by Pam Uphoff
Ebsa wandered back to his crawler and eyed the guns in the safe. A 9mm pistol for Paer, the small of the back holster would probably not get in her way. The 10mm carbine was stubby enough to . . . stash someplace handy. He turned to the fab. A step above the big commercial kitchen fabs, it was happy to spit out two large brackets, strong magnets on the long flat side. She could hang the carbine on anything metal . . . and maybe she should keep the shotgun in case of small spiders . . . He heard a footstep and turned his head.
Paer looked over his selection and shook her head. Held out the shotgun. "Dr. Atly came back from the meeting and said under no circumstances was anyone to carry weapons in his aid station."
He looked at the holstered 9mm. "If it's not in your hands, is it carrying?"
"Ebsa . . . "
"Oh, all right. But you'd best walk around with that anti-chitin spell ready to hand. Slice too. I don't want to have to explain to Ra'd how I'd been a bad influence and gotten you killed."
She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "You are a bad influence. And I am totally beat, and the girls’ barracks are full of emotional idiots emoting at each other. May I sleep in your bed?"
"You may. And I shall step outside and remain visible, so as to protect your reputation. Well, and get lunch started."
He slid the pistol under the pillow. "Everything in the rack is either loaded or has a loaded magazine zipped to it. I think I'll tape the carbine under the cold buffet."
"Yes, Nanny."
He gave her a chaste kiss and headed for the kitchen. Lunch . . .
The tykes were looking hopeful and had fabbed up a pile of paper plates.
"So, what are you planning on fixing?" He grinned at their eager expressions. All they needed was someone to show them how it was done.
"The vats are only half grown, but if we use both chicken and beef, not to mention all the veggies in the other vat, we can do nuggets. We'll even fry them."
"Good idea, and maybe a couple of salads? Potato and coleslaw?"
Rye eyed him cautiously. "The fab does a good coleslaw."
"Yep, not that I won't customize it a bit. So let's get started . . . "
No spiders interrupted lunch. This time.
He sat with Ocho and a couple of his crew. "What's this excursion to the coast? Not enough ruins immediately to hand?"
Ocho grinned. "Over the hills, there in the west. Some of the ruins are less ruined. A couple of the archaeologists were hoping the basements might have some intact indication of who the Builders were. Then they picked up some radio frequency static, and got all excited about the possibility of finding working equipment. If it weren't so hard to get to, I think we'd have moved the whole camp."
"Hmm. Sounds like you need to talk to Disco about moving the gate." And send someone besides scientists and a couple of guards, in case it's more stray Helaos. Or Earth. Or Rior's gang. Ebsa bit his lip as Wxxo shrugged
"No one wants to spend the money. And stop looking so spooked. It was just static, not a modern transmission."
"Umm, sorry. Yeah, I can see not wanting to spend an extra couple of million rials."
"But any good finds, and they'll do it."
Relax! There's no problem. "Huh. Then you'll have to move or duplicate everything. What's the water supply? Wells, out here in the desert?"
Ocho pointed at the snow-capped mountains. "We've got underground aquifers, and caverns, possibly artificial, down a couple of hundred feet. The water level's been rising since the hot weather hit. You ought to check out some of the sinkholes when you've got time off. Real pretty, plants down as far as they can get sun, all greening up as their deep roots hit water, or the water rises. The archaeologists head down them most mornings."
So the next day he left the tykes in charge of lunch and headed out with a group led by the energized Dr. Itchy.
The sinkhole they were exploring was ten kilometers from the main camp.
A hundred meters across, it dropped out of sight into the early morning shadows. Bright green foliage, and big white flowers. The route down was a series of metal ladders and steep stairs bolted into the rock layers.
Itchy talked nonstop as he scampered down the steps. "It's all volcanics. Some soft ash layers, some pyroclastics, that is, glowing hot avalanches. When the flow stopped and settled it was still hot enough to weld it all together. Interbedded with the more traditional lava flows." He reached up and tapped a protruding ledge of dark rock as he ducked under it. "These caverns are either eroded or dug out of the softer stone. We argue about it, of course. Man-made or natural, with the peacemakers suggesting natural caverns enlarged and joined by the Builders."
"That does sound likely . . . although from what Ocho said, they must get flooded every spring or early summer." Ebsa eyed the exposed roots of a small tree, gripping the rock and reaching downward. Although if you counted the reach of those roots, it's actually a very tall tree.
The air was a little cooler, and a lot damper, a breeze rising past him. It obviously connects to another sinkhole.
The lower they got, the smaller the individual trees, even though they were obviously the same species as the higher trees. Less light? Or younger trees . . . surely the water never floods this high and drowns the lower plants.
The sun climbed, and the edge of the shadow dropped as they descended.
Three quarters of the way to the dimly seen water in the bottom of the cavern, a metal grid walkway led part way around the side, ending at a deep shelf . . . and at the back, a cave . . . or perhaps a passageway?
"Look at the symmetry of the arched ceiling. It must be artificial. And the floor is flat . . . give or take a century and a half of occasional floods." Itchy glared around at the walls that were stubbornly refusing to divulge their origins.
"Do you even know if the ruins are human? Could be Neanderthal or Elf, couldn't they?"
Itchy scowled. "We have no idea. Except when Q put in the permanent gate, she said this world was in a band of Empty Worlds that appeared to have once been more habitable."
"So . . . probably an astronomical event?" Ebsa peered down the tunnel. "Are there any inhabited worlds in this band?"
"Not that anyone has found." Itchy shone his light down the tunnel. "We're clearing out debris, hoping to find a closed room with something in it, anything, any hint of who built all of this."
"Oh. That's why all the excitement over it. Not just a dead civilization, but an indication of who or what lived in this entire band prior to the cataclysm."
"Pretty much. A single damned skeleton could establish which hominid dominated here . . . possibly an all new one, which is the real prize."
Ebsa looked around and grinned. "Going to call them dwarves? Skilled miners living underground?"
"That joke was old eight months ago, roughly two days after we found the first indication that the caverns might be artificial."
"Oh. Sorry. And just knowing who, and being able to extrapolate their natural inclinations from their city would be groundbreaking."
"Indeed."
Ebsa helped with the rough clearing, finding nothing of interest, then climbed out and returned to the main camp in time to rescue the diners from the tykes' food preferences.
For two days he let the tykes pick the food, and just steered them toward using real food, real spices, and especially real bread.
He gave them the next morning off. "Sleep in. We'll start rotating who does the early breakfasts and how to do easy meals a couple of days a week."
Woofie grinned and looked around the camp. "Wow. Time off in Paradise."
Rye snickered. "Can we save up time, and take a weekend back home? You have no idea how badly I want out of the barracks here."
"Should be doable . . . Umm. Why is Wxxo rushing off?" Ebsa started drifting off that direction and spotted Iqgu angling in to meet him.
He got close enough to catch Iqgu's exasperated, ". . . everything have to happen at once."
"It's just a broken leg. We'll
bring him back and stick him in the docbox." Wxxo looked vexed, not worried.
"Yeah, which would be fine, if only the cockroaches hadn't eaten a couple of tires, while they were fighting to keep them off the people."
"We'll go get him . . . " Wxxo's gaze fell on Ebsa.
Ebsa grinned. Road trip! "Can a crawler get there? I could bring him back a heck of a lot more comfortably than any of those utility vehicles."
Dr. Atly hustled up. "I looked at the scan they sent. Straightforward closed fracture, but he shouldn't be moved without a splint." Scowl. "Paer's a Med Tech, I'll send her along with the splint. She's got good pain reducing spells."
Yes!
"Right, so how many tires? And how do I keep these super cockroaches from eating mine?" Ebsa looked around as Ocho joined them.
"Three. I've got them here, so we don't have to wait for them, or go across and collect them ourselves. This is the first time they've eaten tires. I shouldn't be surprised though, they'll eat anything organic."
"Right. Anybody got a map?"
Wxxo pinched his nose. "There goes the cook."
"Ah, I've been here a hair less than a week and you've already gotten spoiled? The tykes are getting better. I'm sure you'll all survive."
"But will we want to?” Iqgu hunched his shoulders. "Let me show you the map while Ocho loads the tires." He led off down the row of office squishies.
Now I know why the whole row is on a long concrete pad. It—hopefully—guarantees that a bunch of hungry spiders won't eat their way through the floor some day.
"We bulldozed out to the . . . well, what we think was once either a highway, or possibly a rail line. It goes southwest around those hills," he pointed west. "Then across some lower hills. We bulldozed again, to get down some steep slopes. The city actually thins out for a bit, then compacts again all along the coast. Then they made me stop, so we didn't do more damage than when whatever happened here, happened. And centuries of weather and earthquakes." He turned into one squishy.
It was set up as an office; the old man at the desk looked up and nodded. "I talked to Ogly. He said there was another earthquake, and he almost got out of the way of a minor rockslide. Then the cockroaches all came to the surface, and swarmed them. The bugs are either dead or gone back underground, for now."
"Good. Pull up the map to the coast." Iqgu looked around at Ebsa. "Whenever there's an earthquake, the roaches swarm. Guess they get out so they don't get crushed. Otherwise they mostly only come out at night." He tipped the screen around so Ebsa could see it.
"This part won't be a problem. But there's a deepish canyon that's a bitch to cross, just before you get to the hills. Then the descent to the coast is steep, we bulldozed switchbacks into it. It'll be tight for the crawler. Then once you're down, you'll need to wind around through the ruins to the camp."
Ebsa eyed the route through those ruins. "Worse that'll happen is we have to roll the tires one by one through the ruins. Well, should be less dangerous than the tykes' cooking."
"Ha. Ha. We've had six months of fab and vendo crap. It's a wonder we didn't all come down with scurvy or permanent trots."
"Nah. It's all nutritionally balanced. Pity about the psychological effects, though."
"Ha. Ha. Have a nice drive with the pretty girl, you lucky dog."
"Frustrated dog. Field deployments need to stay professional."
That just got him a snicker. "I'd say something like 'If you'd stayed on Action Teams, we'd have cured you of that silly notion' but if Ajha approves of you, you're probably irredeemably good."
Ebsa accepted a print of the map and headed back to the Junkyard. Giant cockroaches. If my mother ever hears about this . . . Oh, crap . . . Should I have called her about the Warriors thing? Maybe she didn't notice . . .
"Woofie, Rye? I'm taking the crawler off to retrieve a guy with a broken leg. You two are in charge of the kitchen. Subdue your love of fab, and feed these nice people some real food. Lunch and dinner, maybe even breakfast tomorrow. Spaghetti and meatballs works pretty good. Rye?"
"I know, I know. Fry the meatballs." She shook her head. "So much for sleeping in tomorrow."
"Chop up some of that fresh basil and add it to the sauce, and if you've got the time, minicube tomatoes work well, to give it some extra texture."
"Making pasta was pretty fun." Woofie allowed. "Italian salad, garlic bread . . . don't wince! I'll . . . try that weird bread thing. If I have time."
"Start now, but don't put garlic in the dough, it'll kill the yeast. After it's baked, slice it and add butter and garlic. Or just serve it fresh with either butter or a pesto sauce." He grinned. "Just think how impressed everyone is going to be. Shock them."
A ute drove up to the crawler. Ocho hopped out as Ebsa walked over. "Now don't feed these nice new tires to the roaches. Damn things. When they find a bunch of food, they devour it, lay eggs and get bigger. I just hope three tires weren't nutritious enough to trigger anything."
Ebsa eyed him, stepped back and eyed the crawler's six tires. "I know some insect repellant spells. I think I'll see about applying them all over everything."
He stepped into the crawler and headed for the fab. Special formula . . . umm 2993-RW3. RW as in Red Wine. It was considered hideously old-fashioned and crude, but he stepped back out and scribbled the hexes in wine on each tire, above each tire on the metal, on the front bumper, both sides and above the door . . . laid down on the ground and reached underneath to scribble them on the undercarriage.
Paer snickered behind him. "Professor Jues would retroactively flunk you, if she saw you using those appalling, superstitious, ignorant, written glyphs. Thank the One Fean's granny taught them to her. They're very handy for long lasting spells."
She had a long blue plastic splint over one shoulder, and her pack over the other. She stepped out of the way of the last tire being rolled up, and followed it inside.
Ebsa looked at his scrawls . . . and added the physical shield and the stability spell. Can't hurt. Right? He threw a casual salute to Ocho and climbed aboard.
Paer was in the driver's seat, so he dogged the door and climbed up the ladder to the hatch. Wrote glyphs all down the centerline of the curved roof. Added the anti-chitin spell . . . he hoped. He'd never invented, or rather adapted, a spell to a glyph before.
Then he climbed down to sit beside Paer, map in hand.
"In theory, it's a four hour drive. I'll believe it after I've gotten down to the coastal plain. Then we can, depending on what's going on, hand out the tires, load up Ogly and come right back." He looked over at her. "Is there a problem with you using the Comet Fall medgician methods?"
"No one's said not to, but frankly, Dr. Itchy was only the second critical patient since I've been here. What I'm allowed, or not allowed to do . . . hasn't come up. What are you thinking?" She slowed briefly for the gate, then drove off to the left on a very rough track.
"Well, if he was healed, there would be no rush to get back here. The tykes would probably enjoy—and benefit from—the responsibility."
"They had two months of that responsibility."
"With no real training, apparently. Is the Directorate really that short on experienced chefs?"
"The chef was one of the spider bite fatalities." She glanced at him and away. "He, well, he wasn't much better than the tykes. I hate saying that."
"Oh." Ebsa winced. "Well, they've now been shown how it ought to go, and . . . well, if Ogly stayed with the expedition, we'd probably be forced to stop halfway back, when it got too late to drive."
Paer snickered. "I see. Professionalism lasted six days."
"Sorry, Umm . . . "
"I think it's a great idea. But we'll have to see what shape Ogly's in."
"Umm . . . this isn't the same Ogly we knew at the Uni . . . it is? Well . . . he was one of the more sensible Action Team Trainees."
"Yeah, poor guy. His whole world's falling apart. Action Teams aren't allowed to bully anyone, no spreading the genes of the One a
round unless the woman initiates and makes clear that she desires a pregnancy. Ajki's facing a revolt . . . and I don't know what he might do. He's shifted an awful lot of the nice guys away from Gate City and the teams. I hadn't quite noticed that until I overheard the guys talking about it."
Ebsa squinted at the building ahead, one of the taller ruins. "I think we turn here. And then the highway—or whatever—ought to be a few hundred meters ahead." He hunched his shoulders. "Yeah, I've sort of been watching the personnel shifts. I'm not sure but that the resorting isn't being done by the Action and Exploration subdirector. Ajki's aware of it, and I expect he'll exploit it . . . I think it's going to get dirty, though. I just hope Ajki survives."
She gave him a startled glance, then frowned at the rubbly road. "I . . . just sort of hoped he might send all the bad sorts off to Dinosaur Worlds or something. Keep them where they can do no harm until they retire. But I was afraid he might have more dire intentions."
Ebsa squirmed. "I'm not very political, and I don't rub elbows with subdirectors. But Iffy is still pissed over what he sees as a demotion, from Acting Director back to Subdirector. And he wasn't the only one feeling passed over."
"Yeah. Damn, Ajki better watch his back." Paer drove up a low slope and turned. The gravelly ridge ran straight as an arrow to the southwest. "This has to have been train tracks. But some people have been heard to opine that it was a road—and the roaches ate the asphalt pavement."
Ebsa grinned. "Sure. Mind you, the vegetation is a bit thin, but it's got to be more palatable than road tar."
Paer giggled. "It's still the tail end of winter. It rained last week and warmed up. I can see buds on all the plants. I'm really looking forward to seeing the desert bloom—not that the ruins are a proper desert, but that's the impression I get. The people who've been here the longest said the fall foliage was spectacular."
Ebsa eyed the ruins with a more critical eye. "There are a lot of bare bushes. I just sort of figured they were mostly dead, since only a few of them are green."