Genellan: Planetfall

by Скотт Г. Джир

  MacArthur fired one round. The bull staggered, took several stuttering steps and crashed heavily onto its side, raising a cloud of dust. The cliff dwellers, stunned by the rifle's report, recovered from the explosion and jumped up and down, whistling and chirping. The buffalo herd reeled against the noise and blindly dashed in full flight—a stampede! MacArthur moved awkwardly to his knees, his leg muscles not fully awakened. He worried about getting run down—an imminent possibility since buffalo were galloping in all directions. Two bulls leading a frantic herd bore down on his position. The cliff dwellers pointed—rudely—at the driving animals, nervously hopping from leg to leg and unfurling their wings.

  MacArthur sighted down the barrel of the rifle, placing the bouncing forehead of the biggest bull atop the knife-edged sight. The buffalo were close! He squeezed the trigger, and the large-bore rifle kicked violently against his shoulder. The herd pivoted as one, swerving away. MacArthur swore for wasting a bullet and took aim at the same bull. But the animal was wounded, and its pace slowed amidst its panicked mates. The stricken animal lumbered to a wobbly halt, staggering lopsidedly away from the herd. It fell to its knees and collapsed on its side, bellowing in fear and agony as it died.

  The dwellers, hands still over their ears, screeched their delight. The rest of the herd bolted away, giving MacArthur only hindquarters at which to shoot. Two bullets, two hides. Enough. MacArthur chewed vigorously. The substance in his mouth yielded juices like sparks of electricity crackling against his teeth and throat. He felt tightly wound, a coiled steel spring; his senses were acutely raw; he could see forever; the sounds and the smells around him were abundant and crisp, each a separate and distinct event. Pungent buffalo musk billowed through the air, almost visible, a brown, dusky odor—not pleasant, but no longer putrid. He could smell the tundra grasses, the gunpowder, the cliff dwellers; he could smell his own sharp body odor, and the high-grade machine oil used on the rifles. But—But, something was wrong! The dwellers were whistling—whistling at him. Too loud, it hurt his ears.

  The clouds! The clouds were flowing like wild things overhead! They were changing colors—luminescent and pulsing and golden. The clouds were beautiful animals descending from the skies. MacArthur could reach out and touch them. He could fly! He could fly—fly like the animals in the clouds. What was happening? This was not real. His intellect struggled to overcome his senses, but he was no longer sure of anything. Something was wrong with his body—with his mind. He was hallucinating. It was too real, too vivid. Golden horses! Golden horses, heavy chested and silky manes streaming, were running over the prairie. Beautiful. So beautiful. He could smell them.

  MacArthur was afraid to move. His very being eclipsed his corporeal form, as if he would burst his skin like an overinflated balloon. The spinach stuff—the cud! He stopped chewing. He dimly deduced the dweller's stimulant was causing him to hallucinate. He spit it out just as his arms and legs seem to disappear; he fell forward, like a falling tree, squarely on his face. Helpless, mouth open and drooling into the tundra, he watched magical horses gallop across the plains, just paces in front of him, thundering hoofs vibrating the ground. What magnificence! Euphoric, he managed to roll over on his back and stare at the sky. Everything was beautiful.

  * * *

  "The thickweed is taken over!" Brappa exclaimed.

  The stampeding herds were clear, and a veering wind kept the invisible musk cloud at bay. Braan looked back at the other longlegs, Giant-one and One-arm, stumbling drunkenly over the prairie grasses in the far distance.

  "He has spit it out. He will recover," Braan said, standing over the prostrate stranger. "Let us skin the buffalo."

  Brave-crazy-one lay spread-eagled, eyes glazed. Braan picked up the discarded wad of thickweed pulp, broke it apart, and placed it in his leather pouch. The hunters pulled out knives, and each headed for a downed animal.

  Braan was not long at his task when he noticed the stricken long-legs staggering toward him, head in his hands. His comrades were trying to help him, but Brave-crazy-one rejected their assistance.

  "The long-legs recovers," Brappa screeched.

  "Its head will surely ache," Braan warbled.

  * * *

  Buccari adjusted her position so that the light from the extravagant campfire fell more directly on the dweller message. She half listened to the raucous banter, feeling peculiarly light-hearted. They were starting a new life, their new settlement awakening. And they had just finished their first year on the planet. Not an Earth year—a full Genellan year—four hundred days, four hundred twenty-six hour days.

  "I saw horses. Golden horses!" MacArthur declared.

  "You're crazy, Mac," Fenstermacher said. "Tatum says you were all as drunk as a dogs."

  "Leave him alone, Winfried," Dawson said. "Look what he did for us. What a feast."

  "Dawson' s right, for the first time in her life, Fenstermacher," Wilson said. "Stop picking on Mac, and be thankful you've survived a year on this planet. I don't know how we managed to put up with you."

  "Yeah, Winnie," Lee said. "Happy anniversary to us all."

  Cliff dwellers and humans sat around the evening fire. The midsummer sun had reluctantly settled behind the soaring peaks, leaving clear skies layered in vivid orange and deepest blue above the stark sawtooth silhouette. The meal was over, but the campfire burned brightly, a celebration of survival.

  MacArthur's provision of buffalo steaks and hides had changed the dubious nature of the occasion into a festive and social mood. The campers reveled in the telling and retelling of MacArthur' s adventure, embellishments growing with each new version. MacArthur regaled the listeners, humans and cliff dwellers, with outrageous histrionics and exaggerated sign language. The Marine danced around the fire, pulling Tonto along behind him. The young hunter parodied the dancing human, and soon all the hunters were jumping to their feet and dancing a pagan conga, whistling and screeching in a snaking line behind MacArthur, while the humans pounded out a rhythmic chant, clapping and laughing.

  The cliff dwellers had taken to joining the humans at their evening campfire. The taller guilders had grown comfortable with the humans, having found living with earthlings more tolerable than living in the woods with their hunter cousins. A tent adjacent to the campfire had been provided for the visiting workers, while the hunters remained content inhabiting the rocks on the wooded peninsula, close to the fish.

  Dancing shadows cast by the flickering firelight struck the newly risen stone walls and foundation of the main lodge looming above the fire pit, sheltering the flames from steady northerlies. With the help and guidance of dweller stone carvers, construction of the lodge had moved rapidly, and its stone walls were nearing completion.

  The stone carvers were not the only ones to make a difference in the new community. With the frosts behind them, and despite some insect pests, the crops planted from Earth seed flourished. The cliff dweller gardeners were intrigued with the variety and impressed with the robust qualities of the fruit trees and vegetable plants. When Buccari presented them with a sampling of the seeds, they behaved as if they had been given precious gems, falling to their knees in effusive gratitude.

  In addition to helping with the crops, the gardeners spent time with Lee gleaning and gathering medicinal roots, tanning agents, and herbs. The gardeners had much earlier shown Lee the dark, pulpy plants by the river, giving her an emphatic caution as to its use—a medicinal narcotic. Using Lizard's writing skills as the communication vehicle, the gardeners described the weed's primary medical benefit—it was a potent but potentially lethal painkiller. MacArthur' s exploits had revealed yet another use for the thick, blackish leaves.

  The dancing MacArthur fell to the ground, exhausted, and chirping hunters piled on top of the earthman. Tonto stood on the Marine's chest and whistled sharply, his whistle soaring into the ultrasonic realm as MacArthur suddenly sat up and lifted the dweller high in the air. The other hunters tumbled backwards as the laughing MacArthur regained his
feet, hugging Tonto close to his chest. He placed the hunter on the ground and bowed low. The hunters, all of them, bowed in return.

  MacArthur flopped on a log, and the other dancers stumbled and hopped back to their seats, tweeting and chirping.

  "You didn't see them?" MacArthur asked Chastain and Tatum for the twentieth time since awakening from the thickweed stupor. "They were beautiful. I could smell them!"

  "We were too far away, Mac," Tatum answered. "I thought you were dead. And the stink was too much. We both kept passing out. I don't know how you were able to walk so far and stay conscious. We thought you were dead for sure."

  "Beautiful," MacArthur said softly. "Horses. I smelled them."

  "Well, at least now we know how to get close to the buffalo," Chastain said. "That loco weed grows along the river. I picked some."

  "Careful with that stuff," MacArthur chided. "My head still hurts."

  "Yes, be careful," Lee pleaded. "We need to experiment with it first. It's obviously a mind-altering substance, possibly habit-forming. It may have permanent effects."

  "MacArthur's mind don't need any more altering," Tatum offered. "He already comes up with enough crazy ideas. You should have seen him staggering after those buffalo!"

  "Don't get him started again!" Shannon shouted, and everyone laughed.

  "Why don't you ask Lizard about the horses, Mac?" Buccari asked. She and the guilder had been sitting on adjacent flat rocks, industriously scrawling messages to each other in the flickering firelight. "I could use some help, and since Hudson's still enjoying the sunny south, it looks like you're elected."

  "I don't know how much help I'll be," MacArthur responded. The Marine slid next to her and grabbed a writing implement and a clean parchment. She watched as he deftly made the interrogative signs and added a series of action icons describing the hunting activity. Lizard watched.

  MacArthur' s iconic skills had progressed markedly, almost on par with Hudson's, but still short of Buccari's. The mood around the campfire became quiet and peaceful, everyone patiently waiting for MacArthur's written query. Dawson hummed as she rocked Adam, the fire crackled and popped, and the modest noises satisfied everyone's need for society.

  Buccari moved out of MacArthur' s way and turned her back to the fire so she could more easily puzzle out the long message Lizard had just prepared for her. Two hunters had flown in from the dweller colony late in the day, bringing instructions for Captain. The cliff dwellers spent almost an hour among themselves prior to the evening's feast, and Lizard was communicating the essence of that meeting to her now. Captain sat nearby, watching every move.

  Buccari broke the serenity. "The dwellers all leave tomorrow," she said, getting everyone's attention and eliciting groans of disappointment.

  "All of them? Even the stone carvers and gardeners?" Lee asked. "Why?"

  "First, the bear people will be back soon," Buccari said. All cliff dwellers disappeared into the forests at the first sign of the konish airplane. "Secondly, and more importantly, the hunters must return for a salt mission. The hunters will not leave the guilders here unprotected."

  "A salt mission, eh?" MacArthur said, looking up from the drawings.

  "We'll miss our friends," Lee said.

  "But it will be good to see Mr. Hudson and Chief Wilson again," Dawson said. "I bet they'll have a million sea-stories."

  "After two weeks with the bugs," Shannon said, "they'll be glad to get back."

  "I don't know," Buccari said. "The way Hudson went on about how warm it was there, neither one may ever come back."

  "Finished," MacArthur said, handing Lizard his message. The cliff dweller scanned it before starting his reply, and as usual, the guilder was quick. He handed his reply to MacArthur. On the parchment was a clean and precise line drawing of a muscular, short-legged horse, its mane and tail flowing.

  "That's it!" MacArthur shouted. "Look at this! This is what I saw!" He held the drawing up for the others to see, then abruptly sat down and began adding to the message. Buccari watched over his shoulder, quickly grasping MacArthur' s intention.

  "They certainly must have thought of it before," she said. "There must be a reason why they haven't used horses to carry salt bags."

  "They aren't strong enough to control a horse," MacArthur said, handing Lizard the message.

  Lizard looked at the sequence of icons thoughtfully. He communicated with Captain for several minutes, and the hunter became very excited, unusual for the stolid warrior.

  "What's his problem?" Fenstermacher yawned.

  "We're going to catch us some horses," MacArthur said.

  Chapter 34. Discoveries

  Two abats banked over the settlement. Standing under the big solitary hardwood tree next to the tombstones, Buccari watched the aircraft. She turned and walked up the hill, away from the cove. This arrival was special: Hudson and Wilson were returning. She dispatched O'Toole and Petit up the steep trail to the landing area to greet the two men and to escort their alien visitors. Two hours later all had returned to camp.

  "Welcome back, Chief!" Goldberg cried, rushing to hug the portly man.

  "You're still ugly, Gunner!" Fenstermacher shouted.

  "Ohh!" Wilson groaned. "Now I know why I liked being away so much."

  The returning men were surrounded. The visiting kones waited patiently, content to let the greetings run their course. Buccari, acknowledging her duty, walked around the knot of people and up to the towering kones, bowing. Et Silmarn removed his helmet and graciously returned the gesture.

  "Welcome back…to our settlement," Buccari said slowly.

  "Thang yew, Sharl," Et Silmarn responded passably. "Yew have-ah done much." His prodigious arm lifted and swept over the construction, sausagelike fingers pointing at the main lodge. Stone walls and chimneys were capped by a sturdy rafter frame for a high-pitched roof. A corner section and a long run of the pine log palisade were in place, and a plot of vegetables flourished in dark green abundance. Chips of wood lay thick underfoot, and odors of pine resin and sawdust permeated the air. The humans had made their mark.

  "We must prepare, Et Silmarn," she replied. "Winter is unforgiving."

  Et Silmarn looked to Kateos for help. The female translated quickly.

  "Yes! B-berry unfork-ah…even. Winner tooo cold-ah! It b-berry cold now!" The bulky alien clasped his own bulky shoulders, a universal gesture.

  Buccari nodded, smiling inwardly, for it was a warm day. She turned to Hudson. "Welcome back—yet again, Nash. You must be getting used to the trip."

  "The lodge looks terrific!" Hudson exclaimed.

  "O'Toole and Fenstermacher are first rate carpenters, and MacArthur's friends have been a big help," Buccari replied cryptically, referring to the cliff dwellers. Buccari noticed Kateos's questioning expression.

  Hudson quickly continued. "The trip's a grind, but they let me fly. It's a big, wild planet, Sharl. It's beautiful…." He paused, his expression speaking for itself.

  "I envy you," Buccari said. "You'll have to take me up."

  "You bet. The kones want us all to fly south. They're friendly, Sharl," he continued, "and Kateos will be speaking Legion better than you or me pretty soon. She's programming a voice recognition system that translates in real time. It doesn't work too well yet, but wait a few weeks." The konish female's face dropped demurely.

  "She's an expert," Hudson continued. "She's asks questions about tenses, grammar, nouns, verbs, sentence structure— everything. It was good to have Chief Wilson along just to give her a new subject to study and give me a break from all the questions."

  "I'll bet he taught her some choice words!" Fenstermacher joked.

  "Watch it, Fensterman!" Wilson shouted. "Or I'll tell the Lieutenant not to let you go south." Wilson turned to Buccari. "Oh, man, Lieutenant, it's wonderful! Rains a bit, but the place is beautiful—turquoise-blue ocean with wide, sandy beaches. And islands with lagoons. Trees with fruit—we brought some back for the mess. To be honest, I'm looking fo
rward to going back."

  Buccari looked at the sun-burnished, unworried face, the clear hazel eyes beseeching permission to return with the kones—a powerful testimony to the allure of the south.

  "We missed you, Chief," she said. "Go check out the lodge. Help Tookmanian decide how to lay out the galley—er, the kitchen."

  Wilson's face flickered with disappointment as he moved away, taking the bulk of the chattering crew with him. Assisted by Chastain, the kones migrated to their campsite and set up their huge tents, leaving Shannon, Hudson, and Buccari standing alone.

  "Hey, Sharl," Hudson said quietly. "Kateos started hitting me up for skinny on HLA drives. She and those two new guys really worked me over."

  "What did you tell them?" she asked.

  "Nothing worth knowing," Hudson snorted. "Give me a little credit. And watch out, they're recording everything. I mean, they're friendly, but they're damn serious about it."

  She pondered the implications of Hudson's information. "Gunner sure wants to go back," Shannon said. "Must be nice there."

  "It really is," Hudson said softly. "Chief Wilson has found a home. I practically had to tie him down to get him in the abat. You should see him walking bare-assed naked down those beaches, bald head sunburned and his gut hanging out. You know, Sharl, before we got out of the 'vette, Virgil Rhodes said Wilson would die on a tropical island. Gunner took him seriously. I think he's already picked out the island."

  "Well, I'm not ready for him to die," Buccari said impatiently. "We need all hands working—maybe even you, Nash. Winter will be here before we know it, and I'm—we're going to be ready."

  "Why not move everyone south?" Hudson asked. "Like the kones want."

  Buccari remained silent. She looked past the camp, surveying the verdant valley with its clear lake and frothy waterfalls.

  "Welcome back, Nash," she finally said. "Sarge, take Mr. Hudson down and show him what the boys have done." She grabbed Hudson's arm and gently pushed him down the path. Shannon led the way, and the two men headed for the new construction. Buccari followed for a few steps and then stopped. She stared again at the magnificent scenery, as if for the first time. Nagging doubts hectored her.