by David Boyle
Physiologically, the differences between the Karpourii and the Grotky were initially minimal. Not all Grotky survived the long isolation, and the ones that did were forever changed. Innovation had been key to surviving in the desolation of the wilderness, and even before the last of the ice ages had ended, a culture developed that was both bound and devoted to technological superiority. The environmental conditions remained brutal for many kilarands, the “death sleep”, as the putra ki had originally been known, subjected to ever more intense study as the Grotky came to dominate the planet. The putra ki, in its purest form, had become the Kartuchu, The Master’s Sleep.
Controlled at will, and much later applied to space travel, the Kartuchu was one of the means by which the Grotky were able to endure the long and monotonous travel times between stars.
Mark found it ironic that a cultural development like the Kartuchu could speak so clearly of the vastness of space. Though the Grotky had developed the technology needed to travel between the stars, transit times could yet be sufficiently long that it was convenient, and often necessary, to suspend life functions, as Wheajo said, though Mark thought unnecessarily, to conserve resources and shorten the perceived times and distances.
The tent had become a lonely place, what with Wheajo settled and no longer interested in conversation, and Mark was restless. The rain was still pouring, and with no sign of stopping, Mark opted to get wet as opposed to staying put by himself. He splashed across to Ron’s tent. “Anybody home?”
“Sure, come on in,” Hayden said, waiting while Mark zipped the door closed. “Swig’a the dog?”
“Absolutely.” Mark settled cross-legged and tipped the bottle back. “Good!” he said hoarsely, eyes bulging after he swallowed. “Gads, that’s pretty rough without a chaser.”
Ron chuckled. “Put hair on your chest.”
Mark screwed the cap on. “I guess a little more wouldn’t hurt.”
They called to the other tent, offering to let them join the party so long as they brought the beer. Charlie ran to the tarps and grabbed a six pack, Tony waiting at the door when he came slopping through the rain.
Charlie stumbled in, dripping. “This better stop soon or were gonna be swimin’. That’s some sloppy shit out there.”
“Be glad it’s not cold,” Ron said. “Besides, you needed the shower anyway.” Dark as it was outside, inside was almost worse. “Where’s that lantern of yours? I need to see which end of this to open.”
“You know, I almost believe you.” Hayden fumbled through his gear and found the little single-mantel lantern. Tony was there with a match, the lantern coming to life with a pop, the burst of light blinding until Hayden turned the flow down. They plopped themselves on whatever was within reach, the dry bags stashed along the walls becoming the preferred backrests. A tight fit no matter how they arranged themselves, Ron’s tent was the preferred place to congregate on cold or rainy nights like these.
“What’s our friend doin’?” asked Ron, cracking open his beer.
Mark took a swig. “I was about to say sleeping, but it’s more than that. Like hibernation almost. Says he can stay folded up like he does for days if he has to. I got the impression that he can set himself up to where his metabolism goes to near zero while he’s in… ah, the putra ki, that’s it.”
Hayden nodded thoughtfully. “I could use that at work.”
“Like you haven’t been doing that for years.”
“Easy with that, Delgado. There’s five of us, remember?” Tony took a swig and offered the brandy to Hayden, who thanked him but said he was good with his beer.
“Place isn’t so bad. A little wet maybe…,” Ron glanced outside, “but we’ve been through worse.”
“I kind of like it,” Tony said, enjoying the company. “A week or a month, I’ve got no problem being here. I’ll be good for as long as it takes Wheajo’s ship to get here.”
Charlie stared when the bellow of some animal sounded in the distance. “Long as we don’t have to go shootin’ somethin’ every other day, I guess we’ll be okay. Hell, I caught enough fish all by my lonesome to keep us fed for a week.”
Hayden nodded, quietly sipping his beer as everyone gushed on and on about the wonderful fishing. He’d had as much fun as anyone, but it wasn’t fishing that had been playing on his mind. He waited for the conversation to hit a lull.
“You mentioned earlier, Tony, about waiting for Wheajo’s ship.”
“And?”
“I’ve been wrestling with this most of the day, and I’m wondering if that’s really the right thing to do.”
“You worry too much,” Mark said. “We got wood when we need it. Critters with brains about this friggen’ big. Fishing like none of us have ever seen before. And a washing machine we don’t have to pay for and ain’t ever gonna stop.” He and Ron tapped cans, both then taking a swallow.
Tony caught Charlie’s expression and followed his gaze to Hayden. “Would you guys mind getting a little serious?” Tony paused. “So what is it that you’re so concerned about?”
Hayden cleared his throat. “Just think about it okay? Here’s this bunch of aliens, just doin’ their alien thing….” He stopped and smiled at the way it came out. “I know it sounds screwy. But let me finish.” Hayden went on to say that he felt it fairly unlikely that the aliens would be too pleased about having one of their crew kidnapped. So why, after they found him, would they be so willing to bring them all home?
His change of subject had already caught everyone by surprise, the smiles on their faces fading when they considered his remark. They knew the situation, or thought they did, and only now realized it wasn’t as rosy as they’d hoped. Lightning illuminated the tent with an eerie flicker, followed three seconds later by a thunder clap that boomed throughout the valley.
Having gotten their attention, Hayden laid out what he felt were some of the possible outcomes. “First, the ship arrives on schedule, rescues Wheajo, and leaves us behind. Second, they rescue Wheajo and take us prisoner. Maybe as specimens… or worse.
“And third,” he said, finally. “They find and rescue us, transport us home, and drop us off near the truck with a slap on the back and an adios, seeing that we’ve become such good buddies with Wheajo.” Hayden waited for a second. “Which do you think is most likely?”
Silence reigned for a long awkward moment as the men searched desperately for a hole in Hayden’s logic.
“Then how ‘bout we take Wheajo hostage when they get here?” Charlie said. “You know, use him to bargain with.”
“Uh huh,” Ron said. “And how ‘bout if they blow our hostage and us to kingdom come?”
“That’s another possibility,” Hayden nodded, thoughtfully nursing his beer.
Mark was suddenly sober. “Or how about once they figure out how far back we are, they give up on the whole rescue thing altogether…?”
They sat there, dumbfounded.
“I don’t want to stay here and die! We’ve got to get home! My family needs me….” Tony put his arm around his friend’s shoulder, searching the others’ eyes.
“There is an alternative.”
“Yeah? And what the hell’s that?”
“We find a way to recharge Wheajo’s time machine.”
“You’re back to that again?” Ron said, squinting through the hole to the bottom of his can. “Maybe you weren’t listening, but according to Wojo, there’s no way to make that happen.”
Bolts flickered across the sky, thunder reverberating about the darkness. Mark looked at Hayden, smiles creeping across their faces as if reading each other’s minds. “That would do it, huh?”
“I don’t see why not,” Mark replied. “I’m guessing here, but I’d be willing to bet that every bolt carries like ten thousand amps. Whether that’s a good number or not, I’m thinking one of these has more than enough juice to recharge that time shifter thing.”
“Yeah right. So how about explaining how you’d go about getting lightning to strike the th
ing?”
“Damn it, Ron. Try thinking positive for once in your life.”
“No kiddin’.”
“You too, huh? Can’t say as I’ve heard any brilliant suggestions from your end lately, Chuck.” Even in the dim light, everyone could see the way Charlie went suddenly rigid.
Charles Van Dyke had throughout his grammar and high school years played football, and it was in the former that he’d learned to detest the name Chuck. The playground had been noisy with laughter and loaded with his close and not-so-close friends, Christy too, when just like in the cartoon the holder had pulled away the ball and, like his namesake, he’d slipped and plopped squarely on his backside. He could still hear the laughter and the voice shouting ‘Atta way, Chuck!’ Whether the incident had anything to do with it, Christy moved on to other boys; the albatross had not. It hadn’t helped that he was a bit pudgy at the time. Nor that he wasn’t exceptionally bright. ‘Chuck’ had become a curse, its every derogatory connotation following him seemingly everywhere, and he’d worked hard ever since to rid himself of the old stigma.
They all knew how Charlie felt, through Tony if not firsthand, and knew ‘Chuck’ as a moniker was a term never to be used lightly when addressing the Bull.
Tony saw that his friend was angry, and worse, that he was hurt. He was also certain that one more ill-directed word, and Charlie would explode.
“That was uncalled for, McClure.”
“Who is he to be telling me to be quiet?” Ron retorted, making it plain he was in no mood for compromise. “If you’d fucking listened to me we wouldn’t be here in the first place. And now this? What you’re talking about is impossible. You know that, don’t you?”
“Could be it is,” Mark said, granting him a minuscule concession. “Then again, maybe it isn’t.
“There are times you blow my mind, McClure. Nobody is saying this would be easy, yet here you are, just like yesterday, throwing rocks at every idea anyone puts on the table.”
“Time out,” said Tony, tapping his palm. “We’re in this together, and we’re going to pull in one direction, or not at all.” He sucked in a breath, trying to relax. “And stop me if I’m speaking out of turn,” he said to the others, then turning to Ron. “But if you can’t contribute anything useful, please be quiet as was suggested.”
Ron started to say something, but decided against when he saw the other’s faces.
“So we’ve got at least two options,” Hayden said, continuing where he’d left off. “We sit tight and wait, or we work to get home on our own.” He looked around at his friends. “Any others?”
Their silence said no.
Option 1 was relatively safe. Wheajo had acknowledged the time it would take, and presented a strong case that his superiors would be reluctant to abandon the equipment he possessed for fear they could possibly fall into the wrong hands. The counter was that they had traveled so far back that despite reservations Wheajo’s captain could dispense with the search on the grounds that the devices had no realistic chance of surviving into the future. For lack of better estimates, they guessed they had a fifty-fifty chance that the rescue would proceed.
If the ship did find them, they were reasonably certain they wouldn’t be killed or left behind. How they would be treated was a total unknown, though it seemed unlikely they would be brought back and released unharmed. To this was added the probability of their surviving long enough to be found. Having better information about the island raised their expectations, their best guess being they had an 80% probability of surviving the maximum sixty days Wheajo had estimated the ship would take to arrive. Taken together, odds were they had a 30% chance of making it home by way of a rescue.
Option 2 was far less amenable to logical deduction. There were simply too many unknowns. Most terrifying was the possibility that the brizva could be damaged or destroyed while attempts were made to recharge it. Doomed permanently to the past, no one was willing to project their chances for survival over the long term. Of one thing they were certain: once their ammunition ran out, their chances for survival afterward would go to zero.
The odds favored a bleak and short-lived future, and long minutes passed while they pondered their plight. Outside, a flash lit the countryside, the thunder that followed rumbling like a dirge. Inside, the lantern cast shadows of worried and frightened men on the tent’s nylon walls.
“Okay, so I’ll give you my take,” Hayden said, breaking the gloomy silence. “We sit tight and cross our fingers that Wheajo’s ship gets here in the time he said.”
“Isn’t that where we started?”
“Will you let me finish!? And while we’re waiting we work through whatever plans we can think of to recharge Wheajo’s time machine. Say find a place to set up a tower or something. Then, if something changes, we’ll be ready and won’t end up losing more time.”
“Seems our best bet,” Mark said with little enthusiasm. “I’m not sure how he’ll take all this, but I’ll find a way of getting Wheajo to think about ways to charge it.
“How about it? Worth giving it a shot?”
“Sure thing, Bennett. I’ll play your silly game. Just don’t get any ideas about my leaving this damn island to go looking—”
“We know where you stand.” Tony turned to his friend. “You okay with that?”
Charlie sat staring into the darkness. “What?” He came around, a blank look on his face.
“You in or out?”
“Oh that…. Yeah, I’m in. I’ll do anything to get out of here.” Lightning flickered in the distance, his gaze shifting toward the ensuing rumble. “You guys work out what we need and I’ll do what I can to help. I would rather stay on the island. If you don’t mind….” The way Charlie said it made everyone nervous, his voice tinged with the anxiety of a jumper on the edge of a cliff.
The rain slanted through the trees, the heaviest of the lightning shifting south, the wind at last showing signs of dying. The air was thick and heavy, as were everyone’s thoughts, Hayden directing his flashlight to the tent while Charlie scampered through the rain. He grabbed Tony’s arm on his way out. “Keep an eye on him, okay?”
Tony nodded. “See you in the morning.”
Hayden waited for Tony, then redirected the light until Mark disappeared into his tent as well. He zipped the door closed and did some straightening up. Ron had shifted his sleeping bag to the edge of the tent and arranged his clothes bags alongside it, like a wall, his utter silence speaking volumes as Hayden settled in for the night.
His sleeping bag too warm and confining, Hayden simply lay on top and stared at the ceiling. So many things to think about, each with its own particular set of worries. He rolled on his side and reached over and turned the knob on his little gas lantern. The mantel’s glow faded, and he watched its last gasps as it pulsated and went out.
Inky blackness.
The rain droned on the tent fly. So many things. A growl bellowed from across the river, from out there, a chill running along his arms as Hayden groped for the flap of his sleeping bag and tugged it over his head.
15
Tony yawned onto his back. The tent was aglow, birds chattering noisily when he checked his wrist. No watch. He felt along the floor and under the air mattress. It had to be here somewhere. The air was cool and damp, pleasant actually, and he smiled at what a rarity that was. Heavy drops splattered to the ground with soothing regularity. He gave up searching and laid back and stared at the ceiling. What day was it? Tuesday? No, Wednesday. He thought about Lorraine and what she would be doing. Westley’s party was little more than a week away, and if the drapes weren’t delivered on time he knew she’d be a nervous wreck. She shouldn’t have tried to time it so close.
A wistful smile creased his cheek, then vanished when something bayed like a horse with bronchitis in the distance. Across the clearing were four kinds of ferns, a twist half around all he needed to catch glimpses of palm trees across the river. Ferns out the front door, palms out the back! He might as
well be camping in the tropics section of the Conservatory.
Except for the dinosaurs.
His first visit there was with his honors biology class, and he remembered the placards with the Latin names and wishing there was a priest nearby to translate. The exotics had equally exotic origins: Southeast Asia, Central Africa, Cuba, South America. Even some from states bordering the Gulf. Bring home cuttings from a fraction of the plants growing near their campsite and the conservators would need to add an entire new section, with Colorado listed in the Where Found column.
Palm trees and ferns in Colorado—it was crazy.
They were also a vivid reminder of how far he was from home. You’re not going to make it to that party, you know that, right? And that search Wheajo mentioned? Who in their right mind would look this far back? And seriously, do you really believe any of you can last here for two months? Maybe more?
Tony tried to shake the questions, but another grubbed to the surface: How long before anyone even knows you’re missing? He came up with a start. Okay, enough already. Now you’re beginning to sound like McClure!
Charlie lay beside him in a tightly curled ball, and he saw himself there if he didn’t do something constructive. There was nothing he could do to change the situation—that was up to Wheajo—but he wasn’t going to let it get to him either. After donning socks and his last clean pair of Levi’s, Tony slipped on his sneakers, grabbed a T-shirt, and, hoping not to wake Charlie, carefully zipped open the tent.