The Miskatonic Manuscript (Case Files of Matthew Hunter and Chantal Stevens Book 2) (28 page)

Chantal tried to remain calm, taking clear shots at spider heads when she could, exploding, two, four, five … but “Honey,” she gritted her teeth, “I’ve only got a couple of rounds left and it’s not going to be enough to win this thing.”

Then, to the accompaniment of much pointing and shouting from the largely unengaged tree fort to Chantal’s left, there now emerged from the southern tree line a mob of several hundred furry cat-like creatures, tails held high, mostly running upright on two legs — though they’d occasionally lean forward and hit the ground with a pair of forepaws, turning their style of locomotion into an easy gallop — all led by Skeezix. Skeezix himself was barely five feet tall. But while that made him taller than most of these cat people, he was still pumping his legs like mad to stay in the front rank, while the cat creatures loped along beside him with no apparent effort.

The cat people were fully furred. They had three-foot tails, which they mostly carried upright behind their backs. If they wore any garments at all they were leather vests — going bottomless appeared to be
de rigeur
in the Sixth Dimension. One particular black female ran beside Skeezix, rubbing up against him whenever possible, occasionally bending to sniff his butt.

The big spiders turned and paused where they were, puzzled by this attacking wave of small creatures with no visible weapons. Or perhaps they already had some idea of the kind of trouble the cat creatures could present.

“Felinidae! Felinidae!” the Pthang were pointing and shouting.

And then the advancing cat people started to emit a strange, keening yowl, which grew louder as more and more of them took it up, one picking up where another left off, settling in at a frequency near the top of the range of human hearing. Imagine two male cats fighting on the backyard fence. Multiply the piercing racket several hundred times over. Those Pthang who weren’t actually fighting covered their ears and winced.

But in fact, it was quickly evident the dominant frequencies of this tremendous keening noise
were
above the range of human hearing. For the effect among the arachnidae was far more pronounced.

The giant spiders began hopping and stumbling, losing their balance. They pressed their long, sharpened forelegs firmly to the sides of their heads, where their ears would have been if they’d had ears. In
obvious pain, they started making a hasty retreat toward their parked saucer craft, some of them stumbling and falling, clearly having trouble retaining their balance.

Racing outside their defensive hedge line, a few of the bravest Pthang warriors, mostly men but including Bidge and a few of the larger women, pursued them, poking at them with their spears, actually cornering and destroying one, again slicing off first the forelegs and then the rest of the legs of their former attacker, until it could only cower and shiver as they slashed it to bits. But in short order the remainder of the giant hairy arachnids had re-boarded their saucer craft and zoomed away to the west.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

There was no rest for Chantal. The tribe’s version of a doctor seemed pretty expert in setting and splinting broken limbs. They also had some kind of green salve with a topical anaesthetic effect — since it actually appeared to work it would have been promptly banned for home use where Chantal and Matthew came from. But otherwise the burns from the arachnids’ heat rays were left to whatever Chantal had available in her first aid kit. Matthew pitched in. The patients were surprisingly stoic — to the point where the local witch doctor, or whatever he was, was called upon more than once to insist they honestly report how much it hurt. Her supplies, including antibiotic, were running low by the time they finished, but they did what they could.

The battle won, the majority of the felinidae turned back to the south, anxious to reach the relative safety of their own lands on the far side of the river before nightfall. Six or eight stayed behind, though, Skeezix explaining to Turok and old Henry Annesley — and Matthew and Chantal — that these representatives of the cat people were willing to negotiate a mutual defense pact to deal with future arachnid attacks in exchange for recognition of felinidae hunting rights south of the river.

Receiving a nod of approval from his grandfather, Turok agreed that final details of such a peace would be worked out over a feast. The central cooking fires were re-lit and the victorious Pthang warriors hauled in the freshly butchered legs of Chantal’s tyrannosaur kill to be set to roasting over the flames. There appeared to be enough meat there to feed the village for days. They also set some spider legs
to roasting — Bidge earnestly assuring Matthew and Chantal that the legs made delicious eating, once you singed off the hair.

Matthew congratulated Skeezix on his diplomatic coup, at which the Skeezer lowered his voice and admitted “They’re so happy to finally be talking at all that I get credit for a lot more translating than I can really do. Truth is, our cats back home don’t really talk in sentences this way; I doubt I understand more than half of what anyone’s saying to me.” With the aid of rough maps of the river and some stick figures drawn in the dirt, however, a working agreement was soon hammered out, and the Pthang medicine men began brewing up their potent victory brew, which Chantal noticed contained some familiar looking mushrooms and the little green cacti Matthew had mentioned.

The potion would give all of the tribe visions that night, Turok explained, and with luck by the next month all the women would be with child.

“Without any help from the men?”

“Oh, of course men must do their part. And given how small our numbers now, I’m afraid some will need all their strength to perform their duties this night. But the potion the shaman brews will help, of course.”

Turok and his grandfather weren’t going to entirely relax their guard, though. Even as quarters were being arranged for the visiting felinidae delegation, they ordered six large watch fires built well outside the perimeter hedges, to be lit shortly after sunset, while about two dozen adults who had manned the tree forts not directly involved in the day’s fighting — many of them women already pregnant, Chantal noticed — were assigned to skip the festivities and patrol just inside the hedges till daybreak.

“Are we drinking this?” Chantal asked Matthew an hour or so later, darkness having fallen with the perimeter bonfires well ablaze, as the gourds full of potion were offered to the three visitors from Earth One.

“Yes. Start slow if you like, but the Pthang are homo sapiens, as far as I can tell. If it doesn’t kill them, it shouldn’t kill us. Anyway, old Henry swears by it, attributes his longevity to frequent consumption. I recognized some
Lophophora
going in there, and the fungi I’m pretty sure were
Stropharia cubensis
. With any luck, the Gods will talk to us tonight.”

“And they say all the women will be with child.”

“I haven’t noticed a whole lot of celibacy among the Pthang, to begin with. But with the number of predatory species they have to deal with, obviously a high fertility rate is to be desired.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“What?”

“That I might be included in this ‘with child’ business?”

“Not at all. In fact, I kind of thought you might be, already.”

“Oh good. How did you know?”

“Chantal, as we grow old, some of us thick-headed men learn
some
things besides how to drink beer and fart. You’ve got the same glow about you as Marian, the Christmas Madonna glow.”

“OK, you’re the Magic Man, no keeping any secrets from you. I was going to tell you after we got back. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“You didn’t want to worry me? You’re fighting off dinosaurs in the Sixth Dimension with a rifle the size of some Civil War fieldpiece, knocking yourself on your ass every time it fires, and you
didn’t want to worry me?
”

“I’m not sure they are dinosaurs, technically.”

“Thank you. I feel so much better.”

As the drumming began, with much whooping by the firelight and ritual dances to honor the spirits of the tyrannosaurs they’d been eating (at which any good anthropologist would have been in seventh heaven, but probably cursing the absence of cameras) Matthew led Chantal to the honeymoon suite, at the third level in the highest tree, under a canopy of stars and a horizontal quarter moon.

“This is where you’ve been camping out, a crib of straw just big enough for you and Bidge? Gonna get a little crowded up here for the three of us.”

“Bidge has plenty of suitors for her affections. In fact, I’m sure she’s already very busy, tonight. I think the tradition is that everybody pretty much does everybody, except for the real elders, and there aren’t many of them. Took some explaining to make them understand I was going to wait for my steady date.”

“You’re serious?”

“You already knew that,” Matthew smiled.

“I had hopes.”

“I missed you.”

“I certainly hope so.”

“You do have to make sure you don’t get up in the middle of the night and head down the hallway to pee, though. As you can see, no hallway, other than that ladder.”

“I noticed that. Does it sway?” Chantal asked. She didn’t normally have a fear of heights, but she had also never trusted knots tied by other people.

“Yes. Up this high, the wind can set us moving. The rhythm is actually nice, most nights. If a real wind comes up, we’ll have to climb down a level. Though we wouldn’t find as much privacy, needless to say.”

“Wow. Are there that many stars where we live?”

“Light pollution keeps us from seeing at least half of them, anywhere on the Eastern Seaboard. Pretty much anywhere in Europe or North America, actually, except the Arctic, or the Baja, or Eureka, Nevada.”

“Eureka, Nevada.”

“Right.”

“Is there actually a Eureka, Nevada?”

“Of course. They’ve even got an opera house.”

“I never know when you’re kidding.”

“I never kid.”

She sighed.

“Amazing. I can see nebulas, lots of them.”

“You have good young eyes,” he replied.

“The stars look the same, but … different.”

“That’s exactly right. The same, but different.”

“Do you know where we actually are?”

“I know exactly where I am.”

“And are you gonna tell?”

“I’m here with my lady love.”

“Oh. Right answer.”

Matthew leaned over to kiss her. Chantal let out a little shriek and pulled away.

“Babe. What’s the matter?”

“Darling, I’ve missed you. I want to make love to you, now. I’m certainly not going to turn you away and have you go looking for some action with the buxom Bidge down there in Orgy Central. But we’re going to have to figure out a way that doesn’t involve you putting any weight on my right shoulder.”

“You’re hurt.”

“For your information, the only position from which they recommend shooting the .50-caliber is prone, so your whole body absorbs the impact. Seated, maybe. Even then, most of those shooters have twice my body weight. But swinging the thing around like you’re wing-shooting for doves?” Wincing, Chantal peeled her way out of her shirt. Even in the dim glow of the Cheshire-Cat quarter moon and the firelight from below, Matthew could see her entire upper arm and the front of her right shoulder were covered with mottled bruises, probably blue and black and yellow in any true light, some of them likely to be turning some lovely greens and purples tomorrow.

“My God. I don’t think we’re doing anything tonight but finding you some serious pain relievers.”

“Actually, if you’re convinced we’re out of danger for the night, I’ve got a few codeine pills in the kit that might help. But I repeat: I
insist you make love to me tonight, preferably twice, or I’m going to have to kill either you or Bidge the Jungle Girl.”

“OK, OK, we’ll figure it out.”

A light breeze came up, starting their little love nest swaying a bit. As it turned out, that helped their efforts.

Later, just before they dropped off, Chantal filled Matthew in on how she’d spent the last four days. The subject of Cory came up. Chantal allowed as how she figured he’d never actually left the Navy.

“He’s a genius with the electronics stuff, that’s true. But before he supposedly quit and went to the private sector to design video games there were some assignments that no one would talk about. It was pretty clear he’d been recruited by Naval Intelligence. So his showing up with Worthy’s gang at Quonset Point now is just too much of a coincidence.”

“You figure he’s still a spook?”

“The Resonator is a huge breakthrough. An ability to pop out of nowhere right beside an anchored enemy fleet? Cost would be no concern. The admirals will be coming in their pants at its potential. They’d move heaven and earth to get someone inside to keep an eye on it, keep them abreast of how he’s doing — at the same time they’d be scared shitless about some competitor beating them to it, of course.”

“Like the Russians or the Chinese.”

“A real competitor, Matthew, someone dangerous. The Air Force.”

“And turning the Cthulhians in for taking out Old Crusty?”

“Small potatoes. Collateral damage. They’d sacrifice the Supreme Court and half of Congress to get their hands on these vortexes, if Worthy can figure out a way to control them. As a matter of fact, I suspect they’ll let him continue running his project until he hits an impasse or they figure the security risk is getting too big, at which point they’ll grab it for themselves and move it to Quantico or something, offer Worthy a choice between going to work for them or getting chained to the anchor of a bell-buoy. Their little security lapse the
night we visited probably hasn’t helped his cause. Matthew? Honey? You awake?”

* * *

Sleeping past dawn in a Pthang village was apparently unheard of. Fortunately, Chantal had remembered to bring tea.

“Hon, I’ve got half a dozen headset resonators in my pack, and enough peyote tea for the three of us, at least,” she said, as the three visitors from Earth One sat yawning and rubbing their eyes on a log near a smoldering campfire, drinking hot tea out of an unlikely looking set of hollowed-out gourds. (“Mugs,” she added to her mental bug-out list. “Next time, bring mugs.”) They winced as mostly naked Pthang children shrieked and ran nearby, re-enacting portions of the previous day’s battle.