“Yes, I think you’ve mentioned that once or twice,” Zenn said. “And I do get lots of one-on-one attention from the instructors. Both of you. That part’s great. But even with Hamish’s help, it just seems like there’s never enough time to do everything.”
“Oh, is the life of a novice so pitiful and cruel?” Otha gave her a look of simulated concern. “It’s enough to make a rikkaset howl at both moons.”
Zenn wasn’t at all sure Otha really knew how much she did around the cloister. She was about to remind him when he turned the truck into the Bodine drive.
Gil must have heard them coming. He was standing at the heavy, sheet-metal security gate that guarded the entrance to his farmyard compound. He was a wide-load of a man, dressed in bib overalls and wearing a sweat-stained seed cap. Though a few years younger than Otha, Gil’s open, friendly face had been prematurely aged to a sun-and-wind cured surface, brown and creased as the stony land he farmed.
Otha drove into the yard, and Gil swung the gate shut behind them.
“He was in here!” Gil shouted at them, pointing toward the pole barn at the far side of the yard.
“Was?” Otha said as they got out of the truck. “I see. And where is our big boy now?”
EIGHT
Gil motioned for them to follow him toward the barn. Inside, Zenn’s eyes slowly adapted to the chilly, animal-scented darkness. Ahead of them, Gil had stopped. He was staring into a penned area surrounded by a fence of heavy, salvaged synthwood boards. The only thing visible in the pen was a large mound of earth and a gaping hole in the metal floor panels.
“Found him missing this morning,” Gil said. “He chewed clean through my floor! Look’it this.” He went to a breaker box on the wall of the barn. “Power to the floor panels was cut.” Gil poked at several frayed wires sticking out from the box. “Something musta ate through the wires. Just my luck.”
Otha inclined his head toward Zenn, giving her a “told you so” look.
“Uh huh… well, what’s the matter with your hog, Gil, when he’s at home?”
Gil sat heavily on a bale of bedding straw, tugged his cap off and wiped at his balding head with a grimy bandana.
“Off his feed, moanin’ and bellowin’. Bad belly, I guess. All bloated up, colicky like. I got no idea what was wrong with him. The two sows didn’t act nothing like this.”
“But they got out, too, Gil. Maybe your fences need a little beefing up.”
“Yeah, Ren said the same thing when he came by yesterday.”
“So, what’s your feed mix been?”
“Silica and heavy H, just like the others,” Gil answered. Sand and modified water. Not Zenn’s idea of gourmet dining, but standard fare for these dirt-eaters. “That Tucker boy did the feedings the last few days. But I showed him how to mix it up. It weren’t rocket science or nuthin’.”
“You should have sent for me last night, Gil,” Otha said, laying his duffle bag field kit on top of a water barrel and zipping it open.
“Otha, you wouldna been any happier being out here at two in the morning than ya are now,” Gil responded. Correctly, Zenn thought. Following Otha’s lead, she set her own pack down on a bale of straw, the very act of having a field kit making her feel very official.
“Let’s see if we can tell which way he went. Novice, you have an episcope in your kit?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, smiling, feeling useful. It was a good thing she’d brought her pack, after all.
She opened her kit and reached in – felt something furry and moving and jerked her hand back out. A second later, a pair of lynx-tufted ears rose up out of the pack. Katie trilled at her.
“You little vermin,” Otha said, scowling at the rikkaset. “I think you and Katie need to work on your discipline.”
“Sorry,” Zenn said, picking the little animal up. “Bad Katie.” The rikkaset trilled louder and nuzzled against Zenn’s arm.
Returning to her pack, Zenn found the episcope and sheepishly handed it over. Otha inserted the ear-buds and placed the receiver on the ground near the pen. He twirled the volume dial. Apparently hearing nothing, he thumped the receiver against the palm of his hand and listened again.
“No sign of him nearby, if this thing can be trusted,” Otha said, frowning at the episcope. “Where do you graze him?”
“East dune-pasture, mostly. I was hoping to get a crop of sorghum planted out there this year. That’s what I bought the dang animal for, to get those acres turned fertile and put into production. But if he spends all his time running off instead of eating my dirt, it’s never gonna get done.”
“How long has he been off his feed?”
“Don’t know exact. A day… day and a half?” Gil eyed the empty pen. “This is my last hog, mark my words. I’ll switch back to enzymes to convert my fields, cost be danged.”
“Might be a good thing, too,” Otha muttered to Zenn under his breath. He took the portable seda-field generator from his kit, folded out the small transmit dish and pulled its tripod legs from underneath. He set the unit on the ground and handed the remote to Zenn. She set Katie down at her feet.
“I doubt we’ll need this,” Otha indicated the dish, “but hogs can be unpredictable. So, just in case he’s in the area… set the level to intermediate, weight at twelve-hundred pounds – no, better make it fifteen hundred, to be safe. And if you do have to use it, keep the beam tight. You want to sedate the animal, not me, alright?”
“I think I can tell one from the other,” Zenn said, shaking her head at him. She’d never been trusted with using the seda-field dish in the field before. This was good. Especially after what had happened with the hound.
Otha opened the gate and entered the pen. Stooping near the mangled metal floor panel where the sandhog exited, he scooped up a handful of dirt and sniffed it, but turned his head quickly and threw down the soil.
“Whew! That’s fresh.”
On the ground next to Zenn, Katie’s ears twitched. Then, she lowered her body and vanished from sight. That’s odd, Zenn thought, wondering what triggered the rikkaset’s camouflage mode.
Otha turned to proffer the handful of soil for Gil to smell. Gil declined the offer.
“It’s as if that hog was just…”
But before Otha finished his sentence, the ground in the pen trembled, swelled under his feet, then erupted in a shower of dirt and straw as the sandhog burst up out of the floor. Thrown into the air, Otha landed hard at the far side of the pen.
The hog thrust himself up out of the hole and reared to his full, twelve-foot height, a mass of rippling muscle and hairless, pink-beige skin. With no time to stand, Otha kicked his legs frantically to push himself away. Roaring, the sandhog whirled to follow him, the huge maw gaping above mole-like claws the size of backhoe buckets.
Otha half-rose to his feet, fell again, his shoulder banging against the fence. There was no chance he could climb out before the furious animal was on him. Gil rushed up to the pen, waving his arm and yelling to distract the animal, but it ignored him. Instead, the sandhog dropped forward, its body toppling like an unstable building. Otha twisted away reflexively, body tensed for the impact, arms thrown up across his face.
NINE
“No!” Zenn opened her mouth to scream, but produced only an anguished, fearful whisper, her hands stretched before her as if to stop the looming disaster by force of will. To her astonishment, it seemed to work. The sandhog stopped its strike in mid-air, body tilted forward, jaws straining wide. A string of drool oozed from the animal’s mouth to drape itself on Otha’s still-upraised arms.
No, she thought, but strangely felt no need to speak the word. The sandhog settled back on its thick, armor-plated tail. The only sound was the animal’s ragged breathing as it swayed slightly, holding itself upright in the middle of the pen. It swung its head to where Zenn stood outside the pen behind Otha. It was only now she noticed it: the familiar warming sensation and dizziness, pulsing through her head and body, strong enough now to make
her feel queasy, to make her knees threaten to buckle. She struggled to focus, and saw that the sandhog’s tiny, almost-useless eyes fixed on hers. Yes. She was certain of it. The hog wasn’t just looking at her, it was looking into her eyes. It wasn’t simply scanning another creature; it was seeing her – her mind, her intentions. It was the same look she’d seen in the whalehound’s eye. The hog blinked at her, confused.
As if waking from a dream, Zenn remembered the seda-field. She knelt to where the unit sat at her feet and punched the activation pad and the small dish hummed to life.
In the pen the sandhog wavered on its tail, and then slowly slumped over onto its side as the sedation took hold. The strange feeling gripping her evaporated, leaving her body trembling, the barn’s dank smell in her nostrils, the air cool on her face.
Otha was already moving. A few seconds later, he was out of the pen. He slammed the gate behind him, shoved the latch into place and leaned against the planks, breathing deep and fast.
Half an hour later, she, Otha and Gil sat on the steps of the second-hand military Quonset hut that Gil had refurbished into a semblance of a farmhouse, drinking the chicory coffee he’d brought out. After using Gil’s skiploader to move the animal to a reinforced grain silo, Otha’s exam produced a diagnosis of intestinal blockage. He quickly dissolved the concretion with a sonic purge, leaving the animal understandably annoyed, but otherwise no worse for wear.
“Something’s off with that feed mix, Gil,” Otha said, sipping his coffee. “That beast was plugged up tight as a bad drain.”
“Almost plugged up with our local vetrin’ry, too,” Gil said. But his words were accompanied by a nervous laugh and furtive glance at Zenn. “That was something, Otha,” he said. “That hog just stopping like that.”
Had Gil seen what happened? Had Otha?
Stroking Katie, dozing now in her lap, Zenn watched Otha for his reaction, but he appeared not to hear, his mind somewhere else.
“Just kinda froze in his tracks,” Gil said, giving his nervous chuckle again. “Sorta like… he was hyp-natized.”
Zenn sipped the bittersweet chicory, and the cup shook in her hands. She looked at Otha to see if he’d noticed. He hadn’t, and she lowered her hands to her lap to steady them.
“Well, one thing’s sure,” Otha said to Gil, “You need to tell the co-op to be more careful with their feed ratios. Silica poisoning could’ve been bad news.”
“Well, it weren’t the co-op. Traded for the feed with Vic LeClerc. Graad dropped it by. But it don’t matter anyways.” He raised both hands in a gesture of surrender. “I’m done. That hog’s gettin’ shipped right back to the Parcher vermin I bought him from. He claimed the thing was pen-trained. I can’t afford this sorta downtime with an animal that won’t stay put. Not to mention watchin’ him almost chew you in half. Nope. Done and done.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Otha said. “Sandhogs can be more trouble than they’re worth. Might be pricey, though, sending him back.”
“Otha, what you take me for? Got a guarantee. Six months, full satisfaction or money back, shipping included. The Helen of Troy is due in here soon. I’ll haul him over to the port at Pavonis and be shed of him.”
“The Helen of Troy?” Zenn said. “She does the Enchara run, doesn’t she?”
“Yup. She’s puttin’ in here on her way out to Sigmund’s Parch, then goes on to Enchara. Well, assuming she doesn’t get jacked and vanish into the ether.” He guffawed heartily, but Otha gave him a cool stare in response. The disappearing Indra starships were no joking matter to her uncle.
“Lucky thing the Helen is making a stop here,” Gil went on. “Otherwise, I’d be saddled with that hog for who knows how long. Say, isn’t Warra doing some sorta lawyering out on Enchara?”
“Yes,” Zenn said. “He’s with colony administration there.”
“I thought so. Well, say hello for me next time you send a shard his way.”
“We’ll do that,” Otha said, not meeting Zenn’s worried glance. “Just let me know if that boar doesn’t get his appetite back, alright?” He stood, lifted up his kit bag and shook hands with Gil.
“Thanks for comin’ out, Otha,” Gil said. “I’ll uh… I’ll settle up with you for this soon as my next crop is in. I mean, if that’s good for you.”
“It’s tight all over, Gil,” Otha told him. “You pay me when you’re able. Come on, Zenn,” he said to her, starting toward the truck. “Sister will wonder what’s become of us.”
Driving out of the farmyard, Otha stared at the road ahead. “I have to tell you, Zenn Scarlett – what went on with that animal...” He chewed his cheek that way he did when something bothered him.
He saw! He saw what happened with the sandhog.
“It’s happened before,” she said quickly. She turned on the seat to face him, eager to finally be able to discuss it with her uncle. “At least, I think it has.”
“What has?” He gave her a quizzical look.
“I don’t know. That’s the problem…”
“Zenn? Speak plain, girl.”
“The sandhog. Stopping its attack. You saw it… didn’t you?”
“What I saw was a prime sandhog boar nearly killed by bad feed. It’s a disgrace. Never would’ve happened ten years ago. It’s attitudes toward anything off-world, that’s what it is. Damnable, irresponsible behavior. What were you saying? About the hog? The seda-field did its job. And you did your job. Right?” Her stomach clenched. She was wrong. He didn’t understand, he hadn’t seen.
But Zenn had already made her decision. She’d been keeping so much inside lately. Not anymore. She still didn’t have a sensible hypothesis about what it was, but she couldn’t keep it from her uncle any longer. Not after what happened with the hog. And maybe he could help her see something she was missing. Yes, it was time to tell him.
“Otha, something weird happened back there,” Zenn said. “It’s like, all of a sudden, the sandhog and I shared some kind of… communication. No, that’s not it.” She shifted in her seat, impatient with herself for not knowing how to describe it – and not a little afraid of what Otha would think if she did. “More like a connection.”
“A connection?” Otha’s eyes narrowed. She was beginning to think she should have kept her mouth shut. “Like a… mental connection? With the hog? Zenn…”
“When it stopped. When it didn’t strike. It knew I wanted it to stop. I don’t know how. But it was like it looked at me and understood.”
“Understood what? What you were thinking?”
“I know it’s crazy…”
“Zenn,” Otha said, “You’ve been working hard lately. Pushing yourself. I know what a novice contends with. The long hours, no sleep. And now Warra. I know you’re worried about him. But we’ve talked about that, what your father went through.” He paused, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. “Your mother’s death took a lot out of him. And out of you, young as you were.”
“No, this isn’t about that.” Her voice took on an edge of anger, at him, at herself for not making herself clear. Of course she was worried about her father. But this was something else, something happening inside of her. “It’s what I’ve been feeling around the animals lately. It’s like, sometimes, they notice that I’m there, in some different way. It’s like, maybe they sense I’m trying to help.”
“And you think you’ve… felt this before, with other animals?”
“I felt the same thing, about a month ago, with Katie. Somebody left the cover off the well pit. She fell in and couldn’t get out. I was in the side garden, tying up hopps vines. I heard her yowling. Soon as I lifted her up out of the pit, I had this… peculiar feeling. Like being dizzy, or weak all of the sudden. And then she just went quiet, flipped over and gave me this look, like… I know, I know how this sounds. But it was like she was looking into my eyes and sensing that she was safe then, that I would help. I felt so close to her. Close in a different way than ever before.”
“Well, no
w, Zenn, let’s think about this. You’ve always had a way with the animals. Ever since you were little. And Katie isn’t just another pet. She’s a bright little creature.”
“But this was different, Otha. Then it happened again, with the hooshrike.” It was two weeks ago. She’d been prepping the big, bat-like fruitivore for surgery when it happened. “Hild had asked me to shave his abdomen, for the gastric resection op. He knew something was up. When I turned on the clippers, the sound scared him.”
“No surprise there,” Otha snorted. “Those clippers are older than I am. The noise makes me jump sometimes.”
“He spooked and reared up. One of his primary wings went through the cage bars and got stuck. He was thrashing around something fierce. I had to get him free before he hurt himself.”
“He’s bigger than you, girl, and strong. You should’ve come for me.”
“There wasn’t time. He was panicking. I was about to make a grab for him when it happened again. The feeling. Only this time I got really… wobbly, and all at once he stopped struggling. He just drooped there, perfectly still. He let me pull his wing free, he never resisted or fought me. It was like he knew I was there to help him.”
“Yes, but Zenn… this feeling you say you get. Why didn’t you speak up before?”
“I couldn’t be sure before. But it happened again when I was doing the whalehound’s eye, for just a second. And today, with the sandhog. Each time, I feel it more, like the connection is getting stronger. Otha, I know how this sounds. But something is happening between me and these animals.”
Otha was silent, and Zenn couldn’t read his face. Did he think she was imagining it? Having a breakdown? Did he think she was just a scatter-brained little girl? He looked at her again, sharply, for a long while, as if trying to see something beneath her words.
“Zenn, what you’re feeling, no, what you think you’re feeling around the animals isn’t that unusual. You spend your days, all your time, treating these patients, becoming… involved. You don’t see anyone else, beside Hild and me and Hamish. You don’t have a chance to interact with other kids your age and…”
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