The Legacy of Heorot (26 page)

For one crazy, shameful instant he thought. Let it have Bobbi. Let it have anything.

Then it blurred, as if shot from the water by compressed air. It crossed the rocks, paused for an instant, then took off again, cutting an angular trail up toward the wall—paused and exploded into a series of zigzags that was like nothing so much as a crazy pinball game, then hit the wall and ran almost straight up at him.

Carlos tried to close his eyes, to wait in darkness for a swift and terrible death, but didn't have time. It was, it was—

It shot right past him and kept going until it perched on a rock shelf halfway between him and the top of the mesa.

The creature crouched above him. It ignored Carlos entirely as it scanned the river and rocks far below. Except for the rapidly turning head it stood entirely still, yet gave an illusion of motion, like an engine revving in neutral.

What was it looking for? More boats? Whatever it was doing, it wasn't watching Carlos.

It can move. Faster than anything I have ever seen. Faster than anything I have ever heard of. I can't outrun it. It must have seen me, but it doesn't act like it. Maybe—

The cliff was steep. A fall would kill him. Better that than the monster, he thought, but he couldn't make himself believe it enough to jump. He made his hands stop trembling, reached down, found a handhold, tested it. It was firm. He lowered himself a few inches, found a new hold, and—

The creature snarled: a high-pitched scream like a drill biting into metal. Carlos looked up into its vast dark disklike eyes. The message in them was unmistakable: Where the fuck do you think you're going?

"Ah, nowhere," he muttered under his breath. The creature watched him for another few seconds, then turned away.

Carlos pressed himself into the rock wall. Between terror and confusion, he couldn't guess what his next move might be. But what does it think it's doing? Is it crazy? A crazy thought, indeed. Carlos laughed, and it turned to look at him, and the laugh stuck jaggedly in his throat. It went back to scanning the river.

At the shore was injured prey, dying. Two more prey were climbing the cliff, characteristically clumsy. The enemy must regard these as hers. Mama planned her move, and then—

Challenge. Mama charged across the water, straight at the feebly moving prey. Her jaw clamped on its hind leg. She dived beneath the froth, released the meat at once and swam for her life. Three seconds later she surfaced far downstream, to watch her enemy come to reclaim stolen meat.

The corpse tumbled unmolested. Her enemy was too clever, far too clever for one so young.

Of the two other prey, one had disappeared. The last was halfway up the cliff.

Mama studied the cliff. It wasn't sheer, but the thought of being stranded there while something came at her was one she rejected at once . ...nd retrieved, and toyed with.

She could see most of the cliff, and no danger showed there. Her enemy might be in the water or at the top of the cliffs. She never doubted it was watching.

There were footholds along the cliff. Take any path too fast and she might be stranded in midair, falling toward waiting jaws. Motionless in white froth, with only her eyes showing, Mama chose her path.

Then she moved. Across the seething water. Up along cracks in the rock, now quick, now slow, dancing her route, ready to face death with her footing firm. In seconds she was halfway up the cliff, poised on a ledge above live prey.

Challenge. Come and get what's yours!

RESCUE

No man quite believes in any other man.

H. L. MENCKEN, Prejudices

"But what could have happened?" Zack demanded.

Cadmann guided Skeeter One through the twisting canyon, barely noticing the naked rock walls rising to either side. "Don't know." The west side of the canyon was growing rapidly darker. The smaller sun cast shadows much sharper than he'd been used to on Earth. It made judging distances harder. Cadmann moved the Skeeter toward the brightly-lit eastern wall. It was banded in orange and pale reds. "Don't know. Damn pretty country here."

"Yeah, sure—how can you be so calm?"

"I'm not, but what's the use of getting excited until there's something to do?"

"Yeah. You're right." Zack took a deep breath. "Those walls are pretty. Like the Australian outback. Ever go there?"

"No, the U.N. never needed soldiers out there."

"It was a rock. Cadmann, it had to be a rock."

"A rock that got two boats?"

"Why not? And we don't know that Elliot's boat is gone—"

"Like hell we don't." Cadmann's mouth was a grim line. "Look, Zack, you can kid yourself about interpretation, but not about what we heard, and the last thing we heard was La Donna screaming. And the last thing we saw?"

"You saw. I ran the tape and I didn't see what you saw."

"Oh, maybe I didn't see it either. There was something. Something dark in the water near Carlos's raft, something that I swear was moving across the current... well, no, I won't swear." Cadmann spoke into his comcard. "Skeeter Two."

"Here," Stu Ellington answered.

"We're coming up to the bend. You go right across the canyon, down to the rapids, and turn back. We'll start the search at the upstream end."

"Roger. Goddam, I'm glad you're with us."

"Me too," Zack said carefully. "I'm still hoping we don't find—"

"Nobody had to remind you to bring your rifle. And damned if that spare clip doesn't look loaded with incendiaries."

Zack grunted. "I'm not going to be stupid about it."

Skeeter Two rounded the bend ahead. Cadmann had just made the turn when Stu's voice came through the radio. "I've spotted wreckage downstream, but no sign of—holy shit! Nine o'clock."

Cadmann's eyes flashed to the left, and for a moment all he saw was the sheer rock face of the gorge. Then he focused, and he saw the creature, perched like a house cat on a bookshelf, only a dozen meters above a stranded Carlos.

"Straight in. Surprise. Shoot when you have a target," Cadmann ordered. It's not moving. Just sitting there. A little closer—"Zack, make the first shots count. Maybe it will forget about Carlos and head for the river. Stu!" He shouted into the radio. "You check the river! Look for other monsters."

"Look for Elliot and La Donna and Bobbi, too," Zack said.

Cadmann spun the Skeeter to hover twenty meters from the canyon wall.

"Now!" he shouted.

Zack shouldered his rifle and squeezed off a burst. Spent shells whirred out of the rifle breech in a glittering arc.

The monster twisted, turned toward the Skeeter, then swiveled wildly, searching the river and the cliff above, finally looking back at the Skeeter.

Cadmann touched a button and spoke into the tiny microphone attached to his helmet. "Carlos! Hang in there, amigo." His amplified voice echoed through the canyon.

Carlos was trapped, frozen except for one foot which slipped as he fought for a toehold. His hands and arms were stretched painfully taut. His head twisted back to look at them, then he pressed his cheek back into the cliff face again.

"What is it doing up there?" Zack demanded.

It was paying more attention to its sides than to Skeeter One. It licked at the bullet holes.

Zack fired again, a long burst. The creature recoiled against the rock. Its gaze rested on them for an instant, then its head twitched to the left and the right with the speed of a hummingbird's wings.

Then with no warning at all it dove off the cliff, ran down the side faster than a rock could fall, hit the ground and sped for the river. Cadmann couldn't pivot the Skeeter fast enough to see it dive between the rocks.

Skeeter Two was just whizzing back across the river when the creature disappeared with a splash.

Cadmann spoke through the amplifier. "Okay, amigo, you can come down now." He switched to radio. "Stu. Did you--?"

"I've got it, Cad. Not a clear view: there's too much disturbance in the water. But it looks like there's a cave mouth down there. I'd say we've got it penned."

Gotcha! Cadmann crowed silently. "Hover. If it shows up, blow it away."

"Roger—but Cad—we have the remains of both rafts. And Elliot's dead.

We can't find La Donna or Bobbi."

The news hit home savagely, dulling the flash of pleasure.

"Stay over the cave. We'll look for the ladies."

"What about Carlos?"

"He's moving," Cadmann said. "When he gets to the ledge we'll see if he needs help. Nothing I can do from here right now." He turned back to Zack. "I could set you down where you can wait for Carlos..."

"No." Zack squeezed out each word. "This isn't going to get any easier if we wait."

Cadmann pulled back on the stick, and the Skeeter peeled away from the wall and headed downriver, looking for what they really didn't want to find.

Cadmann stood, rifle butt braced against his thigh, watching the water boiling over the rocks. Somewhere beneath the foam was the monster who had killed Elliot and La Donna, and wounded Bobbi. "You're going to die down there," he whispered.

There was a sudden sound behind him, and Cadmann wheeled instinctively, rifle coming to bear without conscious thought.

Carlos gave a weak smile, shaking a cigarette out of a plastic pack.

"Smoke?"

"No, thanks."

Several different emotions warred on Carlos's face, and he finally lowered the package. "Absurd, isn't it? I mean, to want to give you something. A cigarette... a handshake?"

Cadmann extended his hand.

"Thanks, Cadmann. I never understood what you went through until now."

His dark face was relaxed, his voice very quiet.

"You've forgotten your accent."

Carlos gave a short bark of laughter. "Yeah. Wait around. Bullshit has a way of piling back up."

He exhaled a long stream of smoke. His hands were shaking badly. "Bobbi will be all right. Won't she? She won't wake up. Why am I asking you?"

His eyes lost focus, were gazing into the wall of rock on the far side of the gorge. Too well, Cadmann knew what they were seeing.

Skeeter Two was still hovering over the Miskatonic. "If there isn't another exit from the cave, then we've got the damn thing pinned, is that it?"

"That's it." Skeeter Six was humming in, loaded cargo hoist swinging pendulously. Cadmann looked at Carlos critically. "Are you fit?"

Carlos ground out the half-smoked cigarette. "I'm shaking. I'll be over it. And the best way is to kill that thing. What are your ideas?"

"You'll see."

The cargo hoist beneath the Skeeter was full, and the pilot lowered it. When it was down and released, the Skeeter touched down and Jerry dismounted, a rifle over his shoulder, a bulky square equipment case in his left hand. Skeeter Six took Two's place over the river.

Jerry clapped Carlos on the back, shook hands with Cadmann. "Camp is in an uproar, not a panic. We're moving."

They headed back to the temporary shelter, where Stu and Andy were unpacking equipment. Zack had flown Bobbi back to camp first.

There was very little said, and not much show of nerves. Just swift, purposeful action. With a grinding hum, another Skeeter bore in men and equipment.

Cadmann grunted satisfaction to himself. The Colony's response was swift and sensible. Maybe it took tragedy to bring out the survivor in them.

They walked over to join the man and woman dismounting from the newest

Skeeter. Cadmann nodded in greeting. "We've got to move quickly. It's badly wounded now—"

"We may be able to capture it," Jerry interjected. "We need to capture it alive if at all possible, Cadmann."

"All right, Jerry, but don't expect me to take any chances with it. I'm laying the tightest trap I can. If everything goes perfectly, we may be able to take it alive. If one little thing fucks up, we kill it."

"And if more than a little thing goes wrong..." Carlos said grimly.

Together they walked to the edge of the rocks overlooking the swirling depths of the Miskatonic. They could see little. Cadmann touched his headphone. "Any sign of activity?"

"None yet. Flash on the tiniest movement."

"That's the way we want it."

The river bottom was dark, and cold, and somewhere down there was what

Cadmann wanted. "You're mine," he whispered.

"What was that, amigo?"

"Amigo." Cadmann looked at him in disgust. "I said I knew it was too good to last."

DESCENT INTO HELL

One of the greatest blessings of virtue is the contempt of death. He who has learned how to die has unlearned how to serve. To be ready to die frees us from all bondage and thralldom.

MONTAIGNE, Essays

Cadmann wiped at his faceplate twice before he realized that the stain was on the inside. He waved to one of the waiting spearmen, got a nod and surfaced. Fresh air tasted good. He removed the faceplate and spat into it, rubbed out the fog and rinsed it. Better.

The Miskatonic churned around him. Even with weight belt and tether line, the current threw his balance off, increased irritability, drained his strength. The wet suit slowed his every motion. And well worth it! Many a man had survived a shark attack because of his wet suit. A wet suit didn't taste like blood; and if something tore into him anyway, it could hold him together like a body bandage until a doctor could reach him.

But he felt slow. He dared not hurry. Methodically he prepared himself for war, knowing that the enemy would interrupt him when it chose.

Anchoring the net had been nightmarish: two men hammering and screwing meter-long barbed steel stakes into the mud and rock around the cave, a third man hovering back, underwater lamp and spear gun at the ready. The net itself was stronger than steel cable and as thin as spider silk, a synthetic organic polymer that was predicted to last for hundreds of years of ordinary use. No lesser durability would have been approved for shipment aboard Geographic.