Under the Canopy

by Sorokin, Serg

  'I can walk there.'

  'No, you can't. There is no point in disturbing the leg now. I can drive you. Show the way.' I said the last sentence in a stern voice.

  R'lok saw the determination in my face and jerked his head towards the woods. 'Go forth. I will show you.'

  The scooter rose up again and flew under the canopy.

  R'lok guided me like a navigator, the forest was an open book for him. Every time I veered off the path known only to him, the alien corrected the course. We passed random hunters and gatherers on the way to the village. Seeing our approach, they dropped to the ground and watched us go by, wide-eyed and scared. Did they think that I was coming to wreak havoc on the village? Considering their history with humans, it was a strong possibility.

  The natives of Safun lived in villages of varying sizes, and the one we arrived in was clearly a big one. I have read about such settlements, and R'lok's home was the picture image of what I expected to see. The village was organized in a circle, with tree trunks serving as the living walls. The center of the settlement was taken by an oblong square with a fire pit in the middle. It was still relatively bright when we arrived, and the pit wasn't burning. Huts of the villagers stood around it. They were of conic construction, made of timber, straw and clay. Poles stuck out of the ground with twine stretching from one to the other. The villagers used them to dry clothes and furs, to hang the prey or for any other means that occurred to them. Right beside the fire pit was the chief's hut. It was just like other huts, but bigger and with white marks on it. One thing jumped at me — right beside it stood an excavator scoop turned on its side. It had some wooden statue inside of it with twigs and flowers decorating the base.

  When we entered, the natives were going about their usual business. Some were coming from the hunt, others were preparing for it. Some women were slapping the skins over rocks to make them softer. I even spotted an idle group who hid behind one hut and licked crimson frogs. A regular day. On the first glance, it didn't look like there was an epidemic. Most likely the sick were resting inside the huts.

  I circled the pit and landed before the scoop. As I moved forward, the villagers dropped what they were doing and stared at us. They were rooted to the ground and didn't move. Some child ran out, but was immediately scooped up and dragged back into the hut. I saw green marks on his skin, that must have been it. The newborn silence made me feel uneasy.

  I touched down and turned to R'lok. 'This is it. If you need any help, just ask. I hope the medicine helps.'

  R'lok made a couple of steps back and knelt. I could see him wince with pain. 'Thank you, thundergod. I will remember that.'

  'Take care of your leg.' I looked around. The villagers were coming closer, stepping furtively as if I'd pounce on them like a rabid taj. Now I saw that a lot of them had these marks. Some were covered by clothes, but others glared out in the open.

  'I will. Goodbye, thundergod.' R'lok got up, wincing again, and stepped back, looking at me. He waited for me to fly away.

  I nodded, more nervously that I'd like to and revved up the engine. I turned the scooter, gaining altitude, and saw the statue in the scoop. The resemblance wasn't quite there, but I recognized R'lok. The statue was crude, carved with coarse hands, the features were cubic and simplistic, but it was him. The hole in the head. The metal hatchet in his belt. The statue had ragged texture and a lot of chipping marks and creases, but it all added to the picture. The scars. Was it their custom to make such things? Yes and no. They carved small things and sometimes idols, but not actual people.

  I looked at R'lok and understood that the chief had caught me looking at his wooden image. As if understanding my confusion, he gave me a knowing shrug — it was the people's call, not mine. After that, the alien put a palm on his chest and gave me a deep bow. This time others followed his example. I got surrounded by arched backs. Confused, I didn't know how to react. Wave? That's Pope stuff. I wasn't a priest and definitely not a god. So I decided just to leave.

  I rose up and up over the tree tops and headed for home, away from that place. I didn't want to go under the canopy. The village didn't really scare me, Clomt natives did even weirder shit in their underground cities, but there was this feeling of irregularity about the whole thing. I remembered how R'lok himself seemed off to me. Maybe the village was just adjusting to its new chief. Or maybe it was just my hang-ups about being looked up to.

  Brother

  The next morning I awoke with a head full of glass. Well, not glass — more like shit. I didn't know what made it so, the flight, visiting the village or maybe I just breathed too much toxins in the swamp. It didn't really matter, the outcome was pitiful.

  I crawled out of bed and stumbled around the room. The floor swam and the walls fell on me, and it all rotated. I caught one side of the room with my hands and crawled along it to the exit. Moving that way, I made it to the bathroom where I successfully vomited at the first sight of porcelain. It helped! My head still throbbed, but I at least could move about the cabin on my own.

  I put some bread and milk in me and went to the crow's nest. There I plunged into the chair and stared at the screen. It came on and exploded into my face with lights, and sounds, and multi-camera windows, and graphs, and I gave up. I turned away from it and doubled over. I watched as the solid, unmoving floor with no pictures on it and waited for the seizure to pass. Monitor duty was obviously out of the question. So I turned off the screen and went down.

  I took a couple of pills, dressed myself and descended to the garage. I decided that the best remedy for my malady was some fresh air. I refueled the scooter and went on patrol. Only when I left the building I realized that I'd forgotten the rifle. I was breaking the second rule… Ah, fuck it, I thought and flew on.

  The flyabout changed my condition for the better. My head felt lighter, the cold air revved me up and soothing green was a comfort to my eyes. It felt like all the shit ventilated out of my cranium as I went. Nothing of note happened in the woods — which was just fine by me — so I turned the scooter homeward. Months of carrying the rifle on my shoulder made me feel naked without it, even though I floated above the ground in a reinforced vehicle.

  A surprise awaited me at the cabin. From afar, I spotted a floater on the roof. I sucked air through the teeth. Some kind of inspection, and I wasn't at home. Though, what did they expect? I was supposed to go on patrols and such.

  Coming closer, I saw two figures near the machine. A third man was standing at the elevator doors and leaning over the panel. As I approached the launch platform, all three looked at me. Definitely not cops or military. Simple black clothes without marks, heavy jackboots. The two near the floater had faces like bricks and looked more at home in a boxing ring than in the wilderness. The third man was smaller compared to them and was wearing shades even though it wasn't that sunny. Though I couldn't see any weapons, I got a sense that they all were packing heat. Oh, how much I regretted not having the rifle with me…

  I came closer. 'Who are you?' I shouted, my scooter still hovering in the air closer to the trees than to the cabin. If they did anything unexpected, I could hide behind a trunk.

  'Is this Ort's cabin?' the man at the door said. He channeled the words upward and sounded like a kid in class.

  ‘Wrong building. I'm Wealder.' I was positioned in a way to see both the talker and his companions.

  He spread his arms and grinned. 'Sorry. Shit happens. I'm his brother.' He pointed at his chest. 'Came for a visit.' Yeah, sure, was my first thought, but then I doubted myself. He could have been his brother. Ort was big, yes, but siblings can be of different sizes. And I didn't really know what Ort looked like without the beard. Maybe, I was looking at the same face.

  I came closer to the platform, but didn't land. 'Ort lives over that way,' I pointed. 'I can give you the coordinates.'

  'We'll find him,' the man said, still grinning. 'We're accustomed to the woods.' Ort's brother shot his index finger at me and went to the floater. 'Sor
ry to disturb you, Wealder.'

  'Give Ort my regards,' I said. The man only waved in return and got into his vehicle. The tough guys gave me a scanning glance and followed him inside. The floater rose into the air and went up. I hung in the same place and followed it with my eyes until it disappeared. It all seemed strange. Ort couldn't have forgotten to tell his brother his location. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach as if I did something terribly wrong.

  I landed the scooter on the roof and hurried inside, anxiety gnawing at me. However, when I sat at the screen, my hand stretched to the keyboard and hung over the keys. I didn't know how to proceed. If the situation was bad, calling would tip my hand. On the other hand, if everything was okay, I might offend Ort. I clenched and unclenched my fingers. There was another side to all this, and it was my only true option.

  Calling Edlon.

  I didn't want to talk to him, any communication was prone to become a shit-slinging contest. However, I had no other choice. Ort was a good man, from whatever side you look at him. He took Edlon's side, but I could get that — I had a meltdown, he broke the fight. And he was my only true ally left here. I couldn't really count on R'lok, he was a civilian, after all.

  I pushed the button on the screen, and the computer started to dial Edlon's number.

  'Howdy. Roomie.' The words sounded like bricks falling on the floor. Thud, thud. Edlon looked stern, not a trace of his usual smirk. A faint red line decorated the bridge of his nose, the place where the butt of my rifle kissed his face. He wore a cap, and headphones hung from his neck.

  'Hello, Edlon.' I felt a barrier in my head preventing me from talking freely. Seeing his face reminded me of the scalping. I had to overcome myself, time was running out. 'Hey. Listen, some guy was just here saying he's Ort's brother.'

  White lines of noise danced over the image. Edlon's voice came with a slight distortion. 'He doesn't have a brother.' His stern expression shifted to concern. 'What happened?'

  'He came in a floater to my cabin and asked for Ort. I said that he was mistaken and pointed him in the right direction.' Edlon looked at me like I was mentally challenged. I ignored that. 'He had two bruisers with him. All three dressed in nondescript black, probably with guns. Didn't look like the funeral of the beloved Grandma, so I got suspicious.' I paused. 'But if it's bad, Ort can take them out, right? Right?'

  Edlon sighed and rubbed his chin, thinking. In that moment he became my old roomie. 'Sounds bad. Very bad.' He looked at the screen and said something. More white noise distorted his face and made his voice a wail of a robot.

  'What did you say? There is noise.'

  'I said arm yourself and wait for me on the roof. We'll go check out. If it's nothing, we'll say we were just passing through.' His quick decision surprised me; I thought he'd try to wiggle out of this. 'As for the noise, there is a magnetic storm coming. Out.'

  He blinked off-screen. I felt like a total ass. Not wasting any time, I got up and went to the second floor.

  At first, I wanted to take the trusty rifle, but then something told me that it wasn't the best choice. If it came to that, we might have an indoor skirmish, so I chose the shotgun. After that I took out the scooter, landed it on the roof and began to wait.

  The day's sunny weather contradicted with the shady things happening under the canopy.

  I stood on the roof, hands in my pockets, the shotgun resting on the seat of the scooter beside me. I heard a rumble in the distance and saw Edlon rushing toward me. His scooter moved like a missile set on course, jumping between the trees and coming ever closer to my cabin. He flew up to the roof, but didn't land. Instead, he buzzed over it and looked dangerous, a disturbed hornet. The crease in his brow, the posture, the flak vest again — everything spoke of his readiness to act.

  Edlon waved to the west where Ort lived. 'Let's go. No time to wait.' Impatience ruled his every move.

  I didn't argue and mounted my scooter.

  At first, we made fast time; I even had to lean under the windshield. Halfway to Ort's cabin, Edlon raised his hand, and our speed dropped. The engine hum barely audible, we moved through the woods like a couple of clouds carried by the wind. Edlon snapped his fingers. I looked at him. He spread his hands in the air. Pointed at himself and to the right. I nodded and stuck my thumb to the left. Edlon tapped on the wrist communicator. We split.

  When Ort's cabin was in sight, I stopped the scooter. At almost the same time my communicator buzzed.

  'Cabin in sight, over,' Edlon said. There were cracks in the signal.

  'Wait and watch, over.'

  I followed my own advice and adjusted the ring on the goggles, telescoping on the scene. The floater was on the roof alright. One bruiser was strolling around it, kicking the concrete. The others were missing. Were they inside the cabin? Or in the floater? I didn't know how to proceed. If we approached the cabin idly, we could get shot on the spot by the thug. My ignorance about what was going on inside twisted my guts. Ort may be talking to his brother or whoever he was over a cup of root beer or something. Or he can be hanging by his arms, chained to the stair rail, being tortured.

  The thug stopped his promenade over the roof and looked around. He seemed to be inspecting the nearby woods, looking for something. Us? The answer came quickly — he took out a pistol, which blinked its chrome back in the sun, and cocked it. A benevolent visitor wouldn't do that.

  'I'm going in, over,' Edlon said out of my wrist communicator. I looked at it, dumbfounded

  'Edlon, wait!' Only silence in return. I cursed and stepped on the pedal. Such a rash attack could get both of us killed before we did anything substantial.

  My scooter rushed forward, aimed at the bruiser with a gun. I dropped the shotgun into my lap and regretted that I had it. To use it properly, I needed to get close to him. Which would most likely get me shot dead. Oh, well. The gunman saw me approaching and opened fire. I veered the scooter back and forth, escaping the oncoming bullets. None of them hit me, I was lucky. Or maybe he was a lousy shot. In either case, that would change when I'd come closer.

  I saw Edlon cannonballing forward to the right of me. He was riding like a cowboy, standing in the saddle, aiming and firing as he went. His bullets bounced off the concrete with sparks, and the gunman drew back, retreating to the floater. That maneuver gave me precious time to get closer to him.

  The gunman hid himself behind the cockpit and fired at Edlon from there. I curved the machine over the roof and dropped down. He must have heard me coming because he ducked and fired blindly at me. I shifted to the side of the scooter, hanging on it like a circus rider. Some of his bullets pecked the front of my scooter and shattered the windshield. Glass crumbled onto me. I fired, hanging from the side.

  I missed. The load hit the floater's hull right beside the gunman. The metal yelped and pinged, but the man was unharmed. He lunged to the side and made it for the tail.

  I followed him with another load and missed again. He rolled forward, jumped to his feet and aimed at me. At that moment, a shot rang out, and Edlon's bullet pierced him through the back and chinked off the roof. The gunman stumbled on his feet, leaking blood. Ignoring the wound, he turned and fired at Edlon, running away from me. I fired again and got him this time. The bruiser collapsed forward, rolled on the roof and didn't get up.

  Edlon and I approached him from the air, aiming. He was lying face down, a puddle of blood was spreading over the concrete.

  'He's dead,' Edlon stated the obvious. 'Land.'

  We touched down and went to the elevator. He looked at me. 'Repeat after me. Emergency code k158. Edlon. Requesting entrance.' He stepped to the side.

  I said the same with my name, and the doors opened. We stepped into the cabin.

  'There are two of them,' I said.

  'And three of us. Ort won't bow down just like that.' He stepped forward, closer to the exit. 'I should go first.'

  'Why?'

  He turned to me and knocked on the flak vest with a dull sound. 'There will be a gu
nman at the exit. He will shoot me. When he does it, go at him.'

  I nodded. Edlon covered me with his body, and I put the shotgun on his shoulder. A deadly combination. He pushed the button and sent us to Ort's crow's nest.

  The elevator doors opened, and nothing happened. The crow's nest was empty.

  I scanned the area with the shotgun. Zilch. 'The fuck?' I said.

  'They must be holed up lower.' Edlon stepped forward into the doorframe and turned to me. 'Give me the shotgun.'

  I balked, but a moment later I understood what he wanted. The shotgun changed hands, and I took his rifle. Walking on my tiptoes, I crossed the room, not a sound escaping from the soles of my boots. When I reached the stairs, I turned to Edlon. He stepped back into the elevator and pumped his thumb down. I nodded. As I descended the stairs, I heard the elevator doors slide closed.

  I went down to the landing and squatted at the barrier between the two stairwells. Thank God, there was one. Without it, I'd have been a sitting duck. Holding the rifle at the ready, I peeked into the living room. Edlon thought right. The other bruiser stood in front of the elevator with a gun in his hands. Ort was kneeling on the floor with hands tied behind his back by the thumbs. They were bleeding. I realized that the fuckers pushed a pen under his fingernails. The torture instrument lay on the table nearby. As for the "brother," he was standing near Ort, his back also turned to me and had a gun in his hand. The situation was bad.

  I slid down the stairs into the open and raised the rifle. If any of them turned, he would have seen me and most likely shot dead. But they were too concerned with the elevator. It had arrived. The doors opened, and the gun fired.

  The bruiser got Edlon in the chest, a mortal wound if not for the vest. He was thrown back and hit the wall.

  I fired at the "brother." I didn't want to kill him just now, so my bullet went through his right shoulder and hit the wall. The man grunted and dropped the gun.