There was a crackling sound, and a blazing flash that blinded me. I jerked my head backwards, away from the flash, and hid the eyes in my sleeve. On the insides of my eyelids, orange figures danced against a black-red background. I heard the distant bellowing of horror and more crackling. The wind carried the scent of burning fur up to me. Then, only silence. When my vision cleared, I looked into the clearing again.
Charred and torn corpses lay on the ground. Their fur was smoldering, the flesh burnt black. The generals stood over one body, hugging each other over the shoulders. Edlon took a position before them and was aiming a camera at the brave hunters. I got a better look at their weapons. The bastards were using beam rifles. The most dangerous handheld weapon known to man. When it hits you, nothing remains. Human flesh just vaporizes. Absolute destruction. I examined the area again and grimly reassured myself. There were only four beating hearts in that clearing.
I hung there and watched as the generals picked over the slaughter. Each took a claw. Later they would say they killed a taj or something even scarier. Some bloodthirsty beast. But those claws were for stripping bark, not flesh. I felt bile rise up in my throat. These men were worse than the taj I'd met. The animals killed out of hunger, and they… Just for fun, nothing more. They broke the first rule of the forest — respect life and death. For a moment I wanted to return to the taj, lead the feeding beast to them and watch what they'd do then. I swallowed the bitter bile and looked away. There was nothing left to do here. I turned and headed for home. The day was ruined for me.
Returning home, I parked the scooter and went up to the nest. No word from Edlon. Honestly, I didn't want to speak to him just then. I went to the roof. The broom was where I left it. I snatched it and started to work again. The familiar scrape of bristles on concrete calmed me down. I gathered a pile of leaves, dragged it to the edge. A couple quick movements and a dry rain fell to the forest floor. I stared at the leaves swirling in the air, spiraling to meet the brown earth. Particles of ash falling on charred flesh. I shook my head, waving away the gloomy picture. Enough sweeping for today.
I put the equipment back and returned to the crow's nest. As I passed, the computer blinked on with an incoming call. I answered.
Edlon smiled back at me. 'Thanks, Wealder! You're my savior.' He sounded jubilant. Why not? Everything happened just like he wanted.
'You're welcome,' I said in a dry voice. 'Just don't ask me to do that shit again. That was… ugly.'
Edlon threw up his hands. 'I know, but what can we do? The brass says "jump," I ask "how high?" That's our job.'
'Yeah, I get it. And yet, they came to you.' Silence on the other end. 'Bye.'
I turned off the screen, ending the call on Edlon's confused expression. Maybe my predecessor and that Ort tolerated this stuff. Maybe I would get used to it. There was a time when I'd been afraid of dead people too. After all, one destroyed herd didn't have much impact on the population as a whole. And Edlon was just doing his job, just like me… Nevertheless, I was disappointed in him. The feeling was exacerbated by Edlon being my only companion since I'd arrived here. It could have been called betrayal, but that would have been wrong. When we first met Edlon outright told me that he was here for the money. So, I was betrayed by my own delusion about him.
The cabin was silent and I was glad for it.
Noble Savages
A camera was out of order. I accessed the picture and stretched it to full size. The image was at a Dutch angle, pixelation here and there. No movement. If I was a security guard in a bank, I might have suspected a robbery. I took a spare camera from its locker, tucked it under one arm and headed to the garage. After securing it on the back seat, I remembered my rifle and returned to get it. The second rule of the forest — never go anywhere unarmed.
The broken camera was situated on the edge of the wild-lands, near Edlon's sector. I never described the cameras for you, so I'll do that now: Each one looked like a mechanical sowbug separated into three parts. Each section had a protective guard, mounting claws, a motion sensor and a lens. They were installed in special slots cut deep into the trees. When mounted, neither man nor beast could get it out. Unless you could tear out the wood it was encased in. With its three movable lenses, a camera was capable of shooting in 360 degrees, capturing a full picture of a location. If an animal sat near it, the machine emitted ultrasound to scare it away.
Having reached the correct part of the sector, I located the camera. It was situated pretty high up, wedged in the space between the trunk and mighty branch of a tree. I rose up to see what had happened. One lens was broken, the other two were intact, but still. I snapped my fingers in front of them. No movement. Probably some water or a bug got into the broken lens and bricked the whole thing. That could be determined for sure only in the nest, after I had dismantled it and looked for myself.
I took out the extraction instrument, a kind of forceps, and pushed its ends in under the guard. The mechanism worked, and the camera disconnected from the slot. I put the tool back in its pocket, gripped the camera with both hands and gently pulled it free. Even though I didn't make any rash movements, the scooter swayed a bit when the camera detached from its nest, and I had to crouch and freeze for it to stabilize. This high up, I had to be careful. You couldn't walk away from a fall like that, even if you fell into the grass.
I put the broken camera on the seat in front of me and reached for the new one. After installing it, I snapped my fingers again. The lenses moved right away, watching me. I smiled and secured the old one in the carrying case. As the last lock snapped shut, I sensed a commotion below. I looked down and felt my knees fill with lead and buckle. I saw human figures below me.
The third rule of the forest — always beware of humanoids.
For a moment, I thought my rain companion had returned, and my heart froze. But the figures on the ground didn't even try to hide. Quite the opposite in fact. They were running through the woods, producing rather a lot of noise. I looked closer at them and gripped my rifle.
There were three of them, one at the front, two others behind him. At first, I thought that they were chasing an animal, but I didn't see one. Then it dawned on me — they were hunting their own. Were they cannibals? I remembered that they weren't, but who knew. Tastes change. I adjusted the goggles and looked closer. The three men, and they were clearly men, were alabaster white and dressed in furs and animal skins. The hunted man was carrying an ax that was glistening in the sunlight. To my amazement, I recognized metal. The natives didn't have the means to produce such weapons… The other two had stone axes and a spear.
The hunted man looked like he was getting out of breath — he was heavily thumping with each step he took, swinging on his feet, slowing down. When the pursuers started to catch up with him, the pursued turned, barked at the manhunters, and threw his ax at the front one. In a blink of an eye his weapon plunged its metal teeth into the chest of the nearest pursuer, right near the neck. Alas, it only slowed him down. These aliens seemed to have quite a stamina. The victim turned back and continued to run, as the wounded man got a twine bolo out of his belt. His hand jerked, the bolo whistled over the grass and wrapped itself around the unlucky quarry's legs. He fell down and immediately started to crawl using just his arms.
I couldn't help but admire his will.
The second manhunter had caught up to the prey and lunged at him with a short spear. The victim twisted to the side, revealing a knife in his hand. The spear head bored into the earth. The man holding it swayed to the quarry's side and put both his hands on the shaft to pull the spear out of the ground. Before he could do that, the prey struck upward and left a scratch on the attacker's shoulder, I could see yellow blood leak out. The manhunter released his hold on the spear, and the victim kicked him in the belly with both legs. When he fell, the man quickly proceeded to cut free of the bolo with the same knife. He was lying on the back, and I could see his face. One detail jumped at me even from this distance — sunlight fell int
o the cavity of his right eye.
I saw that the brave alien's cause was lost. The wounded man had unstuck the metal hatchet out of his chest and came at him with both weapons. The scratched one had also taken out his ax.
The twine broke with a ping, and he was free. R'lok, I'll call him that from now on, jumped to his feet to face the oncoming enemy, but received a clout on the head with the rear end of an ax. He fell to his knee, and a shadow fell on him. The scratched manhunter towered over him and had already raised his ax for the final blow.
I couldn't tolerate letting the hero face such a demise. My fingers found the rifle by themselves, and a shot rang out.
The ax in the raised hand of the would-be killer exploded into pieces. The startled assassin looked up at me, his expression changed from fierce anger to fear. R'lok seemed not to notice the shot. He used the moment and stuck the knife handle deep into his enemy's throat. Warm yellow blood spilled down his arm, and he let go of the weapon. The dying manhunter stumbled backward, the knife handle sticking out of his neck. He kept looking at me.
R'lok got on his feet, jumped back and pulled the spear out of the ground in one jerk. The second manhunter was backing away, looking in turns at him and up at me. Unlike him, R'lok focused solely on his target. The manhunter made up his mind and turned to flee. R'lok jumped on the spot, raising the dart above his head, and threw it, twisting his whole body in the thrust.
The weapon struck the surviving manhunter in the back, shattering the spine. The man screamed and fell. R'lok was on top of him in a moment. He grabbed a rock and pummeled his enemy's head with it until it turned into yellow mush. When he was finished, R'lok stumbled backward, puffing, and finally looked up.
There were at least fifty feet between us, but the alien and I locked our eyes.
I don't know what he saw, but I saw a monster. R'lok looked deformed, and it wasn't just the empty eye-socket. There was something in his whole posture and face expression that seemed off. The fact that he was splattered with blood and still held the rock in his hand didn't help. The hero I just saved was a vile savage creature, and I felt betrayed. And then it got worse. R'lok dropped the rock and saluted me. He actually did it — straightened his back, raised one arm, bumped two fingers on his forehead and raised them into the air.
Watching a forest native do such a human gesture was too much for me. I turned the scooter and flew away from that clearing.
I returned home feeling unwell. I had this bitter taste in the mouth and a vague disturbance in my mind. I kept thinking about what had just happened.
I shouldn't have interfered. I knew nothing of the situation. I saw a chase and appointed the pursued man a hero. And what if he was a notorious criminal? What if they were leading him to some jail or an execution site, and he managed to get away? Their life, their rules. I was only a guest on this planet. These forest people knew the truth, they didn't suffer from puttering like my own kind did. Who was I to teach them?
At the same time, I couldn't help himself. Just watching a helpless creature die screamed against my very being. What if he was some trapped outcast? A lonely soul, like me…
Then I remembered the fourth rule of the forest — respect the territory. And this was my land. Here, my rules prevailed. I was a part of this forest — now, for sure.
I couldn't come to one conclusion about what had happened there. All in all, I hoped I would never see R'lok again. I was so wrong about that.
That very evening I was sitting at the computer, watching camera footage, and the newly installed camera registered activity. I stretched the picture to fullscreen. The same place. An alien appeared, carrying something on his shoulders. He threw it on the ground and looked directly into the camera. It was R'lok, of course. Somehow, he didn't look as repulsive as before. I sat up in my chair and leaned forward on the table, goosebumps appearing on my arms. This was getting interesting.
R'lok pointed to the camera, then at himself. Then at the bale at his feet and made a gesture from his chest. I got it. He wanted to thank me for the help. Well, it was reasonable. I was even flattered. Not wanting to appear rude, I got up and headed for the storage. I couldn't accept the gift for free.
I took a flashlight and a bag of candy and flew to the spot. When I arrived, the alien was absent. I pulled right up to the bale and left the scooter hanging without turning it off, just in case. I approached the gift and opened it. There were animal skins inside. Atop them, a hat made of feathers and teeth. Oh boy, he'd given me a crown and a robe. I chuckled and shook my head. There was something else in the furs. Moving them aside, I saw an ax. It wasn't the same throwing weapon I had seen the other day. This one was two-handed, its stone blade sharpened like a razor. The handle was made of solid bone and wrapped in skin. This was an expensive gift. It must have been a ritual weapon.
I took it in hand. Heavy. With this, you could take a head right off with a good blow. I put it back into the bale, rewrapped it, carried it back to the scooter, and shoved it into the basket. The ax wouldn't fit and stuck out, preventing it from closing. I had to secure the lid with a retractable plastic band designed for such occasions. Then I returned to leave my gifts under the tree. I hoped the native would figure out how to use the flashlight. Even if he didn't, it was a good memorabilia. As if I really needed an ax.
I glanced around, mounted the scooter, and headed for home.
Returning to the nest, I checked the camera. My gifts had already disappeared.
The Killers
Two weeks passed after my encounter with R'lok. I decided to put the ax in my living room. At first, I leaned it against the wall near my bedroom, but the very next morning I tripped over it on my way to the bathroom. The mighty weapon slid along the wall, leaving a nasty scratch and crashed on the floor. After that, I drove spikes into the wall and hung it there. I looked the ax it every morning coming out of the bedroom as the reminder of the bigger world out there. It also made me remember the lost rifle. However, soon it became a part of the scenery, and I didn't notice it anymore.
I stuck the furs in the closet and forgot about them. I shouldn't have.
The weather took a turn for the worse. The downpour from my night out was only the beginning; winter was coming. Days were growing longer, nights shorter. This region was far away from the polar caps, so it didn't experience a real frost, and the trees on Safun were evergreen, keeping their leaves year-round. It snowed a little, just a light dusting on the green, neither melting nor accumulating.
The wind was the problem. The wind became my bane. Some days, it would start blowing, and I couldn't risk leaving the cabin. I even stopped opening the windows in the nest. In cases where I had to fly, I would cover every inch of my skin before going outside. Fortunately, the gusts were intermittent. The wind would pummel the forest and then disappear without a trace.
The animals seemed not to notice the change of seasons. With fur like theirs, they probably didn't care. Maybe that was why R'lok had given me the skins. He couldn't have been oblivious of the coming weather.
That winter also marked my first encounter with poachers. Here's how it happened.
One day I was out on ground patrol. The wind had calmed down and the woods were silent. In the still, cold air I heard tree bark creaking dozens of feet away from me. The cold air has this peculiar feature of transmitting sound over distance. Then there was a commotion from one side. I turned the scooter and looked in the direction of the noise. When I saw nothing there, it occurred to me to look up. When I did, I saw a pack of monkeys galloping over the tree branches. They moved in packs, jumping from tree to tree. At first glance, nothing special; they did that a lot. This time, however, I heard a primal fear in their screams. Something was terribly wrong. Shifting gears, I went to check the reason for the disturbance.
I spotted them from afar. A small boat floating inches above the ground, one man at the wheel, two others idly walking around it. They were armed with shockers — electric impulse guns. One hit paralyzes al
l your muscles and leaves you helpless for about an hour. Why mess up all that pretty fur with bullet holes or burns? These men knew what they were doing alright. All three wore khaki fatigues and in other circumstances would have passed for rangers. The boat was a multitask vehicle, widely used in wild territories. The picture was obvious — they got a "fishing" permit, went up the river to the beltysh habitat and then just flew out into the woods.
Their work was nearly done. Shockers dangled from their belts, the poachers were working with knives. They took immobilized monkeys and skinned them alive. The pelts were tossed in the boat, the corpses left like litter on the ground. That was what frightened the others. Not the strangers — the scent of blood and the amounts of it being poured.
At the sight of the massacre, I felt such indignation and disgust that I fell out of reality for a moment. The poor peaceful animals didn't deserve to die so horribly just for their furs. I shook off the stupor and pressed the pedal, throwing my scooter forward.
I flew up to them, pulling my rifle on the move. 'Freeze! Forestry!' I shouted at the poachers.
The wheelman turned to face me. His cigarette fell from the mouth and exploded into sparks on the dashboard. I aimed at him and then at the skinning crew. One of them shouted, 'Bloody ranger!' and threw a body at me. The corpse hit the scooter, leaving a bloody smear on it, and the machine rocked. Yellow splatters appeared on the windshield and slid down.
'Stop! I'll shoot!' I shouted, but I hesitated. I wanted an arrest, not dead bodies.
The poachers ignored me. They grabbed what they had and ran for the boat. This was getting ridiculous, I was nothing to them. So I fired into the air and shouted another empty warning. One of them showed me the finger, and the boat jumped into the air and sped away.
Cursing and slinging the rifle onto my shoulder, I grabbed the handles tighter and went into pursuit.
Under the Canopy Page 4