by Tom Sadira
Axo skidded to a halt and spun around. He darted for the pod again, but not before a few canipedes rounded it and dug in to block him.
“Hold on, Bugbrain!” Axo shouted as he dove over the snapping jaws of the canipedes.
Again, the world went dark.
Swarm felt a poof of soft ash as they hit the ground.
19
Charlie floated on his back down the shallow, icy river. He knew it was shallow because when he’d plunged into it his ankle struck a large rock just below the surface. The impact tore a gash in his boot from sole to cuff, and more importantly, shattered most of the bones in his foot.
On the one hand, he was lucky Helwyr hadn’t simply eviscerated him. The asshole possessed twice his strength, five times his speed and agility, and built-in, retractable razor blades on his fingers. Plus, with one chop of his axe, he’d destroyed Charlie’s only advantage—the thing he’d so stupidly neglected to use for most of the trip—the Swiss Army staff Zylvya had given him.
Helwyr had the high ground, a bow with plenty of arrows, and a lifetime of hunting experience. Charlie couldn’t understand why the crazy fleabag hadn’t turned him into a human pin cushion yet. Maybe he decided to finish hunting the moose first. Maybe Helwyr got jumped by some nasty Vos Praedean creature. Maybe he was just waiting for Charlie to muster some hope of escape before he took his balls for a trophy.
Whatever the reason, every minute that passed, every breath he took, was a gift.
On the other hand, he knew he was ultimately, undeniably, royally fucked. Even in the unlikely event that Helwyr had somehow slipped on a boulder and snapped his neck, Charlie knew it was just a matter of time before one of the local beasties tracked him down and ate his face. He had no food, no weapons, no gear, no way to call for help—and no ability to run away from the monsters that seemed to lurk around every corner. Surviving on a planet like Vos Praeda was difficult enough even with all those things, so having a fleshy sack of bone dust for a foot all but guaranteed a quick death.
Always look on the bright side of life.
A vision of his parents whistling the old Monty Python tune popped into Charlie’s head. He hadn’t heard it in ages. When he was a kid, they’d sing it whenever times got tough: when they totaled the car, when they got evicted, when his grandmother died. Just as things would start to feel really heavy, one of them, usually his mother, would start whistling the chorus. Within seconds, all three of them—having abandoned their worries, at least for a little while—would be singing happily, smiling at each other, laughing.
The last time Charlie heard the song was when he’d started whistling it on a particularly gloomy afternoon, not long after his mother vanished. He looked over at his dad, hoping he would join in, that maybe they could try to use the song to ease their pain.
But his father hadn’t looked up from his laptop. He just kept squinting and typing and scratching his chin. He pretended not to hear.
Charlie shook the vision from his head and decided to survive for just a little while longer. He chose to harness one of his own natural strengths. He tapped into his own lifetime of experience, the thing he’d majored in during his college years, the thing that people never hesitated to tell him he excelled at: doing nothing. He didn’t struggle against fate, he didn’t freak out, but he also didn’t give up. He simply did nothing.
He lay back and tried to enjoy the lazy ride around the foot of the mountains. The blueish-green pines that lined the opposite side of the river swayed gently. Fluffy, fiery clouds drifted across the purpling sky.
This place ain’t half bad once you get over the fact that everything wants to kill you.
A breeze blew across his face, turning his cheeks and nose pink. He couldn’t see the setting sun over the treeline, but the way it struck the cliffs and boulders at a sideways angle told him it would soon sink below the horizon.
It wasn’t that sleeping outside bothered him. He’d slept outside for a better part of the last year—but it’d been summer, and he’d had two sleeping bags and a tent. The past couple days, even though he had no gear, he’d slept next to a fire. And he’d been dry.
His thermal underwear and his insulated camo threads had kept him warm enough, even in the icy river, but now his teeth wouldn’t stop chattering. Charlie knew that unless he found some shelter soon, the frosty night air might finish him off before the canipedes got hold of him.
West of the river stretched the vast, predator-laden forest they’d spent the last two days and nights in. To the east lay a maze of cliffs and boulders that sloped upward.
The forest had its advantages. There would be branches and fallen trees to use for firewood. Also, even though he had no friggin' idea how far downstream he’d floated, he knew that his crew and whatever was left of his transit pod was out there somewhere.
Then again, it had taken them two days to walk to the mountains—and that was with two good ankles. In Charlie’s condition, he knew he’d be lucky to get ten hops into the trees before some asshole creature made a meal of him.
One the other side of the river, was a mile-high pile of coarse, gray boulders. The only color was an occasional streak of blue-green moss that criss-crossed up the cliffs and over the massive stones. There wouldn’t be any wood to burn, but hopefully the lack of wildlife meant there might be fewer things wanting to eat him.
What the hell had Helwyr warned us about?
That’s right—some kind of killer slug.
He scanned the barren mountainside. This was where the chocolate moose had chosen to make their home on a violent planet like Vos Praeda—and they were professional survivors. There had to be a reason they took shelter here.
C’mon man, how dangerous can a few slugs be?
Charlie spotted a dark hole just a hundred yards up the side of the mountain. Even if it wasn’t an actual cave, it might at least serve to keep the wind off him during the night.
He traced a path from the cave, down the boulders, to the riverbank. Even scrambling on only three good limbs, he could make it. Yet, the numbing effect of the frigid water would start wearing off as soon as he began climbing. If he was careful and quick and didn’t stop for anything, he just might be able to reach the cave before the pain in his foot completely immobilized him.
Charlie stuffed the splintered half-staff into his jacket and paddled to the rocky bank. Cold air wrapped its icy fingers around every inch of his body as he emerged from the water. He slipped the blunt case from his cargo pocket and popped it open. Three more blunts—gloriously dry inside their waterproof case.
The sooner you get your ass to that cave, the sooner you get to employ some serious self-medication.
The last rays of sunset warmed the soggy stoner’s backside as he crept up and over the boulders. He ignored the likelihood of some monster—including the worst of them all, that psychopathic cat turd—jumping out and slashing him to pieces. Instead, he focused on the rhythm: left foot, right knee, hoist, repeat. Before he knew it, he’d pulled himself up onto the slab that jutted from the mouth of the cave.
The sun had already started dipping below the horizon and beamed what was left of its light into the cave’s throat. Beyond a stretch of flat rock it seemed empty—except for the impenetrable shadows gathering at the rear.
Charlie hesitated. Wind howled over the ledge, biting through his layers of wet clothing.
Dammit!
If I stay out here, I’m dead for sure.
If I go in there, I’d probably be walking right into some creature’s cozy den.
He raised his chin, pulled out his broken staff—as if it could do any more than lend him comfort—and hopped to a spot just inside the entrance. Exhausted and weary, but sheltered from the wind, he leaned against the cavern wall and slid onto his wet ass. The impact rippled down his leg to the black and blue watermelon that was once his foot. It responded by sending a shockwave of pain through the rest of his body.
Gonna be one hell of a night.
&n
bsp; Sighing, he snagged a blunt from its case. From the corner of his mouth he uttered the ignition word he’d programmed into it, “Chicken-fried moose steak.”
A small flame appeared and he puffed the ember to life. Five seconds later, his lungs were beach balls filled with sweet cannabis smoke.
Moose steak? Yeah right, more like ‘Charlie tartare’.
The massive hit burned in his chest, but Charlie refused to let it go. Since this was shaping up to be the last night—or hour, or minute—of his life, he planned on spending it getting higher than he’d ever been. Besides, he’d failed to meet his weed quota for the past forty-eight hours. He had some catching up to do.
Once his lungs had finished extracting every last molecule of THC from the smoke, he slowly spewed it into the cool air. Popping the blunt between his lips, he turned what was left of Zylvya’s staff around in his hands.
At the center of the leather handhold was a jagged bouquet of splinters where Helwyr’s axe had chopped clean through. Charlie had half-expected its insides to be filled with wires and electronics, but as far as he could tell, it was made from plain old wood.
One rivet in particular caught his eye—the Chatter button. He smirked, held the staff up to his face, and pushed the button.
“E.T. phone hooooome.”
He chuckled and puffed on the blunt. Clutching the staff like a microphone, he closed his eyes and did his best David Bowie impression.
* * *
“This is Captain Hong to Ground Control.
I’m stepping through the door,
and I’m floating in a most peculiar way-yay.
And the stars look very different today-ay-ay-aaay.”
* * *
The lyrics echoed through the cave. He pressed the staff against his lips.
* * *
“For heeeere am I floating in a tin can—”
* * *
“CHARLIE!” Zylvya’s voice exploded from the staff. He squealed and dropped it in his lap. “Who the hell are you talking to? What tin can? Did you find a ship and make orbit? I’ll chart a course back through the ionosphere and try to locate you.”
Blood rushed to his face. “No! Wait! I’m still here, on Vos Praeda!”
“Why the hell were you singing? Did you hit your head?”
“No, man, I was just goofing off. Tryin’ to kill some time, I guess.”
“Goofing off? Killing time? Charlie, I’m going to skip the landing site and come pick you up first. You’re either suffering from head trauma, or some kind of brain infection. I’ll—”
“No! My orders are to get Swarm and Axolotl first. My head’s fine, man—and getting better as we speak.” He paused to take another puff. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear your voice!”
“Fine. I’ll proceed to the landing site,” Zylvya said stiffly. Then, her tone a bit warmer, she added, “It’s good to hear your voice, too. After that exchange between you and Helwyr, I thought he’d—”
“You heard all that?”
“Every word. Once you initiated the Chatter button, the staff continued to send audio to me. After Helwyr said something about ripping your heart out, there was a loud crunch, and then it went silent. I was sure he’d…”
“Don't worry, darlin’,” Charlie said, exhaling the spent smoke from his lungs. “Sure, my hand’s burnt, my foot’s fucked, and I’m soaking wet—but you should know by now that a psychotic, axe-wielding cat turd is no match for this ape.”
“Glad to see you haven’t bruised your confidence. You sound pretty roughed up. Sorry it’s taken me so long. There’s a huge geoelectric storm over the region, so getting through the ionosphere was trickier than I thought. I finally made it—although I had to veer a thousand miles off course. I’m still a few hours away from the landing site.”
Dammit. Guess I’d better make myself at home.
Charlie glanced in the cave. The sun was completely below the horizon, and only a tiny bit of light trickled inside. There was no use in putting it off much longer. If he wanted to stay alive until the voluptuous cavalry arrived, he’d have to take shelter.
He slid his sopping jacket off, tossed it aside, then picked the staff back up and studied the few remaining rivets. One of them was embossed with the outline of a book.
What I wouldn’t give for my goddamn Kindle right now! Talk about killing some time…
That beloved gadget was somewhere in his tent back on Earth, with the rest of his possessions. Maybe Nate had returned to grab his gear. Or maybe the Feds had finally found his campsite, in which case the e-reader—his companion during the year-long exile in the mountains of Northern California—would probably spend all eternity locked up in some stupid evidence room.
He pressed the rivet. A rectangular bulge appeared at the unchopped end of the staff, inflated to the size of a large brick, then burst like a bubble. Into his lap fell a hardcover book. Charlie thought he’d be able to read anything to help pass the time, but after reading the cover, his heart sank.
“Biocannabinoid Matter Compilers for Dummies, by Zylvya Viridia,” Charlie read aloud. Wincing, he flipped open the three-inch thick tome and selected a page at random. The language was so densely technical that he didn’t make it through a single sentence. “Jesus friggin' Christ, Zee. I think you need an editor.”
“Think I’d hand you advanced tech without a manual? If you’d read it, learned to use the staff—maybe tried using your brain—we’d probably be back on the Starseed by now.”
Charlie tossed the book aside. “Can’t argue with that, man. But the only thing a brick like that would be good for now is…” He trailed off as he examined it with a newfound reverence. His thumb found the book rivet again. There was another rectangular bubble, another pop—and another three-inch thick tome landed in his lap.
“Hey Zee, so this ‘matter compiler’ staff thingy,” he said as he pushed the rivet again. Another copy of her instruction manual appeared. “How many of these books can it produce?”
“The matter is condensed by a magnitude of ten, so thousands, I guess. But why would you need more than one, Charlie?”
A smile stretched across his face.
“I’m putting in a bulk order, man. These babies will keep me from freezing my ass off tonight.” His thumb mashed the button repeatedly. A dozen books appeared. He tossed them inside the cave, then continued pressing the button.
“I can’t believe it. You’re going to burn my book?” Zylvya’s voice came through the staff. “Literature of any kind should be respected and preserved, not used as firewood! Just when I start to think there’s more to you, you start behaving like an illiterate ape!”
“Well, this ape would like to dry off and stay warm.” Charlie scooted inside the cave and started stacking the books up into a small pyre. “But don’t worry, as long as it burns slow and evenly, I’ll give you a good review on the Outernet.”
“Real funny, jerk,” she said. “Try to save some of the matter for water or you’ll dehydrate.”
Charlie spun the staff in his hand. The rivet with the water droplet wasn’t there. “Bummer. Looks like Helwyr has that half.”
“What the hell do you mean ‘Helwyr has that half’?”
“He broke your staff right down the middle. Didn’t I mention that?” He ripped a bundle of pages from one of the books and started twisting them into loose paper logs.
She sighed. “No, you didn’t mention that, Charlie! But I guess that explains why the tracking signal I implanted in the staff is scattered across the mountains. It’s giving me a blurry, general bearing, but nothing I can pinpoint.”
“And that’s important because…?”
“It’s important because it’s the only way I have to locate you!”
“Oh.” Charlie held one of the paper logs to his blunt and sucked in air. The ember brightened and the paper ignited. He carefully set the flame under the other paper logs that he’d arranged beneath the books. “Well, I got a fire going now. Once you
get the guys, just swing by the area and look for its light.”
“Do you have any idea how vast that mountain range is? It’d be like looking for a pulsar in an anti-matter nebula!”
The first of the books caught fire. Charlie rubbed his hands together over the growing flame and felt some of the tension in his body melt away.
I can do this. I have fire now.
All I have to do now is ignore my empty stomach and my goddamn foot.
Only one way to do that: medicate like a motherfucker.
“Okay, Charlie, I’m going to chat with Del while I look for the others. Maybe he’ll know how we can find you. You just stay off your foot and stay close to the fire. I’ll contact you once we’re on our way to the mountains.”
“Sounds good, Zee,” he said. “Oh, one more thing: How can I turn off the Chatter mic from my end? I might need to take a shit or something, and I don’t need an audience.”
“Just hold the rivet down, and in a couple seconds it’ll pop out flush with the staff.” She laughed. When she spoke again, her voice softened. “Don’t die, Captain. I’ll grab the boys and be there as soon as I can.”
“Thanks, Zee. I reckon I’ll sit tight and wait to see my bodacious Chief of Botany—” He heard her end of the transmission click off. He smiled, then held the button like she’d instructed.
The fire was alive and well. He slipped his shirt off and laid it out on the rock beside his jacket. Next to his clothes he laid out his remaining two blunts.
Damn, each blunt is only like a quarter ounce of cannabis. If I ration it, it should last the night.
He puffed hard and filled his lungs. Stony calmness washed over him. Helwyr hadn’t killed him yet. Zylvya was on her way to rescue him. Everything was going to be just fine.
He sang to himself as he stared into the dancing flames.
* * *