The trees were green and fern-like though tall, growing upwards twenty feet or more. Their trunks looked to be made of twisted vines that swayed easily in the light breeze. Taking a jackknife to one revealed the trunks to be soft and sappy. Sticky resin flowed out amber, making my fingers tacky. I squatted down, rolling the sap off in the dirt. Reems loped on, eventually leaving the barely trampled trail we followed, veering right.
The undergrowth thickened, and seemed to pitch downwards as I wended after the cat. Soon a burble and rush became audible and the air took on a damper, I'd call it metallic, tang. Then there it was, flowing slow and clear before us. A few small twiggy parts lodged in it, making bow waves and trailing ripples. It flowed back, generally parallel to the camp.
“So, here ist, said Reems. “Vot now?”
“I'd like to follow the bank upstream a while. That should take us toward higher ground.”
“Then, you lead. This is as far as I haff went.”
“Did you see anything bigger than yourself while catting about?”
“Very funny, Tomas. Nein. Notzing big. Daytime vas, though. In ze night, who knows?”
We made our way for an hour or so, then the bank became cluttered with growth. I broke out the cutter/ax thingy, gratis the Kreeb care package, and burned onward for another twenty minutes along it. I saw no sign that anyone else had gone this far.
The forest had started to thin somewhat. My legs agreed we were trudging up-slope. I stopped, reaching down to massage a growing kink out of my left calf. Despite the mild incline, we had gained a good bit of elevation. The stream went up a cataract of boulders at this point, and would be a real climb from now on.
“Let's try going up, a little away from the water where it's less slippery. We'll keep the stream in sight.”
Reems' prior round-about warning, that night might bring forward larger predators, didn't bother me yet. It was early still, and I meant to start back within another hour, unless something more interesting came of the excursion. The extra height should provide a better overview of the area, so I felt the effort worthwhile.
As the slope steepened, the sweet smelling ferns thinned, revealing harder rocky terrain. A wind built, bringing with it a bit of a nip, enough to raise the hair on my arms. Something black skittered between the rocks here, just out of the corner of my eyes.
“Reems?”
“I see it. Vill chase it.”
“No! Don't...” Too late. Reems was off in a flash.
The cat zigzagged after it. Visible head-on now, the thing dodged quickly from one piece of cover to another, Reems leaping after. It was black, with lots of legs. It flowed over the broken ground fast enough to trouble my cat, which doesn't often happen. The thing finally scrabbled behind a rock, where Reems pounced on it. There came a yowl followed by a stream of Germanic invective. I rushed up, craning to see as the cat continued bouncing up and down, tussling with what he had cornered. A big insect, I thought at first. The glossy black covering and quick movement gave that impression. Reems batted it around, flipped it over, and my opinion changed. Underneath, small wheels and armatures worked the apparent legs, six of them, in a fury of semi-independent movements. What I thought of as antennae, were just that, but of the transmitting, receiving kind, complete with little copper coil boosters at the base of them.
“Ist a Toy. Fun vas.”
“I don't think so, Reems.” Some kind of drill/rock abrasion tool was popping in and out of the underside, making whizzing sounds. At least, it looked like a little drill. A small shiny stamp near the rear of it, said Reese Corp, and it looked new. I didn't know of any manufacturer with enough consistent power to make stuff like that anymore. Most of those companies had gone the way of everything else, once resources,or good infrastructure to transport them and goods generally, got scarce.
What really puzzled me though, was just the fact it was not Kreeb built. So how did it get here? The Kreeb said there were metals in these slopes, figured they had done some kind of survey. Maybe it was something that Benjamin guy -- what was the name? Rouk, I remembered. Maybe the meteorologist knew about it, or had released it. Couldn't guess how to shut it down without smashing it up, so I waved Reems away. “Leave it be, Reems. Maybe it belongs to one of the campers. We can find out later.”
“But, it's fun, undt...”
“We don't know what it's for, or who owns it. Let it go.” Turning it back over with my shoe sent it snaking away up slope.
“Hmpfh. So den. Ve go on?”
The hills got higher beyond this point, the valley below a patchwork of greenery and dryer, more yellow open areas. Nothing from this height seemed unusual, save the glinty break of the camp in the distance. It reminded me of some vistas in Arkansas, but without the winding white of switchbacks or other roadways.
I looked at the graying sky, and shook my head. “Getting late. Let's start back.”
####
A ruckus of excited voices greeted us as we stepped into the camp's clearing. George Getty and some number of his pals milled around to the left of the central tent where I had first met Crista and Henry. On the tent's right, a somewhat larger bunch gathered. Henry and the older lady stood staunchly centered before both parties.
Henry's arms lifted in a placating gesture, obviously addressing both groups. This didn't look good, and I stopped to take it all in. The cat ignored it, and continued to wind his way into the campsite. Whatever was going on could wait a little. The Kreeb dome, where I last saw the weatherman, took precedence. Hope was, to find him still there, poring over the maps he seemed so interested in earlier. Besides, I might find someone cool-headed to ask about the crowd, not relishing wading into the mob.
Movement stirred before the dome. My target stepped out of the entrance, and stood there, looking thoughtful, absorbed with twisting at a roll of paper he held with both hands. A bit of luck, since I didn't really want to confront any more bugs today. I got quite close before he took notice. He looked up quizzically, still distracted.
“You don't know me, but Henry said you'd be the man to ask about the local geology. I'm Tomas, a new arrival.”
Rouk's eyes seemed to lose what little interest they held. “There's a tent in the center of camp. Someone's always there to answer newbie questions. I'm a little busy...”
“Well it's pretty specific, about something I found in the mountains.”
Rouk looked a little startled. He freed one hand from the scrolls to pull back his black hair and looked at me with more interest. “In the mountains?”
“Well, in the foothills, anyway.” I described the little survey bot I had found there. “I thought, it might be yours, or belong to someone you might know. Just seemed, you know, out of place, not being Kreeb made and all.”
Rouk glanced down at the documents he held, frowning. “No. You've described a NASA Geo-probe. No one here would be carrying around an old NASA Geo-probe, or even have access to one. These maps,” he shook the paper roll, ”bother me because of something similar.”
He turned to put the wind at his back, and unrolled the document, tracing a finger over the graduated scale bordering it. “Along the edges, see? This map is scaled in kilometers.”
“So?”
“The Kreeb don't scale things in metric. The metric system is based on the circumference of the Earth. The Kreeb might have learned it, but it can't be a map native to the Kreeb. This is a copy they made me, from their own files. Even the elevation markers used are standard survey symbols.”
As it just looked like a lot of squiggles and goblety-gook, I said, “Um. I'll take your word on it. Point being?”
Rouk's face dropped a little, as doubtless did his opinion of me. “There's a fair chance the map was made from data collected by probes, like the one you found. They have that look. Up till now, I thought it odd, but maybe they had just reinterpreted their maps for us, but you found a probe.”
While something to muddle over, I shrugged. “So the map is from some twenty-second century NASA mission?”
Rouk barked at this. “There's no way NASA could possibly have placed probes on a planet several trillion miles away in deep space, let alone transmitted survey data back home. That's the puzzle. What did you do with the probe?”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I didn't know for certain what it was, or why it was there, so I left it alone. Maybe the Kreeb used some of our survey probes. Why I asked you about it.”
“Sure, and possibly you hunt with a Zulu spear and a stone ax. There'd be no reason for Kreeb to waste time with our tech.”
“Maybe we should report this at the tent.”
“Maybe. I'd like to inspect some of these deposit sites they've marked out first. See what other kinds of traces are around them. Like to get my hands on that probe, too.”
I admit, it started to stir uncomfortable thoughts in me, as well. Meantime though, “By the way, what's going on in tent city?”
Rouk glanced at the mob of campers.
“Oh, that. Probably George, or Josef, trying to force a vote for forming a governing body. Both have a Civic godhood complex. Henry will take care of it.”
The bunch around George seemed a little more than agitated now, which made me uneasy. Someone called for a vote, and a ragged raising of hands followed, then more sounds of discontent. A jostling worked its way through the crowd, and the brown mop of Christa pushed out of it, making straight for us, Lisa trailing after.
Christa looked a bit worn down and agitated. Her eyes darted from Rouk to me. “Henry sent me, we need you both, to cast a vote. Do you mind?”
“On what?”
“Josef wants to force an election to make himself head of a provisional government, George is going along with the idea, save with himself in charge, of course.”
“So? What Government?”
Buh, exactly.” Christa's hands flew up in the air. “Henry and I proposed picking a council to consider what kind of structure we need for now, but George pressed for a vote, saying we can consider the details later. We're kind of tied, your two votes could decide this, give us a chance to work out a few things, and perhaps time to raise up a few other choices before electing George or Josef our Fearless Leader.”
I shrugged. Civic involvement wasn't my thing. “Now?”
Lisa gave me a mean look. “What the hell is the matter with you, Champ. Don't you care what goes on around you? Of course now.”
“Sorry. Guess I'm a bit of a survivalist. Never paid much attention to stuff like that.”
“Survivalist, yah?” she spat. “More like a zombie. I've seen that in you, champ.”
“Tomas.”
“Okay, Tomas, then. You get here, and right off, you're all downtown about being kidnapped and shuttled off to god knows where, by a bunch a' bugs, and completely unconcerned with much of anything, and get bitey any time someone asks after you, yah? I heard about your limp-wrist conversation with Henry and Christa. What's it take to wake you up?” This was accompanied by a push.
I stumbled back, startled by the rant, but this time remembered myself, and tried to do better. “About yesterday, Lisa. I apologize, really. But, I really wasn't peeking at your choices. Just made me angry to be judged out of hand, over nothing, O.K.? I've had to play the ball where it lies pretty much my whole life. There hasn't even been any kind of civil structure to take an interest in, in my world. It's not that I don't care. Besides my cat, I never had much more than food and shelter to worry over.”
Rouk looked embarrassed, but added, ”Tomas did go out and survey all the way to the foothills, even further than I have gotten, all on his own. Brought back some quite important information, as could affect the camp. I wouldn't call him unconcerned, Lisa. You could judge people a little less quickly, sometimes.”
Lisa went quiet for a moment. “Alright. I'm sorry too. Maybe I get wound too tight sometimes. Let's start again, O.K.?”
Christa interrupted urgently. “The vote? Now?”
Christa's ideas felt reasonable to me, and although George seemed okay, far as that went, didn't see why anyone needed to elect a Grand Poobah right off, either.
Rouk just made a sour face. “Elect George? To hell with that. You can have my vote.”
Christa looked relieved, and turned her full attention to me.
I nodded. “I'm with Mr. Rouk. Might as well wait until there's some kind of choice on the table, and we know what we are voting on.”
Christa dragged at my arm. “Well come on, then. Let's go settle this.”
She herded us back and through the crowd, where we delivered our votes, earning a glare from George.
Henry announced the result. “That's settled then. Rouk, can you grid a map, make ten districts of the camp? Each area can elect a delegate from within their section, and well meet six days from now, and chew this over.” Rouk looked sour, but agreed.
Then quietly to me, “Dammit, always something. Have to put off our field trip, for a bit. Be ready to travel day after tomorrow, if you're still interested in helping to follow up on these,” he glanced quickly around, “map issues, and that drone.”
I shrugged. “Sure, it's not like my calendar is full. I guess this means we keep this stuff between ourselves for now?”
Rouk nodded. “For now. And thanks. I don't like running around out there on my own, maps or no maps.”
Most of the crowd dissipated, making it easier to pick out individual events. One in particular caught my eye. To one side of the Kreeb dome, my erstwhile travel consultant, that Bill guy, had shuffled back off the ship, and was chatting with one of the Kreeb. A couple of squiggles I missed earlier above the Kreeb's clan sign, probably meant he had some sort of rank. Its black carapace glistened as it moved slightly, gesturing with its - arms. Bill fished around in a sling pouch to produce something small and black, which he seemed to be going on about. As it was approximately the size of the geo-probe Reems had tussled with earlier, it caught my attention. Bill quickly put it back, and stalked off towards the ship again, leaving me to wonder if there was more to Bill than just being a Kreeb lackey. Of course, it could have been anything, but probes were on my mind just then, and it struck me that Bill was the only traveling man around. Filing the thought away, I tried to dredge up what was known about the Kreeb.
Reems was still off doing whatever Reems did on his own, so I decided to ask at the town hall tent, and find out what information, if any, was known of the Kreeb.
Christa sat inside, slumped on one of the make-do chairs. George wasn't around. Reems, who I had not been keeping tabs on, padded in brushing between my legs, which surprised me. The big cat didn't like entering strange habitats, as a rule. He found a spot near the tent wall and flopped. Christa drew her hands down her face, then looked up at me. “Thanks for your help out there. So, this is the infamous cat of yours?”
“Reems, this is Christa.”
The Reems licked at its back, and purred. “This your territory ist? Good hunting here.”
The lady looked a little stunned. “I, sorry, I've never had the honor to actually see a Rottengal cat. What long legs...What can I do for the two of you?”
Reems gets that a lot. He's not bred from your shorter domestic tabby. Lots of small wild cats have long legs, but city people don't know that.
“I was wondering what you knew about the Kreeb presence here. That ship, for instance. Always the same one? That Bill guy, is he around a lot?”
Christa tore her eyes from the cat and focused on me. “Kreeb? It's hard to say. Save for their clan markings, not much to distinguish between them. I'd say it's the same ship, most of the time. And yes, partly because Bill is usually aboard. He doesn't stray far from it, when it's here.”
I squatted down next to Reems, and ran a hand through his fine fur. Silky and dry as always. Reems winced up at me, stretching a bit under my touch. The cat liked the fawning, and the crates serving for seating didn't look any more comfortable than the tent floor. “They mix in the camp? I mean, stroll around, pester people, like they do on Earth? Talk to anyone much?”
Christa knitted her forehead. “No. I've seen them gab at Bill, of course, once or twice with George – real politician, that one. Why?”
“Just something I noticed. I...”
Reems stood, arching. “Kreeb.”
A bark-brown pincer pulled at the entrance flap, and the hard oval shell of a Kreeb pushed its way inside.
Even with the Rottengal's warning, Christa still jumped a little, and I quick-stepped to the side.