by Paul Kidd
If only she actually liked heights … Hanging upside down by her tail, cursing as she tried to thread a cable through a complicated pulley block, Xoota rapped her knuckle on the rigging. As she was doing her usual grumbling, Wig-wig flew effortlessly past her with countless wings flashing in the sun.
“Glee.”
Xoota gave another curse and went back to work.
The broken rigging around the mainmast was slowly coming back together. The foremast would be another story. Xoota sighed, wiped her brow, and took a drink from her canteen while hanging from her tail.
Far below her, everyone was busy. Shaani bustled back down a hatch, carrying an old tape measure and a set of calipers. Wig-wig was swarming all over lengths of broken cable, knotting and splicing. Even Benek was down belowdecks, clearing out the buckled and bent mast mountings. His titanic strength was going to be needed when all the heavy engineering began. The only one slacking off was Budgie, who lounged in the shade of the deckhouse with his feet up, a sack of goober beans beside him and a look of immense satisfaction on his face. The budgerigar looked happily up at Xoota and flapped his little flightless wings.
“Whose a pretty boy, then?”
The quoll seethed in dark, ill temper.
“You’ll keep, you feather-bearing git.”
Xoota slid down a backstay, using leather gloves to protect her delicate hands. She landed with a feline delicacy, up on her toes, then dusted off her clothes. She stepped carefully over the earwig horde, dropped down a hatch, and moved through the airless spaces of the lower hull.
Benek was working a hammer, stripped to the waist and looking like an ancient god of ironmongery. Darwin only knew how he survived; he lacked all protective skin covering: no fur, feathers, scales, spines, platelets, silicon shingles, or chitin. No alpha mutations, no powers … Humans seemed to be a bit of an evolutionary dead end. But if Benek wanted to revitalize the poor, benighted race, it was hardly for Xoota to complain … as long as they didn’t do it on the town streets and scare the budgerigars.
Xoota worked her way past the man, wrinkling her nose at the rather acrid scent of human sweat. “Hey, Benek. How’s it going?”
“Adequately.” The man rippled his muscles as he moved. “I have been straightening bolts and screws.”
“Oh, wacko. Well, can’t have you with loose screws.” Xoota made sure the man had a bottle of iced tea. She never moved without at least one liter of water on her. “When are we putting the mast back up?”
“The rat believes we can do it this afternoon.”
Raising the mast would take all night. All the next day would be spent rerigging the damned thing. Xoota was annoyed. Every day that passed put the citizens of Watering Hole in danger. The Great Star Goat only knew how the distilling station was holding out. If it broke down, the town would be dead in a matter of days.
Hours might count.
With her spotted fur gleaming around her bare midriff, Xoota clambered through the companionway. She was just in time to hear an unholy crash as untold tons of metal fell off the hull and clanged onto the ground below. Xoota blinked, owl eyed, and hastened to stick her head out of a gaping hole in the side of the ship.
Shaani was sitting in a little rope chair hanging from the side of the ship. She pushed back her safety goggles and smiled. “Oh, hallo.” She wiped her face. “Any good alphas today?”
“Eh, something’s in there. No real idea what.” The quoll looked over the wheel mount. “You?”
“Oh, damage reflection. No bad thing.”
“We never seem to get anything world crunching. You know, something that might let us generate a black hole inside someone’s lower intestinal tract.” Xoota shrugged. “I just came to see if everyone wanted a cup of tea.” Xoota was a creature largely driven by tea; when stabbed, she might even bleed light brown with milk and two sugars. “Could you go for a cuppa?”
“Could I ever.” The rat needed no further urging. She was tired and well streaked with grease. “I think I’m due for a break.”
Xoota leaned out of the ship and looked down at a hefty metal shape lying on the sand. Shaani had unbolted a substantial chunk of the ship and let it fall.
“What the hell was that?
The rat raised a finger. “Ah, that was the section of the wheel mount that fit into the chassis.”
“So why is it on the ground?”
“It’s all twisted out of true. We need to straighten it out once I build a forge. Then we get to hoist it all back up again.”
“Sounds hard.”
“It’s certainly no picnic.” In addition to somehow unbolting an entire wheel mount, Shaani had also had to uncouple brake lines, power lines, and more. She had clearly been having a complicated morning. “Only way to do it really. But we’ll probably need to fetch a big load of charcoal from up above. We’ll need oodles of the stuff to run the forge.”
Xoota was rather dubious. The previous day’s general lunacy was a very painful memory. “Will we be safe?”
“The respirators seemed to work well.” The rat clambered back on board. “And if we go a tad loopy, it’s all just stress relief.”
“You’re remarkably calm about yesterday’s … incident.”
“A scientist must take failures in stride.” Shaani dusted down her singlet, which was much the worse for wear. “You know, I’m rather looking forward to finding a settlement of some kind. I could do with some new kit.”
Xoota frowned as they walked back through the hold. “Do you think there will be settlements?”
“Oh, there must be. We can’t be the only bit of civilization left in the world.” The rat was enthused. “That’s what makes this all so exciting. Hands across the wilderness and all that.”
Xoota sighed and looked up at the sky island towering high above. Climbing to the top again was not a pretty prospect. Still, at least they could collect and dry a whole bunch of jungle fruit. The damned stuff was delicious.
Shaani rigged a better, more usable version of her gas masks. The breather units were strapped to the chest, and the user breathed in via a hose and exhaled out of an exhaust valve. A nose plug was necessary to prevent anyone mistakenly breathing in unfiltered air. Wig-wig was more problematic; he was simply forbidden to advance any farther than the waterfall. But they would take Budgie along; the little blighter could finally actually work for a living. Shaani fitted him with a mask across his nostrils that was tied in place with rags. The result was definitely not going to win him any beauty contest.
The expedition traipsed back up the sharp slope of the crevice, clambering across the rocks and boulders. Budgie hopped from rock to rock, helped here and there by a shove in the backside. Xoota wondered if the damned bird was putting on weight.
Finally they reached the upper lip of the plateau. They took a wide detour away from the teleporting seed plants and made their way to the beautiful waterfall cave.
Xoota left spare water bottles beside the stream and left the party laundry there to wash later. She began tightening straps and rechecking her armor.
“Now no one goes anywhere alone. Wig-wig, we have to leave you here. You can collect fruit, but go no nearer the forest than the first pool. You hear me?”
“Yes, Xoota.” The earwigs showed every intention of being very, very good. “I be finding yummy fruit.”
“Be very, very careful. Flee back here at the first sign of the slightest danger.” Xoota ticked things off on her fingers as Shaani led her off toward the falls. “So stay away from the teleporting seeds, the carnivorous trees, the bird fish …”
She was still thinking of things as they exited through the waterfall. Shaani rummaged in her pack and produced the ray pistol. She proudly handed it to Xoota.
“There you go, old bean. I fixed it good as new. Have a bunduk.”
“Bunduk?”
“Bang stick. The gun.” Shaani passed the pistol across. “It’s all right. I fixed it.”
“Where did you pick up your
dialect?” Xoota hesitated before touching the pistol. “You want to give this to me? Don’t you want it?”
“No, no, you have it. You’ll get more use out of it.” The rat turned the pistol around and explained its workings carefully. “Sights—you get the idea. Spare power cell goes in there if it suddenly konks out on you. And that is the safety catch. It’s a bit wobbly, so I’ve held it back with hairy string.” The rat gave the weapon a last inspection. “The grips had decayed, so I’ve used yet more string. Should give you a good, nonslip handle.”
“Right. Well, yes, thanks.” It was a princely gift, the one thing every explorer hoped to find and never did. Xoota took the weapon, stuck it into a holster, and tied the holster to her leg. She felt it settle there as though it belonged.
Shaani led Budgie, who came with a basket slung on each side of his saddle. The rat chattered happily to the others as they walked beside the stream.
“Benek. Did that armor fit you?”
The huge man shook his head. “No. They were made for under-men. Their stature was too weak, too frail.”
“Without your bulging pecs, eh?”
“Quite so.”
“Ah well, we might be able to use them for Xoota and me. I’ll mess around with them later.” Shaani’s mind was racing. “The coverage is poor. I think we can take sections from the damaged suit and use them to cover the thigh sections. Protect the femoral artery …”
Xoota flicked a patient glance at the rat. “We have crossed the entire desert with you wearing nothing but a cotton shirt, and now you get interested in armor?”
“Well, it wasn’t interesting before. Now it’s a challenge.”
Thankfully they reached gas mask territory at last. The masks were fitted into place, which effectively stopping all chitchat. Xoota made sure everyone could breathe then led the way into the forest.
The ruined tower still stood within its immaculately manicured lawns and gardens. The gardening bot was still at work, diligently weeding flowerbeds. Shaani looked at it and took her gas mask from her mouth.
“I feel sad about leaving this little fellow here alone.”
Benek scowled. “It is its duty to serve here.”
“Well, he’s keeping a beautiful garden with no one to appreciate it.”
Xoota kept her crossbow loaded, scanning the underbrush for enemies. She liked the feel of the ancient pistol on her hip; it made her feel like a real adventurer. Her antennae quested for future trouble but decidedly came up blank.
“Let’s just get the charcoal loaded and then meddle with dangerous metal entities later.”
Shaani brightened. “Righto.”
Xoota wearily realized her word had just been taken as a promise. Grumbling, she led the way to the ruins—the site of the previous day’s shame—and tramped over to the charcoal pile.
“All right. How much of this stuff do we need?”
Shaani fetched her folding shovel. “We’ll need about … three trips’ worth. The forge is going to have to be jolly hot.”
Well, they would be carrying one basket each, plus Budgie’s panniers. They were in for a long afternoon. Despite the green grass and trees, the sun was ferociously hot. There were only two shovels. Xoota took the first shift, filling her own backpack then Shaani’s and Benek’s.
They made their way back to the waterfall and drank like stranded fish; the job was truly hot and horrible, far better left until the cool of night, except that the forest was no place to be wandering around in the dark. Wig-wig’s fruit collection was going apace. He had also found another fruit that came in bunches of bright polka-dotted fingers. The mammals left him to it. They wended their way painfully back down the track toward the ship, moving carefully under their dusty loads of charcoal. It was a long, long way down until they finally dropped their burdens at the ship. Heads pounding from the exertion in the heat, they sat in the shade of the hull, drinking cold, sugared tea chilled by Shaani’s cooling blankets. They mopped their brows then forced themselves to trudge their way back up the scalding rock slope to the plateau high above.
The halfway point provided a good view across the empty desert. Nothing moved; nothing stirred except mirages shimmering silver on the sands. The ship looked forlorn, its wheel and fallen mast begging for attention. The group caught their breath then moved on.
Xoota dreamed longingly of swimming in the beautiful waterfall again. The thought of all that water made her tongue hang out.
Shaani’s head ached from the exertion. “We’re going to need to find a … a way to top up the water tanks.”
“How?” Xoota was damned tired. “We can’t do a bucket brigade. We’ll be drinking more damned water than we carry down the hill.”
Shaani nodded. They just kept on climbing, with Budgie croaking protest from the rear.
There was nothing for it but to get the damned job done. They refilled the baskets and headed back down again, drinking as if it were going out of fashion. No one relished the prospect of a third trip. Even Benek was looking tired. But Shaani jumped to her feet, her stiff upper lip going into overdrive. She chivvied her companions up off the ground.
“Right. Excelsior. Onwards and upwards.” She flicked at Xoota’s backside. “Tally-ho, old bean.”
Xoota wanted to hit her, but she managed to totter to her feet. She nudged Budgie in the arse; the bird was feigning death in the hope that he might be left alone to creep into the hull, sprawl on the water tanks, and sleep. Xoota tugged on a tail feather. “Get up or I’ll pluck you bald.”
The bird muttered something uncomplimentary it had picked up from Xoota’s regular cursing; his vocabulary was getting better. The team clambered painfully back uphill, the rocks scorching their hands. The sun was getting low on the horizon, but there was still no refuge from the heat.
One more load and they could look forward to a swim. After that, Xoota planned on taking a long sleep in front of the cabin air conditioner, buck naked and with a cold cloth on her head. They visited Wig-wig, who was absurdly cheerful and rested as he plundered the forest’s fruit reserves. Pausing only to plunge their heads into the stream, they plodded on to the ruined tower and wearily began shoveling their last load of charcoal. The gas masks were harder and harder to use, each breath having to be dragged in through the filters. Xoota felt vague and blurry with fatigue.
Shaani and Benek dug away. Xoota filled her basket then took a break. She wiped her feathery antennae with a rag—they worked better when they were clean—and looked off toward the forest. There were some minor bits of business to attend to.
“Are you lot all right here?” Xoota checked her crossbow. “I’m just going to nip into the forest for a bit.”
“Oh?” Shaani was black as night from head to foot, utterly filthy with charcoal dust. Her pink eyes looked ludicrously bright against a mask of dirt. “Are you sure? Should we send someone with you?”
“No, no, it’s safe enough. I know where I’m going.” Xoota took another drag of air from her mask. “I just want to get that odd little cupboard thing from the crashed vehicle. It’s been bothering me.”
Shaani nodded. She was back behind her mask and couldn’t speak. Xoota gathered her gear. “If I’m not back in twenty minutes, come looking.”
The quoll tromped off into the forest. The pathways were almost becoming familiar. The odd fish from the lake clearly never breathed the deadly, hallucinogenic pollen from the white palm trees. They flew up out of the lake, ate fruit and berries, then eventually dived back into the water to breathe. There were no other animals in the forest, nothing bigger than a bee.
The ruined omega vehicle was exactly where they had left it. Xoota approached warily, scouting for dangers, then put her crossbow aside. The weeds had already started growing back. The quoll hauled open the hatch into the hull and looked the place over with a scavenger’s practiced eye.
The control couches would make excellent lounge chairs for use on the Sand Shark. There were lights to repair the ship’s h
eadlights. One of the windows might be removable; it could replace the Sand Shark’s windscreen. The rest of the hull was made from an eerie, silver metal that would neither buckle, bend, nor cut. If she could have cut off a chunk of it, she would have—it might be useful—but the damned stuff refused to cooperate.
The alien box was still there in the rear cargo space. Xoota hauled it out into her lap and looked it over. The thing did not match the ship itself in materials or design. It had a door with an empty space inside, as though it might be used for storage. It was weirdly organic, a sort of horrid green color, and the box hummed softly when she put her ear to it.
Xoota put a broken stick tipped with three green leaves inside the box and shut the door. She waited a few seconds while it hummed, and she opened the door to find that the box was empty.
That is odd, she thought. It might make a rather useful garbage disposal.
Backing out of the hull, Xoota hauled the unit free. She set it down on the ground and stood up to contemplate the work in hand.
On a whim, she turned to look at the underbrush around her. She almost had a heart attack.
A giant, carnivorous plant with long tendrils and glossy green leaves loomed over her. Its maw, centered in a huge bulb of a head, was a mass of thorny teeth that looked large enough to swallow Xoota whole.
She put her hand to her pistol, glaring at the plant, but it didn’t advance. The quoll narrowed her eyes. “Where the hell did you come from?”
It was a whole new plant. Darwin only knew how long it had been watching them, waiting for its chance to pounce. The plant tilted its head this way and that, as if looking at her, though it had no visible eyes. Quite suddenly, a long, orchid-colored tongue extended from its mouth. Xoota leaped backward, gun at the ready, but the plant was happy to sit where it was.