Beowulf's Children Part 34

But this was safe-at least from grendels. Their distance from water guaranteed that. Whatever other dangers lurked out there . . . well, that was another question.

He drew a little horseshoe in the dust with his toe. "All right," he said. "Twenty-five klicks west. Jungle starts there, but it's mostly fed by underground streams. The closest surface water is still eight kilometers distant. Lots of slow moving ground animals, so we figure it's a grendel-free zone. We're going to find the spider devils. The question is the proper means of capture. Any suggestions?"

All three of them stared at the crude map for a few minutes, then shook their heads.

Little Chaka strolled over. He looked larger than life, and dusty, and extremely happy. No question why! In the last month he had begun the generations-long process of categorizing the life forms on the mainland, s.h.i.+pping samples back to Camelot a dirigible-load at a time. A labor of love, the beginning of a life's work.

He said, "Father has some ideas about the spider devils. The first thing is . . . we're going to have to lose one of the piglets . . . "

"Ahhh."

"And I was just getting attached to the ugly little b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," Justin said.

"Well, go find the ugliest one and say your good-byes. By this time tomorrow, it will be an ex-piglet."

Jessica bounced up to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Rest time is over.

Let's go and take a look at this."

"They're up there," Chaka said.

The sound sensors picked up the web spinners as they chattered to each other. Jessica, Justin, and Chaka were eighty meters to the east, as close as they could get without scaring the creatures away. It was plenty close enough to let them pick up the chittering and constant, oddly sensual singing.

"All right," Chaka whispered. "Let the piglet go."

The snouter looked confused. It carried enough tranquilizer in its belly to stupefy a battalion of grendels; but the membrane holding the toxin had not ruptured. It also wore a collar of Chaka's design. A needle ran from it into an extremely sensitive cl.u.s.ter of nerve endings in its snout.

When the cage door lifted, the snouter sniffed freedom and set off running. It got five steps when the first jolt of pain clobbered it. It flopped over onto its side, and wobbled back up as if it couldn't quite believe what had happened to it. It tried running north again, and got another shock.

Down it went.

"Meanie," Jessica whispered.

"That's me," Chaka agreed heartily.

The snouter turned and ran south. It got another eight paces before Chaka zapped it again. It fell over as if pole-axed.

Now one very confused little snouter, this time it tried to walk west, toward the trees. It got six paces, and then stopped-sniffed as if asking the air a question.

"That's the direction," Chaka agreed. "Nice snouter." If it hared off line, he zapped it, but softer this time, and it began going right where they wanted it.

It stopped just short of the trees.

"He's making visual contact with the spiders," he said. "Or vice versa. And there goes the music." It was louder now, and pitched lower, almost echoing the snouter's snorts.

"What do you think?" Justin asked. "If an animal is raised or nurtured by its parents, what are the chances that it is conditioned to respond to something that sounds like its mommy's voice?"

"The spiders are singing it a lullaby," Jessica laughed.

"How quaint."

The snouter hardly needed prompting. Dazed, it wandered into the forest one halting step at a time. It stopped to nibble on something green, then took another couple of steps, and trotted happily into the forest.

Justin's war specs automatically followed the creature until it was swallowed by trees.

"They'll be focused on the kill," he said quietly. "Let's get a little closer."

The brush had a jungle flavor to it, fan-shaped trees and spiky bushes, a dense tangle of greens and yellows. They crawled forward to a new position, where they could see through the tangle of brush. Justin suddenly heard a snort of pain and betrayal, of sudden, ma.s.sive fear.

The snouter was caught in a web. It was thras.h.i.+ng and twisting frantically, to no avail at all.

Justin focused in. The strands were green and white, and apparently quite strong. The snouter made a frantic, heroic effort and almost tore itself free before something dropped on it from above. Something broad and fibrous: a net, or a coa.r.s.er version of the web.

Helpless now, it rolled over onto its side and quivered.

They moved in from the shadows. One, two, three, four, five . . . six black stick figures. Justin had wondered if they would be yet another Avalon crab, but they weren't. In motion the web spinners did look like great spiders, with small torsos, tiny heads, and four long, long limbs.

"Perfect," Chaka said.

The things were closer now, and the snouter had ceased struggling. They sang, and the song was hypnotic, in perfect tune with the snouter's own sounds. Calming. Dreamlike. Almost anesthetic.

"Jesus," Jessica said. "Kill it, will you?"

Chaka laughed. "You have no sense of drama. Ca.s.sandra. Trigger the implant."

The snouter heaved once, ma.s.sively, crashed back down, and was utterly still.

The largest spider devil came a little closer, probing. It didn't seem to like the sudden stillness, but the nearness of fresh meat was too much for it. It descended, sank fangs, and went to work. The others followed, and the scene turned into a general feast. An entire colony of the spider devils was home for dinner.

After five minutes, Chaka stood. "Let's go," he said. "Motion sensors?"

"Nothing larger than ten kilos. No sudden s.h.i.+fts in wind."

"All right. Let's go."

Rifles at the ready, they entered the forest in a modified wing formation.

Spongy loam underfoot. Smells of camphor and lemon. Everything seemed to smell more vibrant than the colors that exploded around them. The forest canopy wasn't particularly high here, but every tree limb was ripe and heavy with leaves, and vines, and fruit . . . or things that looked like fruit.

Just out of Justin's reach hung something purple and bulbous, like a cl.u.s.ter of fused grapes, or a blackberry. He reached out and prodded it with the tip of his rifle, and it dissolved into a colony of marble-sized purple leggy things that swarmed up the branch to re-form a few feet farther away.

He wondered what would have happened if he had touched it with his naked hand.

That wouldn't be possible right now. They wore lightweight membrane suits that covered their entire bodies with a thin, tough barrier impenetrable to all but the most determined attacker. An entirely reasonable precaution: Chaka had already categorized at least twelve deadly plants and identified three toxic species. Small things, with a biotoxin about a dozen times stronger than a wasp. Not lethal to an adult, they would still grant a few days of truly memorable sensation.

A couple of lizard-like things perched on branches. Uncla.s.sified.

Cute. Venomous or worse.

They were in the clearing now. The light slanted down through the trees, giving a louvered effect.

"Motion sensors?"

Jessica checked a wrist sensor. "Nothing for a hundred meters."

They knelt, and examined their take. The snouter was both withered and half-devoured. The spider devils had first sucked his juice, then ripped him apart.

They lay on their sides, motionless. Their faces were tiny but manlike, lips slightly parted. One, the largest, lay on its back. Its legs closed feebly on Chaka's tongs when he prodded it.

"Alive." He picked it up and examined it. The four legs quivered. Legs and torso were covered with straight black hair. These were mammaloids, Joeys, though evolved in a drastically different direction. Wet-looking lips drooled something thin and milky.

"Close your mouth while you chew," Chaka said, and unfolded his basket to drop them in one at a time.

"All of them?" Justin asked.

"Sure. They might be some kind of hive mind. Might not even be able to survive separated. I'll get them ready to s.h.i.+p back to Father." He grinned. "Of course, they may have ice on their minds."

Jessica and Justin examined the web. She was sc.r.a.ping goo from what seemed to be an enormous mat of thin vines, and putting a bit of it into a sample bottle.

"What the h.e.l.l is it?" Justin asked, scratching his head.

"It looks like a lattice of leaves," she said. "They chewed up the connective fibers, leaving just this heavy venous stuff. Then they coated it with something sticky, probably a biological exudate."

"So it's not a true web."

"No. They're interacting with the environment."

"A bit chancy. They're vulnerable to the quality of the materials."

"No more than a beaver," Chaka said.

"Why would a tree want to make something useful to a spider devil?"

"Maybe they furnish the tree with high-energy droppings."

Her sample bottle had everything that it needed, and she snapped it shut. "Let's get out of here. I don't feel all that comfortable here."

"Come now. The woods are lovely, dark and deep."

"Yeah, right. But I have promises to keep."

"Right." They unclipped a rod from the side of the basket, extended it, and threaded it through loops at the top. Chaka hoisted it over one shoulder, and Jessica took the other end. Justin kept his rifle at the ready, movement and thermal sensors tuned.

And they encountered no problems at all, all the way back to the trikes.

The NickNack was a much smaller version of Robor, a cargo mover ballasted by hydrogen sacks, large enough to carry a dozen people and small enough to be powered by a single skeeter. It was reliable so long as they didn't run into bad weather.

Cigar-shaped, it hovered above the animal pens. The spider devils were frozen, the dozens of plant and insect specimens neatly and safely stowed away. They would easily survive the eight-hour trip.

Eight hours as the pterodon flies. On the other hand, to paraphrase the old joke, if the pterodon had to walk and herd a group of recalcitrant chamels, it would take twelve times as long.

"Aaron will be back by morning," Jessica said. "Then we can start them moving. Ca.s.sandra? Map."

A contour map showing a quarter of the continent opened in the air before them.

"Close on our position, Ca.s.sie. Good enough. Group, we need to water the chamels daily. We need to clear the water holes of grendels before we get to them. Trikes, horses, and skeeters are the ticket. We leapfrog ahead. Should take four days. Any questions?"

Jessica leaned back against the log. She could hear the chamels snorting in their pens. The males bonded readily to horses doused in chamel scent, and the larger females would follow the males. Her stomach buzzed with adrenaline. A new adventure. What they had fought for, bargained for . . .

Died for . . .

She sloshed her coffee down on the ground, and stood. "Let's get a good night's sleep tonight, and get started early."

"Aye."

"Aye."

The fences, the generators, the shelters, and a cache of weapons would be left behind. Eventually, there would be supply stations all over the southern tip of the continent. Forty-eight hours of juice in the fences, and enough weapons to make a h.e.l.l of a stand before help arrived, with help never more than twelve hours away.

She high-fived Chaka. "Good job."

He grinned broadly. Chaka was just happy to be totally swamped with specimens. He wandered off to search for new fronds to tag.

Jessica and Justin remained by the fireside. Silences between them were strained these days, ever since . . . what had happened. But that was the chance they had taken. If anything he seemed more uncomfortable about it than she did. And that, she decided, was appropriate.

"Looking forward to the week?"

"We'll see a lot of territory," he said.

"Good find," she said. "The females make good meat, and are decent beasts of burden. The males are as fast as racehorses. Good stock.

"Imagine a hunt," she said. "Some kind of camo s.h.i.+rts and pants, and riding one of these beauties. Sneak up on anything."

"I've thought about it for weeks." Justin stretched. "Well, I think it's that time. Big day tomorrow."

"Big day."

He left without a backward glance. Jessica hunched her knees and stared into the fire. For all of her life she had treasured countless long, intimate conversations with Justin. She missed them more than she could have dreamed.

And yet . . . what she had done . . . what they had done was right. The only thing she regretted was Tos.h.i.+ro. He of the gifted hands and strong, golden body . . .

He had made his choice. As Justin had made his.

As her father had made his. And the colony theirs.

The fire crackled, grew higher and warmer, and then slowly began to die. It was well after midnight before she felt sleepiness to match her fatigue.

Justin woke at the stirring of the horses. For a bare moment he was disoriented, unable to remember where he was. In his father's house? He sat up in his bedroll and washed his face from a canteen. On the mainland every camp away from a base would be a dry camp. Tau Ceti was showing a bare sliver of red to the east, and the air was pleasantly chill. The prairie was silent, and the creatures that took the place of insects on Avalon were quiet.