by Coy, David
“Excuse me,” Rachel said, stepping past the man, acknowledging his presence in passing.
They headed through the morning’s heat to the dock, both suffering from the unaccustomed heat, humidity and slightly stronger gravity.
Rachel marched right to the Expediter’s office, weaving past stacks of containers and material as if they’d been deliberately placed in her way. Joe trailed behind, following in her exact steps. The door to the office was just another obstruction.
“I’d like to get my containers delivered to the bio-labs ASAP,” she said bluntly to Joan.
“Good morning,” Joan answered back with a smile. “Can I offer you some coffee first?”
Rachel stopped and blinked then buried her face in her hands.
“I’m sorry. I am just so pissed . . . so pissed.”
“Welcome to Verde’s Revenge. It has a way of doing that to people.”
Rachel extended her hand. “I’m Rachel Sanders, Biologist Grade III.”
“Joan Thomas, Chief of Transportation.”
“I guess you’re the one to talk to, then.”
Joe stuck his hand out.
“Oh, I’m sorry. This is Joe Devonshire, my . . . umm . . .”
"Apprentice,” Joe answered.
“Hi. Yeah,” Joan said. “I’m the one if you need your goods delivered. Beyond that I’m not much help.”
“What is it with this place? Is it me? Is it really that strange?” Rachel asked.
“It’s that strange. Nobody gets a good deal here. My husband did okay, but he’s a hell of a negotiator and a little sneaky besides.”
“I wish I could make that claim,” Rachel said.
“Yeah, me too,” Joe said.
“We sure are glad you’re here,” Joan said, brightening somewhat. “Between you and the nurse and the clinic, we can finally relax a little. This place is crawling with nasty shit. We were beginning to wonder if Health and Safety would ever make a showing.”
“I don’t get it,” Rachel said. “This was supposed to be a first class project, plenty of financing, profit, good contracts, long deals—that’s what the trades said. What gives anyway?”
Joan didn’t want to tell her about the accident with the dozer. That incident had put the entire construction schedule back forty-five days. Bill’s accident wasn’t the only thing. The project was screwed up long before that.
“Well, it’s easy to put the blame on poor management, so I say its poor management.”
“Good enough for me,” Rachel said.
“Ed Smith’s an asshole,” Joan said snootily in a whisper. “That’s what I meant to say.”
Rachel smiled. “From what I’ve seen, I have to believe it.”
“Believe it . . . it’s a fact.”
Joan made two cups of coffee, going on and on about how crappy things had gotten over the last third period. Finally, she tired of her own complaining and gave it a rest.
“You haven’t seen Donna Applegate today have you?” Rachel asked.
“The nurse? No. Not since the day before yesterday. She gave me a shot for the rash on my ankle. I know I got it from something on the ground here. Look . . .”
She started to strip off her boot and sock. Rachel and Joe exchanged looks. Biologists were a lot like doctors to some people.
She held her foot out. It had an angry red rash that seemed to wrap all the way around it.
“Wow,” Rachel said sympathetically. “That’s something.” She had no idea what it could be. “Does it itch?”
“Stings. You ever seen that before? I’m telling you, this is one nasty place. We’ll be glad when your job is done.”
Rachel wanted to tell her that her job wouldn’t take long, but held her tongue. There was no sense contributing to the general state of project fucked-up-ness at the moment.
“I can imagine,” Rachel said.
* * *
Joan called Eddie Silk and asked him to get Rachel’s containers delivered pronto. Rachel thanked her, then was on her way, promising to give her a good guess about what caused her rash as soon as possible. She’d seen stress-induced seborrhea that looked like that. She couldn’t rule it out.
Rachel had counted on the project to supply the lion’s share of required containers, racks, bottles, nets and associated equipment. But she’d brought some of her best stuff along just in case. The Petri dishes, scopes, steel bottles and favorite lab-ware that had traveled with her for the last ten years just had to go along to Verde’s Revenge. She’d left most of the bigger things at home and still had enough to fill three containers. It had taken hours to get it ready. Each time she’d added an item to the pile, it seemed there were several additional ones to be packed. She’d wondered at the time, since the project was so well-funded, if she really needed to bring any of her personal stuff at all.
When she walked into the bio-lab, that thought vanished like a feather in a strong wind. The lab was stark empty.
“Where’s the stuff?” she asked Joe.
“Good question . . .”
It was a basic laboratory module, she could tell by the benches, lighting and stools. What was missing was everything else; no flasks, racks, aquaria, scopes or cages; nothing. The benches were empty and covered with a thin coat of dust. The cabinets against the wall stood open, and the empty shelves looked as if they’d been picked clean; pilfered of every last item they may have once housed. She could make out ring-shaped stains where bottles had stood on those now empty shelves; careless artifacts of a once complete facility. There was a data center and toilets—big deal.
“Now what?” Joe asked.
Rachel vibrated her head in complete disgust.
“I feel like getting right back on the shuttle and going home is what. This is such bullshit, such bullshit.”
The stuff she brought with her was supposed to supplement the existing equipment, not outfit the entire lab. They would be pitifully under-equipped with her equipment alone. She was pissed.
“Horseshit,” she said bluntly.
“Is there a budget or something?” he asked. “Some way to order things?”
“No. There is no budget.”
“Do we have enough to get by with?”
Rachel sighed and pulled out a stool to sit on. Devonshire was suddenly all the more a liability. He didn’t even know enough to know they couldn’t do their jobs.
“This isn’t a Roach Grab, Joe. This is a . . . a . . . I don’t know what this is. Do we have enough to get by with? Hell, yes. Screw it.”
“I’m sorry this isn’t working out like you planned.”
She sprang back up off the stool. “Hey. No sweat. Where’s the delivery kid? He’s got our equipment.”
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so frustrated. Her dream contract, her plum of a deal had turned out to be rotten. Now, unable to toss it aside, she was being forced to eat it.
“See if you can find the kid,” she said. “Help him get the containers put away. I’ve got some mail to send.”
“To who?”
“Never mind. Just get going.”
She dug out her pad and gave it a message addressed to her old roommate Vic Sharp, asking him to pack up the remainder of her personal equipment and ship it to her on Verde. Vic was a biologist too and would know how to handle it. The message would be carried back on the transport and wouldn’t be delivered for thirty days. By the time it got there, and the stuff was delivered back, her contract would be two-thirds over. It didn’t matter. Nothing much mattered to her at this point.
A field biologist’s job was demanding. Fifteen years of advanced and grueling training before you ever got your certs. After that, mostly grunt work if you could find it. Not everyone could do it—certainly few as well as Rachel.
There were probably less than a thousand certified biologists in the entire Commonwealth and only a fraction of that number were willing to do the field work, the dirty work.
Rachel loved it. She loved seei
ng life where it lived and to study it on its own terms. Unlike the lab-heads she’d known, Rachel liked to roll up her sleeves and get right in it. She was used to the dirt and uncomfortable living conditions a field biologist had to endure.
But this contract was a different matter altogether.
You couldn’t work without tools. You couldn’t do your job without resources. Time was a required commodity, too; some things you couldn’t rush. To have worked half her life studying, sweating through exams, enduring sleepless nights, wondering if she was good enough, if she knew enough, if she had the stamina to continue. All that had culminated with this dry-fuck of a project. Verde was a biologist’s wet dream from a distance, but up close it was as sexy as a kiss from your brother.
“Damn it,” she sighed.
They got the containers inside and stacked up on one side of the lab. She didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into another disappointment, so she called it quits for the day. She sent Joe to the store with a list of groceries and sundries she wanted, asking him to take them directly to the shelter and get himself settled in.
The sun was beginning to set when she went out back and sat down on the grate, just for a while; just to unwind. Her spot was in a pleasant wedge of shade cast by the lab’s west-most corner. From her slightly elevated seat, she could see far into the rolling green for many kilometers.
The air was clearer than she had imagined. It was humid in the extreme, close to one hundred percent, she was sure, but somehow devoid of haze, and the reddish slant-light cast the distant hills in sharp relief.
From time to time, she saw things flying over the treetops—flying things that made her smile a little in spite of herself. Except for the obvious fact of wings, the organisms, from a distance, gave little clue to their physiology. She wished she’d brought her binoculars out with her, but there would be plenty of time to study them.
She could see bright flowers of red and yellow and white tucked like jewels within the green and black vines.
She jumped down and strolled over to get a better look. The sun was low and red but still hot enough to make her squint and scowl at the heat.
The jungle was as thick and nearly impenetrable as she had heard, at least in this section. She walked a little up and back, eyeing it, getting its feel without touching it, taking its measure. She breathed it in deeply through her nose.
She plucked a large red orchid-like flower from its stem. The stem was fibrous and tough and didn’t relinquish its prize easily. She smelled it with a long, slow inhale.
God, how sweet.
When she turned the flower over, she saw an insect-thing as long as her thumb clinging to the underside of it. She’d seen specimens more alien than this one; creatures more bizarre and certainly more disturbing, biologically speaking. But she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a more fitting representative of a planet’s predominate life forms than this one. It clung to the waxy petal as if it were an integral part of it. It wasn’t particularly well- camouflaged, color-wise, but had she not been sensitive to where things dwelled, she might have missed it anyway, because it bonded so well with its substrate. It was beetle-like with a wide, segmented body. Eight thin legs, like dark hooks, held it tight to the petal’s underside. Antennae were visible; thin hairs as long as the body itself laid back along the carapace, typical of a resting state. Its color was a light and golden brown with a hint of green iridescence along the sides. The head was smallish and ended in a set of wide and blunt mandibles, probably used to chomp and mince the bodies of prey attracted to the flower. Supporting this hypothesis were two grasping forelegs extending out and forward at the ready, their strong, thorny surfaces suggesting no other use.
It was a perfect emissary, offering up to her by its unique and impeccable physiology alone, a precise, if not friendly, greeting.
“I’m here,” she said softly.
13
He put the last Xercodan in his mouth and crushed the tablet between his teeth. His hand trembling, he filled the plastic glass from the tap and washed the brittle fragments down. Turning was a problem, his feet were so stiff now he could barely make them work at all. He struggled around, using the sink to keep his balance. With tiny, excruciating steps, he crept back over to the bed and sank down on it in slow motion.
He picked up the phone and asked for Eddie Silk. It took a moment to connect.
“This is Eddie,” the voice on the other end said.
“Get your ass over to my shelter right now,” Geary said.
“I’m workin’ right now.”
“I don’t give a shit. Get over here right now. You gotta do something for me.”
“What?”
“Just get over here.”
He put the phone down and slumped back on the greasy pillow. He looked down at his feet and barely recognized them. All of his joints hurt and the cough had gotten much worse since the day before yesterday. He’d tried to get back to the clinic but couldn’t make it. He learned later that the nurse wasn’t there anyway, and nobody knew where she was.
Doctors . . .
He’d gone through the bottle of Xercodan faster than he should have. He knew that now; he should have saved some.
Grinding up two and three at a time had probably been excessive. He had to have some more. The problem was that he couldn’t go for it himself. Eddie would have to go. He was reluctant to reveal the exact location of the stash to someone who hadn’t earned his complete trust, but he didn’t have a choice. The pain was killing him.
An hour later, Eddie arrived at Geary’s shelter and let himself in.
“What took you so goddamned long?” Geary asked.
“What the hell happened to you?” Eddie wanted to know. “What happened to your feet?”
“I got to have some Xerc, and you gotta get it for me.”
“Where is it? You never told me where you put it, remember?”
“Get that locator from the sink and turn it on. Set it to channel two.”
Eddie got the device and turned it on. He set the tuner to channel two and waved it slowly across the room. When it picked up the signal from the transponder on the drum, the light flashed.
“Simple enough?” Geary asked.
“Yeah. I guess I can find it with this.”
“Channel one’s set for the transponder on top of this shelter so you can follow the signal to get back.”
“Got it.”
“There’re some barrels down in the cave. The stuffs down in the first barrel on the right. You’ll see it.”
“Got it.”
“Get goin’ then. Bring back ten or twenty bottles. This shit is killing me.”
“I can’t go ‘til after work.”
“I’m not gonna wait,” Geary said with malice.
Eddie looked at Geary’s swollen feet and sallow face and figured there wasn’t a whole lot Geary could do about the wait. Eddie sensed the older crook’s lameness like a young wolf smells the infirmity of the old. A slight sneer raised one corner of his mouth like the beginning of a snarl. He toyed with the idea of hitting Geary with something for squeezing his arm the other day—maybe getting a good stomp in on one of his sore feet.
“I could get dinged if I get caught,” Eddie said. “You gonna pick up my slack if I do?”
“Yeah, I’ll pick up your slack, and I’ll kick your ass if you don’t get goin’. Get moving damnit.”
“And what if I don’t,” Eddie said suddenly.
“What’d you say?”
“I said, What if I don’t? That’s what I said.”
Geary stared at Eddie as if he could swallow his soul. Eddie stared right back, confident in his superior position.
“You know,” Eddie went on, "You oughta be nicer to people who can help you.”
Eddie saw Geary swallow but try to hide it.
“Yeah,” Eddie continued. “You should be a lot nicer.” Geary felt the pressure on his neck and decided to relent. Eddie had him. There was nothing he could
do—for the moment. He brightened, like all good liars can.
“Well, my feet have got me in a bad mood. I apologize.” Eddie saw that as a victory. He put the locator in his pocket and started out without saying another word. He’d had all the shit from him he wanted to hear in one day.
“Fuck you boy . . .” Geary said under his breath.
Before Eddie got so uppity, Geary was ready to tell him to wear some rubber boots in the cave, or he’d wind up just like him. Now that’s just what he wanted to happen; and in a couple of days, the smart-ass would be in the same condition as he was, only Geary would have the Xerc, and the locator.
“Thanks, partner!” Geary yelled.
Eddie heard Geary yell something else but ignored that, too. He got in the truck and headed back to the dock. On the way back, he thought about terminating his relationship with that prick before he got in any deeper. This little trip was pure bullshit; he probably wanted the Xerc just to get melted on. He wasn’t going to get dinged just because Geary said so, that was for sure. Maybe he didn’t need the bastard at all. There were other guys around who might be willing to take the risks. He had the inside information and was willing to trade it for a percentage. He didn’t necessarily have to trade with Del Geary. He’d have to think about it.
After he put the truck away, he called Mike Kominski. Mike didn’t have much to do right now, so he could go get Geary’s shit. If it came to it, he could tell Joan he’d sent Mike on some errand he’d make up.
* * *
“All you do is point it and walk in the direction it tells you, got it?” Eddie said.
“Yeah,” Mike replied.
“Channel One will point you back.”
“Where am I going, though?”
“Into the green about half a kilometer.”
“For what?”
Eddie told him.
“So head out around the back so Thomas won’t see you. Stick to the building until you’re out of sight.”
Mike looked like he’d just heard something that made no sense whatsoever.