The trucks stopped. Arkady climbed down and opened the gate, then closed it after the trucks were through, climbed back into the cab and flipped on the radio. “Large herbivores can break though the fence and do sometimes,” he told the truck in back. “Fortunately for us, they do not like the taste of Terran vegetation, though they can metabolize it. Unfortunately for us, the only way for them to learn they don’t like our food is to try it.”
“Ah,” said Jasper.
“I got images of you opening the gate,” Maggie said. “Bright green fields, dark green trees and you with your AK-47. Very nice.”
The trucks drove on. The road was two muddy ruts now, edged by an under story of frilly plants. The air coming in her partly open window smelled of Venus: rain, mud, and the native vegetation.
Animals began to appear: pterosaurs, flapping in the trees, and small reptiloid bipeds in the under story. Now and then, Ash saw a solitary flower, cone-shaped and two meters tall. Most were a vivid orange-yellow. The small flying bugs that pollinated them were not visible at a distance, but she knew they were there in clouds. Now and then Maggie asked for a stop. Ash had her camera out and did some shooting, but the thing she really wanted to capture—the robot—was invisible, except for the lens-head, pushed out a window at the end of Maggie’s long, long neck
Midway through the afternoon, they came to a river. A small herd of amphibianoids rested on the far shore. They were larger than the street pigs in Venusport, maybe five meters long, their sprawling bodies red and slippery looking. Their flat heads had bulbous eyes on top—not at the back of the head, where eyes usually were, even on Venus, but in front, close to the nostrils and above the mouths full of sharp teeth.
Maggie climbed out her window onto the flat bed of the second truck. She braced herself there, next to the Pecheneg, and recorded as the trucks forded the river. The water came up to the trucks’ windows, and the bed was rocky, but the trucks kept moving, rocking and jolting. Nothing could beat a Ural!
“A gutsy robot,” Arkady said.
Alexandra answered over the radio. “She has four sets of fingers dug into the truck bed, right into the wood. A good thing. I don’t want to fish her out of the river.”
Ash aimed her camera at the amphibianoids, as the animals bellowed and slid into the river, vanishing among waves. Maggie was more interesting, but she still couldn’t get a good view.
The trucks climbed the now-empty bank and rolled back onto the road. The Leica climbed back into the cab. “Not mega, but very nice,” Maggie said over the radio.
* * *
An hour or so later, they reached the first lodge, a massive concrete building set against a low cliff. Vines hung down the cliff, and pterosaurs—a small species covered with white down—fluttered among the vines.
There was a front yard, protected by a tall fence. Once again, Arkady climbed down and opened the gate. The trucks rolled in. Arkady locked the gate behind them. Boris shut down their truck and grabbed an AK-47, climbing down to join Arkady. They looked around the yard, which was full of low vegetation, mashed in places by previous safaris. Nothing big could hide here, but there were always land scorpions
An AK-47 seemed excessive to Ash. Good boots and stomping worked just as well. But the citizens of Petrograd loved their guns; and there was no question that the experience of crushing a land scorpion, especially a big one, was unpleasant.
Finally, Boris unlocked the lodge’s door, which was metal and so heavy it could be called armored, and went in. She knew what he was doing: turning on the generator, the lights—ah, there they were, shining out the open door—the air, the temp control, the fence.
Baby shifted in his cage. “Want out. Hunt. Eat.”
“Soon.”
“Pterosaur chow is crap,” Baby added.
She reached a finger through the cage’s bars and rubbed his head. His large eyes closed, and he looked happy
Boris came out and waved.
“All clear,” Arkady called. “The fence is electric and on now. Stay away from it.”
Ash opened the cage. Baby crawled out and rested for a moment in the open window. Then he flapped out, rising rapidly. The small pterosaurs in the vines shrieked. She felt the brief doubt she always felt when she let Baby go. Would he return?
“Did it escape?” Jason asked over the radio.
“He’s going hunting.” Ash climbed down. The air was damp and hot. By the time she reached the lodge, her shirt was wet.
“I want all the food inside,” Arkady said. “Also all the weapons and any personal belongings you want to preserve. The fence will keep most things out, but it’s not 100% secure.”
She put the cage down and went back to help unload the trucks. Irina was a broad, box-like woman, as solid and useful as a Ural. Alexandra was surprisingly slim and elegant, the chef who’d been a cop and could field strip a Pecheneg. She moved like a dancer, and Ash felt a terrible envy. Did women ever stop feeling envy?
Maggie recorded them as they worked, while Jason took notes on a tablet. Ash felt mildly irritated by this. Couldn’t he help with the boxes? But he was a paying customer and an employee of a famous news source.
Once they were all inside, Boris shut the door, bringing down a heavy bar.
“Bathrooms are down the hall,” Arkady said. “Paying customers go first. Dinner will be in an hour.”
“An hour and a half,” Alexandra said.
“I am corrected.”
When she got back from her shower, Ash noticed that the virtual windows were on, showing the yard, lit now by spotlights. Beyond the fence was the dark forest. A hologram fire burned in the fireplace. Wine and a cheese plate were on a table in front of the fire.
She poured a glass, then went to help Alexandra and Irina with dinner. It was sautéed vegetables and fish from the Petrograd fishponds.
They ate around the fireplace.
“Someone has been here,” Boris said as they ate.
‘“It must have been another safari,” Arkady said mildly. “They all have the access code.”
“I checked. No safaris have been this way since the last time we were here, and the security system has recorded nothing, But I know how I arrange canned goods. They are no longer in alphabetic order. I think it’s the CIA.”
“What?” asked Jason, and pulled his tablet out.
“There is a CIA post in the forest,” Arkady said. “They spy on Petrograd, though we’re barely surviving and no danger to the American colony or anyone. We ignore them, because we don’t have the resources to confront them. But they are present—and not far from here. Boris may be right. They could have tinkered with the security system. I don’t know who else could have.”
“Why do you hang on, if you are barely surviving?” Jason asked. “The USSR fell, in part because it exhausted itself trying to settle Venus. All the republics have become capitalist states, but you remain here, stubbornly Soviet.”
“Not all change is good,” Boris said. “And there is more to life than selfishness.”
“Surely you would do better, if you had the assistance of the American colony on Ishtar.”
Arkady said, “The capitalists on Earth are investing in what interests them, which is not the lives of ordinary people. We in Petrograd are a dream that has failed, or so we are told. Ishtar Terra is a—what can I call it?—a vacation spot, a rare earth mine, and a place for the rich to flee to, if they finally decide that Earth is uninhabitable.”
“Life in Ishtar Terra is more comfortable than life here,” Jason pointed out.
“We survive.”
“Be honest, Arkady,” said the box-like woman, Irina. “People get tired of shortages and go to Ishtar Terra. It’s a slow but continual drain. In the end, Petrograd will fail.”
“We don’t know that,” Boris put in. “Even our setbacks are not entirely bad. Our food shortages have brought our rates of heart disease and diabetes down; and our fuel shortages mean we walk more, which is healthy.”
> Irina did not look convinced. Nor did Jason Khan, though Ash could not be sure. He was an oddly opaque man. Maybe she would find out what he was thinking when the article finally came out. At present, the Leica was easier to understand.
“There,” said Arkady. “You said you wanted charismatic fauna.” He pointed at one of the virtual windows.
A flock of bipeds moved along the fence, illuminated by the spotlights. They were slender and covered with bright blue down, except for their chests, which were orange-red.
“The Americans call them robins,” Arkady said. “Notice that they are following the fence, but not touching it. They know it’s dangerous, if we are here, and the spotlights tell them we are here. If this were Earth in the Triassic, those little fellows would be the ancestors of the dinosaurs. But this isn’t Earth. We don’t know what they will become. They’re bright, and they have hands capable of some manipulation. Maybe they will become us in time.”
A second kind of animal joined the bipeds at the fence. Ten meters long or more, its body was hairless and black. It had a gait like a crocodile’s high walk, and its lifted head was long and reptilian, the mouth full of ragged teeth. The bipeds ran off. The animal nosed the fence once and drew back with a roar.
“You see,” Arkady said. “Not so bright. It doesn’t have to be. It’s big and nasty. If this were Earth in the Triassic, it would represent the past, a species that will vanish, unable to compete. But this is not Earth.”
Something pale flew into the spotlights. Baby, Ash realized. The pterosaur flapped low above the pseudosuchus, taunting it. The animal roared and reared up on its hind legs, snapping at Baby and almost getting him. The pterosaur flapped up and over the fence, landing on one of the Urals. The pseudosuchus dropped down on all fours. Most likely Ash was reading in, but it looked frustrated. Baby looked frightened. The little fool. She’d have a talk with him.
“They are descended from bipeds,” Arkady said. “As a result, theirs hind legs are longer and stronger than their front legs, and they can—as you see—rear up. They also move more quickly than you would suspect.”
“I got it,” Maggie said. “But the image won’t be as good as I could have gotten outside.”
“Go out,” Boris said. “This fence is strong enough to hold.”
Ash went out with the Nat Geo people. Of course, the pseudosuchus saw—or maybe smelled—them as soon as they went outside. It slammed into the fence and roared, then reared up, grasping the fence with its forepaws and shaking it. That must hurt. More roaring, while Maggie recorded, using a light so brilliant that Ash could see the glitter of the animal’s scales. Ash got a lovely image of the robot and the monster. Light hit from different angles, cast by the lodge’s spots and Maggie, creating areas of glare and shadow. Even in color, the image looked black and white.
Baby flapped to her, settling on her shoulder.
“Idiot,” she said.
“Poop on you,” Baby replied.
The fence bowed in under the animal’s weight. Behind them, Arkady said, “I’m not going to turn the current up. That is a protected species.”
“Come in,” Ash told Jason.
“The fence is supposed to hold.”
“Most likely it will,” Arkady said in a comfortable tone. “But if it doesn’t—“
They piled back inside, and Arkady barred the door. Baby flew to his cage, opened the door and climbed in, pulling the door shut. Ash heard the lock click. The pterosaur huddled, looking thoroughly frightened.
“You shouldn’t tease the monsters,” Ash said.
“Poop! Poop!” Baby replied and pooped on the floor of his cage.
She would have to clean that up, but not now. Let Baby get over being afraid.
She glanced at one of the virtual windows. The pseudosuchus was back on all fours, looking thoroughly pissed off. After a moment or two, it moved off. It was clear from the way it moved that its fore feet were injured.
“Not bright,” Arkady said. “But a top predator. They do not need to be bright, as the history of America has shown.”
“I’d like help in the kitchen,” Alexandra put in.
Ash gathered glasses and followed Alexandra out of the room. The kitchen had a dishwasher from Venusport. Everything went in. Alexandra set the controls and turned the machine on.
“What is Venusport like?” Irina asked.
“Unjust,” Ash replied. “Run from Earth for the benefit of mining companies and tourists and the rich.”
“That sounds like a manifesto, not a report,” Alexandra said. “What is life like for you? Do you have enough to eat? Can you buy glittery toys?”
Ash hesitated, then answered. “I have enough to eat. I can buy some toys. Hell, I make most of my living producing images of glittery toys. “
“We see broadcasts from Ishtar Terra,” Irina said. “Life there looks more attractive than life in Petrograd.”
“Are you thinking of bailing out?” Ash asked.
“Maybe,” Alexandra said. “I would like glittery toys.”
Irina shook her head. “I don’t think so. I have family and a lover, who is like Arkady. She believes in Petrograd.”
Once the counters were wiped down, Ash went back into the living room. Jason and Arkady were lounging in chairs by the fire. Maggie had retracted her legs and neck and head, becoming a large, featureless, silver ball in front of the hologram flames. Red light played over her surface.
Baby was sitting on top of his cage, eating a stick of chow.
“You found nothing to eat?” Ash asked.
“Caught small pterosaur. Ate it. Still hungry.”
She settled in a chair. There was a new bottle on the table, surrounded by fresh glasses. One of Petrograd’s scary brandies. Ash poured and tasted. This one was raspberry. It burned in her mouth and down her throat, ending as a warm glow in her gut. “Where’s Boris?” she asked.
“Looking around the lodge. He’s still worried about his canned goods.”
“He really arranged them alphabetically?”
Arkady nodded. “He is both compulsive and paranoid. But an excellent safari driver and a good drinking companion. A man as obsessed as he is needs ways to relax. He never drinks while driving, in case you are wondering.”
Ash eased back in her chair, feeling content. Brandy, a fire, Baby chewing on chow, the prospect of charismatic megafauna and gigantic flowers. Life was good.
Jason had his tablet out, his fingers dancing over the screen. She still didn’t know what he was reporting on. Venusian wildlife? Petrograd? The American colony? Whichever it was, the pay was good, and she got a break from the glittery toys that Irina and Alexandra envied.
She should not judge them. She had the toys, or at least the toy makers, as clients. It was easy for her to feel indifferent to them.
Boris came into the room, holding a land scorpion, one hand behind the animal’s head, the other on its tail. It was alive and twisting in his grip, trying to find a way to bite him or pinch him with its large front claws.
“Shit,” said Arkady. “How did that get in?”
“I told you someone had been here.” Boris stopped and displayed the creature to them. Jason looked horrified. Maggie, who must have been listening, extruded her head and neck. In a smooth motion, she rose on her legs, and the cluster of lenses she had instead of a face turned toward Boris.
The scorpion was about half a meter long, wide, flat, shiny, dark purple and still twisting in Boris’s grip. The mouth, with mandibles and fangs, was in continuous motion. Ash felt a little queasy. Damn! The things were ugly! She was pretty certain this species was poisonous. Arkady would know.
“Get me a pair of shears,” Boris said.
Ash went to the kitchen, where Irina and Alexandra were still talking. “We have a problem. I need shears.”
Alexandra found them. Ash took them to Boris.
He knelt carefully and placed the animal on the floor, holding it with one hand. With the other hand, he took t
he shears and cut the scorpion’s head off, then stood quickly. The many-legged body thrashed around, and the head jittered on the floor, its mandibles still opening and closing.
“It was under the bed in the room that Jason picked as his bedroom,” Boris said.
“What is it?” Jason asked in a tone of terror.
“One of the many species of land scorpion,” Arkady said. “Many have poisonous bites. This species would not kill you, but it would make you sick.”
Boris took one of the glasses on the table and used it to scoop the head up. “The body is not toxic. The fangs and the venom glands are in the head. Keep the rest as a souvenir, if you want.”
“I have dramatic images,” Maggie said. “That is sufficient. Our viewers will be horrified and disgusted.”
“How did it get in?” Arkady asked again.
“I want to take a closer look at the head,” Boris said and went into the kitchen.
Alexandra and Irina were in the living room by now, watching the twisting, scrabbling, headless body with interest.
“Edible?” Baby asked.
“Wait,” said Ash.
“Hungry,” Baby complained.
“Have another stick of chow.”
“Not tasty.”
“Life is hard,” Ash told him.
“Do not understand.”
“Eat your chow.”
The scorpion’s body was slowing down, though it still thrashed.
“I hate drama,” Alexandra said.
“That is why you are a chef now, rather than a cop,” Arkady told her.
“Yes, but it doesn’t explain why I work for you.”
“Money,” Arkady said.
Boris came back, carrying the scorpion’s head on a cutting board. He set the board on the table and Maggie leaned down to record it. He’d cut the head open. Some kind of dark matter, the brain most likely, was inside. In the middle of it was a tiny silver bead. Barely visible silver wires radiated out from it.
“Most likely it is a nano machine,” Boris said. “It was injected into the circulatory system and migrated to the brain, then built itself. The animal has become an organic robot. It was planted on us as a spy.”
The Year's Best Science Fiction - Thirty-Third Annual Collection Page 12