Mark glanced through the driver's side window at a darting shape—some kind of bird-like creature, but his vision was limited by a darn football helmet and sunglasses. And by a surrounding crush of jungle. Once you got hundred or so meters from the Big Ramp, there were no roads on New Mojave, just random breaks in a seemingly endless bush and forest. Even driving at a crawl, Mark was forced to swerve and jerk his hybrid Chevy Tahoe through slightly thinner thickets, pushing smaller shrubs aside with a makeshift plow, recently welded to the front end.
The jungle’s heavy, wet soup of aromas covered and submerged them. Every crushed plant or snapped vine seemed to fill the air with almost-visible puffs of protest—smells that, fortunately, seemed positive more often than repulsive.
Kinda like almost any street in New York, Mark pondered, recalling a trip with Dad, last year, where you couldn’t walk ten meters without moving from a scrumptious food vendor, to a pile of doggie doo, then by some mouth-watering barbeque stand. These alien aroma waves were more mysterious and distracting. Of course he could close all the windows and vents. But the prospect of being trapped in an air-tight enclosure with three other over-ripe teens who hadn’t bathed in an Earth week? That was a non-starter.
I’ll take alien stinks, any day.
At first, Mark could still glimpse behind them the clearing that had been cut northward from the Rock, while this expedition prepared, giving the vehicles a bit of a head start. Dave McCarty’s team of bushwhackers, were still at it, cutting tall lengths of boo—the bamboo-like tower stems—and dragging them to the clearing’s edge. Great stacks of hollow boo poles now waited to be pounded into loam by a falling-weight pile driver, slowly making a protective outer fence the Council now demanded.
Dave stood on one of the stacks, waving farewell, clearly envious. But Jeffers and Tepper had deemed him far too zealous and fearless for this trip.
That’s all right, Mark thought, as Dave disappeared behind them and jungle closed in. You have your own brave tasks to do.
Leaning forward to peer through the windshield, Mark yanked at the steering wheel again. More branches clattered against the roof, showering what looked like oval-shaped beans onto the hood, which just an hour ago had gleamed, factory-new. Mark wasn't driving fast enough for leaves and other junk to blow away. Mostly he kept the speedometer at 10 or 15 … or more often just above a walking pace.
“Slow down!” commanded a voice by radio—Penny Hill, their tracker-observer. Mark caught a glint of her binoculars atop the school’s tower, the only sign of civilization still visible. And soon even that bit of home was drowned—except for brief glimpses through leaves and fronds.
Driving took concentration, as if through an obstacle course. One kind of plant was especially dangerous. Firesap looked like fat, lumpy pineapples, from as small as a thumb—hard to see in the brush—to the size of a bathtub. The burgundy skin was tough, but if you hit one hard enough, the damned things leaked a thick, toxic sap that Mark didn't want to splash on their tires.
Worse in some ways were the shortest species of tree, orange fluffballs they'd taken to calling pompoms because the heads resembled a cheerleader’s puffy tool. Though pompoms were skinny, they always grew close together, sometimes in walls or clumps. The narrow stalks were much stronger than they looked, bending but resisting any force applied against them, so far—and he refused to try ramming through at high speed, despite Froggi's encouragement.
Wherever possible, Mark tried to keep on a straight path as they crept through the lush red-green vegetation. There were reasons. And hence, the plow got a lot of use.
All other schemes and plans will prove futile, if we can’t even get where we're going, he thought, pulling on the steering wheel again. A cluster of branches crashed against the windshield and scraped down the driver's side of the SUV, leaving trails of green and orange. It went on that way for another half hour, creeping along, till suddenly, what looked like a solid wall loomed ahead. He slammed on the brakes
“Okay, we’re blocked. Everyone out—carefully!” Mark said, and Froggi lifted his walkie-talkie to pass along the order. Micah and Mr. Davis were piloting two more big hybrids behind them, following single file, having a slightly easier time in Mark's plowed track.
With the slight gain in altitude, the forest had become a bit less jungle-like. Now, morning sun flittered through tall trees, winking on the solar panels arrayed atop all three vehicles. Of course, the cells wouldn’t supply enough power. Each hybrid also had a full tank of precious gasoline, for its recharge engine. But solar was free. Mark wanted to use an absolute minimum of petrol.
It had taken two hard days—more than the estimated one—to prepare, rigging the panels and the plow and finishing the Big Ramp to drive vehicles down, off the Rock. That, plus the Council kept making demands before giving permission, including the rule that everyone wear silly helmets.
Of course, it was inevitable that Scott and Jeffers and the rest would relent and finally allow the expedition. Despite sails of fabric on all the school the roofs, helping to collect fog and dew, the water situation was getting dire.
“Everything look clear?” Mark asked, as he leaned out his window to check the ground. Others did the same.
“Just another beautiful day here in paradise,” Froggi said for the tenth time that morning.
“Give it a rest, will you?” Alex snapped as she and Sophie Hamilton, a senior who’d gone out on the Donner expedition and would guide them now, prepared to pile out of the back seat, each of them armed with a lance and a machete. Sophie also had a bow over her shoulder. “Everybody look out for holes before you take a step,” she reminded.
While the girls took flank positions, to stand watch, Mark and Froggi stepped up to examine the forest giant that now blocked their path. It looked like a giant redwood, towering skyward, though underneath the bark and tough-looking exterior, they knew by now that it was hollow.
Inigo “Go-Go” Scipio was the first to join them, on foot, from the other cars. Mark vaguely knew him—he was always working in the metal shop, and wanted to be a line foreman. Go-Go was followed by Mr. Davis, Kristina, and Micah, all contemplating the huge wooden pillar.
“Okaaay,” Go-Go commented, summing up their thoughts, succinctly. “Do we go around it?”
Mark peered around the giant bole. There were more of them ahead, perhaps smaller, but transforming the area from jungle into a maze of forest shadows.
“Told you,” Sophie said, succinctly. “This is the first place we got lost, back on Wednesday. Some of the trees … the bark is magnetic. It screwed our compasses.”
“Fascinating!” murmured Carl Davis, pulling out his own and staring at the wavering needle.
Alex moved her hands, like a writhing snake. “If we go around, then around the next one, and the next, it will make a crappy road and waste a lot of fuel, both ways. Especially if we’re carrying tons of water.”
“And it would mess up the Hammar Plan, too.” Micah mused, till Alex not-too-subtly jabbed him with her elbow. The big football lineman stared down at her, gulped, and then nodded.
“What’s a hammer plan?” The teacher asked, looking up from his compass. But Micah shook his head.
“Uh, nothing, just—”
Froggi leaped in, changing the subject. “Okay then. Down she goes! I’ll get the biggest chainsaw.”
Alex and Sophie looked at Mark, but Mark turned to Alex. By all rights, she should be co-leader of this expedition, having come over this ground with Sophie during the Donner Expedition. Alex let out a sigh, and nodded.
“Okay then,” he echoed, though without Froggi’s eagerness, looking up the length of the gigantic bole. “Down she goes.”
✽✽✽
Each car had a SX hand radio, to maintain contact better than the last expedition, especially with spotters watching in the school tower, who kept interrupting because the Council made it their sworn duty to watch every movement out here.
“I can't see you!” Penny Hill cried from her perch atop the school. “We can't see you in the trees!”
“We're fine, over,” Leonard Kelly said from atop the third car, emphasizing the last word, so Penny would go back to comms discipline. He was both lookout and radio officer. Also, he was light enough to sit cross-legged on the solar panels.
“Where are you?” Penny demanded. “I need to know if you're okay … over,” The junior girl was cool-headed and well-liked, but anxiety clearly set her on edge.
“Just take our last confirmed position and look forward maybe forty meters to the really, really tall tree, over.”
“I—I think I see what you mean. But can you send up a flare? Over.”
“Of course not! We only have six of them. Over.”
“There’s all those fireworks the carnies provided! … Over.”
“And we’re in a flammable forest, with firesap bushes left and right. Just hold on a bit, will you Penny? We’re about to show you exactly where we are … Over.”
He put down the transceiver and resumed scanning the surroundings with binoculars. Till a gruff voice said “Hey, kid.”
Leo turned left and looked down. A big, grizzled man, dressed in faded denim, stood next to Tahoe number three. His gray-streaked ponytail was unencumbered by a helmet, tossed aside as soon as the expedition descended from the Rock at dawn, expressing what the biker thought of rules. Slung over one shoulder was an assault rifle that looked well-used. In his hands lay another weapon.
“Um, hi. What’s up, Chuck?”
“Ever use a shotgun, kid?”
“The name’s Leo. And yes, I did once—no, twice—in Scouts.”
“Well, Leo, this here is the safety. It’s OFF! Leave it that way when you’re up there on watch. If something bad happens, just give one pump and you’re chambered, ready to fire. Take it!”
The man held the weapon toward Leo. And there was no way not to accept. The thing was heavy.
“When you’re coming back down, put it on safety and hand it down to someone. Preferably me. Then I’ll show you how to check to make sure nothing’s chambered.”
“So … if something charges out of the forest …”
“It’s a shotgun, so wait till your target is close, or all you’ll give it is a warning. Or make it mad. Brace it hard against your shoulder, or you could break something.”
“Break the gun?” Leo asked, dubiously.
“Your shoulder.”
Leo swallowed. “Um, aren’t you the armed guard?”
“I am, which is why I’m heading up there in front, where they plan to cause a ruckus. Just in case. So, you watch the flanks and rear.” He started to go, then glanced back. “Whatever is happening up there, even if it sounds way interesting—or terrifying—that’s the last place you look, got it? The man on guard looks everywhere except where his buddies are looking.”
Leo rocked the big weapon in his hands, uncomfortable.
“I’m not so sure—”
But his reply went unfinished. For at that moment a roaring whine filled the air, as one, then two chain saws tore into the other side of the towering tree, where he couldn’t see. In the direction he wasn’t supposed to face.
For another thing, by the time he looked down again, Chuck was gone.
✽✽✽
Mark finally caught his breath. The vee-cut on the north side took a bit longer than expected. The bamboo-like bole had brittle bark, threaded with tough strands that several times jammed the saws, or sent flinders flying. One splinter had to be extracted from the back of Froggi’s wrist. For once, they were all glad for the helmets, goggles and gloves.
The north side now featured a huge gap, extending almost to the ground, revealing a dark cavity within, laced with strange cobwebs. Mark stepped forward for a better look.
“I’d get out of there right now, if I were you.”
Mark retreated, joining the speaker—Chuck Hewman—the armed guard Principal Jeffers had insisted should accompany the expedition. At that moment, the chain saws erupted again, digging into the south side, a little higher up, and the boo-tree started creaking almost immediately.
“Come on!” Chuck tugged Mark’s arm and they both ran, putting real distance between themselves and the forest giant. Huh. Maybe this is the second time you saved a life, Mark thought, recalling how the same fellow once caught Alex when she fell from the school tower, back on Earth. Students took it for granted, from appearances, that Chuck was a carnival worker. But no. A Harley-riding biker, just passing through and earning a few bucks helping Serpa’s carnies, he’d been caught in the maelstrom when the Garubis transport ray teleported part of Rimpau Boulevard—along with Twenty-Nine Palms High School and the rest—across interstellar space.
Creaks became shudders and loud pops. Mark waved at Go-Go and Mr. Davis, for them to stop cutting and move away. With the chainsaws silent, they soon heard a final series and loud snaps as a giant surrendered to gravity, teetering …
Good, it’s tipping in the right—
“Timber!” Froggi shouted gleefully, hopping on the hood of the lead Tahoe. And slowly at first, but with majestic power, the mighty cylinder of boo fell over, crashing into the forest with devastating force.
A fog of dust and debris seemed to fill the air, along with a cacophony of cries from native creatures and bird-things fleeing the destruction. Chuck had his assault rifle leveled and once brought it to his shoulder, as a trio of panicking, four-legged things dashed by, the first time Mark had seen anything larger than a badger. But the creatures had no interest in hanging around to bother humans.
If only Dave were here, to snap pix and name them. But McCarty had his own task. One requiring his tireless zealotry and carelessness about authority.
As the dust settled, Mark scrambled up, onto the fallen trunk, which had shattered along its length. In fact, it was hard to find a steady place to stand, so much of it had split apart on impact, exposing the hollow interior almost along its entire length. Crashing also took out many other boles, smaller victims that toppled yet-smaller neighbors. Up ahead, it appeared that a domino effect had overthrown another giant. Again, almost in the right direction.
“Whooo!” Froggi screamed, jumping up and down and denting the Tahoe’s no longer shiny-new hood. Alex and Sophie soon joined Mark, contemplating the swathe of destruction. The behemoth tree was still cylindrical in a few spots. But most of its length was a shallow concavity now, filled in with debris.
“I’m sure this has to happen, all the time, naturally,” Alex commented, awed by the demolition they had wrought. “Nature must recover quickly.”
But Sophie was holding out her arm, thumb and forefinger outstretched. She then turned, obviously comparing her estimated width of the exposed channel with that of their lead vehicle.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Mark asked.
✽✽✽
The path ahead was now unbelievably straight and clear … though also really hard on the Tahoe’s suspension. Everywhere the wheels rolled, flinders of brittle bark popped and gave way. No doubt the following vehicles were having a better go of it, as crushed fragments got steadily smaller.
Several times, Go-Go and Mark had to get out with smaller chain saws, to clear obstructions. The fibrous threads that he had seen as cobwebs, inside the dark trunk’s cavity, now waved or floated about. He glimpsed Alex and Sophie grabbing through their windows, collecting whole handsful of the stuff.
There was a lot of work when they reached the end of the first tree, cutting a path to reach—and then enter—the second toppled giant. This one was a bit smaller and its hollow sides were more intact, crowding close to windows on both sides of the SUV as they drove along the ruined interior. It was actually a relief when the second one finished and Mark piloted his hybrid back onto forest loam.
Penny called in with an estimate made by telescope, that matched what Mark read on the odometer. Over two hundred meters closer. Well, that was luck.
✽✽✽
They managed to pull the same trick one more time, dodging around lesser boles to find another Big One, and sending it toppling in generally the right direction. This time, a large chunk of trunk still jutted from the ground, so they took turns sawing through while the rest of the party took First Lunch.
What are we now, hobbits? Mark wondered, while working slowly on a protein bar, suppressing his ravenous cravings for much more. But on a world where daylight stretched eighteen hours, they would need new names for meals.
Micah and Mr. Davis took over from Go-Go and Chuck, cutting an opening to reach the newly fallen trunk-pathway, or trunkway. Go-Go grabbed a bar to munch while joining Sophie and Kristina, who had a task of their own to do. One that Scott Tepper and Principal Jeffers and the Council knew nothing about. It involved making sightings backward, the way they had come.
There were plenty of trees still standing alongside their route, getting here. Using the theodolite Jane Shevtsov let them borrow, Sophie guided Froggi, whose wrist injury kept him from his beloved chain saw, getting him to stand next to one tall bole after another. While Leo stood guard with his shotgun, Froggi used a machete to slash markings onto each indicated trunk. Once, Mark spotted Mr. Davis watching this activity with a thoughtful expression. The teacher seemed about to speak, several times, then looked at Mark, smiled. And nodded.
Are we that obvious?
Soon the way was clear, and there followed another bouncing, bone-rattling trip down the middle of a shattered tree trunk, during which Mark marveled at his ride. Boy they make these things tough.
And finally, they were through. With no more forest giants in their path. And Sophie triumphantly announced:
“We’re more than halfway! Almost into the hills.”
Alas, this meant going back to dodging pompoms and flame-plants and plowing through patches of brush you couldn’t see beyond. And a mix of exhilaration and ennui that Mark knew would wear him down, over time.
There had been no way to know what could happen when the convoy first entered the jungle. What if they riled up bat-things? Or if boogeymen jumped out at them? The trees themselves might erupt with nettles, or acid, or blinding clouds of seeds, excited by the noise of the trucks or even something as simple as car exhaust. They had no way to know how alien lifeforms would react. And hence why the Council insisted they go all decked out in helmets, sunglasses, gloves, and jackets … which gradually came off, as the day warmed. Though Mr. Davis insisted on hats, eye-protection and gloves.
From time to time, Kristina called from the rear vehicle to say they were stopping for samples of fruit or—on occasion—roadkill. Some varmint creature who fell victim to a fallen tree, or the plow or a truck tire, to be kept in a cooler for analysis back home. Mark would slow down a bit. But he felt sure they’d be likely safe back there, with Chuck riding in that cab.
Soon the trucks were gaining altitude, slowly. And Sophie sat next to Mark, trying to guide by memory.
“That way, over there is too rocky, we discovered. And over to the right there’s a sharp dropoff, into a gulley that’s dry right now, but clearly gets a lot of flow, at times.” That part of her report had excited the science guys. It implied a wet season, to come.
They chose a sunny spot to take a brief break for Second Lunch—a glorified word signifying another protein bar and a mouthful of water. From this height, Mark could stare back over the forest floor at an expanse of trees, meadows, brush, leading to distant mountains and some dim hint of what might be a sea.
An alien world. Mark felt again the wonder of it all. Though how much better if the Garubis had given just 24 hours warning! Humanity might have gathered one or two thousand truly qualified colonists, scientists and engineers, properly supplied and skilled at every art of survival and success. Might I have won a place on that team? Because I saved Na-Bistaka? Maybe, though he’d be a callow youngster in such an expedition, without a smidgeon of authority. Even so, it would have been much better.
And that’s probably why the Garubis gave no warning.
Rising to the east, Mark saw the biggest moon—Borrego some nerd had called it, and the name stuck—orbiting so close that it was visible even in daylight.
And of course, his gaze kept swinging back to seek out the anomaly amid all this. The Rock. A circular slab that had been ripped out of a California desert town and plopped right into the vast forest. One highest point was now visible again. Is that all the far we’ve come?
While Mark was contemplating, Froggi spent time practicing mirror semaphore with someone—probably Penny—in the school tower, while Micah and Go-Go and Mr. Davis wrestled most of the solar panels off the first SUV, setting them in a clearing so they angled at the sun—a three-man job they had practiced, back on the Rock. They didn’t need or want help.
Alex was on radio, talking to Helene Shockley, making the case for Plan A. And she, too, was doing a her job well.
Trust good people, Dad would say.
And so, for a little while, Mark closed his eyes.
✽✽✽
“So far, we’re only a little behind our best estimated time—some parts were unexpectedly hard, but we also had a couple of lucky breaks. Over.”
“That’s great,” Helene’s voice crackled over the hand-held transceiver. Alex adjusted the volume so it wouldn’t disturb Mark, and held it to her ear, as Helene continued. “But you should know that there’s a strong bunch on the Council who want you to turn around now. Set up the depot and charging station, then come back.”
“That’s the backup plan,” Alex answered. “In case things went wrong. But nothing has!” She decided not to mention Froggi’s injury. “Over.”
Helene’s voice was tense. You could tell she was under pressure.
“You’ve accomplished a lot. But there are folks really concerned about you staying out there, overnight.”
Alex took several steps farther away from Mark, who was already snoring against the side of the lead Tahoe.
“We’re up in the hills now, above the worst jungle. And we’ve got weapons and the trucks for protection, overnight.”
“What about that thing that attacked Jorge, during the Donner expedition?”
“Sophie said it wasn’t much bigger than a bobcat. And it got scared off.”
“He needed thirty stitches! And there may be way worse out there.”
“Sure. But if we turn around now, it’ll be after dusk before we get in sight of the school. Driving in the dark. And that way we won’t be in a prepared camp! … Over.”
Only then she pressed the TRANSMIT button again.
“Anyway, shouldn’t we remember why we’re out here? Water? Don’t you want some?”
And she pressed the button one last time.
“Over.”
There followed a long pause. Sounds of distant argument carried over the transceiver, as Helene kept her own transmit button pressed. Male voices raised in frustration, then stomping sounds. Finally, Helene returned, in a lower tone.
“Good work, Alex! That shut ’em down. You go, girl. Let’s check in again soon. Over … and out.”
✽✽✽
“No time to waste. It’s well into the afternoon,” Mark said, as the journey resumed. The hybrid trucks lined up again. Behind them, on a rocky patch of sun-exposed hillside, stood an array with most of their solar panels, soaking energy to fill several battery packs—following the advice of the history teacher, Mr. Castro.
“The best expeditions and explorations used caches and depots, to ensure they’d have what they—or followup parties—might need, along the way.”
And yes, full batteries. This group would need that tomorrow, almost as much as water.
Of course, that left the vehicles considerably lightened.
Enjoy it while you can, honey, he thought, patting the Tahoe’s dashboard. With any luck, you’ll be a lot heavier, soon.
The foliage was less dense with altitude, only now his problem was slopey terrain. Even with four wheel drive, hills are tricky with boulders and gullies and pocket meadows where soft patches could catch a wheel. Mark asked that radio chatter be kept to a minimum. But some couldn’t be helped, like Penny Hill’s perpetual, nervous calls for situation updates, especially as their progress grew harder to follow from the school tower.
But nothing prepared him for a radio squawk about an hour after the journey resumed.
“I just saw something moving on our right!” Leo shouted from the second SUV. “It looked like a man—person—thing!”
“Dude, don't mess with us, over,” Froggi replied.
Mark didn't question the report. “I'm going left again,” he said immediately. “And tell Penny to shut up.”
“We can’t see you!” she was shouting. “We can’t see you!”
“Penny, knock it off,” Froggi snapped into his microphone.
“There he is again! It … he ducked behind some bushes,” Leo cried, and Mark's adrenaline kicked up another notch, his heart a pounding drum inside his chest.
“Maybe it's one of us,” he suggested.
Froggi relayed this idea into the radio. “Do you think it's somebody from The Rock?”
“I’ve seen no one behind us, the whole way,” Kristina answered from truck number three, and Leo’s voice joined in, crackling.
“No way! McCarty’s guys aren’t supposed to come this fa—”
He yelped as someone on that car must have pinched or jabbed him, to shut up.
Mark lifted his eyes to the rearview mirror. In the back seat, Alex clenched her lance, while Froggi fumbled for Sophie’s bow.
“Don't stop,” Sophie said next to him. “That way, Mark, it's clear over that way.”
“Do you think the little guy might be hallucinating?” Froggi asked, without transmitting.
Mark struggled with the manual shift, nearly stalling.
“I caught a glimpse too,” Micah said from the third SUV. “Just briefly. It didn't move like a person, but it definitely was on two legs. It was gray. And bent over and stuff.”
Oh great, monsters, Mark thought, glancing into the crimson-edged trees beside him. Or natives, who don’t feel friendly to alien invaders. Or else—
“Ask if it looked like a Garubis!”
He recalled Na-Bistaka. The glowering, hooded eyes, the heavy head atop a narrow, mobile neck. Shadows leaned across the SUV, rippling up the windshield as he pressed on the accelerator. Froggi passed along the question, but Leo and Micah remained silent, each perhaps waiting for the other.
“See if you can get past those pompoms,” Sophie said, with a tone of utter calm, justifying why Gracie Donner chose her as a replacement.
“I know.” Mark answered, impressed by his friend's
self-control.
He steered around a thatch of trees and then went right again past a ring of yellow grass. For some reason, the grass always seemed to be the tallest around the hunks of iridescent stone, possibly because the boulders were leaching minerals, so Mark avoided the pale lawns as a general rule.
“N-no,” Leo finally transmitted. “It wasn’t a Garubis. At least … unless the fur was some kind of clothing or disguise. I’m not totally sure, I guess.”
Nothing jumped out at them. No one saw the humanoid creature again, although the encounter certainly pumped up everyone’s alertness, peering through windows in all directions. Mark schooled himself to gather calm and slow down.
There were more bird-things and Sophie photographed one that rode the Tahoe’s hood like a daring surfer for a while, grinning. It looked nothing like a bat-thing, the feather-like plumage was fluffy and gaudy. And its grin had teeth.
Suddenly, a herd of the plump hairless things leaped out of the brush, ran toward the lead SUV and then veered away. Mark had seen pictures. Dave McCarty named them grunt-pigs. Froggi wanted to shoot one, to see if they were edible, but the throng disappeared while everyone argued about it by radio. Okay by Mark. This wasn't any time to go off mission. First and foremost, they needed water.
The further north they went, the more rock they encountered. Once there was a small puddle of a swamp. From SUV number two, Kristina asked if this was Donner Lake. But Sophie growled into the transceiver:
“That’s not it. I’d never call that a source to drink from.”
“But do you recognize this place?” Go-Go Scipio asked from hybrid number three.
“I’m … uncertain. We long ago left Gracie’s path. It’s taken longer to get here by truck than we took, by foot.”
Well so sorry, Mark thought, a bit defensively. A party of healthy, jogging teens would have reached this point, dodging trees and shrubs with agility, in half the time. But not safely, it seemed. Nor with cargo. And not blazing a path for the real purpose of this undertaking.
They climbed now into a shallow vale containing a forest of strange trees with broad, knotty trunks, whose horizontal branches linked to their neighbors, as if every bole was part of a connected network crisscrossing a little valley from end to end. Fortunately, all of that interlinking began at least four meters off the ground, leaving a shaded understory of minor shrubs that the Tahoes handled easily.
“Call ’em Connect’a Trees!” Froggi proclaimed. “Did you guys discover ’em, last time?”
“Um, I’m sure we saw this forest from the west a bit,” Alex commented. “And somewhat higher up. It didn’t look passable, from there, so we avoided it.”
Sophie agreed. “Of course, from some distance we never realized the trees were like this.” She stared at the woods. “It makes you wonder.” Then she shook her head. “I think I have us placed,” she said, holding the transmit button. “We need to cross over that crest ahead. That’s why no creeks or streams run past the school, at least in the dry season. Because these hills feed mostly into a different, bigger watershed on the north side. We should be nearing the divide. Maybe even passed it, already.”
“Very good, Sophie,” answered Mr. Davis, ever the encouraging science teacher. “Excellent analysis. That means that any minute now we should spot—”
Alex gave a shout and Mark caught a glimpse where she pointed, to the right and downhill a bit … at what had to be a creek, winding through the trees!
“I think that may feed into the pond we found. If you turn right—”
“No left! Find the source!” Alex urged. Mark veered a bit the way she pointed, still mostly north. And across the span of the next few minutes he felt a lightening of his spirits.
All told, this seemed a lovely area, with meadows and open woods. The heavy blanket of jungle aromas had faded, making the air feel more breathable. With water nearby and land for farming and pasturage, this might—just possibly—be a viable spot for settlement. Though things might possibly be even better in—or beyond—the mountains.
That’s what a colony ought to do. Find an optimum site. Don’t cling desperately to the familiar.
But it was way too soon to make such an argument. For now, one need was paramount: see to the habitability of Twenty-Nine Palms High School.
And so, with little fuss, Mark piloted the Tahoe over a small rise, down through a small copse of trees … then pulled to a stop. Micah and Mr. Davis drew their vehicles up on either side. And after a few seconds staring ahead, they all—by silent agreement—shut off their engines.
Everyone opened windows. The air felt fresher than any Mark had smelled in a week, or months, if you include life in a California town. A breeze riffled purple, red and green-banded leaves as they listened to friendly, gurgling and lapping sounds. And they gazed across an expanse of clear, slightly wind-rippled water.
“Um, this isn’t Donner Lake.” Sophie commented.
“That pond we found last time, we must of drove past it,” Alex replied. “This is bigger … and better.”
“You true, lady. You true,” Froggi observed.
But Mark shook his head.
“No, people. This is Donner Lake.”
✽✽✽
There was still plenty of light left to the long, Mojavian day. In theory, they could do what the Council wanted—switch to Plan B and head home, laden with full tubs of water. And not one member of the expedition suggested it.
The water was the same dark blue color that it should be, and almost crystal clear, up close, which was especially jarring against the red and copper-green jungle. Sunlight danced on its still surface. Tiny bugs swirled and dipped in the heat. The shoreline was marshy in many places—no sense in slogging through the reeds and muck, and maybe getting a vehicle stuck.
So instead, they re-started motors and sought the lake’s inlet stream, or at least the nearest one, feeding from a generous spring, higher to the west. And next to it they found a flat area, perfect for parking vehicles and setting up camp.
Mark said, “Call Penny and tell her we're okay. We made it. And I'm getting out.”
Froggi shook his head. “You stay at the wheel, dude. I'll get out.”
“Back on Earth, one of the danger zones was next to water, where all creatures have to come,” Alex pointed out. “Including predators.”
“Like gators,” Froggi mused, clearly thinking twice about his eagerness.
“Look, we're not drawing straws,” Mark said. “We'll all get out. Okay, Sophie?”
“Sure thing.”
“Check the ground everywhere you put your feet. Let’s go.”
Stepping out, his mind worked like a high speed camera, taking snapshots. Grunt-pig footprints in the mud. Bird tracks. A brush of wind. Bugs floating over the reeds. A brook babbling happily away with one of the sweetest of all sounds.
“Okay,” he said, signaling to the other SUVs.
It was a huge relief to be joined by eight more people, no matter how insignificant they might be in truth, surrounded by an entire planet.
✽✽✽
“Nobody drinks or touches anything unfiltered,” Mr. Davis insisted. “Not even for washing your face.”
“But Gracie’s people dived right in. And that was a dirty old pond!” Froggi complained.
“And that’s why they’ll be under medical observation for some time,” Kristina countered.
“Gracie tried to stop them!” Sophie insisted. “But Mr. Davis is right. Let’s set up the kamen unit.”
Chuck, the burly biker, added tersely—“Security detail. Now.”
Patrolling the periphery with Leo—both weapons ready—Chuck watched the woods warily while Micah and Go-Go used machetes to clear some brush out of sight lines, so nothing could sneak up on the camp.
Fortunately, kamen filtration systems were efficient units and the school had several that the TNPHS charity clubs had been packing up for donation to water-stressed villages. Another week and the compact purifying units all would have been shipped off to the Kalahari, Brazil, and the Texas Dust Bowl.
One tiny stroke of luck, then. Soon, the kamen they had brought was busy slurping from the stream and pouring steadily into a tub. And yes, it tested pure.
Mark and Mr. Davis and Sophie stepped aside as everyone else took turns with tin cups. Alex raced off to bring the guards a pair of full canteens.
Funny, how just seeing it—fresh and pure in front of you—can make you all the more thirsty. And yet, another part of Mark felt eased by just the sight. Enjoying watching others slurp and yelp happily. Till finally, it was his turn.
✽✽✽
“It’s kinda windy up here!” Alex shouted down, after clambering up a tall tree, while Mark watched protectively, coaxing her for best holds, just like on the Climbing Team.
“All the more reason to be careful up there!”
“Nag, nag, nag,” she muttered.
“What was that?”
“I said you’re not my dad! Now shut up and trust me, will you?”
Alex finally settled into a high notch. And sure enough, she was able to lean just right … and with a monocular she could make out the high school bell tower!
Yipe, is that all the far we came, after all of that? Of course, it was good news that the straight-line distance was pretty short. But it kind of mocked their sense of accomplishment after a hard day of exploring.
Using one of the cool features of the optic device, Alex touched a button and sent a laser rangefinder pulse to Penny Hill, waiting in the tower, who replied by radio with a distance reading.
So. Just under five kilometers, or three miles, as a crow or bat-thing might fly. A bit more than Gracie’s original estimate. The odometers in the SUVs read 9.2 klicks, but much of that had been spent weaving through forest and jungle and treetrunk highways.
Still, no wonder we didn’t have to use much gas, she thought. Though it took most of an Earth day getting here.
Alex also took photos from up high.
Okay so the Garubis plopped us right into a damn jungle. But the forest does change with a little altitude. There’s that grove of Connect’a Trees, for instance, just a couple hundred meters below the lake …
She lifted her ocular to peer beyond Twenty-Nine Palms High, far to the west, and yes! That is definitely a shoreline. Some kind of sea or maybe an ocean. And maybe new kinds of mobility and adventure. Perched up here in a pleasant, insistent breeze and gazing across all these wonders, Alex could almost imagine … that one might come to like it here.
If not for her own B.O., that is. And other irritations.
Like Bam—darn-it—insisting that she come down now.
And carefully!
✽✽✽
Upon descending Alex fed her photos into Jane Shevtsov’s program on Mr. Davis’s pad, providing an updated map. At which point, Froggi and Chuck and Sophie boarded SUV number three, to go survey the lake’s outlet.
“There’s something a little weird about these lidar elevations,” Carl Davis said, before they left. “The water level looks too high, for the terrain. Almost as if …” but then he shook his head.
“Set up the perimeter fence by the time I get back,” Chuck commanded, tersely, leaving Leo on guard with his shotgun. And yes, the biker could give orders, when it came to security.
“Be careful and keep checking in,” Mark demanded in return, obviously trying to sound more like his father than anxious Penny. Well, Chuck was with them. And the lake wasn’t all that large. They’d be going at most a few hundred meters.
Alex guided with hand gestures as Mark and Micah shifted the two remaining Tahoes, so their tailgates faced inward at an angle that would leave room for the third one, when it returned. Then it was time to unload the trucks. Leo—facing outward with his shotgun slung over one shoulder—held posts while Go-Go and Micah hammered them into the ground, in an arc between the trucks’ front bumpers.
Meanwhile, Kristina led Alex and Mr. Davis to the site where an incoming stream met the lake, in order to do science.
First, they threw some precious calories into the water to see if anything with teeth jumped out. All the basic food groups, Alex thought—stale bread, canned peas, shreds of moldy cheese, then bits of deep-marinated jerky, all of it emergency rations, in case they got stuck or lost.
“Fish,” Mr. Davis said. “Or eels, I guess.” Blunt little snake-like bodies swirled and bubbled, snatching the sinking peas. Smaller, silvery shapes went after bread crumbs. “That's good,” he added. “It's probably an indicator that the water's healthy.”
Alex only nodded, ready to yank Kristina back, if the critters so much as broke surface. Okay, so Mark isn’t the only one with protective instincts. Except Kristina was more polite about being protected. Anyway, the ‘eels’ vanished quickly.
Kristina knelt and hurried through a few tests as Mr. Davis stood by, like a scrub nurse assisting a surgeon, passing over glassware and paper tabs as she dabbed in the shallows for bacteria count, visible parasites, Ph levels, and oxygen content. The Council intended to boil any retrieved water thoroughly on The Rock, and then test it on pet store hamsters.
Precautions are fine. But over time, we’ll have to adapt. And yet again, Alex pondered, just how much due-diligence did the Garubis feel they owed to this new, involuntary colony. This “gift” to humanity, given in supposed gratitude for saving Na-Bistaka’s life?
Clearly, they felt required to give us a chance. And yet, Alex felt just as sure of something else. They don’t really want us to succeed.
At another level, it was interesting to see the adult defer to his recent student. Mr. Davis was a good egg and smart, but he wasn't graced with much imagination, especially for a science teacher. He seemed content to support Kristina, who—well, to be plain—was likely the smartest human being on New Mojave and for many light years in all directions. Even smarter than Jane Shevtsov or Barry Tang.
“They’re going after everything we toss in,” she remarked, and somehow her Russian accent seemed less noticeable here, so far from Earth. “It’s kind of the inverse of feeding our rodents local fruit. If the natives can eat our stuff, then maybe we can, well—”
“Eat them?” Alex laughed. “Sounds yummy. Though there’s bound to be a delay. What if they’re poisoned by our stuff, but wander off behind a rock to die?”
The conversation soon got so much more sciencey—about proteins and alkaloids and left-and-right-handed amino acids. Anyway, they seemed safe, and Davis was watchful. So, Alex turned away to help Mark and Micah finish unloading the trucks and keep the kamen filter going.
And then?
Then she and Mark had a private phone call to make.
✽✽✽
The tense expression on Mark’s face relaxed a bit when the third SUV returned. Chuck backed it up to meet the other two, tailgate first, whereupon Froggi hopped out and babbled, while Sophie silently downloaded her data and pics into Mr. Davis’s tablet.
“There’s a dam!” Froggi seemed almost giddy with excitement.
“Really?” answered Alex. Though Go-Go was even more succinct. “Damn!”
Carl Davis nodded.
“I figured as much. The water level is so high for this little valley. It would otherwise have found its way—”
“There’s several!” Froggi continued. “A little one that blocks an old stream bed, just eighty meters or so that way …” he pointed east. “And a much bigger one, maybe two hundred farther and around some low hummocks.”
“Wait,” Alex said, waving her hands in front of her. “One dam might be natural. A big treefall can stop up a stream and make a lake. But two?”
With the new data, Davis offered a better, 3D perspective and scroll-stretched his tablet wide enough so everyone could see. Sure enough, the lake was held back in not one place, but at least three. And the biggest one—
“That is a spillway,” Kristina observed. “The outlet sends water flowing down the north side, away from The Rock. Otherwise—” She checked elevations. “It would have gone down this nearest dry bed. Southward.”
“Toward the school,” Leo surmised. “Then all we have to do is blow up the nearby, little one?”
“Hm,” answered the teacher. “It would still flow around to the north, I think, after coming maybe half a klick closer to the school.”
“Still, that’s closer! We oughta—”
Mark cut in. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. Kristina, did you say a spillway? Then this whole arrangement is … artificial?” He turned to Sophie, who had kept mostly silent. “Is that how it looked to you?”
The lanky senior shook her head.
“We got pretty close. Close enough to send one of Barry’s little mini-drones for a fly-over, and … it’s nothing like our own dams, back home. No concrete. No metal or masonry. Though it does seem the outlet’s lined with rocks. The dams themselves—both the nearby little one and the big one around the bend—look like jumbles of tree trunks. But jammed together, so hardly any water gets through.”
“Beavers!” Go-Go Scipio summarized the thought that must have occurred to everyone at the same time. Mr. Davis rubbed his week-old beard.
“Well … maybe something similar. Though at least a bit more advanced than beavers.”
For the first time, Alex felt glad they didn’t have a satellite relay for full uplink comms. If the Emergency Council, back at the School, caught wind of all this, they’d be screaming for a full retreat, no matter how late it was.
“We can figure out how to report this after dinner,” Mark ruled. “For now, let’s finish setting camp and cargo.”
“And dig a really good latrine,” Alex added. “Then take turns getting cleaner, before we eat.”
That last part diverted everyone to happy thoughts of reducing their grime, itch and stink. The kamen was delivering plenty enough for sponge-scrubs. A privacy screen—consisting of old sheets draped over poles—seemed good enough. And sure, the boys smelled worse. On the other hand, since some old-timey traditions had actual value, no one—certainly not Alex—demurred when Mr. Davis said: “Ladies first.”
✽✽✽
Alex turned dinner into a game. She tossed a stale bag of Wonder Bread back and forth to the others, as well as a big jar of peanut butter—lack of water back on the Rock meant it was in good supply, for obvious reasons, but here they had enough to wash it down. In fact, so much water was being slurped that they gave the trench latrine a workout and slowed the kamen’s filling of barrels. No matter. It would have all night to work, and then some.
With thirst finally slaked, hunger gnawed at Alex even harder. Her body felt lean and alive, even desperate. And who knew peanut butter on stale bread could taste so good?
Except for a few brief trips, I always used to be able to just open a cupboard or the fridge, any time I wanted. This is our sixth, over-long day of hard labor on minimum rations. I'm surprised everyone's so happy.
But we're doing good work here. Alex felt a pleasant sense of camaraderie for this small, able group. And clean. I feel so clean!
For the first time on New Mojave, humans had a clear enough view to the west to catch the sunset, by standing on one of the SUV roofs. Scattered, low clouds were coming in, delivering the midnight fog that had kept Twenty-Nine Palms High barely habitable.
“I was hoping to get a sunset look at that sea or ocean we’ve been glimpsing, in the distance,” Alex commented. “But it looks like clouds will always block us, at least during this season.”
“There may be another way,” Kristina suggested, and Mr. Davis looked at her.
“Another … oh! You mean the speed of dusk?”
“Aha!” Alex lifted her phone-cam to record the event. “Of course. We can work it out on a siri, when we get back.”
“The speed of …?” Mark was clearly puzzled and unafraid to show it.
“If the sun is setting behind an ocean, then the sharp horizon will bring nightfall at a different rate than if it settles beyond hills and stuff,” she explained.
“Ah.” Mark seemed unsure that he quite grasped the concept. But one of the traits Alex liked was that he didn’t mind at all being around people who were smarter, or knew more than he did. Anyway, the colors were enthralling. She had never before seen orange-streaked sunset clouds over a reddish-green forest.
Under twilight, they inspected the work done by Leo, Go-Go, Micah and Chuck—a fabric fence that stretched around the outward facing SUVs, from bumper to bumper. It might deter some creatures and not others, so there was an added feature, a wire running along the top, leading to batteries. Leo clearly relished showing how it sparked, when touched by a stick.
“Great,” Mark approved. And Alex nodded.
Meanwhile, a portable canopy—still bearing one of those “Drannen Hardware” tags—was unfolded to shield them from diving bat-things. Yet, Alex lingered at the gap between canopy and fence, looking skyward with binoculars. Coming alongside, Mark asked what held her attention and she pointed at the bigger moon, Borrego, making its second pass in one long, Mojavian day, so close it seemed that he could reach out and …
“We never got a good look, back at the Rock, because of all the haze and fog and fear of bats. But this is amazing.”
“What’s amazing?” he asked. Staring at the orb overhead. Of course, it was different and interesting, with craters and flat plains unlike Earth’s slower and larger companion. Yes, it was thrilling to view, above the jungle haze. But she meant something else.
“Well, for one thing, that moon orbits so quickly, it has to be super close, and hence actually pretty small.” She adjusted the binoculars, the lowered them. “That means it may be inside the Roche Limit.”
“The Roche what?”
“I’ll explain later. That’s not what’s important right now. Just look, Bam. What seems peculiar, even to your naked eyes?”
She watched as he peered at the whitish-gray orb, whose phase was changing even while they watched, as it chased after the recently set sun. Its left half was dark. But midway along the lit portion were several glittering points.
“You mean those bright bits?”
Sometimes silence can be eloquent. Alex just handed him the binoculars. He brought them up, adjusted focus. Alex saw him settle his breathing to shallow-and-even, letting the steady-cam electronics bring the moon into sharpness … and he gasped.
“Those can’t be … are they …”
“Regular outlines, reflecting sunlight off flat or smoothly curved surfaces. Artificial surfaces.
“Bam, it’s somebody’s moonbase.”
He stared until the onrushing moon’s change of phase plunged the pinpoints into darkness, at which point he lowered the binocs and leaned against the SUV next to Alex, silent.
Two encounters with artificial, clearly alien constructions, in a single day. One of them—the dam—nearby and primitive. The other much farther, but technological. Both of them … alien.
Well. What did you expect? She thought. That all the weirdness and mystery was over?
For now, nothing more needed to be said.
✽✽✽
Alex slept fitfully, when she slept at all. The long night had its disturbances. Hill country sounds were fewer than in lower terrain, but deeper in quality, and some of the throaty growls were downright intimidating, especially when she rose and took her turn on guard duty, fingering Chuck’s powerful assault rifle and hoping she’d remember how to use it, if the worst happened. And praying that it wouldn’t.
Several times, something lumbering and large snuffled near the Tahoes, then snorted disapprovingly and pounded away before Alex could catch anything but a rounded posterior in her torch beam. At one point, a pair of yowls split the night in unison. Either one creature was giving another a hard time … or else a very good one. Either way, it ended with a sudden whimper.
At least Barry’s Bat Thing Detector remained silent, supporting a theory that the nasty things were strictly jungle parasites. When Micah came to relieve her, she repeated all of Chuck’s instructions, word for word, making sure the football player understood the weapon before handing it over. Then Alex crawled gratefully into the SUV she shared with Kristina and Sophie, quickly falling back into exhausted slumber.
✽✽✽
The long night offered Mark plenty of opportunity to catch up on sleep. So, well before dawn, he awoke to the sound of soft laughter, coming from Women’s Quarters—SUV number two—just barely too low for him to make out what they were saying. He wondered—like any male—if he was the topic of their amusement.
In the darkness, his stomach already grumbling for breakfast, Mark mused. If we survive and build a civilization here, we’ll have to change everything about how we live. Daylight will have to be broken by a siesta. And there’ll always be plenty of indoor work to be done, during the extra hours of darkness. And yes, we’ll need new names for meals.
But all of that would come when things normalize. For now, listening to Go-Go snore nearby, Mark felt lulled back down to snooze just a little more. And when he woke again, there was already a dim stroke of light to the east.