Wildcatter

Day 414

Seth was wakened by nothing more deadly or exotic than a full bladder. Nothing less would have done so. For a few moments he was lost and bewildered, wondering where he was, why he ached all over, why he was so hungry. He heaved himself out of bed and went to the toilet.

He checked on Meredith, who was still breathing, but unresponsive. Without prompt medical aid she might never waken. He went back to the cabin and studied the view for a moment. The sun was low, the sky pale blue and cloudless. On both sides and straight ahead the windows looked out on a forest of chimneys, as tall as three-story houses, but rough, irregular, mostly lopsided. At close quarters they were obviously natural, not at all artificial. Looking aft through the starboard ports, he could just make out a featureless plain of rounded boulders and cobbles. The ferny groundcover was barely moving. There was a dry sandy patch not far off.

“Prospector to Golden Hind.”

After a brief delay for relaying, Hanna’s voice answered. “We read you, Seth.”

“What news?”

“Niagara’s on its way. Your pizza will be delivered in about an hour.”

“I won’t say no to that. Weather couldn’t be better. About a hundred meters west looks dead flat. I’d better go out and take a look. I’ll call… Can you see what I see?”

Centaurs were emerging from the chimneys, scrambling down the sides backwards. Those claws had more uses than just catching fish. There were dozens of the critters—scores, more than a hundred. He couldn’t hear through the glass, but he could tell by their movements that they were excited and jabbering. It seemed odd that they had not noticed the remains of Mercury on their doorstep before now. Then he realized that they were gathering under his window to stare up at him. It was not the shuttle that had excited them, it was its occupant. Mothers were pointing him out to their babies.

“They’re so cute!” Hanna said. “They look like little medieval war horses caparisoned for jousting.”

Horses did not have pointed teeth like these critters. On impulse, Seth waved. Instantly fifty or sixty flippers waved back at him, each little “arm” flapping a black-and-white flag. He waved both hands. They copied him again, and he had a strange feeling that they were laughing. Monkey see, monkey do.

“I’m going out to inspect the landing site,” he said. “I daren’t take my com or my video with me. Prospector out.” He cut off Hanna’s squawk of alarm.

He had no shoes. Back in the prospectors’ dormitory he found a heap of clothes on the topmost bunk. A glance at the shirt showed that they had belonged to the late Dylan Guinizelli, whom Meredith had called a big man. Big, as in huge. Here Dylan had stripped down to put on his EVA suit, but he had been treated in the infirmary and never returned for them. Seth could see no footwear, but the dead prospector’s shoes would not have fitted him anyway. He had reached the exterior door before he realized that the door opened downward, to double as a ladder.

“Prospector to Golden Hind. Disregard previous message. Planned EVA is cancelled. The shuttle has no power, so I won’t be able to close the darned thing once I open it.” Centaurs were nimble climbers.

“Which is what I was trying to tell you, you muscle-bound bonehead!”

From Hanna, that was gutter talk. He was amused.

“If I wasn’t what you just called me, I wouldn’t be here, now would I? How long is the weather window?”

“Three hours or more. Not counting clear air turbulence, of course. You should have plenty of time.”

“Meredith’s in a coma. I’ll try to carry her, but it won’t be easy and it won’t be quick.” If the centaurs got in his way, it would probably be impossible.

“I’ll be praying for both of you, Seth.”

“Good thinking. Prospector out.”

Hoping to find something to eat other than Meredith’s raw fish, which would be putrid by now, he hunted through the prospectors’ supplies. He had no success. Anything edible would have been kept in the galley.

The centaurs were still all around the shuttle, waiting for more glimpses of the alien. Whenever he approached a window, the watchers outside would shout and wave, and others would come running. He decided it would be a good idea to let them grow accustomed to seeing him with his headband on. Maybe then they would let him leave with it. His plog was safely archived on Golden Hind, but he wanted to record his departure.

“Golden Hind to Prospector.” Hanna again.

“I copy you.”

“Niagara will be landing in five minutes.”

He was astonished to feel a sudden lump in his throat. Was the ordeal almost over? His great adventure, the aim of his life, the day for which he would be forever remembered? Nearly finished?

“Maybe this time I’ll accept a few prayers, then. Meredith is still in coma. Can I give her a stim shot?”

There was a moment’s pause and the next voice belonged to Reese, who doubled as medical director.

“Under normal circumstances, no medical protocol would allow it. However, if that is her only hope of survival, then you’ll have to risk it. Leave your camera in another room when you do.”

“Thanks a bundle. Prospector out.”

The shuttle must come in from the west and he had no clear view in that direction, but he could watch the centaurs outside. Damn, but they were cute! He waved, they waved. He managed a clumsy little dance. They danced. He noticed that there were always a few clambering up or down the sides of chimneys; with their middle and rear limbs spread out they looked like giant bats. Meredith had suggested that their hairless skin dried out in the sunshine and they liked to stay damp. Whatever creatures made the chimneys always grew near a river mouth or the sea.

He went back to check on Meredith and found her condition unchanged. How was he going to transport her if he couldn’t carry her? The simplest way would be to strap her on a stretcher and drag one end, trailing the other like a travois. No doubt this flying palace had included a stretcher in its medical supplies, but it would not likely have been stored in the bow section. He had not found one, and could think of no way to improvise one. He attacked one of the bunks with his bare hands, hoping he could somehow detach the frame, but he made no impression at all. The mattresses were too flexible. The nearest he found to anything useful was a metal rod from a closet. He needed two of them, each twice as long.

The waiting was getting to him. He had a headache.

He returned to the cab, where the larger windows gave the best view of the landing ground. The centaurs were all facing west, hearing something.

The dream is over. Ready to wake up and go back to waiting on tables, Master?

The centaurs stampeded, fleeing to the safety of the chimneys, which probably meant underwater. The chimneys were always wet, always seeping. So when winter brought snow instead of rain, they would drain completely and their porous walls would provide insulation, while their exteriors would be sealed by ice. Storm surges would pile sea ice around them, natural igloos with rocky cores. It was quite possible that the centaurs could hibernate inside them.

A shadow passed slowly overhead. Niagara blew fire on the sand, then settled in a perfect landing. Seth released his breath with a rush, not having realized that he had been holding it. He passed on the good news to the ship, although Control would be monitoring and reporting.

“Seth,” Jordan said, “Control doesn’t give much for Meredith’s chances of surviving, even if you can deliver her safely to Golden Hind. I know you’ll do your best to save her, but don’t kill yourself trying. That’s an order, Prospector.”

Seth said, “Yes, sir.” They both knew that no one could give him orders while he was master of Niagara, but the captain might feel better for having tried.

His headache was worse. He was shivering, despite the heat. Whatever had infected the Galactic crew was getting to him too. That was another reason not to waste time.

The shuttle’s skin would be cool by the time he reached it, if he ever did. He went back to Meredith. She was still alive, barely. Again he tried to lift her, but she was completely limp and here she weighed more than he would back on Earth. He would have to negotiate the ladder down to the ground, drag her over some nasty terrain, and arrive at Niagara with enough strength to carry her up the ladder there. If he dropped her, he might kill her.

He couldn’t do it.

Damn!

Think…

He laid his precious sample bag nearby and closed all the doors except the one to Meredith’s sickroom. Then he armed himself with the curtain rod, went to the exit, unfastened the manual clamps, and let the door fall open. The fuselage was too close to the ground, so it dropped to about a forty-five degree angle, instead of all the way to vertical.

A few centaurs had emerged and gone to inspect Niagara from what they must think was a safe distance, yittering nervously about the traces of steam still rising from the sand. Their panda-like faces swung around when Seth appeared in Mercury’s doorway. He beckoned them.

They came running, caparisons flapping. They gathered around the ladder. Fortunately, there was a spear-carrier among them. Seth must gamble that the spears were a symbol of rank. He pointed his curtain rod at that one and beckoned with his free hand.

Much yittering.

“Come here, dammit! You think I can stand for hours in this damnable gravity, waiting for you? Yes, you. Come here!”

The spear-carrier understood the gestures, if not the words, and advanced to the foot of the ladder, others clearing a path for him, or perhaps her—unless they were carrying young, they were as hard to sex as penguins. Seth stepped aside and beckoned for it to enter.

The spear-carrier scurried up the ramp at once, nosey as a monkey. Seth led the way to Meredith.

The centaur uttered what sounded like an alarm cry. It… he… poked her arm with a flipper, stroked her hair, made a strange noise that sounded mostly like a chuckle but could well be a Cacafuegian distress call.

“I need help, you cute little idiot. Summon your friends and relations. I want you to carry her for me. Like this.” Seth tugged the edge of the sheet, to show how that worked. Then he cradled the sample bag in his arms like a baby. “So jump on all six feet, understand?” He pointed an arm in Niagara’s direction, cradled the bag again.

Seth had found the Albert Einstein of Cacafuego: the apple dropped, understanding dawned. The centaur rushed out into the corridor, where several others had arrived.

Yitter yitter yitter yitter yitter…

One thing they had in common with humans was that they never stopped talking.

But his desperate plan worked. About eight of them crowded into the dormitory. They all kept yittering, but Einstein yittered loudest. Under his direction, they hoisted Meredith shoulder high—their shoulders—which were about thigh-height on Seth. He led the way, down the ramp, and off toward Niagara, aware that Control would be recording this procession and wondering how it was going to play on his plog: history being made, a naked human conscripting a team of hexapod aliens to carry another human to safety. Or perhaps to a barbecue pit? He held the sample bag before him in a strategic location, partly for modesty, but also to protect important locations from the centaur’s busily exploring flippers. They found his legs fascinating.

He dared not stop to rest and he was staggering by the time he reached the shuttle. The door swung down for him, alarming his escort just enough that he managed to be first up the ramp. The two-meter climb was almost beyond his strength.

Overhead, the first bulkhead hatch of the Gut was closed, restricting the entrance to what would normally be the decontamination chamber. The rest of the shuttle would not be infested by centaurs, which might see Niagara as a giant chimney and want to explore it.

There was little enough room for Meredith as well, but Einstein yittered orders, many eager flippers raised her, and Seth somehow managed to haul her in, at the risk of wrecking his back. He arranged her, sitting against the wall, knees up. Then he gently resisted efforts for the whole tribe to join him. One of them was a spear-carrier—probably Einstein, although he still could not tell one Cacafuegian from another. Seth offered to trade a priceless imported curtain rod for a wooden spear armed with a sharp shell point. Einstein caught on at once and yittered loudly as they made the exchange.

ISLA would throw purple fits, of course, but if the centaurs were not already rummaging all through what remained of Mercury, they wouldn’t need long to work out how the doors opened. They would find bedding, clothes, and many other goodies. Seth had broken every rule in GenRegs 002, the section that dealt with first contact, and would face a charge sheet as long as his arm. He would plead force majeure and sanctity of human life. More important, he was going to be an international hero, so ISLA wouldn’t dare penalize him harshly. Just fine him a million dollars or so. By then he wouldn’t care about small change like that.

“Control, start raising the ramp, but go slowly until the centaurs are all off it.”

The centaurs quickly took the hint, with Einstein scrambling to safety behind his followers. Control slammed the door. Seth sat down beside Meredith, which was a tight fit. He was starting to see double and his head felt like it was about to burst.

“Seth, this is Jordan. You read me?”

“I copy,” he mumbled.

“You can’t survive takeoff in that position.”

“We’ll have to. I can’t climb the ladder myself, let alone do it for two. Wake me when… in orbit. And don’t,” he muttered, “let Control fumigate us with toxic chemicals. Prospector… out.”