by Chris Walley
Barrand shrugged and threw his arms up in bemusement. “Merral, I know. But she’s convinced she saw something.”
Zennia nodded. “And I think she did.”
“Aunt, how is Elana otherwise?”
“Physically fine. The nurse can find nothing wrong. There’s no evidence of hallucinatory activity; it’s not associated with a fever. Blood tests, neural activity all read normal.”
Merral found himself admitting defeat. “Uncle, Aunt, I have to say I’m baffled. Absolutely. She just saw it and ran away?”
Barrand gestured to his wife to speak.
“No; it was staring at her from behind a bush, she says. It realized it had been observed and ran away.”
Merral was silent. He threw up a quick request to heaven for wisdom and tried to run through the various options. He had to have more time.
“And what do you two think?”
Barrand shifted on his seat. “I don’t know. . . . I suppose it must be nonsense—a dream or something. . . . I went to have a look, but I could see no sign of it. I haven’t searched the area thoroughly. But—”
Zennia nudged him into silence and she spoke. “Elana saw something, Merral. And we think there’s more to it than that.”
Technically, Merral told himself, the guidelines were such that in the rare event of a psychological problem with a colony, a forester would call in specialist help. In his case, Ghina Macreedy. Of course, if it was something in his forests that had caused it then that was a different matter. But this was a curious affair and they were family. Perhaps, too, if it could be dealt with quickly, then a deeper crisis could be avoided.
Barrand was stroking his beard restlessly. “Yes, I’m afraid, Merral, there is something odd here. Or there may be. . . . The animals are agitated, especially the dogs. Particularly since we lost Spotback.”
“Spotback! I never knew you’d lost him. He was a good dog. How did that happen?”
“A good question. We saw him one morning about five days ago heading northward from the farm. Then he just vanished.”
Suddenly, Merral knew that at least his aunt and possibly his uncle had worked themselves into a highly concerned state. And recognizing that, Merral knew what he had to do.
“The other families?”
His aunt shook her head. “Elana is the only one that’s seen it. The others feel the same as we do. You can call them.”
“Perhaps. I’ll see.”
There was one last question he wanted to ask. “What does Thomas think?”
Barrand’s face looked pained. “Our son Thomas is, I’m sorry to say, acting scared. He will only play outside the front of the house. And he comes inside well before dusk.”
So he’s affected as well. That settled it.
“Look, I think I’m going to come up and see you. I’ll see if I can’t get one of our fast Recon vehicles and be with you tomorrow. Just for a day. Talk to Elana; take a look around.”
Zennia’s hazel eyes showed gratitude. “Oh, thank you, Merral! We’d feel better for that. See if you can make sense of it. You think it’s a good idea, Barrand?”
There was a pause “Ho! Why not? Better our Merral than a host of people we don’t know. We might be able to solve it. Yes, come up. As soon as possible.”
Then, with abbreviated family news, they closed the conversation.
After the call Merral did nothing immediately but sit staring at the rain and waves, thinking through what he had heard. It was troubling. Forward Colony families were always selected for their ability to handle remote small communities and few facilities. For them to be so uneasy was extremely odd. The whole thing defied analysis. Merral decided that the most likely cause was that Elana, perhaps helped by her active imagination, had had some sort of waking dream or hallucination.
But, whatever its cause, the event had generated some sort of real collective anxiety. And that needed a rapid resolution. Not only were the Antalfers his family, they were also a good team with a lot of experience. If they had to be rotated out, they would be hard to replace.
After ten minutes, Merral got up and walked down the corridor to where his director was working and put his head around the door. Henri was in his thinking pose. He was reclining in his chair, with his lean arms behind his head and his feet up on the desk, staring at the giant map of northeastern Menaya that occupied most of the opposite wall. At the sight of Merral he swung his legs down and gestured him in with a wave of an arm and a genial smile. “Merral! Come in, man. Take a seat.” Ten years in Ynysmant hadn’t blunted Henri’s distinctive Tablelands intonation.
Closing the door behind him, Merral took the proffered seat. “I hope I’m not disturbing any deep thoughts?”
Henri stroked his carefully trimmed brown beard and stared at him with his closely spaced, deep-set dark eyes. “Thoughts? Yes, I’ll say so. We have just lost a hexapod; got washed away at the Grandell Cleft. It’s how to recover what’s left of it. And the weather this winter. . . . Ach!” He frowned. “When I started here, they were worried about polar ice sheets shrinking; now they are expanding too fast. This planet is like an unbroken horse; it runs this way today and tomorrow that. But this winter—it’s been so long—means there is the danger of us all being way behind schedule. Summers are short enough in our northernmost zones. I’m thinking of ways of saving time when the weather does improve. My other issue is how to replace you, assuming you go. You’ll be missed, man. Really missed.”
“Sorry. I’ll miss being here.”
“Ach.” He smiled. “Not with this weather. . . . Anyway, what can I do for you?”
“We have a problem at Herrandown.” Merral paused, trying to work out how to tell the story.
Henri clucked sympathetically. “Man, that’s bad news. I’ve got your quarry team ready to go to the ridge. But tell me about it.”
Very carefully, Merral explained the substance of his call that morning while Henri listened attentively and without comment. “So you see, Henri,” Merral ended, “I’d like to go up and check it out personally. I think that way we can best reduce the strain on the family.”
Henri nodded. “I can see that. If you can fix it.” He stared a moment at the wall-high image of Mount Katafana. “Yes. Ghina is out south; otherwise, I’d suggest you take her. You really ought to go with someone with some psychological background. I mean, that’s what you think it is, I take it? Psychology?”
“There doesn’t seem much other option, does there?”
His director thought briefly. “No,” he asserted, shaking his head. Then Henri looked at the image again and Merral remembered that his boss was planning to climb Mount Katafana this year.
“No, man. I’m at a loss to think of any other explanation.” He gave his beard a further stroke and stared at Merral. “You’ve got much experience in talking to troubled fourteen-year-old girls?”
“Not really. Although I know the girl at the center of the problem.” Then an idea struck him “Mind you, I know someone who has experience.”
A look of gentle amusement came onto Henri’s face. “Ah yes. I should have thought of her. Yes, see if you can get Isabella Danol to go with you. Get a Recon vehicle booked now. Check that they’ve still got the winter tires. Normally, by now we’d be starting to grapple with dust, not mud. But not this year. Oh no.”
“Thanks, Henri. Thanks a great deal.”
Merral turned to go. As he did, Henri spoke again in a low voice. “One last thing, man—if it turns out to be serious, then just ask for help. The Antalfers deserve our best efforts.”
Back in his office, Merral had an idea. He pulled off his diary and asked it to call “Anya Salema Lewitz, biologist, location unknown.” Moments later the response came from the Planetary Ecology Center in Isterrane where a man, who identified himself as Anya’s assistant, answered. He apologized and said that she was in a conference, but expressed the confident opinion that she would call him back as soon as she was free.
Merral had better fo
rtune with Isabella, who was in her office. “Isabella, I have had a problem this morning that you may be able to help me with. It’s right in your age group. The Antalfers; you remember them?”
She nodded, her thin face thoughtful. “Of course. Barrand and Zennia out at Herrandown. She is your mother’s younger sister.”
“But very different. My mother wouldn’t last a week in Herrandown. Zennia’s much more placid. Or she was. Anyway, their oldest girl—Elana—has had a disturbing experience. Two days ago she claims to have seen a creature her size in the wood. It was brown and shiny, hard-skinned, like an insect.”
Isabella said nothing for what seemed a long time. In fact, Merral thought that if it hadn’t been for the slight frown on her face he would have assumed that she hadn’t heard. When she did speak, it was very softly. “Poor thing. Is she all right?”
That’s Isabella: cautious and concerned. Everybody else, me included, leaps in and says the thing can’t exist. She thinks of the girl first.
“Apparently, she’s pretty unhappy.”
“So I should imagine. Hmm. How old is she?”
“Just fourteen. Becoming a young lady.”
“I see. And this thing was her size?”
“So she claimed. Of course, as you know, there is nothing like that. What do you think?”
Isabella put her head on one side for a moment and looked back at him for some time before answering. “Sorry, Merral, I can’t judge that. It’s odd, and there isn’t enough data, I’m afraid. I mean, I’d have to be sure that such a thing was ruled out. It has to be an illusion? I mean, it’s not an escape of something, is it?”
“No. There are no such things in or out of captivity.”
She nodded. “Thought so. Well. . . .” She paused, leaning back as if trying to get the best position to think in. “You would have to know her up-to-date psychological profile. And a lot of other things.”
“Such as?”
“Physical health, recent diet, allergies, mental state, etc. It’s fairly common for temporary and mild psychological perturbations to occur in puberty. But seeing things is a bit odd. I think there would have to be something else. Hmm.” She lapsed into silence.
That is what she would say; she wouldn’t be so highly rated if she had made an instant diagnosis in a case like this. But then, who could?
“Look, Isabella, I’m going early tomorrow for the day to see them and to try and sort out what’s happening. Henri has okayed a fast Recon vehicle. Can you come up with me? We’d be back early evening at the latest.”
There was a moment’s pause and then the faintest hint of a smile. “Yes, if I work this evening. I’d like that, Merral. It sounds like you might need some help.”
“All right. Meet me at the end of your street at half past six tomorrow.”
Anya Lewitz called back just before lunch. She grinned at him from the screen of the diary before he’d even said a word. With her broad, freckled face, sky blue eyes, flaming red hair, and perpetual dynamism, Merral had always thought her pretty in a rather obvious way ever since he met her in college. The image he saw offered nothing to change that view.
“Merral D’Avanos! Where have you been? Still up to your waist in bogs planting trees, eh? Growing roots? It’s been so long since we met up. When was it?” The voice was as bright and cheery as ever.
“The last round of planning for Northern Menaya; you were talking about the problems with the introduction of mammals from different Terran continents into a world with a single supercontinent.” He remembered that she had had her red hair shorter then.
“Ah yes, the old purity-versus-practicality debate. Do you have either American or Eurasian faunas or do you do what we’ve done here and just mix them up and see what does best? Yes, I remember it. I’m now on reconstruction work, actually.”
“Reconstruction? I sometimes think that I’d like to be involved in that—restoring species and environments that humanity destroyed in the past. That’s valuable.”
“Oh, nonsense!” She snorted. “So is planting trees, Merral. Bringing back the dodo is neat, but you can’t breathe dodos. In fact, I’m told they are rather ugly and stupid.”
“True, trees play a pretty important role in the great scheme of things. Anyway, I enjoy my work so I’m thankful.”
“That’s good.”
There was a slight pause.
“Anyway, Anya, the reason I’m calling you is that I have an odd situation.” He hesitated again, feeling strangely certain of how his question would be received. “See, I have a girl here on the edge of the Great Northern Forest who claims to have seen something strange. She says she saw a creature like a small man, with a hard, shiny brown skin like a beetle. Is this a case for zoology or psychiatry?”
“The latter, I’m afraid. No question.” The response was immediate, and Anya’s smile radiated confidence.
“No other possibilities? I mean, Farholme was, of course, dead when it was seeded.”
The red hair bobbed as she shook her head emphatically. “The last bacteria here died out a billion years ago; about average for this sort of world. And there is no evidence that anything beyond the usual simple forms developed. And everything was sterile here long before Leviathan-D arrived.”
“As I thought. And our existing beetles?”
“The biggest beetles on Farholme could fit in the palm of your hand. On the tropical islands.” She sighed. “I’m afraid you are talking psychiatrist. Sorry.”
“Well, it’s what I concluded too. They are my forests. But, as a matter of interest, what would you need to be convinced otherwise?”
She looked surprised. “I’d need a specimen, dead or alive. You’ve got a full description? skin or cuticle samples? still or video images? even a drawing?”
“Not at the moment. You have all the data I have. I hope to interview her tomorrow. Oh, the thing ran off when she saw it.”
The blue eyes flashed with amused exasperation. “Oh, you tree experts! Learn to describe movement! Try to improve on that ‘ran off’ line. Did it lope, bound, slink, or scuttle? And please—on how many legs? From the description it could be two, four, six, or eight.”
“Okay. Thanks for the tip, Anya. I’ll remember that. But I suppose it is a hallucination? You’ve not reconstructed Cretaceous beetles?”
She smiled and tossed her head. “I’m sorry, especially for the girl. No, the Reconstruction Mandate has strict limits. You know them, but I’ll remind you. It has to be a species made extinct by man, so we are still arguing over whether or not we reconstruct the mammoth. I’m voting yes, incidentally. But I’m afraid your guess is right. I can state categorically that it was an illusion. For a start, physics gives a finite size to insects because of their breathing mechanism. If you doubled our oxygen levels you might get them a bit larger, but a meter-plus high? No hope! And they never look human unless . . .” She moved closer to the screen. “Say, how many legs do you have up there in Ynysmant?”
Merral laughed. “You haven’t changed, Anya. I have just the usual.”
“Sorry, it sounds like a waking nightmare. Talk to the psychology crowd. But if there is any hard data, and I mean hard, Tree Man, let me know, and I’ll get the lab ready. And I’ll lay in a ton of triple-strength cockroach killer. Incidentally, what’s this I hear about you and the tropics?”
So it’s news in Isterrane too.
“True, Anya. It’s being worked on. Almost certainly I’m being posted to Faraketha at the end of summer. Do you know it?”
“Hot, hot, and hot. And that’s the cool season; you’ll sweat off a few kilos in days. Actually, I’ve only flown over it. It’s very poor quality at the moment, mostly very low diversity jungle. I’m no expert, but I think you ought to use a vortex blaster on it and start over again from scratch.”
“I’ve heard it’s an option. But I need to take a look.”
“Actually, in fact, I’m going to be working with the Madagascar Project on Terelka. That’s only five
hundred kilometers south. But milder.”
“You are going to be on that? I’m impressed. That’s a grand vision.”
Anya raised her hands in excitement. “Maybe too big. It’s still in the design stage. But here, we think we can risk the ecological purity approach. Specific reconstruction of a whole long-gone subcontinental ecosystem. Lemurs, small mammals, birds, reptiles, vegetation—the lot. It will take a millennium before we know if we have achieved a viable re-creation.” She laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, Merral, I get excited.”
“That’s how it should be! Well, I’d better get on with my work. I’ll hope to catch up with you soon, Anya. But thanks for the opinion. It confirms what I think.”
“Apologies about that,” she said, shrugging. “Giant anthropoid beetles would be interesting, but I think we’d know if they existed. Blessings, Merral.”
“Blessings, Anya.” The image faded away.
Merral could only make time for a trip north by working extra hours, so he stayed on at work until early evening. The idea of a community running from shadows dogged his thinking; he felt certain that there was something about the story that was familiar. Just as he was about to leave the deserted building, the answer came to him: Vero. Vero had talked of a sentinel investigation on a world where there had been a problem with a community. It would be useful to see that data. But where had it been?
Through his diary, Merral located Vero. He was on Aftarena Island on the other side of Farholme. With the time difference, he would be asleep for a few hours yet. Merral left a message on Vero’s diary, ordered the building lights off, and walked home across the causeway.
Vero returned the call just as Merral was getting ready for bed. He quickly pulled his night-suit on, sat within view of the diary and switched on the screen. Suddenly the dark, lean face of Vero appeared. He was wearing a lightweight, short-sleeved shirt, and there was bright, low-angle sunlight streaming behind him.
“Merral! It’s been quite a few weeks. I’m sorry I haven’t called before,” he said with an apologetic smile.