by Piers Platt
“So why do it?” Falken asked.
Saltari snorted. “Exactly. It’s a colossal waste of time.”
Ngobe frowned at the older man. “Because, despite what Salty thinks, it might be helpful to us some day. And when I’m not working in the fields, what else is there to do?” Ngobe asked. “If you’re interested, I’d be happy to teach you some astronomy.”
“I didn’t do so well in math,” Falken admitted.
“Was there any subject you did well in?” Saltari asked, exasperated.
“Physical education,” Falken said, simply.
Ngobe laughed.
“I imagine you were the terror of the dodgeball court,” Saltari said, shaking his head. “Well, let’s see if you can learn xenobiology.”
“What kind of biology?” Falken asked.
“The alien kind.” Saltari pointed to a stool, and Falken sat as the older man pulled a stack of papers over to the desk in front of him.
Ngobe smiled and turned back to his calculations.
“This morning,” Saltari announced, “we’re going to learn about blue-ball anatomy. And this afternoon, as a quiz, you and I are going to head over to the Great Hall, and we’re going to dissect one of the blue-balls before the kitchen team cooks it for dinner. So pay attention.”
* * *
After lunch, Falken carried a tray of food back to the infirmary for Weaver. He was sitting up on his pallet when Falken came in, flipping through his digital photo album. He smiled sadly at Falken.
“Thanks,” Weaver said, indicating the food.
“That’s alright,” Falken said, setting the tray on the floor. “Saltari says you’ll likely be strong enough to stand on your own soon, anyways.”
“Can we try now?” Weaver asked hopefully. “To the door, maybe? I just want to sit outside. I feel like I’ve been cooped up in here too long.”
Falken looked around, but Saltari had stayed behind at the Great Hall to talk to several other colony inmates. He shrugged. “Sure, let’s try.”
He slipped an arm around Weaver, lifting him up slowly, and then steadying him as he stood.
“Whoa ….” Weaver said.
“Dizzy?”
“Yeah, head rush,” Weaver agreed. “I’m okay, though.”
Falken hunched down, letting Weaver put an arm around his shoulders. The smaller man shuffled forward, with Falken supporting him, and eventually, they passed through the infirmary door. Falken helped Weaver take a seat on the wooden steps up into the building. Then he ducked inside and retrieved Weaver’s tray of food.
“Sit with me?” Weaver asked, setting his tray across his knees.
“Okay,” Falken said.
Weaver ate in silence for a time, looking out over the fields. Two of New Australia’s moons loomed large in the sky – one was gray and cratered, similar to Earth’s own moon, but the other was covered in deep red clouds, with swirls of brown and white.
“Can I ask what you did?” Weaver asked, finishing his food. “To get sent here, I mean?”
“I killed a man,” Falken said, scratching at the dirt with his boot.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Falken shook his head. “Not really. Not sure I’m ready.”
“No, you’re right. I’m being nosy. I’m sorry.”
Falken decided to change the subject. “What did you do back on Earth?”
“Me? I owned a bookstore,” Weaver replied.
Falken laughed.
“What?” Weaver asked.
“Really?” Falken asked. “Like, physical books?”
“Yes, antique ones. Hard covers, mostly. Most of my clients were collectors. Why is that funny?”
Falken shook his head. “When I first saw you, back at the landing site, for some reason it just popped into my head that you were a librarian.”
Weaver chuckled. “I have that academic look, I know. I guess some of us are just born to do certain things. I was born to stick my nose inside a book all day.”
“And I was born to fight,” Falken said, gesturing at his frame.
“I suppose so. Did you win?” Weaver asked.
“Mostly,” Falken said. He shrugged. “It’s what I was good at.”
“Do you have a family, too?”
Falken shook his head. “I had a girlfriend.”
“What’s her name?”
“Mallerie,” Falken said. “She’s an accountant. Smart woman, always reading – you’d like her. Too smart to stay with me.”
“You broke up with her?”
“The other way around,” Falken admitted. “And I deserved it. There’s a lot I would have done differently. A lot of things I should have told her. But I don’t think she wants to see me again. Not that it matters.” He waved his hand out at the fields. “We’re never getting out of here, anyway.”
Weaver shook his head. “You don’t know that. They could land a ship here tomorrow, for all you know.”
Falken eyed Weaver. “It’s not very likely.”
“But it’s possible,” Weaver said, smiling at him. “I’ll tell you this: I’m getting off this planet. I’m going to find my wife and kids. I don’t care if I have to rebuild that space elevator piece by piece. I’ll do it.”
Falken smiled sadly – Weaver’s enthusiasm was infectious.
… but there’s just no way we’re getting out of here.
* * *
In the evening, Falken walked with Saltari to the Great Hall. The fields were mostly empty now, although a few men were still clearing stalks of corn from the last plot to be harvested.
“My head’s spinning,” Falken said ruefully, thinking of the day’s studies.
“Mm,” Saltari grunted. “Don’t worry. We’ll go over it all again. But I’ve skipped the fundamentals, so tomorrow we’re going to backtrack and work on cell biology – structure, physiology, metabolic processes …”
“Why do you want me to learn this stuff?”
“Because I’m old, Falken,” Saltari said, sighing. “And the colony will need someone who understands the local ecosystem after I’m gone.”
They joined the line for food, and Falken picked up an extra tray for Weaver. “Isn’t there someone smarter than me, that could learn it faster? And understand it better?” Falken asked.
“Perhaps,” Saltari replied. “Perhaps I like a challenge; something to occupy my time, like Ngobe and his frivolous astronomy project. And perhaps,” he said, tapping Falken on the chest meaningfully, “you’re underestimating yourself.”
“So if you’re the doctor,” Falken asked, “why do you bother studying the blue-balls and trees here on Oz? How does that help the colony?”
“It helps in many ways,” Saltari said. “The more we understand the blue-balls, the better we’re able to take advantage of them. If we can exercise more control over their reproductive cycles, we can breed them – to be bigger, and yield more meat, for instance.”
“And the trees?” Falken held both trays out as they reached the front of the line, and a cook placed a steaming bowl of soup and a roll of bread on each.
“I started studying the trees to see if they had any nutritional value. That turned out to be a dead end, as you know. Now I’m studying them because I believe they are the key to this world’s great mystery.” Saltari led them to an open table, and they sat.
“What’s mysterious about Oz?” Falken asked.
“When you were walking through the forest,” Saltari said, sipping his soup, “Did you notice the smooth white bark along the lower portions of each trunk? For the first four feet or so?”
“Sure,” Falken said.
“And did you notice that that part of the trunk is hardened, almost like it’s been fossilized?”
“I guess,” Falken said. “Why?”
“That is the mystery,” Saltari said. “Oz trees have evolved to have an armored trunk, essentially. That portion of the trunk rises to the same height on each tree, and then the tree grows a rather mor
e normal trunk from that point on up. And as you wandered, did you see any shorter plants, growing below the level of the armor? On the forest floor?”
Falken frowned. “No.”
“Right. The ground is bare except for needles, fallen from the trees. Nothing grows on Oz below that level. No weeds, no bushes, nothing.”
“The crops here at the colony do,” Falken pointed out.
“But they’re imports from Earth – alien to this ecosystem. The native tree saplings remain inside their white shell until they reach the right height – only then do they sprout softer branches and needles.”
“Why? What does it mean?” Falken asked.
“I have no idea,” Saltari said. He took a bite of his roll, and then pointed it at Falken. “But if we believe Mr. Darwin, a living organism would not evolve such a specialized defensive feature for no reason. So it concerns me. Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like the fact that this world is so conducive to human habitation,” Saltari said.
“Okay, now you’ve totally lost me,” Falken said, stirring his soup.
Saltari shook his head. “Think. Think critically, for once. Engage that Neanderthal brain of yours.”
“You’re worried because Oz is safe for humans to live on,” Falken repeated.
“Yes,” Saltari said. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Falken said. “You’re the one that said it.”
“And I want you to figure it out!” Saltari scolded him.
Falken rubbed at his forehead. “I don’t know. I think it makes sense that the government would have picked a planet that was safe. If there was radiation or toxic gases or something, we’d just die – and it wouldn’t make sense for them to fly us all the way here just to kill us. Otherwise, if they picked a planet with no atmosphere or something, keeping us alive would be a lot more expensive, we’d need special gear and stuff.”
“All of that is true,” Saltari agreed. “But remember: the vast majority of worlds that humanity has reached in our explorations have been completely inhospitable. Oz is almost uncanny in its resemblance to Earth: breathable air, similar gravity, temperate climate. It even has native, edible food sources and an unlimited potable water supply in its freshwater ocean. It’s almost too good to be true. From a colonization standpoint, it’s practically Eden.”
“… and why would they waste it on us?” Falken mused.
“Now you’re getting it,” Saltari said. “Humanity has spent trillions of dollars attempting to terraform worlds that are far less habitable than this one. It’s a valuable resource – immensely valuable. So why abandon it to us?”
Falken narrowed his eyes. “Oz is hiding something. There’s a catch.”
“That is my suspicion, yes,” Saltari said. “And I think the trees have something to do with it. I just don’t know what.”
Chapter 15
Falken checked that his grip on the tree trunk was firm, and then lifted his other hand, straining to reach the blue-ball out on the branch above him. It chattered with annoyance, and tried to shift farther away. The tree swayed slightly, and Falken checked himself, leaning back against the narrow trunk.
Shit. He glanced down quickly. Bad idea.
“Did you get one?” Saltari called, from the ground far below.
“No,” Falken said, annoyed. “You’re sure they’re not gonna bite me?”
“Oh, they’ll bite you,” Saltari shouted. “But remember, they don’t really have teeth. They’re more like … flat plates. Might pinch a little, but it won’t take a finger off or anything. Nothing to worry about.”
Falken swore. “Easy for you to say,” he mumbled.
“What?” Saltari asked. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Nothing,” Falken called. He reached out again, shifting some of his weight onto the lower portion of the branch, so that the blue-ball farther along the branch dropped slightly. It chuffed in alarm, and then Falken grabbed it by the hind leg. The creature beat its tail against Falken for a minute, and then snapped at his knuckles. Falken cursed in pain, and then he pushed the creature inside the sack tied to his waist, and cinched it tight.
“Got it,” Falken called. He looked at his knuckles, which were now scraped and raw. Might pinch a little …
“Well, come on down, then. What are you waiting for?”
Falken rolled his eyes, and then worked his way gingerly down the tree, looping slowly around the trunk, following the spiral pattern of the branches. The descent took him nearly a minute, but eventually he reached the hard, white portion of the trunk, and the branches ended. He hopped to the ground with a grunt.
“Is it a female?” Saltari asked.
“Yeah. And she’s gravid, I checked.”
“Let me have a look,” Saltari said.
Falken untied the sack, and held it carefully while the doctor peeked inside. “Yes she is – probably four or five babies in her outer gestation pouch. Well done.”
Falken grunted. “She bit me. It hurt.”
Saltari ignored him. “How old is she?”
Falken peered down into the sack. “At least two years old,” Falken said.
“Why?”
“Because that’s when blue-balls reach sexual maturity,” Falken recited.
“But she’s pregnant,” Saltari pointed out. “And close to birthing her litter.”
“So she’s at least two years and four months old, if the pups are close to being born.”
“True. But she’s older than that,” Saltari said.
Falken looked closer. “I give up. I don’t see it.”
“We talked about it a week or so ago. The darker feathers around the eyes,” Saltari reminded him. “She’s six or seven, likely.”
“So this will be her last litter,” Falken said.
“Most likely,” Saltari agreed. “Come on – let’s take her to the colony.”
They were within sight of the ocean, so by unspoken agreement, the two men walked along the shoreline. The blue-ball stopped struggling after a few minutes and stayed still. As they rounded a curve in the beach, Falken caught sight of a prominent mound up ahead – a spur of rock that rose sharply above the plain. A sparse grove of trees grew along the crest of the hill, giving it the appearance of a spine-covered, sleeping animal.
“This is the second time we’ve walked past that hill,” Falken noted. “What is that thing?”
Saltari squinted at it. “‘Lookout Hill’? It’s just a plateau. A geological anomaly.”
“It’s weird,” Falken said. “The entire island is flat as a pancake, except for that one hill.”
* * *
Back at the colony, they headed toward the blue-ball cage, and Falken saw Weaver amongst a group of inmates leaving the new bunkhouse across the square. Weaver smiled and waved to them, then hurried over, slipping his hammer into a tool-belt around his waist.
Saltari shrugged. “I don’t know what caused it. We’ve never experienced an earthquake, to my knowledge. But it could have happened eons ago. Or it could be volcanic, though it’s a bit small for that … and not in the distinct conical shape of a volcanic eruption. Anyway, not my field of study, so I’ve never really bothered to take a closer look. Come on – if we waste much more time, we’ll miss lunch.”
“How is your head, Mr. Weaver?” Saltari asked.
“Fine,” Weaver said, joining them.
“Any more headaches?” the doctor asked.
“Every once in a while. But not as bad as they were before.”
“How’s construction?” Falken asked.
“They have me up on the roof beams,” Weaver said, grimacing. “No, that’s not the right term. Rafters? Anyway. Too high up. I’ve never really liked heights.”
“I know how you feel,” Falken said.
“Did you catch any?” Weaver asked.
“Yup.” Falken took the sack off his shoulder, and held it open.
“Careful …” Saltari warned.
With an angry screech and a blur of feathers, the blue-ball burst out of the sack. Falken grabbed at it, but it slipped through his fingers, tumbling to the ground at his feet. It shrieked again as soon as it touched the earth, scrabbling in a blind panic. Then it bolted for Falken, clawing its way up his coveralls until it reached his shoulder. It sat there, preening its tail and chattering.
Weaver laughed. “Looks like it likes you, Falken.”
Saltari grabbed it, frowning, and dumped the creature back in the sack. “No. It’s just that Mr. Falken is the closest thing to a tree around at the moment.”
“What?” Weaver asked.
Saltari turned to Falken. “Would you like to field this one?”
“Blue-balls are afraid of the ground – they flip out if you take them out of a tree and put them down near the ground. We don’t know why,” Falken said, “but Salty believes there’s something on New Australia that caused them to evolve that way.”
“What could it be?” Weaver asked.
“When I find out, I shall certainly tell you,” Saltari said. “Now, I need to visit the outhouses. Falken, please drop our new member off with the rest of the herd.”
They put the blue-ball in the barn, and then Weaver and Falken joined the other inmates in the bustling Great Hall. They found a table near one wall, and sat down, eating in silence for a time.
“You okay?” Falken asked. Weaver’s earlier smile had been replaced by a disquieting frown. “You look tired.”
Weaver shrugged. “How long have we been here now?” he asked.
“Six months, give or take?” Falken guessed.
Weaver sighed. “This place is wearing on me, Falken.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you know what I did, last week?” Weaver asked, ignoring the question. “I had the day off. I got up early, and walked across the island. I went to the facility.”