by Paul Kidd
Right. To business. Shaani dropped her bags. “I need to analyze a type of local fruit. I’m looking for toxins or hallucinogens.”
“Chemical analysis equipment is available on the right.” The computer lit up a square, white machine nearby. “Place a sample within the machinery.”
“Just—put the fruit in the machine?”
“It would be best to distill the pulp, removing as much water as possible.”
Ah. That was something Shaani could do well. She found a glass beaker, fetched a fruit from her backpack, and crushed the flesh, running juice off into the beaker. She waved a hand over the heating panels; they instantly responded, and she began to carefully distill the water from the juice.
Science at work.
Wig-Wig swirled by, laughing and swooping and playing games. Shaani beamed. The others may have been susceptible, but she was made of sterner stuff. With no time to eat or drink, she applied herself to her work.
The afternoon sun was slanting in through the windows as she put her finished concoction into the analyzer. The machine whirred, pinged, and finally the computer spoke.
“Analysis complete.”
“Excellent.” Shaani inspected the screen. “Sugars … carbohydrates …” She combed her whiskers. “I can’t see anything unusual.”
The computer whirred and blinked its many lights.
“You must concentrate,” she said to herself. “Rat senses are acute enough to spot chains a human would miss.” Shaani scanned the list of chemical compounds found in the fruit. Her eye was caught by some trace acids. “Ah, what is this compound here?”
“It is an unidentified acid, honored researcher.”
“Are there similar acid structures on your records?”
“Yes.” The computer put a list of chemicals up on the screen. “These are similar compounds stored in my records.”
Shaani read the list, peering over her spectacles. “Lysergic acid diethylamide …” Shaani knew that one. It was in her chemical textbook, which never left her. “LSD.”
Aha.
LSD was a powerful hallucinogen. The rat rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. Finally they were getting somewhere.
“Computer, can we construct an antidote?”
The computer face beamed. “You are the rat, honored researcher. What would you suggest?”
“Hmm.” The rat pondered. “Well, bases seem to counter acids. Perhaps they need to ingest something alkaline.”
“An excellent suggestion.”
“A soluble salt would be easiest—and gentlest. Calcium carbonate?” Shaani was on fire with science. “Computer, are there any sources of calcium carbonate nearby?”
“I have no operating sensors. But calcium carbonate is found in shells. Mollusk shells are common near bodies of water.”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Shaani gathered up her collection equipment. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve found a source.”
She set off out of the laboratory with a surge of real joy in her heart. Quite suddenly she heard laughter over in the ruined tower. The rat clambered over a stone and saw Xoota struggling through the ruins.
The quoll was dragging a makeshift sack made from some sort of cloth. The sack was filled to the brim with junk that clanked and rattled as she walked.
Shaani felt a huge surge of relief. “Xoota.” She waved.
The quoll saw her and headed in her direction, exhausted with the weight of her finds. “Shaani … Shaani, you have to see this.”
“It’s all right.” Shaani held up a hand. “Your erratic behavior is explained. A cure is at hand.”
“What? Oh, that’s great.” Xoota dragged her sack over toward Shaani. “Shaani, there’s a cache. Over in the ruins, all kinds of stuff under the rubble.”
“Have you drunk anything lately?”
“What? No.” The quoll stood before Shaani and wiped dust from her face. “You should see this. Look, look what I’ve found. Tools. Some sort of power drill. And guns—shiny ones. One for each of us.” The quoll was excited. “And some sort of healing machine. Anything you want, it’s in there.”
Shaani looked at the sack. It held a terrible collection of scrap and rubbish: broken bowls, sticks, rocks. She shook her head, pitying Xoota’s weak-minded susceptibility. “Xoota, you have to calm down and sit quietly. You are hallucinating. There’s nothing here.”
“What? No, no, no. You should see all these things. I’ve spent a lifetime looking for anything half this good. I’m not a loser anymore.” The quoll’s eyes were bright and earnest. “I’ll bring back more, you’ll see. There’s everything you could ever want over there.”
“You’re not eating any fruit, are you?”
“No, no time.” Xoota raced off, seizing what looked like a rusted kettle.
Shaani stared after her. Everything she could ever want …
Shaani moved very quietly to a rock. She sat and looked over the ruins.
A big, white tree stood beside the lab. There was another over near Xoota’s “treasure” trove.
The bodies in the forest had all been near white trees.
Shaani closed her eyes for a moment and bowed her head, feeling rather crushed. But science is never proud. Science adapts to the evidence before it and carries on. The rat clenched her hands and let her mind race. She forced herself to drink; she had not noticed just how damned tired and thirsty she had been. She had been dehydrating in the heat.
It was the trees. The white, fragrant trees … The sweet pollen hung thick and sickly in the air.
Right. Science was called for. All the tools were readily at hand. Ignoring the laboratory, Shaani headed over to the fallen tower floors. A long pipe served her as a lever. She jammed one end beneath a chunk of fallen stone then swung her meager weight from the far end. Bouncing and jouncing, she worked the rubble loose, finally tumbling a large rock free.
Charcoal lay in a deep drift beneath the rocks. Trees burned in a fire decades before. The rat pulled at the crumbling charcoal, used her entrenching tool to clear away all of the surface material, and found the good, porous charcoal underneath.
Black and smudged from head to foot, she sat down in the rubble. An instant later, she had unthreaded her canteen from her belt. The rat looked it over, took her tools, and punched holes all through the bottom of the canteen.
Shaani stripped off her tank top and laid it on the floor. She chopped charcoal into small pieces and washed it in water, rinsing out the dust. She laid the charcoal out onto her singlet, patting it all carefully dry.
She filled her canteen with charcoal and wrapped cotton over the neck. She breathed through the neck of the water bottle, sucking each breath in through a mass of charcoal.
Science at work.
She gathered yet more washed charcoal in a bag, put her blackened, wet singlet back on, and climbed the ruins.
She had to breathe carefully; it was tiring, taking a lot of effort to suck breath through the charcoal mass. She worked at it, keeping her breathing as even as possible. Shaani moved near the lakeshore, away from the trees, heading carefully upwind. She walked for half an hour, keeping her thoughts as calm and clear as she could.
She walked back to the ruined tower and looked toward the laboratory.
It was an ancient kitchen, dust covered and overgrown. The “computer screen” had been an oven set into a wall. The analysis equipment had merely been cupboards, cracked bowls, and shattered utensils. Shaani nodded; the “computer” had told her nothing. She had fed the fantasy all by herself. But at least her mind was clear. Her inhaled-gas hypothesis had been proven.
All that was left was the difficult part.
Xoota was digging madly through a pile of rusted refuse, lifting some pieces aloft in glee. Shaani came over to her, holding her bottle to her mouth and breathing with difficulty. She waved to Xoota.
“Hallo, Xoota.”
“Hey.” The quoll was looking tired, near exhaustion. Looming overhead was a white tree. If she look
ed carefully, she could see a network of surface roots; the things clearly fed by making their victims expire in deluded exhaustion then sucked the nutrients from the corpses as they decayed.
Shaani walked over, one foot tapping the ground, looking a little sheepish. “I, um, found an artifact for you, old bean. Looks pretty valuable—you know, top stuff. It might be a fusion gun, maybe a life ray or something.”
“Wow, where?”
“Over here.” Shaani pointed to the rubble nearby.
Xoota came scrabbling up beside her. She followed Shaani’s finger, saw metal gleaming among the rocks, and knelt down to dig the object free.
Shaani pulled open a little vial that had long resided in her belt pouch. She dipped a long spike made out of thorn into the gooey green liquid in the vial. “You know, you will thank me for this tomorrow …” Shaani pierced Xoota’s shapely backside with the thorn.
Xoota yelped, looked around in shock, then collapsed forward, stiff as a board.
Shaani nodded. The poison she had taken from the ant-lion larvae back in the desert many weeks past had proved to be useful at last.
Right.
The rest was all hard labor. She dragged the other girl free of the white trees. She put together an impromptu gas mask and tied it into place over Xoota’s mouth. Shaani checked that the girl could breathe and put her into a old, wheeled trolley scavenged from the ruined kitchen. She trundled Xoota far around the lake and put her safely behind the lovely waterfall, far upwind of the deadly trees.
That was number one.
Number two: Wig-wig. He would not be so hard and certainly less likely to hold a grudge. She found a huge, plastic bin behind the garden shed. Whistling through her chisel teeth, Shaani finally attracted the attention of the earwigs, who were ragged with exhaustion after chasing imaginary playmates around and around the tower.
The earwigs waved. “Rattie.”
“Wig-wig.” The rat pointed excitedly down into the bin. “He’s in here. He’s hiding down in here.”
“Glee.” The bugs took off and swirled down into the plastic bin. They began eagerly combing through the bark and grass clippings at the bottom of the bin.
Shaani put the lid on the bin and clamped it shut. She had screwed in an air filter made from charcoal and a water bottle. An old bag served as bellows to blow in some nice, fresh air. She tucked the barrel under her arm and made her way awkwardly back to the waterfall.
QED.
Number three was going to be rather problematic. Ah, well, Shaani had left the worst until last.
Benek was up in the tree line. He fought a grim battle against opponents who crumbled before his unconquerable genetic might. He poised and fired his crossbow, racing forward. Bushes fell to bits as he hacked and swirled, slicing them to pieces and slamming home mighty coups de grâce.
Shaani laid her plans carefully, checked her distances and routes, and headed after him with a grubby handkerchief in hand. “Yoo-hoo, Benek. Oh, Benek, it’s me.”
Armored in full plate, with crossbow and a mighty sword, the world’s most genetically perfect man whirled. Vast and slathered with muscle, he took one look at Shaani and roared. He clearly saw her as yet another mutant, there to fall before his blade.
Shaani tried her friendliest possible wave. “Benek. Benek, old chap. Now we do need you to concentrate. Clear head, all that sort of thing. You’re rather delusional, and I really need you to just calm down—”
He charged.
Shaani shot off through the bushes like a rabbit, wailing. Benek scrambled behind her, crashing bushes aside, smashing saplings beneath his feet. He came on like a juggernaut, bellowing in rage.
She ran, fleet, skinny, and with a definite plan in mind. Her path was deliberate. She took a set course, bounding over bushes and fallen trees.
Benek roared and raced after her, clumsy in his heavy armor of steel. He splintered underbrush, hacking with his sword. A wild crossbow shot winged past Shaani’s head. She ducked, then sprinted, her course curving, leaving Benek in her wake. She reached the point of her path she had marked with three white stones then ducked behind a bush to wait.
Benek appeared. Hot and dehydrated, wild eyed and insane, the man caught sight of Shaani and strode toward her, swinging his battered and sap-stained sword.
Long plant tendrils suddenly wrapped around his shins.
Shaani’s old adversary, the carnivorous tree, jerked Benek off his feet. It dragged him toward its damaged maw even as he tore and ripped at the tendrils. Shaani poised, picked her moment, then lunged in with a long stick tipped with a poisoned dart.
She stabbed Benek in the backside with paralytic poison.
The man turned stiff as a board. Shaani poked him with the stick a few times to make sure then gratefully threw the pokey stick aside. She tramped forward toward the plant, which was smacking its lips in glee.
She started up her chainsaw in a most significant manner. The plant sullenly let go of Benek and went into a magnificent sulk. Shaani tied a rope around Benek’s hands and feet. He was far too big to lift into a wheelbarrow. Shaani tied a gas mask to his mouth, fixed a tow rope to his feet, and laboriously dragged him over to her modified shopping cart.
Damn, but he was heavy.
The only way was to get him out of his armored skin. Shaani undid buckles, ties, straps, and laces, amazed at the armor’s complexity. She managed to free him from his armor and found that he wore heavily patched underwear beneath. Relieved of some of the weight, she was finally able to winch him off the ground via a rope thrown over a branch. She lowered him into the trolley and arranged him into place.
Shaani threw her meager muscles against the trolley, pushing and cursing, feet slipping. Hauling his lumpen great arse back to the waterfall was a massive labor. Night had fallen, and a new moon was shining eerie gray light over the strange sky island. Shaani was hungry, exhausted, and almost collapsing with effort, when suddenly Benek’s weight miraculously halved.
Xoota had taken the front half of the trolley out of her hands. Shaani looked at her—charcoal smudged, filthy, and tired. They both wore the silly bottle gas masks. Xoota nodded and helped her wrestle Benek back to the falls.
Behind the waterfall, Xoota had made a little refuge. Wig-wig was free and looking rather seedy, camped out beside the water and drinking his fill. He waved wearily, looking ashamed. Shaani sank down to the rocks, pulling her gas mask free.
There was one more trip to make with the trolley. They had to go back for Benek’s armor. Shaani took time to gather a trolley load of fruit and take it all back to the cave.
Benek was lying on the ground, paralyzed but no longer completely crazed. Xoota held his head and helped him drink, making him take a full liter, sip by sip. She looked up as Shaani came back into the cave. “Hey.”
“Hallo.” Shaani sank wearily down. She looked Xoota over. “So how are you feeling now, old trout?”
“Good … better.” She gestured to the makeshift gas masks. “Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.”
Benek blinked at the ceiling. “I have been overpowered by a mutant trick.”
Shaani gave a tired sigh. “It was the white trees. The pollen was drugged. None of us were our real selves.”
Xoota looked disheartened. “Perhaps we were too much our real selves.”
“We were deluded.” The rat drank cold water from the stream. “I shan’t blame anyone for their delusions. Merely for clinging to them.”
Xoota nodded, looking tired. “Benek, can you move?”
“Almost. I can move my feet.”
“It won’t take much longer.” Xoota wearily rose to her feet. “Let’s get the hell off this place.”
It took half an hour to get Benek to his feet. They took their trolley with them, laboriously wending their way down the crevice that led back to the sands. Wig-wig flew on ahead to turn lights on at the ship, to bring Budgie on deck, and to ready the ship for sleep.
Benek manhandle
d the trolley up onto the ship. Xoota stood on the rocks with Shaani, looking at the crashed and damaged Sand Shark. They had a lot of work ahead of them.
“Kack. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m the leader. I should have been in control,” said Xoota.
Shaani gave a tired smile. “It’s all right. You had a scientist watching over you.”
“So you didn’t go crazy?”
“A more genteel crazy.” The rat sighed. “It was not a pretty sight.”
They made their way toward the ship. Up on deck, Budgie twittered a merry welcome home. Xoota waved to the bird.
“So what was real? Was there loot? Did we actually find anything for all our troubles?”
“Ah, yes. The fruit was real; the bath was real. Both magic in their way.” Shaani’s eyelids were drooping. “And all the things from the forest bodies were real: a medical kit, three bracelets, two sets of armor—slightly used, one rather erratic pistol, one spare energy cell, and your patent ‘energy mace.’ ”
“Oh.” The quoll looked rather chastened. “Well, that’s not a total loss.”
“You’re no loser.” The rat handed her the pistol and took her arm in arm as they walked toward the ship. “Not at all.”
CHAPTER 9
The morning came with a deep sense of moral hangover; the entire crew was aware that they had behaved like idiots. The only cure was to be rather busy and efficient. Denial: it gets things done.
The broken wheel mount was going to be a major problem. The fallen mast was relatively easy to fix; all it needed was awkward winches, pulleys, and muscle power … then rerigging half the damned ship. No trouble at all. But the wheel mount was going to be a hard call. Shaani hung upside down inside the hold for half an hour, her legs, bottom, and tail wiggling awkwardly from time to time. She emerged with pink eyes blinking and grease smears on her nose. She did not look happy.
Xoota was inexpertly helping to splice damaged rigging. Wig-wig was definitely the expert. With dozens of earwigs weaving effortlessly over and under, he merely needed Xoota’s help for the muscle power. She made the final tugs, jerked tight the knots, and used pulleys to haul finished cables up into the masts. With her boots off, Xoota had two hands, two prehensile feet, and a prehensile tail available to help her aloft; she was definitely the crewman voted to handle all of the action high above deck.