hands. “Hariyadi and I will give up our aides—”

  “I shall not!” Hariyadi took a step forward, shoulders stretching in an effort to make himself look bigger. The move might have been wise against a real leopard, but not a pissed-off biologist. “What if we simply left you on the ground, Ms. Houlihan? Or perhaps in prison?”

  Daisuke found himself suddenly between them. Odd. Was that his instinct to help Anne, stop arguments among his crew, or put himself in the center of attention? And where was Rahman and his damn camera? Daisuke glanced around. Yes, Rahman had quietly lifted the machine to his shoulder. Now, he grinned and gave Daisuke the thumbs-up.

  “All right, now….” Daisuke said, putting his palms up. “There is no need to fight.” He could almost hear the voiceover: Tensions were high from the very first day, but I did my best to calm rumbling bellies. What would that be in English? ‘Tame savage hearts’?