THE BANANA WAR
With a laugh, Sten cut the connection. “Mitzi says they’re freaking and peeking in the worst way,” he said. “They’re not only afoot, but their comm systems are all out.”
“Tsk. Th’ puir wee pirates,” Kilgour said in mock mournful tones. “Went knockin’ oan th’ door an’ nobody was at haem.”
Mk’wolf laughed. “Thanks to Commander Thema,” he said, “there’s no home for anybody to go to.”
“I’m still having trouble believing what happened,” Corporal Pegatha said. “One minute we were looking at a fleet of pirate ships, the next nothing but space.”
“Apparently there’s more to it than a mere absence of their ships,” Sten said. “It seems Demeter has declared them unauthorized lifeforms. Paybacks for all that damage they caused back at the Transport Center. Besides sidelining all ground transport, all communications have been blocked.”
“Other than putting us afoot as well,” Mk’wolf said, “it doesn’t seem to have affected our communication.”
Indicating his comm, Sten said, “These are hot off the Mantis tech bench. Nothing short of complete destruction can interfere with them.”
Ida broke in. Speaking from the Gessel, she said, “Doc’s been running progs on all this rogue world drakh Mahoney told us about. There’s a good chance that Demeter won’t be differentiating between you and Skink’s load of drakh for brains.”
“Meaning?” Sten said.
Ida snorted. “Meaning, watch your arses. She’s just as likely to strike out at you as she is Skink.”
“Or Venatora,” Alex said. “Let’s nae forgit uir wee Venatora.”
Sten buried a sigh. He fished out an energy chew and nipped off a bite. The road they were standing on meandered through a wide field of golden grain.
A series of thick cables were strung across the field, attached to tall towers spaced about a half-a-klick apart. Wide platforms near the top encircled the towers and he could see ’bots moving about. There were two levels of cables. The lowest was about two meters above the ground. The others ran just beneath the platforms. Cars moving back forth at the highest levels seemed to be carrying equipment and supplies for the ’bots.
Elevators cars ran from the platforms to the lowest cable and as he watched he could see ’bots traveling up and down the elevators. Some attached themselves to the lowest cables, hung from them, then started across the fields—tending the plants without ever touching the soil. Which they treated tenderly, as if dirt was a precious thing.
Some seemed to be misting the plants and the spray made scattered rainbows. Others had tools attached to long poles which they manipulated, poking and prodding the soil.
A refreshing northern breeze blew across the field, carrying the scent of spices and citrus. The grain field rippled under the breeze in a smooth wave. It was as if a large sleek animal was stretching after a long summer’s nap. It was such an idyllic scene it was hard to imagine that any sort of nastiness lay in wait.
A glance at his comm’s screen showed that Skink’s group was on the move again. Surprisingly, they were moving at a faster pace despite many hours on the march. They had traveled about fifty klicks. Venatora’s contingent was still about ten klicks behind.
He glanced up. To the west, the arc lights were closing on the distant mountains. It wouldn’t be long before night descended on the agworld. From Mahoney’s warning, he surmised that it would be unwise to travel at night.
His map of Demeter showed a secondary road off beyond the grainfield. If he got a decent start now he could make a good fifteen or so klicks before calling a halt. If all went reasonably well he should be able to catch up to the two groups before they met.
Kilgour was studying the map over his shoulder. He evidently came to the same conclusion.
“Best we get movin’ now, young Sten,” he said.
Sten nodded. Then he motioned to the two Suzdals who were sprawled on the roadway, basking in the sun, like two large dogs. Their fur was dark brown—almost red. The whiskers on their muzzles were black.
“Ripley, Lancer,” he said, “I want you two to take point. But be careful. Demeter might have surprises for us.”
“Sure, boss,” Lancer woofed.
They got to their feet and stretched, looking a little like the undulating grainfield. The Suzdals were about Sten’s height and although they walked upright, they were just as comfortable dropping to all fours.
Lancer started forward, but before he could set one paw onto the field, Ripley pulled him back. She sniffed at the ground, then looked left and right, blowing out to clear her nostrils, then pulling in fresh air.
“We’d better stick to roads, if we can,” she said. She indicated a metallic pathway a few meters distant. “Maybe start there,” she added.
“You lead, we follow,” Sten said.
And they all set off across the field, taking care to stay on the path.
* * * *
With nothing to see but grain fields for many kilometers, the group soon became bored. Early journey annoyances crept in. Boots fresh off the supply shelves tend to be too tight until they are broken in. Knapsack straps cut into shoulders unaccustomed to carrying weight in that position. Collars became abrasive, sweat-soaked clothing wrinkled and pinched.
Although they had all trained in a variety of terrains, it had been a long time since any of them had had to hike through empty countryside.
There were the usual gripes and complaints, but there was an edge to them, and Sten started worrying about morale. He tossed around for ideas to lighten the mood.
Alex must have been thinking along the same lines, because he raised a hand to call a boot emergency halt.
He sat on the road and pulled off his boots. Straightened his socks and wriggle his toes. The others, including Sten, took advantage of the break. Sipping a little water and getting a quick snack.
Kilgour reached into his own knapsack and pulled out a big, ripe yellow banana. He held it up for all to see.
“Thank, ye, Uncle Alban,” he said, and took a big bite.
“Say, yeah, what about your Uncle Alban?” Pegatha said. “You never told us how the story ended.”
Kilgour waved her away. “Nah, lass,” he said. “Tisn’t th’ right time or place.”
Mk’wolf objected. “Come on, Kilgour,” he said, “you can’t leave us hanging. It’s not fair.”
Alex indicated Sten. He said, “Sometimes Ah think wee Sten does nae loch mah stories.”
Pegatha and the others turned on Sten. “Come on, boss,” she said. “Don’t be so tight-arsed. Let the man speak.”
Sten shrugged. “On your heads be it,” he said. “And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The group turned to Alex, urging him to continue the tale of Uncle Alban the gravtrain conductor. He made a show of reluctance, then finally gave in.
“Weel, if ye recollect,” he said, “after Uncle Alban escaped th’ grim reaper he ance again got his auld job back.
“Ain jist loch afair it was borin’ as clot. Th’ gravtrains comin’ and goin’. The doors openin’ an’ closin’ when he blew the whistle. On and on. Day after day. But thes time he kept his wits abit heem an’ didn’t kill anyone.
“Until one bonny day he saw the most beautiful woman he hud ever laid his peeps oan. As she strutted by he whistled an’ she turned an’ gae heem a wink.
“But the gravtrain’s driver thought th’ whistle meant it was safe tae close the doors. And bam!—they crushed a poor sailor.
“So, for th’ third time Uncle Alban was hauled afair th’ court an’ was tried and convicted ay murder.
“Th’ judge was dain wi’ him an’ sentenced him tae death tha’ very same day. As he was sittin’ in his cell ance again, th’ warden came to him.
“‘50kg of bananas again?” The warden asked Uncle Alban. Uncle Alban nodded. ‘Please, saiir. 50kg of bananas woods be jist fine.’
“The warden walked away, baffled at th’ events of th’ past two years. He returned wi’ 50kg of bananas an’ gae them tae Uncle Alban. Only thes time he didn’t finish aw th’ bananas as he hud awready eaten quite a large breakfast.
“Th’ warden marched heem tae th’ electric chair an’ strapped heem in, curious as tae what wood happen. Th’ executioner was also intrigued as tae whether ur not Alban cood cheat death again.
“He grabbed th lever and coonted down. “Three, two, one,” and he pulled th’ lever down.
“Once again, naethin’ happened. Th’ warden threw his hands up and said, It’s a clottin’ act of God. But, please, thes time tryst me ye won’t get a job at that clotting gravtrain company. Uncle Alban refused tae tryst an’ walked away a free chell.
“Th’ warden caught up tae heem jist outside th’ gate. He said, ‘This is drivin’ aw ay us bampot. Ah hae to ask. Hoo hae ye cheated th’ electric chair sae many times?
“‘Is it the bananas? Is ‘at what’s daein’ it?”
“‘No, it’s nae the bananas,’ Uncle Alban said. “‘I’m jist a really bad conductor.’”
Dead silence greeted Alex’s big finish. He looked around at everyone, but they all avoided his gaze.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” Pegatha said.
“I’m already sick,” Mk’wolf said.
Sten got to his feet.
“I’m not going to say, I told you so,” he said. “But I clotting told you so.”
And he marched away. A much chastened group followed him, wrung out of all complaints.
Alex trotted merrily along, whistling a happy tune.