He Without Sin (11 page)

I have heard about these units. They dock directly to a flyer and are used for transporting raw materials or anything really. I can see where Dylan has been working this site. We muscle the ore cart to a pile of previously broken rock and begin loading the easily manageable pieces. I like this work. I can see that Dylan could handle it alone, and probably has done so many times at various sites during our stay. Even though we don’t speak much I think Dylan enjoys the company.

The right hand rule is, of course, applied to all new worlds to establish a uniform reference for north. Latitude is straightforward. Longitude is based on a stake dropped into a hopefully stable and prominent land mass upon first mapping. Sometimes this works for eons but other times upheavals on a planet’s surface will obliterate the stake. In that case, a new one is planted at the next visit. For missions like ours, base camp center is the local zero for the duration of our stay and it is offset to the stake location in the official records. It’s a best attempt at continuity over time. This system places us at about 7 W and 34 N.

There are clouds moving in from the northwest, but not threatening ones. The way the sun and shadow play on the lower elevations within our view is beautiful. Dylan points and we see the distant sea, far off to the southwest.

“This sure seems inefficient, carting these small loads back and forth across the planet,” I say as we continue to manually load. “Is any of this stuff radioactive?”

“It’s not as bad as you might think. We only go after the richest deposits in the easiest locations to access. The yields that Mark gets are high. And he purposely chose base camp close to the items he needs the most of. He’s a smart cookie… although I don’t think he likes me. As far as radioactive material, that’s not what we are loading here. I mean, there could be some percentage but it’s not the main resource. Just be sure to check in with Doc when you get back and you will be alright.”

He smiles at my concern and looks away, toward the vegetation to the west, the side of the outcropping that begins to slope downward steadily.

“Oh Mark likes you alright, he just comes on gruff. Did the same to me. Still does. He gets a kick out of it. Say, how is Brachus working out for you guys?”

“Hold on,” says Dylan and he gives a sharp whistle while continuing to look in the same westerly direction. “He doesn’t know what to make of you. Stay here. Take this,” he says as he hands me a small pouch and heads away.

I tense at the mention of ‘he’ and try to follow Dylan’s gaze. There is something there at the edge of the clearing, but what? I stand erect now, listening and looking intently. What the…? Out of the brush comes a dog. I mean to say, it looks for all the world like a kind of dog! It’s got a somewhat odd shape, especially around the head, and looks like it could fend for itself no problem. And the mannerisms definitely say ‘dog.’

“Dylan, what the heck have you got going here? Be careful with that thing. If he attacks, I’m taking off, you’re on your own,” I say, only half-joking. I have fumbled for and pulled out my weapon, but Dylan looks back, sees me, and waves his hand as if to say ‘not to worry’.

“Put that away. Toss one of the pieces of the food I brought over here. I want you to meet Dex.”

“Yeah, that’s ok. You keep him right there; I’ll toss the food.”

I do not take my eyes off ‘Dex’ while trying to figure out what to do next. Wait, what happened to the pouch? I see I dropped it when Dex first appeared. Still holding my weapon, I shuffle to the pouch and pick it up.

“Did you say he wants to meet me, or eat me?” I ask in an effort to disguise my concern. Dex looks like he might be about a quarter of my weight, and if he took a running leap could easily knock me down. I’ll keep the weapon out, thank you. Those two seem to be getting along OK but I swear the dog is watching me as closely as I am watching him, or her, or whatever it is.

“He lives down the hill. He heard us. He came up the last couple times I was here. Jason, ease up and come here. Toss him something. He’s not here to stalk or attack, he’s curious and friendly.”

“Ok, sure, whatever you say. I’ll be right there,” I lie, having no intention of leaving the relative safety of my position at the ore cart. I toss a bit of food toward Dex as Dylan, realizing, I guess, that I’m not coming any closer, begins to walk my way. Dex warily watches my toss, then turns his attention to the food, likes what he smells and eats it up. He follows Dylan but stops short, well back from me. It seems we are on the same wavelength there. It’s a standoff of toleration for the moment as Dex actually sits down on his haunches and assumes a more relaxed but alert posture, ears erect and gaze steady.

“Ok, you two. Have it your way. At least he has seen you. Next time you will be old friends.”

I suggest we get back to work, secretly hoping Dex will skedaddle back to his cave or wherever. “Man, that was a shock. I mean, how did you get him so tame? It’s almost like he’s been with people before.”

Dylan looks at Dex, then at me and says calmly, “He has.”

I am getting used to the short days now. It’s
beginning to seem normal whereas just a little
while ago I had a sort of dizzy feeling as they
whizzed past. This has to be a brief entry. I am
logging this from the field at Dylan’s mining
location. I’m still not over the double whammy of,
first, Dex and, second, Dylan’s admission of native
contact. This kid is a wonder and apparently
fearless. We finished loading all the prepped ore,
cracked out some more, and tomorrow will locate
and prepare even more for a future visit. If we are lucky, he says, he may be able to introduce me to
one of the locals. As incredible as it seems, Dylan
says he has started a rudimentary communication
with them. I say he is playing with fire as any native
will find us not just as an outsider in his territory,
but a
way
outsider, and may therefore feel
threatened and become aggressive. If they find the
transport or ore cart, they will not be able to
reconcile these things with their experience, period. The results are unpredictable, and I told him so. I
know he heard me, but made no reply.

Burnin’ Fire

Sleep is impossible. After learning that Dylan has made contact, and knowing that we are in an exposed area, I can’t help but stay alert. And of course now I clearly hear and ascribe every night sound to prowlers, murderers and savage beasts.

Dylan is immobile and out to the world, deep asleep by all signs. The perimeter alarm is set and we are in his little temporary dome. ‘That’s enough for us,’ he says, ‘they have no lights or real weapons to speak of, we are safe, especially at night’ he says. Bull. I just heard pawing and snuffling right outside the dome.

Sleep comes, dreams come. I am standing alone in our back yard, in the dark, facing the rear of the house where I grew up. I have lost the dream-thread that led me to here but no matter. My attention is drawn to the sound of children playing. I listen without turning, for the sound comes from behind me, for several moments. It gets louder. I turn without haste and see, through a chain link fence, a scene as if on a large, well-lit stage. The fence separates me from the stage; the setting is a schoolyard. The schoolyard is filled with youngsters out for recess and they are in various phases of activity, on and around playground equipment. The sound of their high-pitched voices, laughing and shouting, changes character slowly and for some length of time I am puzzled. It is at this moment of awakening that I realize the vision is a dream but the sound persists! In the dark, I turn my head and see Dylan, sound asleep, in the little camp dome. The sound from my dream continues, but it is not children, it is a pack of baying animals in the night, and not too far away either. Their yipping and howling combine and separate, rise and fall, and then stop altogether. Could it be Dex and his kind? No, not Dex, the sounds are too high-pitched for him. The night passes into silence and sleep eventually returns.

Notwithstanding this restless night, I am getting used to these incredibly short sleep/wake cycles. A good long rest at base camp is in order however, as soon as I get back.

We finish doing what we can on this visit, re-dock the ore cart and return to base without further incident. Mark is nowhere to be found. Porter helps us deliver the ore and is scheduled to take off with the transport next. Dylan thanks me for the help. He hopes I enjoyed being out in the ‘real world’ and heads off on some other business.

Porter asks me, “Do you want to come with? I have to run out and swap an empty tub for a full. It’s a great ride, over an ocean and all.” He waits patiently while I think how to answer, unsure if I want another adventure so soon. “How about a cup of burnin’ fire while we wait for Mark to return and empty the tub?” he offers with a grin. “It’s the latest discovery—here, I’ll get us both one. You’ve got to try it.”

I follow this eager and friendly young ‘kid’ to the mess hall and sit. I say ‘young kid’ but it’s only in response to his demeanor. I suspect he is a bit older than me. He prepares and brings a couple cups of a steaming brown liquid, his cup having a lid for travel. “Doc approved and David blessed. Careful, it’s hot.” His curly hair and near-constant smile add to my positive image of him. Porter is one of the very few people who have opted for external vision correction and his glasses, wire framed and slightly askew, fit his personality exactly.

“Burnin’ fire, eh?” I say, as I tentatively take a sip. I notice I have several messages and need to address them; one is from David. “Who do you work for? Mark?” I ask.

“Everybody. What do you need?” he responds happily. “I have several bosses and like it that way. They can fight out for their priorities and let me know who wins. No sweat, no strain. Right now, Mark wins and I have to git.” He takes another sip, heads for the flyer, shouts something to Craig across the way, and departs.

David’s message is an ambiguous query. Something about a separate private and personal channel, but linked into Brachus’ group. Great, another one. I check via my genie that he is free at the moment and contact him; he picks up. “Private channel, linked to the Resource Group?” I begin.

“Yes, please, as soon as you can get around to it. Wesley is working with me down here and I need to be able to communicate with him directly but not publicly with both voice and data.” I can see the Academy’s ‘open and clear communication’ mantra is going to take another hit.

“Alright. I can do it, should have it ready by tomorrow. You’ll receive a message from me with your access ID and instructions on how to initiate and make it your own.”

“One more thing…”

“Yes?” I ask, after a few moments of silence.

“I want a separate way to keep notes for myself only—not public or official or shared in any way.” I don’t need to hear the reason for this, after all, he is the boss, but he offers one anyway. “A lot my documentation will be indecipherable to anyone but me. I need a way to make quick entries without taking the time to formulate and clarify them. I will go back later and enter the relevant info into the official record. It will make more sense than the raw notes will. You follow me?”

Oh, I follow. I don’t like it, but I follow.

“Yes, sir. I can set this up and send you a second message with everything you need.”

We disconnect. This request is not a big deal technically; after all, the last part of it is essentially the same thing I have done for my little diary. But he is the commander, and, as he said, he wants to keep his raw notes private and off the official record until he can massage and enter them. What the heck is he doing down there? Isn’t the sequencing and logging of the genome and variants a straightforward task? Can this be about the ‘more extensive work’ he referred to on my visit to the bio site?

______

Dylan never answered my question about working for Wes. I wonder what he can tell me? Porter—he has the right idea. Mind your own business. Get a task, work on it. Get another one, work on it. Certainly less stressful that way. He seems happy, this Porter.

I’m off to Gleshert to see if I did any damage to myself out there at the mining site, and I better ask what this stuff is I’m drinking while I’m at it.

“Sorry, mate, just leavin’. How are ya keepin’?” says Grigor as I make my way into the med reception area. I get the expected wink from Vanessa.

“Grigor! No problem. I am good. You?”

“The GlassMan says I’ll live to fight another day.” He shows me a nasty abrasion on his right arm. “It’s a lucky thing I have two of these.” Meaning his arms.

“What happened? What do you have on it?”

“Just a scratch, just a scratch. Doc has some new goo that he used to cover and heal. Touch it.”

I decline. “You get this down here? I saw you when I took off with Dylan. When was that—today? No, the other day. I’ve been losing track of time lately.”

“Yes, I hear you there. I did some mountain climbing; my own fault. Well, no worries, I’ll leave you to more important business. See ya Doc. See ya doll.”

“Hey, wait, and you too Doc, what is this concoction I just had over at the kitchen? It’s coffee-like. You’ve had it? It’s a little bitter but what is it? Actually, I don’t care what it is. Is it safe, is the question.”

“It’s a Weasely Brachus thing. I won’t touch it and you shouldn’t either,” says Grigor as he pauses momentarily before heading out.

“Doc, what do you say? Have you tried it or tested it?”

“Come in and sit down. You’ve been out at one of the remote sites?” I nod as he looks me over and begins what seems to me to be a routine checkout. “Give me your card.” He takes it, inserts the card, mumbles to himself, and then turns to me. His cowlick is still right where it’s always been. “Drink the stuff if you like it. One of the Resource team found animals eating some berries. They were bitter and inedible to him, but someone in his party, in their apparently abundant spare time,” he added with obvious distaste, “figured out they can make an interesting beverage if boiled or processed somehow with water. I don’t know the details. I believe Aileen could tell you more of how it’s done.” Distracted from this train of thought for a moment by the results from my card reading he says, “The card shows negative, same for the other tests. You are clear until your next t-session.” Meaning the telomere treatment with which we have all grown so familiar.