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Authors: Brian Daley

Tags: #Fiction, #Literary, #General, #Science Fiction, #0345329198, #9780345329196

BOOK: Fall of the White Ship Avatar
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She thought for a moment. "I was planning, when I finally got off Lebensraum, to see what I could do about it. All it would take is a few words in the right place on Shalimar. They've been dying to get hold of Lebensraum for a long time and this is the perfect excuse. Shalimar goes to the Bali Hai Republic, beats its chest over what's been done to the poor gawks, and gets to be the new landlord."

"Not that Shalimar's any wholesale outlet of virtue, from what I heard," Alacrity said.

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[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR

"It's not," she conceded. "The gawks'll never get their planet back all to themselves, but at least they'll have a better shake. Anyway, that was what I had in mind, and I could use a little help. Humans have done so much
to
the gawks that it's only fair humans do a little something
for
the—"

"You don't have to preach to the choir," Floyt, who'd gotten the tinder going, was saying in between blowing softly on the little flames. They caught fast, the stuff burning like fatwood. "We'll help you."

Alacrity hadn't been consulted on the decision, but after a moment's thought he grinned to his friend and nodded. Floyt went back to tending the fire, smiling.

"But if the gawklegs are afraid of humans, that's an even bigger reason why they're not gonna take us anywhere," Alacrity pointed out. "Especially toward human settlements. Unless you think they're stupid enough to let you lead them into a duckshoot, which I assume you don't want to do anyhow."

"You know damned well I wouldn't," she snapped, giving him a dangerous look. "But they wouldn't have to take us all the way to the nearest outpost; just through the most dangerous country."

"But you heard for yourself, they don't want anything to do with us except maybe as shoeshine rags—

Ho, would you stop playing around there and back me up?"

"Hmm?" Floyt looked startled. He'd been pursuing certain engrossing thoughts of his own, nearly forgetting their dilemma.

Alacrity gazed at him disappointedly. "Aren't you even a little bit curious about whether or not we're going to survive this one?"

Floyt half smiled. "Oh, I'll find out one way or the other, won't I?" He was feeding small pieces to the growing fire. The spongy fatwoodlike fuel burned brightly but quickly. There were still some odds and ends lying around the foot of the redoubt; he got ready to make a last foray but stopped with one foot over the side to listen to Paloma.

"Men," she announced, "I have reason to believe I can talk the gawklegs into it. But first I want to study up on some of the company wildlife files and maps." She flicked her fingers at her proteus. "Then I'll let you in on the whole thing. First, though, we can figure out our route."

She made sense; Alacrity yielded to the inevitable. "All right, let's just see if we can get some contour lines on this map, then try to adjust it for—"

He stopped, and all three of them went statue, at a gargling rattle that wasn't a snarl or roar but had the same impact. Floyt was frozen a pace or two from the base of the redoubt.

Less then fifty meters away a creature had emerged from a patch of undergrowth that looked like a kelp file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (95 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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forest. Six-legged, about the size of a lion. It carried a kill clamped in its four-segment, rock-crusher jaws. The prey was a four-legged animal, like a delicate cross between a fawn and a cricket.

Behind the killer's narrow head, flat along its neck, was a webbed collar of bright green-and-silver wattling, As it spotted Floyt, the hunter lifted the collar all around its head like an evil flower in warning display, vanes holding the webbing taut. It whipped into view a tail with a sting that slid in and out like a kinetiblade.

The killer looked up to where Floyt's fire was beginning to burn high, its globular eyes reflecting the light in red. It made a low sound of irritation, debating attack. Floyt eased his back up against the rock slab behind him, holding the puny knifeblade ready. Alacrity edged his hand to his brolly, gathering himself to jump down if the thing charged. Paloma reached for her staff.

Then there was another not-roar; a second, larger predator sprang into the clearing to confront the first, neck wattle spread wide, stinger high, jaws mashing. It slunk at its rival, head low and extended to grab the prize from the other's maw.

The newcomer was leaner, almost emaciated. With the two predators occupied with one another, Floyt turned and went up the slab of rock in the nimble tradition of his primate forebears. Alacrity and Paloma each gave him a hand and they landed in a tangled heap as he overbalanced them. There they lay, watching the drama below and wondering if they'd be on the menu. Floyt rolled over to throw more wood on the fire, not sure it would help.

The first creature scuttled backward a few paces, glancing around it undecidedly. Seeing no avenue of quick retreat or shelter, it dropped its kill and sprang at its rival.

The two things locked in gouging, snapping combat, rolling over and over, spending most of their time in the air. The sheer ferocity of it was spellbinding. The brilliant neck ruffs, at full deployment, battered and flopped. The animals tore at one another's hide and dark blood streamed; the stingers plunged and stabbed. They had to be immune to their own species' toxin, or they'd both have been disabled in no time.

The bigger one got a telling hold. Its jaws clamped down with power-vise pressure as it braced itself against the other with all its legs, ripping. There was a
crack
of bone and some tearing of tissue. The smaller hunter lost its right foreleg from the center joint down. The stump gushed blood for a few moments, then the bleeding all but stopped. Alacrity expected to see the thing keel over or at best beat a slow, maimed retreat. Instead, it streaked for cover, a blur disappearing back in the upright, dry-land kelp bed.

The attacker dropped the mutilated foreleg and chased its opponent for a dozen lengths, then skidded to file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (96 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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a halt, gurgling in a way that Floyt could only characterize as self-satisfied. It quickly returned to the abandoned kill and began sniffing at it.

"Scare-flare," Paloma Sudan identified it tightly, with out taking her eyes from it. The creature noticed the humans for the first time, gurgling, opening its warning ruff at them wide, snout antennules waving for their scent. After a few moments it lay down by the dead prey and began feeding with noisy enthusiasm.

"If it leaves scraps that draw scavengers, that could be bad for us," Alacrity said.

Paloma had her target pistols out but she was shaking her head. "I might be able to drive it away with a little lightshow, but on the other hand I might just get it mad. And anyway, as I recall, there're no scavengers in this area that would be very dangerous to us. The scare-flares are our main worry; they're really called Morgan's scorpions."

Floyt gave a sudden yell, slapping his neck, startling the other two. He was pulling an insect-size thing off his neck as blood ran from the spot where it had opened an exploratory well. The pest was about half the length of his thumb, a hydra with wings like mayapple leaves. "What is it?"

"Drillbug," Paloma supplied. "I didn't know they infested this area."

"Poisonous?" Floyt was pale. Alacrity scanned the air for more.

Paloma was shaking her head. "No, but they can be nasty. They inject an anticoagulent, so that bite's going to bleed for a while, I'm afraid."

She, too, looked around for more. "Lads, this isn't good—even worse than scare-flares. The atmospheric pressure on Lebensraum's lower than Standard, so our bodies put out a lot of odors, and that's liable to get them swarming. I don't think they can get through our clothes, but unless we can cover up our hands and faces with mud or something, or find better shelter, I guess the fire's our best bet.

The feeding scare-flare disinclined them to search around in the gathering gloom for a cave or other refuge.

"That is," she went on, "unless one of you has repellent or a keepaway field generator."

They didn't, but Alacrity opened his big Viceroy Imperial umbrella. As Paloma watched, he began freeing up its drop-netting.

"Well, aren't you the well-equipped travelers, though?" As she helped Alacrity clear a spot where they could all take cover, Floyt prepared a pile of firewood and kept an eye on the scare-flare.

Unbothered by the drillbugs, the creature finished its meal with incredible speed and glared up at the file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (97 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

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humans again. Their inaccessibility, the fire and its recent meal combined to discourage it. The scare-flare ambled over to a sausage-boled tree, its bark a delicate, lacey white. The creature sniffed at it, looking it over carefully. On the bole there was a series of deep, parallel gouges in the wood.

The thing reared up, raking at the bole to leave new clawmarks, deeper and higher off the ground than its former rival's. Then it dropped back to all six and wandered off.

Alacrity and Paloma had selected a spot in the middle of the redoubt, about the only place where they'd all be able to fit comfortably under the brolly. They paused long enough for Alacrity to swat a drillbug that had landed on his hand. Floyt batted at another that was circling him as Paloma lowered herself to the rock surface.

"Quick, they're swarming!" she called. They sat with their backs together, feet extended in different directions, the umbrella propped up between them; it wasn't the first time Alacrity had taken a night's refuge under an umbrella, and he'd bought the Viceroy with that, among other things, in mind. Freed up, the tough netting was diaphanous and plentiful; they tucked it under their legs and tried to make sure there were no openings. Paloma had her evening shawl around her for added protection, and had closed a flap of her costume's sheer insert to cover her risky cleavage.

Drillbugs began orbiting in squadrons, bouncing against the netting, attracted by body heat, blood, sweat, and other aromas. The trio squirmed to get as comfortable as possible. "Will we have to spend the whole night like this?" Floyt asked with dread. His behind was already getting numb; his back felt like it was planning to kink up in the near future.

"It looks that way," Paloma said tiredly. "Do either of you two buckos know any good,
lo-oong
jokes?"

CHAPTER 10—SHALL WE COMPARE THEE TO A SUMMER'S COLD?

It turned out that they all knew a fair number, from the quite funny to groaners, though after months together Alacrity and Floyt were familiar with one another's repertoires. Paloma had good delivery, but Alacrity noticed that she stayed away from anything overtly sexual.

Still, for the most part the conversation revolved around how they were going to get back to Horselaugh

—or if they stood any chance of it—as drillbugs bounced off the netting. The things preferred flying to scuttling, so it wasn't much problem keeping them out. Down below, the gawklegs had begun a peculiar droning, like two-ton Buddhist monks inside an echo chamber, and the infrasonics had gotten intense, an impossibly deep pipe-organ concert.

The three shifted and resettled a lot at first, trying for more comfortable resting positions, backs sliding file:///C|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry%20kruis...y%20-%20Fall%20of%20the%20White%20Ship%20Avatar.htm (98 of 242)23-2-2006 17:03:13

[Fitzhugh 3]-FALL OF THE WHITE SHIP AVATAR

and rear ends squirming, but each time one moved, it disarranged the other two. Accusations were exchanged. In time, with a certain amount of bickering, they achieved a compromise that all three could endure, at least for a while.

Every so often Floyt would snake his hand out into the open long enough to toss another piece of wood at the fire, then snatch it back before the slow-witted drillbugs could pounce on it. He wasn't as particular about his aim as he was about avoiding more bites, so the fire became rather haphazard. It popped and hissed as confused drillbugs blundered into it.

Floyt and Paloma were sitting with legs off to either side of the blaze. Alacrity, facing away from it, was comfortable enough in his shipsuit for the time being but knew it would get colder fast, and wished he'd had time to pull on his suit insert. He was also worried about the prowling noises he heard from time to time in the darkness. He held a short cudgel of the spongy firewood in his lap. His best weapon, the brolly, was their only drill-bug defense.

Floyt kept the survival tool ready, blade open, and was trying to whittle a stabbing stick for Alacrity without poking a hole in the netting or jarring open any gaps in their flimsy palisade. Paloma had her flashlight pistols and a few throwing-size rocks. The wood supply wasn't adequate for the night; they didn't talk about what might happen when the fire burned itself out.

Resigning himself to being uncomfortable, Alacrity began examining Paloma's planetological info file again, fast-forwarding through it as the little holoprojection lit his face and Paloma and Floyt twisted their heads in an effort to see. "Jeez, Paloma, you got everything in here."

"I wanted to know all there was to know. Planetography, flora and fauna, climate and the rest—how else was I going to sound like someone who'd spent a long time in the wilds?" She removed her fillet with its big gemstone.

"Well, you knew what you were saying; hell's entropy, this'll be a rough trip even
with
those big derricks helping. Without 'em … "

"I doubt we could make it very far before we became too weak to go on," she gauged coolly, "aside from predators, mountains, rivers and the rest."

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