Secret of Spring

by Piers Anthony

  The Treeple snorted coarsely. “One of my boys did a deal with the bush face, over there.” He jerked a branch toward Cling Ling. “Got him a unique vehicle, you might say.”

  “I thought you looked familiar,” Herb said, remembering the Treeple from the garage.

  “My cousin, Leafty. There’s a slight family resemblance. But I digress. You’re on the wind—you’re blowing planet. I can’t hand out three goldenrods when I may never see them again. Mr. Thistle wouldn’t like that.”

  “But we’ll repay you. We’re good for it. We just don’t have it at the present time,” Spring pleaded.

  “I know. Herb’s old man is goldleaf. Why not ask him for it?” Thorn asked.

  “I have my reasons,” Herb answered, avoiding eye contact.

  “And goodies they are, no doubt. So it’s like this. You need G’s, and you need them fast.”

  “Right,” Herb and Spring said together. Cling Ling said nothing.

  “I know you’re good for it. But who says you’ll return?”

  Spring opened her mouth to protest, but the Treeple held up a branch.

  “No offence, Little Blossom. In space, there’s no guarantee. Ah shucks. Maybe I have soft roots, but there might be one way we can deal. Something that wouldn’t upset Mr. Thistle. You wouldn’t even have to pay us back.”

  Herb and Spring looked at each other in amazement. It was too good to be true. There was a Founder looking out for them.

  “That is, you wouldn’t pay in goldenrods. Our firm would accept a small service for the fee.”

  “Service?” Spring said, wrinkling her forehead. “I don’t know. What sort of service?”

  “Do we have a deal?” he pressed.

  “First, tell us what the service would involve,” Herb said.

  “Deal or no deal?” he repeated as if Herb hadn’t spoken. “My final offer.”

  “Deal,” Herb said, quickly.

  “Herb!” Spring and Cling Ling chorused together.

  “What choice do we have? We have to get to the space port. Whatever it is, it can’t be worse than losing Lily,” he blurted in anguish.

  “True,” Spring agreed. “I’m not sure I like this, but what else can we do?” She looked at Cling Ling.

  Cling Ling only shrugged, being outnumbered. He had tried to warn them about these Loan Barks, but they wouldn’t listen. Now, the decision had been made.

  “You’ve done the smart thing,” Thorn said with a prickly pear smile. “I’ll pay your fee and take you straight to the space port in my Traveller. We can discuss everything on the way,” he continued jovially, slapping Herb on the back with a hearty branch. Spring shrank back from his grasp, but went along meekly. Cling Ling rolled glumly behind them.

  It went like clockwork. Thorn’s fast transport took them straight to the waiting Txnghc’s ship with a minute to spare. The pilot was clearly relieved to see them. They were aboard in no time, sacked up and cringing for take-off.

  It was another gut wrencher. Several woozy stomachs later, they were idling in Drift, getting set for the time warp to the future they had left behind earlier. Cling Ling and the Txnghc were in conference, calculating their destination to the nth degree. No one wanted a repeat of the last fiasco!

  Everything had moved so fast, they hardly had time to discuss their bargain with Mr. Thorn, but it seemed simple enough. All they had to do was deliver a small package to planet Snowball. So called, because the temperature never rose above zero, and the entire surface suffered constant blizzards.

  Herb wasn’t thrilled about going there, but it turned out to be only a hop and jump from Kamalot, so distance shouldn’t present a problem. Indeed, the Txnghc ship seemed at its most adept when flying in hops and jumps. Herb’s stomach was still doing somersaults.

  He knew Cling Ling had not approved of the transaction, but it seemed a small enough task in exchange for their huge Assurance fee. The package was actually a small, thick, metallic container like a square bucket, which felt rather warm to the touch.

  When Spring inquired the nature of the package, Thorn had only replied that it was a valuable shipment of perishable goods. That was why it was necessary to find a quick means of delivery and why he was willing to take their service for the fee. The goods had been prepaid so all they needed to do was deliver it.

  Perhaps it was a gourmet feast for some rich snowman, Herb mused. He hoped it was nothing illegal, but asked no more questions lest he discover it was. It was none of their business, and in any case, the deal had been made and they were stuck for it. Herb secured it at the bottom of his sack to keep it from careening about the ship during take-off.

  Spring sat at the side, talking to the diplomat. He had returned in this time frame, although they had already delivered him to his home to be, uh, delivered. Some birthday. But that would be corrected as soon as they timewarped properly this time. She knew Herb had no desire to see those ants again, even though he had come to no harm. Reasonable or not, insects bugged him.

  Cling Ling stuck his leafy face down the hatch from above. “Sorry to delay, but we had to be certain of our coordinates this time,” he explained.

  “Here, here,” concurred the diplomat. “Popping in and out of my mother’s womb is an unnatural act, to say the least. Hopefully, this will be my last attempt.”

  “Warp out in ten minsecs,” Cling Ling said, shutting the hatch.

  Everyone sacked up. Spring helped the child into his, and then slid inside her own. Herb checked them both before climbing into his, scooting well down to the bottom.

  “Yeow,” he yelped, leaping back out and grabbing for his burning feet.

  Spring watched as Herb hopped ludicrously around the small room.

  “Hot foot,” he yelled in explanation, flopping down upon the floor to peel off his smoking socks.

  Spring was already out of her sack, looking to see what had caused his sudden leap. A smoldering hole was burned through the end of his sack, and there across the way where it had slid, was the container with its lid ajar. It must have popped open. She bent over it to peep inside, then let out a piercing scream.

  The top hatch was flung open immediately, and Cling Ling slung himself down the short ladder. “What’s wrong? It’s almost time for warp-out.”

  “Look,” Spring cried, pointing a shaky finger toward the glowing container. “Squiggly things.” Herb had limped over beside her at the scream, and held her protectively in his arms.

  The young diplomat was at their side now, peering down into the open box. His eyes opened wide as he looked back to Herb. “My stars,” he cried. “You’ve got a bad case of the HOTS.”

  Herb stumbled as he released Spring and backed away, coloring deeply.

  “Yes, it’s HOTS, all right,” he said to Cling Ling. “I have seen these once before on a dead planet.”

  Cling Ling looked closely. “Yes. I agree. They are Hybrid Oxalic Taproots,” he said in horror.

  “Hybrid Oxalic—Oh. HOTS,” Herb said, realizing the diplomat had not been commenting on his behavior with Spring after all.

  “I’ve read about those in some of the material Herb sent me about plant life on P#23. Aren’t they extremely dangerous?” Spring asked.

  “Dangerous hardly describes them. What do you suppose killed that dead planet where I saw them?” he asked. “They must be properly contained or they will burn right through this ship. There is hardly a more acidic substance in the universe than HOTS.”

  Herb could vouch for that. He had touched it for only a second and his scorched feet were barely cooling off.

  Cling Ling raced back up to consult with the Txnghc pilot who had been busy with the final machinations of the controls. He rolled back, slinging a thin metallic sheet over the HOTS box. It was a sheet from their Cold storage, he explained, and should help to cool the box until they reached their destination. Once there, it should be safe enough, since the freezing temperatures would be in their favor.

  “No wonder Thorn was willi
ng to take this delivery in lieu of our debt,” Spring said, looking aghast at the smoke curling up from beneath the sheet.

  “He did say it was perishable,” Herb said. ‘

  “Not as perishable as us,” Cling Ling said. The ship gave a preliminary shudder. “Hurry and sack up. The warp-out’s beginning,” he shouted, flinging himself back through the upper hatch and slamming it tight.

  Everyone was inside sacks, waiting. Herb’s sockless foot stuck through the hole at the end. Luckily, he had removed his shoes or he would have no footwear at all.

  He should have known there would be a catch to it for that much money, and he had literally put his foot into it this time.

  They warped. The noise was deafening, the speed incredible. It was indescribable. The nearest analogy Herb could find was a vision of ten nets balls banging inside an ancient washing unit at translight speed. The group of them, of course, were the ten nets balls. As suddenly as it began, the ship was spit out and splashed down into an icy sea. They had arrived on Snowball.

  Cling Ling quickly joined the others in inspecting the shipment of HOTS. They had ceased smoking, and that was encouraging. Using the end of the Cold sheet, Cling Ling secured the lid and lifted it by the handle, carrying it out through the hatch.

  The Txnghc was topside breaking out Snuggies for them. The garments were paper thin and looked like shiny pink foil, but once on they proved toasty warm.

  Before emerging into the raging snow storm outside, they fortified themselves with nutrition pellets from the Txnghc’s larder. Not too tasty, but surprisingly filling. Herb stuck a few extra in his pockets.

  The pilot had also dropped a dinghy outside into the choppy waters and helped lower Cling and Herb down the side. Spring slid down last with Herb’s help. He caught her at the sides of her waist as she landed, and felt his breath intake as her breasts pressed up against him. Even through the foil material, she was soft and warm. Spring returned his gaze as he looked helplessly into her eyes.

  “Please to sit,” Cling Ling instructed. “We must not rock this craft. The water is frozen.”

  It certainly was. It was practically a sheet of ice, with only a few cracks here and there of dark, churning water.

  “How did he ever find a space safe enough to land?” gasped Spring in awe of the surroundings.

  “He didn’t. Heat jets. They melted a place as we landed. Now we need to hurry to shore before the water freezes over again,” Cling Ling said. “We wouldn’t wish to be caught inside this glacier.”

  “No, I have no desire to turn into a Burr Sicle,” Spring said. “That’s a frozen sweet,” she explained to Herb.

  He smiled. It was an apt analogy.

  “Our pilot landed close to the delivery point,” Cling Ling informed them, as he consulted a screen on the dinghy control panel. He pointed out a red blip. “If I am not mistaken, that is our destination.”

  “How can we see? This snow storm is getting worse,” Herb complained, as Spring snuggled closer. Well, it was an ill wind that boded no one any good.

  “I will home in with this instrument,” Cling Ling said, guiding the small vessel with his covered vines. After a bit, they saw the faint glow from buildings ahead. The storm had let up in intensity and Herb gaped in disbelief. Buildings made from ice? But why not? There was certainly plenty of it available, and no danger of melting in this frozen world. A sensible use of a natural resource.

  Cling Ling had run their craft as far as the crack in the ice extended. They pulled it ashore and pressed forward on foot. Fortunately, as they reached the “road” to the buildings, they discovered the walk way was heated. Only a bit of stubborn ice melted and refroze here and there as they approached the entrance of the main building.

  Herb’s foot found a slick piece and he slid through the door on one foot, dragging Spring with him. It was an outer portico, with a large door at the side. Cling Ling pressed the bright red lever and it opened to reveal an efficient, official looking business office waiting room.

  “It looks so normal,” Spring said.

  “I know what you mean,” Herb agreed. “After seeing an ice building, I thought we might be greeted by Polaris bears or snowmen.”

  “Good day,” said a voice as soft as drifted snow. “I’m Miss Frosty, Mr. Zeroid’s secretary. So sorry to keep you waiting.”

  Herb’s eyes bulged. That was no snowman. Snow bunny, perhaps. He ogled the tall, statuesque, platinum haired, incredibly well-grown female with skin so white it was lustrous. This ice maiden was definitely hot.

  “We just arrived,” he squeaked.

  Spring’s eyes narrowed as she pushed ahead of Herb to speak, since for reasons she didn’t care to think about, he seemed to have lost his voice. “We have a delivery from Mr. Thorn,” she said coldly.

  “You are most welcome. We have been expecting you,” the vision beamed.

  “You have?” Herb croaked.

  “Oh yes. Mr. Zeroid has been most anxious. I will let him know you have arrived safely. Please make yourselves comfortable, and if you should need anything before I return, just press this button,” she said, indicating its location, “and call me.” She smiled at Herb. “I am Frigidda.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Herb said under his breath.

  “What?” Spring asked as the icy beauty departed through another door.

  “Uh, nothing. I just wondered how they knew we were the ones delivering their package,” he said stupidly.

  “I imagine the Txnghc has been in communication from the ship, and even had he not been, just how many green snowmen do you think they see around here?” she said testily.

  Herb decided to remain quiet. For some reason he didn’t understand Spring had lost her usual good nature. He heard her make a barely audible snorting sound. Women could be so moody.

  The three of them sat in strained silence until Miss Frosty returned to smilingly announce that Mr. Zeroid would see them now, indicating the doorway.

  “Why, thank you, Miss ah, ah—” Herb stammered, awed for the moment by the brilliance of her sparkling white teeth.

  Spring sprang to the rescue, taking his arm and tugging him along. “We mustn’t keep Mr. Zeroid waiting, Herb. Besides, I’m sure Miss Frostbite has work to do.”

  They entered with Cling Ling moving ahead of them with his burden of HOTS. Mr. Zeroid rose from behind his desk to greet them. He was a large, rounded gentleman with the same snow-white coloring as his secretary. He did indeed resemble a jolly, plump snowman.

  “I’ll relieve you of those,” he said to Cling Ling, placing the box on his desk. “You’ve arrived just in time, too. Our power is nearly exhausted. I’ve already notified our engineers. They’ll be right up for those.” He sat back down after indicating chairs for the trio. He seemed clearly relieved that the shipment had arrived safely.

  “What were you saying about your power?” Spring asked politely.

  He looked surprised. “You don’t know what they’re for? They are the only power source feasible for our planet. Even they don’t last forever. The extreme cold, you see. Our sector had only a few more hours’ heat and then, well, we are certainly glad to see you.” He laughed nervously.

  “But why did you wait so long to get replacements?” asked Herb.

  “You really aren’t aware of our situation here, are you?” asked Mr. Zeroid, amazed.

  “Please be most kind to explain,” Cling Ling said.

  “Certainly. Hybrid Oxalic Taproots are only grown on P#23 under certain specialized conditions. They are not only rare and expensive, they are difficult to ship because they—”

  “I think we already know why,” Spring interrupted wryly.

  “Yes,” he continued. “We do order them well in advance, but variables such as bad crops, budget problems, or transportation can always cause hazardous delays.”

  “One must ask. Why rely on such questionable sources of energy?” Cling Ling asked.

  “Because Hybrid, er, HOTS, are virtually
the only heat and power source that won’t freeze up on our world. Before they were available, we were more or less an isolated chunk of ice. They have enabled our civilization not only to interact with our own kind, but to open communication with the outside universe. Without them, we’d lose everything.”

  “Ah, indeed,” Cling Ling agreed.

  “I’m afraid persons such as Mr. Thorn realize our desperation and it’s become tougher to meet his price. Oh, not that we don’t want to do business,” he quickly added, obviously fearing he had said too much.

  “That is terrible,” Spring exclaimed, outraged. “We have no loyalty to Thorn, Mr. Zeroid. This is a one time job. So don’t worry, you may speak freely. There must be something we could do to help, Cling? This is a matter of survival.”

  “You see the situation exactly,” agreed Mr. Zeroid, relieved he had not spoken out of turn.

  “We must bring this to the attention of the diplomatic services,” said Cling Ling.

  “Yes, Patty Cakes will know what to do,” joined in Herb.

  “Rest assured we shall apprise the proper officials, Mr. Zeroid. I know Paradise would not wish your planet to be exploited in this manner. There will be an inquiry, and no doubt, new regulations will follow,” Cling Ling said.

  “Well, that is just wonderful. Thank you all,” Mr. Zeroid said, gratefully reaching out to shake hands all around. “It was our lucky day when you folks arrived on the scene.”

  “And a very bad day for one Mr. Thorn,” grinned Herb.

  “And Thistle,” added Spring, giggling. “Serves him right for trying to trick us.”

  A short time later, they were aboard the dinghy and safely away from the dazzling Miss Frosty. They had wrapped up tightly in their Snuggies and braced against the storm as Cling Ling headed back to the ship. Their passage route was showing signs of icing despite the heat jets from the Txnghc craft. The snow had become so heavy no one could see anything. Cling Ling had to rely solely on the dinghy’s instruments to guide them back.

  Suddenly, the vessel came to a dead stop. “Why are we stopping here, Cling?” Spring called from beneath her hood. The snow was almost blinding.