Under the Canopy (9 page)

Edlon had turned the rifle into its proper position and was feeling for the trigger. Before I could say or do anything, he fired. My head snapped to the warriors on the bank.

Both aliens were alive. They heard the shot and drew back in fear. I saw them say something to each other, and then they ran back into the woods.

'What did you do that for?' I asked, taking the goggles off my eyes.

'They had no business peering at us.' Edlon said it so casually that I felt mad at him again.

'Oh, OK. It's alright with you if they slaughter each other, but you don't like them looking at you. Am I right?'

Edlon lowered the rifle and stared at me. 'Yeah. The freaks are constantly warring with each other. It's what they do. We are not supposed to intervene.' He paused and squinted. 'Why are you taking their side? You saw what they just did. Savages, no more. Who knows what they were thinking looking at us. Better be cautious.'

I stared into his face and felt déjà vu. The captain on Clomt said essentially the same thing. Edlon was an alienist after all. The thought left bitterness in my mouth. The trip had been going so well before that…

I sighed and looked to the side. 'OK. Never mind. Let's go back.'

Edlon examined my face and then nodded. 'Sure, roomie.' He went into the cabin.

I looked at the sight of the battle again. Several bodies were lying where they dropped. I didn't know what I just saw, and that fact made me uneasy. Then I spotted movement. The wounded man was still alive. He was lying on the bank, his left shoulder under the water, and clutched his guts with the right hand. He was a goner, but the agony could last for hours. It happens with gut wounds.

The boat was revving up and turning. I leaned into the cabin. 'Wait.'

Edlon looked at me over his shoulder and made a thumb-and-forefinger circle.

I took my rifle and looked into the gunsight. A circle surrounded by darkness and in the center of it the suffering man. I caught his head in the crosshairs and pulled the trigger. His head snapped back, and he got still forever.

I slapped the cabin's frame. 'I'm finished, let's go.'

The boat turned its nose downstream and set off on the voyage home. I sat in the back, with the rifle in my lap, and felt buzzing in my nerve endings. This fishing trip had both helped and damaged my view of Edlon. I didn't quite know what to think of him.

The snotty manager didn't notice the hole as Edlon predicted, or maybe he just didn't draw our attention to it. We took the scooters and went on our way north. Edlon didn't talk much, as if he felt the barrier between us. He tried to remain cheerful and friendly, but I could see sadness in his eyes. That smirk was never more strained than when we parted.

When I returned home, the first thing I did was to take off the raincoat. For some reason, I felt claustrophobic in it. My T-shirt was wet, so I took it off too. I ran up the stairs and entered the crow's nest. The screen turned on, and I went straight to the incoming folder.

A picture appeared on the screen. Edlon and I in the boat. I stood to the right, holding the rod like a spear with the left hand and my right clasping the fish's tail. I had a stupid smile on my face. The fish stared downward, its mouth open and looked ferocious. Edlon held it by the tail too, his rifle resting on his shoulder. He looked like a soldier on parade. His face was beaming.

I looked into his eyes. In that moment when the photo was taken, there was no trace of sadness or hate. Just a man hanging out with his buddy and having a hell of a good time. I felt that I saw Edlon as he was supposed to be.

I looked at the picture some more, then dragged the file into the mail and send it to Edlon. The answer came almost immediately.

'Thanks, roomie! See ya.'

I read the message and stared at the keyboard for some time after that.

The Hobsot capsules in my scooter wore off. I noticed this when I started to have problems with turning on the move. I'd spin the handlebars to the side, but the machine would turn only a little and continue moving forward. The only way to safely travel was to stop the scooter, aim it in the desired direction and then go in it till the next turn. In other words, the capsules needed to be changed. It wasn't a difficult task, but I didn't have them at the cabin. So I called HQ in the city. That opened a completely new can of exquisite worms.

My initial plea was very innocent: 'I'm having trouble with my scooter. Send me a pack of the Hobsot capsules, please.'

The reply came fast and was surprising: 'You have another scooter. Use it.'

After reading this, I sat at the computer for some time, staring at the floor. I replied: 'It's out of order, too.'

To that they said: 'Why didn't you report it?'

To that I said: 'I had another scooter to use. Now both of them are out of order.'

Their reply didn't keep me waiting: 'All right. Send us the board-card’s data from the nonoperational machines, and you'll receive the Hobsot capsules with the next shipment. It's our policy; we have to be sure that you didn't sell the vehicles for spare parts.'

Here was my problem. A board-card is a memory device situated under the dashboard. It records everything that goes on. The worst thing was that if I had done it earlier, the whole operation would have been much easier. Now I had to do it with a malfunctioning scooter and deal with the frozen winter earth. That would require ice picking the ground around the machine and pulling it out with a winch. Obviously, I had to work alone, because I couldn't tell anyone.

I showed two middle fingers to the screen and went to pack up.

I remembered that spot well. You never forget the places where you fucked up real bad. You sense it even miles away, like a bird knows where the North pole is. In other words, the trip to my humiliation monument was a pain. Another layer of suffering was layered on top of it by the damn scooter malfunctioning. I had to pass every tree in the manner I described earlier. The trip took me twice longer than it should have. At least, the weather was good.

I landed the scooter and jumped to the ground. Now I had to find the thing. The place had overgrown with grass in the past months. The plants didn't seem to give a damn about the cold. I remembered that the machine went down somewhere in the clear and readily strutted forward in the direction of the swamp. My foot struck something, and I fell face down. Turning back, I saw that I'd found it.

There it was, looking at me. The ring of the rear nozzle still stuck out of the earth. It was brown with rust, and there were plants growing out of it, but it was the thing alright. Now the hard part began.

I took out the ice pick and tapped it on the ground around the nozzle. Yep. Frozen solid. How anything could grow in such a soil? I straightened, standing on the knees, and took a deep breath. Cold air tingled inside my rib cage. I raised the ice pick and started to beat the shit out of the ground.

At first, it made just nifty little holes in it, but then I began to connect them and pull whole chunks of the earth to the side with the flat end of the pick. A shovel might have been more appropriate here, but it was too big, and I wasn't sure that the spade wouldn't break in half. I took one clot in hand and tried to squeeze it. It didn't budge. Only with applied force I managed to crumble it into smaller pieces. That was what I had to deal with. The scooter went down nose first, so I had to pull it out in one piece. If I tried doing it without softening the ground, the machine would just rip in half or, most likely, give up just the nozzle.

When I was done, the scooter was freed of the earthly shackles down to the basket. I was wet through and through, my shoulders and palms hurt from the digging, and the knees were sore, but I was jubilant. I smiled, heaving, and patted the rear of the scooter. The hardest part was over. I got up and returned to the working scooter. The rest of the excavating operation required the winch and some machine power. I had both.

I took the winch out of the basket and fixed the box on the front of the scooter. Looking around, I spotted a sturdy tree that would serve my purpose. The winch wrapped its fiber body around the trunk. I stepped away from the tree, towing the hook with me. The winch moved over the bark, sliding with ease. Perfect
.
Pulling more rope after me, I approached the mired scooter. The winch went in the space between the seat and the rear nozzle and hooked itself below the basket. I stepped back and jerked the rope towards me. It held fast. That way, I'd pull the whole thing intact with no problems.

I returned to the scooter and revved up the engine. The machine had a problem with turning, but all I needed now was for it to go in reverse. It could do that alright. The moment I backed up, the winch straightened and pinged in the air. I pushed the pedal harder. The scooter moved slowly, ever so slowly, but moved.

The rope slid around the tree, leaving marks now. As for the derelict in the ground, it budged. Metal creaked. I hoped it wouldn't break from rust. The rear end came out a bit, the earth around the front bulged. I pushed the pedal to the metal. The scooter wagged from side to side, the engine roaring. I heard the tree creaking and watched it lean towards me. Meanwhile, the fucking thing made only the slightest jerks. I started to tug the handles at me to add more power to the pull. The tree trunk clapped, and sawdust mixed with splinters fired into the air. The ground rose and broke into cracks. The lost scooter jumped out of its prison and into the open air, clots of earth saluting above it. I stopped the engine.

I dismounted and walked to the thing. It was mostly brown and some parts fell off, but, otherwise, the scooter looked the same. When I passed the tree, I checked the trunk. The winch bore deep into it, leaving a trench. Good thing it didn't break.

I approached the lost-and-found machine. The smell of earth and rot hit me. I went straight for the dashboard. I cleaned it off the soil with my hand and checked the board-card compartment. It was filled with earth. I took out the ice pick and plucked the dirt out with the tip. When it was relatively free of the stuff, I pushed my fingers there again. Feeling around, I found the button and pushed, pulling the compartment up. It opened with an audible croak. The fucking thing was sitting in its nest, intact. I took it out and clapped the lid shut.

The board-card lay in my hand, an inch of plastic and metal that caused so much fuss. I couldn't restrain a laugh. It could have been damaged inside. At least, I had the serial number. The card went into my breast pocket and I leaned on the scooter. What should I do with it now?
I looked at the swamp ahead. It seemed a good idea. There was nothing of value left in the machine, and towing it to the cabin was out of the question.

Lost in my pondering, I noticed too late the lowering of the ground I stood on. When I did, it was already going. I managed to make just one step away from the scooter when the whole area collapsed downward. I was in the free fall for seconds that seemed like hours. So helpless. The winch pinged again, only this time above me. The scooter swung at me and collided with my chest. Air rushed out of me, and I hit solid earth with my back.

When the ruckus was over, I looked around and examined the situation. I was in a deep cavity, pinned to the ground with the heavy scooter that was still attached to the winch that was wrapped around the tree. Thanks to that fact, the working machine didn't join us in the hole. It just so happened that my left hand got pinned under the retrieved machine. The one with the communicator on it. In other words, I was trapped in a hole in the forest, no one knew where I was, and I had no means of telling them. And oh yeah, the rifle was under my back, so close and so distant. I couldn't even signal my location by shooting in the air.

FUCK.

I lay still and listened to myself. Breathe in, breathe out.
The chest moved hard, but without pain. So, no broken ribs. My right hand was free. I moved it, slapping around the area. It wasn't broken. My face was inches from the seat. It smelled of plastic, rubber and fungus. Something needed to be done.

The elbow propped itself on the hard ground. The heels dug down. I strained my whole body, creating a bridge and trying to lift the scooter off me. It rocked and shifted over me, but to no avail. I was pinned down good.

I slapped the fucking thing as if that could help the matter and dropped my head. The sky was clear and hung over me. I could see only it and some smoky clouds, no trees. I imagined how I would look to others when they find my corpse. The lousiest ranger in the world mired his scooter, tried pulling it out and was killed by it. That could make it into the headlines. I would be a celebrity. Maybe, even enter the language. 'You're such a wealder,' people would say.

I slapped myself on the forehead. What was I thinking about? I took the deepest breath I could and screamed, 'HELP ME! I'M TRAPPED!'

No answer, as expected.

I screamed again and then stopped. No use kidding myself, no one could hear you out here. I thought about that a bit. I was at the edge of my territory, Ort's sector and the wild-lands. There were my cameras nearby. Ergo, there were Ort's cameras not far from the pit. If I walked right into them, they'd have registered my presence and alerted him. I couldn't do that, obviously. On the other hand, he could have heard me screaming and maybe was already rushing to help me. Yeah, fat chance.
Forest is a loud place full of screams, chattering and whatever. Cameras wouldn't pick up yelling from a hole in the ground. But I had nothing else to do, so…

I took another deep breath and looked up. My scream stuck in the throat and I choked. There was a dark human shape leaning over the edge. My first thought was about Ort, but the silhouette was too small for him.

The third rule of the forest — always beware of humanoids.

My feet got chilly, and then the cold rose up my body. The silhouette was almost square. An alien. He, or she, was looking straight at me, but I could see nothing but darkness against the bright sky. Then the guest looked up, presumably at my scooter above. I saw the face. R'lok. I saved his life, so maybe he could help me. Edlon said that he could understand human and even talk.

'Hey!' I hesitated, not knowing what to call him. 'Buddy, I need help!'

The native looked at me again. Did he understand me?

'I'm trapped here!' I yelled, pointing at the scooter. 'Can you—' He vanished. The sky was clear again. So much for gratitude…

The winch jerked. I looked up, and dirt fell into my face. The rope was moving over the edge of the pit. He was trying to pull me out. The winch slid up, pulling the scooter with itself. One end of the machine rose into the air. I feverishly pushed myself out of the trap, but didn't make it far. There was a grunt from above, and the load dropped on me.

The head appeared again, this time almost directly above me. 'Too heavy,' the alien said. His voice was rough, like a dog trying to speak. Yet, it was perfectly understandable. The sound of it made my heart race.

'Go there,' I waved my free hand in the direction of Ort's sector. 'Tell him of this situation through—' I paused, not knowing how to explain surveillance to him.

'Talk to highwatcher, yes,' the alien said. 'Call another thundergod.'

Hope flowed through my veins. 'Yes, yes,' my head bobbed up and down. 'Go now.'

R'lok leaned forward and made a ring with his thumb and forefinger. With that, he was gone. I heard footsteps going away from the pit. I assumed that he knew what to do. Judging by our previous encounter, he could pantomime into a camera. I hoped that Ort would understand him.

All I had to do now was lie and wait.

Time stretched in the most inhumane manner. It could have been minutes or hours since the alien had left, and there was no sign of Ort. I concentrated on the environment trying to dispense the sound of the coming scooter from everything else. I heard only the rustling of leaves, the cracking of wood and occasional animal cries. I was alone.

The legs went to sleep. The right shoulder blade pulsed with pain, the rifle was rubbing it the wrong way. The earth was cold, and my nose started to run. Shit…
Every time I looked up, I saw nothing but an indifferent sky above. It didn't care about my problems. I was just food for the forest. Eventually, my thoughts moved from the matters above me to what was below me. I didn't fool myself. The pit was just a tip of a bigger cavity. Floating earth doesn't exist without one under it. I was lucky not to fall down, deep into Safun. There, nothing would have helped me, ever.

I heard rustling sounds and puffing.
So close.
I imagined a giant mole coming out of the ground and biting me in half. I shook my head, waving away the image. No such creature lived here. Or did it? Meanwhile, the puffing came closer. The source was somewhere on the surface. I readied for the worst. A taj…

A fluffy head appeared over the edge and looked at me. It wasn't a taj, but something far smaller. The animal twitched its whiskers in the air and moved the round ears. I didn't like that. The animal leaned over the edge and hung on the wall, grabbing it with small claws. It was a kind of possum, I didn't know the proper name. Size of a cat, gray and white, long tail. And small sharp teeth in its long mouth. It started to crawl towards me.