ROGUE WORLD
Sten and the others stood well back while Ripley and Lancer investigated the carnage. They trotted from one corpse to the other, pausing to get a good whiff, then moving to the next.
Ripley snuffed a dead pirate, then sneezed. “That’s nice and smelly,” she said. “Wouldn’t mind a good roll.”
“Better not,” Lancer said. “I don’t think our friends would like it much. Especially Kilgore. He’s got such a queasy stomach. Probably puke all over the place.”
“Yum,” Ripley said. “Nothing like a good slurp of vomitus to start the day. Remember that time when Alex had all that haggis?”
“Regurgitated sheep guts and oatmeal,” Lancer said, voice dreamy. “A Suzdal gourmet delight. When we open our restaurant we just have to put that on the menu.”
“Here noo,” Alex said. “What’re ye two wee pups gonnae oan about?”
“No biggie, boss,” Ripley said. “We’re just talking about that restaurant we wanna open one of these days.”
“You know,” Lancer said, “we didn’t see a single Suzdal diner in the entire Possnet Sector. We could clean up.”
Sten laughed. “With vomitus haggis on the menu,” he said, “you can’t go wrong.”
Alex frowned. “You three aren’t makin’ fun ay th’ Scots, ur ye?” he asked.
Ripley laid a paw of great sincerity across her furry chest. “Never!” she yipped.
“Furthest thing from our minds,” Lancer added.
“Haggis is a serious subject, ye ken. It’s ay great importance in th’ Celtic culture.”
While Kilgour pondered, wondering if he’d been insulted, the two Suzdals continued their examination.
Suddenly, Lancer gave a yip. “What’s this?” he said, pawing at a scrap of cloth beneath the arm of one of the pirate’s bodies.
Ripley trotted over to see. Sniffed at the cloth, then freed it from the corpse. Gripping it in her teeth, she trotted over to Sten and dropped it at his feet.
“I think it’s something from Mitzi,” she said.
Sten picked it up. The cloth turned out to be an old, faded scarf made of some filmy material and it was wrapped up like a little packet, with a string holding it together. Kneeling down, he untied the scarf then spread it out on the road. There were three objects inside: a rolled up sock, a clump of hair, and a note that read:
Dears:
A present for my puppies. Stinky sock from Skink. Dirty hair from Gregor. Pretty scarf from Anthofelia.
XOXO—
Mitzi.
“Oh, she is so nice,” Ripley said.
“Always thinking of us,” Lancer said.
Mk’wolf was puzzled. “What’re those two going on about?” he asked. “Who cares about stinky socks and dirty hair, much less an old scarf?”
Ripley replied, “So we can track them, dear Mk’wolf. So we can track them. Once we get a good whiff we can follow them anywhere. They’ll never be able to shake us.”
Mk’wolf shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “As long as they stay out of water, anyway.”
“Oh, water’s no trouble for us,” Lancer said. “As long as it isn’t too deep, we can smell things under water just fine.”
Ripley took a good whiff of the Skink’s sock. Sneezed.
“I could follow that pirate’s stink to the bottom of the deep blue sea,” she whuffed.
Sten heard a loud hissing sound, then a roar. Up ahead—beyond a jumble of boulders stacked many meters high—a column of water shot into the sky.
It was a beautiful sight, rainbows forming and dissolving then forming again. A moment later the geyser subsided. A breeze brought the scent of steam.
“Smells loch a big kettle ay Earl Gray,” Kilgour said.
Sten led them all forward. Coming around a sharp bend in the road, they found themselves standing in the middle of a bizarre landscape, where pillars of stone poked up like giant fingers and enormous boulders were tumbled about as if a giant’s child had left his toys out.
The ground was covered with what looked like green lichen. Sten leaned down to examine it closer, but as he reached, Ripley stopped him.
“Better not, boss,” she said.
Then she and Lancer dropped on all fours and padded out a few meters from the roadway. They sniffed about for a minute, then returned.
“It doesn’t seem to mind us, boss,” Lancer said. “But it has problems with you and the others.”
“It?” Sten said, a little incredulous. “Who is It?”
“Beats me, boss,” Lancer said. “But It’s there just the same and It is mad as clot and getting madder by the minute.”
Ripley had moved a few meters down the road to where there was a bare patch of ground. She sniffed it, then gestured to Sten.
“Over here,” she said. “See for yourself.”
Sten went to her, looked at the bare patch, then at Ripley.
“See what?”
Ripley spread a piece of cloth over the bare spot. She dropped down and put her ear against the cloth. After a minute she got up.
“You try it,” she said.
Sten knelt, then—feeling a little foolish—he put his ear to the ground.
To his surprise, he heard a scurrying sound. And there was a definite rippling motion, as if thousands of underground creatures were moving just beneath the surface.
“What the clot,” he said, getting to his feet and dusting off his trousers. Then, to Ripley and Lancer, “Do you guys have any idea what’s happening?”
“We’re not sure,” Lancer said, “but it’s like Demeter is making things.”
“What kind of things?” Sten asked.
Ripley shrugged. “Scary things,” she said.
“Hang on a sec,” Sten said and got out his comm to key in Ida.
“What’s up, Cap?” she asked.
“We have some strange things going on here,” he said.
Then he told Ida what the two Suzdals had reported.
After hearing him out, she said, “Me and Doc will run some scans and get back to you.” She paused, then said, “Before I go, Doc and I were just commenting on the situation down there. From what we can see, Skink’s column went crazy for a time, breaking up formation and going like hell. Now they are all gathered in one place. Probably resting after that bit of cactus craziness.”
Doc broke in. “Morale has to be at an extremely low ebb right about now,” he said.
“That’d be my guess as well,” Sten said, dryly. “If you were attacked by a big clotting cactus plant, I don’t think you’d be singing the Blyrchynaus national anthem either.”
“You wouldn’t know it I did,” Doc said. “The notes are beyond your poor human abilities to hear.”
Kilgour laughed. “Dog whistles, are they?” he said.
“Stifle it, you walking lump of boiled haggis,” Doc said. After pausing to collect himself, Doc continued: “It’s not Skink’s morale I’m speaking of. It’s Anthofelia’s group. There is something going on with them.”
“How can you tell,” Sten asked.
“Living things give off chemical signals when they are stressed,” Doc said. “When dealing with the Himmenops, those signals include pheromone readings. In Venatora’s case, the readings are high normal. She’s in complete control of her people.
“That is not the case with Anthofelia. Her levels are so low they are practically nonexistent. The only thing that holds her people together now is custom. Momentum.
“They have been obeying her without question for several years. But now that momentum is slowing down. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were challenged soon.”
“Thanks, Doc,” Sten said. “That’s good to know.”
Ida came back on. “Okay, Sten,” she said, “I’m running tests right now and it appears that Demeter has seriously taken on her duties as Mother Nature. She’s working with the AI to not just build defenses, but biological weapons as well.”
Sten took in a deep breath. Let it out. Then asked: “What kind of biological weapons are we talking about?”
“Hard to tell,” Ida said. “It’s like she’s got a big pot set to boil and she’s whipping up a molecular soup.”
Just then the ground rumbled. A split second later a huge column of steaming water shot out of a jumble of boulders about a half a klick away. So enormous was the geyser’s power that It went up and up, and up. And then finally it came cascading down with an enormous crash.
“Better beat feet, boss,” Ripley said and she and Lancer took off running. “It’s gonna blow big time.”
It was a good thing Sten and the others followed, because a moment later an enormous wave of boiling water crashed down, then spread across the ground to wash over the roadway where they had stood seconds before.
When they were safe, they paused to look back. The road was empty now, but it buckled from the intense heat of the water
“Smell’s loch somethin’s cookin’,” Alex said.
I’m just glad it wasn’t one me,” Sten said.
Ripley barked laughter. “Cannibal stew,” she said. “My favorite.”
* * * *
Skink came upon a broad lake, surrounded by blossoming fruit trees. Little ’bots scurried about, misting the trees and sliding long metal tubes into the ground to feed nourishment directly to the trees’ roots.
The lake itself was crisscrossed with thick cables that hung from strategically placed towers. Enormous buckets moved back and forth on the cables. As he wondered what they were for, a huge net filled to the overflowing with fish was cranked up from the lake, water cascading through the holes.
The net swung around to one of the pots, which paused long enough for the net to dump its pectoral cargo. Then the net was lowered again and vanished beneath the surface of the lake.
At this point the metal roadway led to the edge of the lake, then curved around it to the other side and seemed to go on from there.
Skink looked ahead. From the roadway onward was nothing but stubby grass and thick bushes that led to a woody area, which climbed to the mountains beyond.
He was tempted to take a quicker route and strike north across country. But he was wary of leaving the road. What if Demeter had more surprises waiting for him. No. Better stick to the road.
Skink stopped at the edge of the lake. The water looked so cool and clean and inviting. He dipped up a handful and tasted it. Delicious. It had just a hint of citrus.
“Tell everyone to fill up their water carriers,” he told Gurnsey, then knelt down to fill his own.
When he was done he plunged his face into the lake, then came up shaking the water from his head. Oh, that felt so good. He did it again, then scooped up water and splashed it all over himself, washing away many weary kilometers of dust and dirt.
Shouts and laughter drew his attention and he turned to see some of his pirates and many of Anthofelia’s women had made so bold as to enter the water waist deep to bathe and play, splashing and laughing.
Skink grinned. It was good to hear people laugh. It had been a long time.
He turned back to the water and got out a cloth from his knapsack to wash himself. As he dipped it into the water he heard rippling noises.
Something was moving in the water. Some of those fish escaping the nets, perhaps?
Just beneath the lake’s surface, Skink spotted gray shapes wriggling along. Several of them swam towards the bathers.
Suddenly he felt slimy. The water felt oily. A disgusting smell rose to his nostrils.
Someone screamed.
Skink whirled to see a two-meter-long leech-like creature hanging from the back of one of the women. It looked like it was sucking at her, and as he watched in frozen horror the creature began to swell to many times its original size. Several more creatures leaped up to cling to the woman.
Then there were more shouts and more screams as the giant leeches attacked anyone in the water. Scores of them leaped out to cling to people, sucking the juices from them and ballooning red and belly-wrenching ugly.
Skink heard a noise and he turned to see one the creatures swimming towards him. For a moment, he couldn’t move.
And then it came right out of the water, rearing above him, its ugly maw was rimmed with tiny sharp teeth. Then the creature plunged down at his face.
Skink scrambled away, pulling his sidearm. He fired as the creature fell upon him. It was greasy and filthy cold and it gasped at his face, its breath so disgusting it almost paralyzed him. He fired again, cutting it in half, then rolled away, frantically swiping at slime covering his body.
He jumped to his feet, looking wildly about and saw people clawing at the creatures, trying to get free of them. Wailing for someone, anyone, to help them.
Friends were frantically slashing the creatures with knives, or shooting them. When they pierced the beasts’ flesh gouts of blood spewed out and soon the whole area was drenched with blood.
Skink joined in, shooting and cutting, desperately trying to free his people.
Finally it was over. The giant leeches were dead, leaving long slimy corpses—gray skin so thin he could see through it.
Everyone was covered with blood, but no one dared approach the lake to wash off. Instead they used the precious water in their carriers to clean themselves.
It was at this point that Skink noticed the great absence of Anthofelia. Some of her women were dead, or dying and people were crowding around them.
Why wasn’t Anthofelia there? Was she injured? Dead?
Then Skink saw her on the other side of the glen. She was leaning against a tree, watching what was going on. An odd expression on her face.
Oddest of all—she was the only one without a spot of blood on her. What kind of a leader was she?
Skink shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Never mind Anthofelia. None of his concern. He had work to do. Dead and wounded to tend to. They had to hurry as fast as they could before the clotting planet ate them alive.
Night fell before they could make much progress.
They huddled together, fearful of what the night might bring. Most didn’t sleep and when the morning came they were as tired as the moment they had collapsed on the road the night before.
Gurnsey made bold to approach Skink after a hasty breakfast.
“Boss,” he said, “some of the fellers wonder if maybe we should just pack it in. Go on back. They’re scared, and I don’t mind admittin’ it meself.
Skink drew in deep breath. Then he said, “You don’t understand, Gurnsey,” he said. We can’t go back.”
“Why not, boss?”
“Because there is nothing to go back to. We either go forward, or die here.”
Gurnsey was so shocked he couldn’t speak. Then he just nodded.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll tell everybody else.”
Skink didn’t wait. He just strode off, trusting fear would drive the others onward.
* * * *
A little later, Venatora came upon the ghastly scene by the lake.
There were mounds of rocks stacked here and there and knew them to be the coffins of her enemies.
She counted twelve of them. Good. The odds were lessening.
But the gory scene was disturbing. All that blood drying on the ground. Swarms of flies flitting over long, gray shapes. What had happened here?
She looked at the lake. Peaceful. Almost serene. Fishing nets dipping in and out of the water, no doubt carrying away fish to distant freezers for later consumption. A feeling of dread came over her.
Marta’s voice startled her. “I don’t think we should stop here, Highness,” she said.
Venatora didn’t even have to think. “No,” she said. “And tell the others to stay clear of the water.”
She marched on. If they hurried they’d catch Skink before the morning was over.