Before dawn, Mark sat on the hood of SUV number one to gain some height. Adjusting his handheld transceiver to a pre-chosen band, he finally got just enough signal link to send a simple text. And soon there pinged an equally brief reply—
“Bring it, bro.” Three words. Only two were necessary, of course. But then, Dave McCarty could get excitable and talkative.
Good news, then. Mark wouldn’t have to go to Plan C.
That would have meant deliberately shorting the electric fence in a way that would drain the SUVs’ batteries, forcing the exploring party to stay up here by the lake another day, to recharge. A drastic measure, possibly dangerous. And fortunately, not necessary.
So, as daylight spread slowly through a dawn mist, the trucks were checked and readied while Chuck and Micah and Go-Go took down the fence and Sophie passed around hard boiled eggs from a cooler, accompanied by jerky and full canteens of kamen-filtered water. And Mr. Davis ruled the barrels to be full enough for the trip back home.
As the kamen was being loaded and the pit latrine filled-in, Leo suddenly gave a shout of alarm from his lookout perch, atop the middle Tahoe.
“We—we got visitors!”
The slim sophomore pointed east, staring wide-eyed. Chuck Hewman snatched up his weapon as everyone pulled in close to the trucks, peering goggle-eyed at what emerged from the mist-shrouded forest.
A herd of giant quadrupeds, advancing two abreast.
Mark re-assessed. Well … maybe they were smaller than Asian elephants, but with a similar ponderous, four-footed gait. The larger beasts bore multi-colored, fanlike organs along their spines, where a Stegosaurus would have worn its famous spikes. Behind, each of them waved a whiplike tail. But the strangest thing was their heads. Where an elephant had tusks, these creatures bore glittering teeth, or horns, that glittered along their lower lips. And where a pachyderm might flap expressive ears, there were arms! Or trunks, or prehensile grabby things … one on each side of its skull.
The humans sighed with some relief when the animals could be seen using those appendages to grab small branches off of nearby trees, bringing clusters of leaves to their busy mouths. Herbivores, then. Plant-eating, ear-trunk waving, utterly weird alien herbivores. Even so, Mark knew that movies like Jurassic Park lied about one important thing: A brontosaurus would gladly gobble-up a human child, the way a cow might relish an insect that failed to hop away in time.
“Into the trucks and get ready,” Mark said in a low voice. “Just in case. Except Chuck and Leo. Leave a door open for them. And for me.”
No one argued. Though all three girls—Alex, Sophie and Kristina—left their doors open too, in order to watch the approaching titans, with their weapons ready. Froggi, Go-Go and Mr. Davis slammed shut the SUV doors and dived inside, switching the hybrids to all-electric mode.
The dawn haze seemed to amplify everything, the sounds they made stomping forward, and their size. The sail like structures on their backs seemed to billow and snap in the languid breeze.
“Those probably function to warm their bodies in the morning, and for cooling in the heat of the day,” Kristina commented in a low voice. “Though obviously they’re also for display.”
As if to bear her out, the lead pair abruptly swiveled, taking notice of the Earthlings. Their arm-ears shot out, as if offering welcome. But their mouths opened to emit squawking honks that didn’t sound friendly, and those back-sails inflated, turning bright blue. Those leaders took a few steps closer. Mark felt the human guards—Chuck and Leo—tense up beside him, readying their weapons.
“Easy, boys,” he soothed, and Chuck reacted with a millisecond dirty look.
The rest of the herd continued shuffling along, but diverted to pass behind the leaders, and Chuck nodded with a grunt. “Those two are guards, like us.”
Okay then. You leave us be and we’ll do the same.
Alex was using the binoculars. “Those lower tusk-teeth of theirs … I think they’re … they’re made of stone!”
“You’re kidding! Let me see,” urged Sophie, from the seat next to Alex. “Hey, I think you’re right. They look like chipped pieces of flint I saw in a museum about early cavemen. They’re pointy at the business end, but smooth where they fit into … kinda suction cups along the lower lip. Wow, do you think they chip those things themselves? Maybe with those trunk-like arm-ears, they can do that.”
Mark was watching, warily, as the caravan passed, with some infants and babies moving along, sheltered between both columns. The defensive arrangement was so tight, so disciplined, that Mark abruptly nudged Chuck, who was already turning to look east.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Chuck nodded. “These beasties aren’t what we should worry about.”
Sure enough, as the caravan of arm-ears moved westward, into another patch of forest, the two guardian beasts also shifted their attention behind the herd. Toward a rustling in the underbrush.
Shapes approaching. The arm-eared beasts looked unhappy. Nervous, slashing the air with their whip tails.
Mark recalled something Dad had said about combat. “One of the top rules for any team entering danger is to have someone who’s not watching the excitement.” A lookout, facing the other way. He backed several steps behind Leo and Chuck, in order to stand near Alex’s open door.
“Look away,” he said. “You and Froggi. Now.” And he stepped back to stand at Chuck’s shoulder. Mark trusted Alex, and so dropped that concern from his thoughts.
“Chamber a round,” Chuck told the boy to his left and readied his own weapon as Leo pumped the scattergun. “If I say ‘warning shot,’ aim high, fire and reload. If I say ‘pepper,’ you blast right at whatever’s coming, early, before thirty yards.”
“But … but you said that won’t damage anything dangerous.”
“It’ll sting. That may be enough. But it’s far enough you’ll still have time to pump another—”
Abruptly, the underbrush boiled forth at least half a dozen leaping tangles of fur and legs and claws and teeth. The arm-ears bellowed and lowered their stone lip-tusks as several predators tried to dodge past them, charging for a laggard mother and her calf. While the guardians pounded after these, another pair of gangly, lion-like forms swerved the other way, sprinting—toward us, Mark noted.
Chuck fired into the air. But the assault rifle wasn’t loud enough to jar the approaching beasts. Weaponless, Mark backed up a pace, only to bump into Sophie Hamilton, who was readying an arrow on her bow.
“Pepper!” Chuck shouted. And there came a second or two of pause, during which Mark wondered about the biker’s choice of an apprentice. Had Leo frozen? The way some first time marines—
The twelve gauge roared and the boy holding it rocked backwards, but held his ground, quickly pumping in another round … while the foremost attacker reared back, waving forelegs that were longer than any Earthly predator, and howling eerily. And that’s what pain sounds like, on New Mojave, Mark thought, as Sophie’s bow twanged and another beast roared.
“Into the trucks!” Mr. Davis called, unnecessarily as four humans backed warily toward the open doors. Already more of the hellish, lion-like things were approaching, having given up on the herd. Froggi gunned SUV number one, but the truck, laden with hundreds of kilos of water, took off slowly, rolling back along yesterday’s tracks.
From the passenger seat, Mark saw several of the big, toothy creatures loping on either side, snuffling and sniffing and clearly trying to decide whether these shiny things might be tasty. One of them took a claw swipe at a fender, which clanged unpleasantly.
Behind him, Alex murmured “Smile for the camera, baby!” with entirely too much confidence and panache for a sensible young woman, who these baddies might rip to shreds in seconds.
The escort lasted for at least a couple of hundred meters, till their convoy of Earth vehicles descended to a rocky zone, along the hilly southern slope. At which point the hungry-toothy things paused and hung back. Mark saw several of them scanning the sky. Then—clearly disappointed—the pack faded back into the forest.
Okay then. The hills are nicer in most ways. But if we want to settle up here, we may have to fight.
✽✽✽
The return voyage would have gone much quicker, except for all the water, which strained the vehicle suspensions and made a grueling battle of every obstacle. With depleted batteries, the hybrids were using precious gasoline by the time they reached the solar depot.
The panels they had left on the bouldered slope were fine, still slanted southward, with their nanosurface striations automatically following the morning sun. Already the linked batteries were full, though it would take an hour to swap them into the trucks.
Mark took that opportunity to check in with the school. He didn’t plan to mention toothy predators, quite yet. Not at least until they reached home—and even there, at the end of their report.
“It sounds like you all had a picnic!” Helene Shockley said, speaking for the Council. “And you bathed? Man, are we eager for some extra water here. Those clouds keep teasing us, giving only fog.”
“Yeah, well, don’t expect us to deliver enough for bathing,” he replied. In fact, the amount in the SUV’s wouldn’t do much to slake the thirst of more than a thousand souls. This water had a purpose, one that served the needs of Scott Tepper. And then, perhaps another.
“Well, we’re all eager to welcome you home,” Helene concluded. “I know I am.”
Mark rubbed his scratchy chin, wondering again if he was amplifying something in her voice, if there was extra meaning in her words. “That’s great!” he replied, hoping it would encourage whatever friendliness was there, without assuming too much. Then he handed the comm over to Alex, standing nearby, to relate details about their cargo and the depot, while he joined the effort to swap heavy batteries. Given the weight of their cargo, they decided to leave the charging station in place, for a future expedition.
By the time they were done, and Alex had signed off, it was time for First Lunch. And while that only meant another protein bar, at least there was a full canteen to wash it down. Alex joined him as he made room for her on his boulder seat.
“You know, she’s weighing her options.”
Mark sputtered and almost coughed, wasting a swallow.
“You—you mean Helene?”
“Who else, dope? You’ve been all coo-coo over her for a year, despite knowing it was hopeless, her being with Scott and all.”
“And now that he’s on his way to being president-magistrate-poobah of a whole planet?”
Alex shook her head.
“With all those chattering juniors always flocking around him, dashing about on errands, at his beck n’ call? There are tradeoffs, and who can tell what factors we don’t even know about?”
“Still—”
“Still, you need to consider all the angles, Bamford. You’re fast-rising as one of Scott’s only rivals.”
“Well, Principal Jeffers --”
“He’s becoming like a constitutional monarch, who leaves details to the Grand Vizier.”
“There’s Zach Serpa.”
“Almost none of the students would ever back him as top guy. So the carnies have allied themselves with Scott.”
“Mr. Marshall.”
“The townies are too divided and too few to matter.”
“So, you’re saying this expedition—Scott approving it—”
“Was set up for you to fail, Bam.”
Mark nodded. That much had always been clear. “You’re suggesting that Helene is part of the plot, somehow? Take advantage of my weakness? My … Achilles heel?”
Alex frowned, looking down.
“I dunno. Could be. Or else … well, Helene’s damn smart, and maybe she sees the odds differently than Scott does. Or else … just keep in mind that people can be tricky, Bam. And they can have agendas you don’t know or have a clue about.”
He sighed. “It can't all be about sides, Alex.”
“But it is. It's been about sides ever since Scott took over and everyone fell into line, except you. And those around you.”
Mark could think of other exceptions. Like Gracie Donner. And Doc Hutnicki’s devoted all-girls crew. Still … he shook his head, remembering what Mr. Castro had said about leadership.
“I've seen what's happening. Are you kidding? I just don't think it's too late to change course a bit away from … feudalism.”
“And suppose you do manage—with help—to divert things? Do you envision taking Scott’s place, with your new queen by your side? With his former queen?”
Now he knew Alex was joking, in her jabbing way. But Mark answered seriously.
“I’ll always—no matter what I do—be the fellow who saved Na-Bistaka’s life. And sure, you and I agreed that was the right thing to do, at the time. But, well, a whole lot of people will forever hold a grudge over that. By their logic, I’m the reason they were kidnapped.” He shook his head. “No, I’m not Scott Tepper. I don’t want to be Scott Tepper. And if truth be told, Alex? I think Scott is—”
She met his eyes. “Scott is what, Bam?”
“Scott’s good at what he does. He has game. He’d be a lot of what we need, in fact … if only he weren’t so damn full of himself. So suspicious and controlling.” He used a term from Castro’s class. “So zero-sum.”
If only Scott didn’t see me as a rival, to be put down, Mark finished the thought, without speaking it.
Froggi’s voice called from the trucks. “All done. Let’s go!”
Alex stood up and finished with a final caution.
“Just remember, if the time comes. Guard your back. Not just with Scott, but Helene, too.”
And that was it for First Lunch.
✽✽✽
The drive back to The Rock was easier, though only by a bit. Their SUVs handled sluggishly, carrying several tons of water, but at least they knew where they were going this time. The trail was obvious in crushed grass and shattered undergrowth and plow-marks through mud and dirt. Hunks of red bark and torn branches showed where the Tahoes had smashed through tighter spots. Mark kept to their “road” mostly, except when he was sure they could save a few minutes, cutting between two earlier zigzags.
“No, no, stay with the trail,” Alex said once, tapping the pad on her lap, when Mark began to turn to the other side of some pompom trees—and he soon saw that she was right as they skirted a field crowded with lumpy firesap plants. Another time, Alex said, “Go left here. This is the place where we drifted so far east and had to back up.”
Yet, their earlier conversation still went round and round in his mind. Of course, Alex was trying to protect him. Anyway, things were bound to go primitive on a colony world, like in olden days, when marriages were about romance and politics, the double whammy. Knowing he should put it aside, Mark couldn't get the possibility out of his head, no matter how far-fetched it seemed. Helene's smile. The perfect curve of her hips and waist.
It's not impossible, he thought …
… until yet another hanging mass of leaves crashed off the windshield as Mark drove into a small clearing. And there, straight ahead, was the northernmost of three fallen trees—hollow towers that had shattered open upon landing to form trunkways. The jungle’s rapid transit system.
“Okay, in we go,” he announced, piloting his lead vehicle down the narrow channel. Its heavy load of water made both truck and tree groan and he fretted about the tires, every meter of the way from the first fallen bamboo to the next.
They had just finished the middle trunkway when Alex nudged him, pointing ahead and to his left.
He glimpsed a flash of white in the trees. A glint of metal or glass.
Mark pulled over, before the entrance to the last toppled bole. As the other vehicles drew up behind, he switched off his engine and stepped out, squatting down to inspect the Tahoe. Footsteps crunched behind him.
“Is there a problem?” Mr. Davis asked. The man was clearly anxious to finish this mission and the heavy weight of responsibility.
Mark invited Inigo Scipio, their best mechanical guy, to join him, crawling underneath. When they emerged, Go-Go shook his head.
“The suspension’s almost shot and two of the tires could blow at any minute.”
“Can we make it back to the school?” the teacher asked, rubbing one hand hard, with the other. “We’re already more than halfway back!”
“Not loaded down the way we are. Do you want to gamble getting stuck … in that?” Go-Go pointed down the tunnel-like cavity ahead, biggest and darkest of the trunkway passages. “Me, I’d rather not risk getting trapped down here with hell-lions on the loose.”
Apparently, the passengers of car number three had settled on a name for the predators and Mark deemed it apropos.
“What can we do?” Kristina asked, and Go-Go shrugged, speaking the obvious.
“We lighten the load. Remove at least half of the water from all three SUVs. Set it aside and see if that eases the strain enough.”
Carl Davis looked stricken. “Half of it?”
“Or more.”
“But we went all that way—”
“It won’t go to waste. There’s a couple of Silverados in the faculty parking lot that we can use tomorrow, to fetch the rest. No biggie.”
No biggie? It proved to be sweaty work, setting up tubs and hand pumping from the barrels in the trucks, till enough had been shifted to haul the casks out, by brute force. It reminded Mark of stories about the old-time Lewis and Clark Expedition, when explorers had to unload their boat every few miles to haul it around river rapids and then load up again. By the time the job was done, and the cache properly covered, no one had strength for anything but Second Lunch.
With all of this taking place out of sight from the school tower, Penny Hill was getting frantic by the time the convoy—now much lighter—re-entered the last trunkway. Mark couldn’t help peering into the trees to his left. It made him steer poorly a couple of times, scraping the inner bark and earning rebukes from Alex.
“I swear, Bam. If I had my license, I’d kick you out of the driver’s seat.”
They emerged in the thick of the jungle and went back to brush dodging, mostly following yesterday’s zig-zags, with a few shortcuts. Minutes slipped by, and Mark was so focused on the ground immediately ahead that it took a shout from Froggi, Sophie and Alex to yank his gaze upward. He slammed on the brakes, almost causing Micah, in car two, to slam into them.
“Holy crap,” Froggi said. And Mark agreed. He barely recognized the scene in front of him.
The Rock formed a long, mostly smooth wall topped by buildings, on the other side of a huge field. That cliff, made of pale brown earth—from Earth—looked very different from the lime-and-crimson world of New Mojave. Only, when they had departed yesterday morning, their island of civilization had been largely obstructed by trees, except for an initial clearing around the Ramp. Now the round slab of their home world lay exposed in all directions, practically naked.
“Well, someone’s been whipping the peons, I see,” Sophie commented.
And the labor continued. At a glance, Mark thought there must be two hundred youths tearing at the jungle, expanding that initial clearing both east and west and then south around the giant circular plug of another world. Branches, bushes, and vines lay piled into stacks, though the work was erratic. Several stands of pompoms remained, forming curtains in the open space, and crews had left large, lumpy patches of firesap untouched.
Guards armed with rifles, spears and bows watched from makeshift, spindly towers, spaced at intervals around the clearing. He saw a trio of taskmasters—Colin Gornet, Coach Hensen, and Mr. Perez roaming about with clipboards, offering encouragement and sips of water, focusing the anger and frustration of these reluctant colonists on a target—the world that now held them captive.
They’re probably also taking the names of slackers. Still, he felt awed by this achievement by pampered American teenagers, exhausted from a week of hard labor and on starvation rations.
And thirsty, he knew. Our arrival will raise hopes … and crush them.
All according to plan.
The metal shop had been busy. Mark saw a pack of seniors armed, weirdly, with short lengths of rebar, refashioned with handles and blades as scythes to flatten any remaining grasses. That team, moving aside for the Tahoes, called over their shoulders that the “water boys” were back. A ripple of excitement spread from crew to crew as eyes turned their way.
They drove past a pit where filthy workers were hauling out buckets of dirt and rock. Mark wanted to cruise over for a closer look, but a big carny with a red cloth wrapped around one sleeve, waved for the trucks to keep moving.
Froggi was already on the walkie-talkie.
“Dude, slow down. Ground control—I mean the Council—wants us to pull up short of the ramp.”
No, not there. Mark scanned the north rim of the clearing and finally spotted Dave McCarty, who waved.
“Let’s park over there,” he said, casually. “We’ll wait for a reception committee.”
Driving slowly, Mark turned left to get past a dune of felled brush, then again to avoid more kids who were taking shelter in its shade. One was lying on the ground as her friend waved a baseball cap, fanning her.
Heat stroke, maybe, he thought. Too much sun, not enough water or food. Should we stop and unload a tub?
But no. Stay focused. For the good of everybody.
Swerving hard, he nearly slammed into several logs that some group had toppled, but hadn't bothered to haul away. His front passenger side tire whacked over a round hunk of wood like a speed bump and the tubs in back clunked, causing the SUV's tail end to seesaw.
“Holy crap!” Froggi said again.
“This is almost worse than driving in the jungle,” Mark muttered. But then, McCarty was there, waving them forward.
It seemed only natural to let Dave guide them, backing into position right at the clearing’s boundary, where forest giants towered almost overhead. Mark avoided looking too carefully, and he got out with Alex to sit on the hood of their battered but trusty SUV, while other members of the expedition answered questions from a growing crowd.