Helena.
Ere hears Cal exhale, and knows his cousin has reached the same conclusion. Both of them are prepared to run to the front, to pull the cat off Helena if it pounces, to do their part—but before they can move, they are stopped by a mighty roar.
The sound comes not from the cat, but from Ere’s mother.
It is not a scream; there is no shrillness to the sound, no fear, no alarm. It is a booming battle cry, a roar sending an unmistakable message to the giant cat. Ere hears the challenge as clearly as if his mother shouted the actual words.
We outnumber you. We are not prey. We are a pack. You are alone.
If you attack, we will defend. And we will destroy you.
Ruth’s roar fills the swamp, reverberating through every member of the tribe, soaking into the heady trees. Everyone holds their ground, unflinching. Ere’s ears ring with the sound of his mother’s bloodcurdling cry, but he does not flinch. He stands still at the opposite side of the pack. He is ready to leap into action at any second to enforce the resounding howl’s promised war, and he knows his cousin will be beside him.
The cat’s green eyes flash from Helena to Ruth, then travel the length of the stiff-necked people. Ruth’s cry goes on unbroken, aided by a primal power, her breath never running out. No cough cuts her short. Her howl is sustained and strong.
The massive feline flattens its ears, taking in the unrelenting sound. It hisses, shifts, then sits back on its haunches, almost seeming to nod: fine, I’ll wait for an easier meal, you stupid woman. Wasn’t that hungry anyway.
Ruth ends her yell, but does not stop staring at the giant cat. The big cat closes his eyes, yawns, feigning boredom, as if to indicate that such a fight was beneath him. Only then does Ruth lower her hand, and move forward again.
“Cal,” whispers Ere a few hours later. “Does everyone seem tired to you?”
Cal, a few paces ahead of Ere, is carrying Helena Garrison, who stumbled not long before. Her knee twisted, and thus (under protest) she is allowing Cal to carry her. For the first half-mile, she kept assuring Cal she would soon be on her own two feet. Now she’s sleeping, snoring lightly, secure in the strong arms of her tribe’s gentle giant.
“Yes,” grunts Cal. “Glad you and your big brain figured that one out for us. Someday, runt, you’ll have to tell me how such a tiny body can lug around such a giant brain.”
“Talk to my mother. Tell her we should make camp.”
“Me? You’re a little more… un-burdened at the moment.” To prove his point, Cal shifts Helena in his arms, cradling the old woman like a drowsing baby.
“She won’t listen to me. She’ll think I’m being a baby.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. Everyone’s exhausted. You’re already carrying Helena. How many more can you carry before—”
“Fine. When Helena wakes up, I’ll talk to Ruth.”
Helena opens one eye, and aims it up at Cal. “Oh, put me down, you big brute, and go talk to Ruth. My ankle’s feeling better. I can last another few steps if we’re stopping soon.”
Cal sighs and sets Helena gingerly on the ground, ever gentle with the fragile elders around him. She reaches up to pat his chest affectionately.
“Ere!” Cal turns and lifts a bushy eyebrow.
Ere looks at him questioningly. “What?”
“I’ll ask, but you’re coming with me.”
“But what about the back of the line—”
“I’ll scream if there’s trouble! Scream twice if it’s a snake!” Helena chirps cheerily, waving, as if a delightful encounter with a charming snake would be just dandy by her.
They reach Ere’s mother in moments, quickly overtaking all the tired elders, who are moving at the approximate speed of a dying turtle.
“Aunt Ruth?”
Ruth Fell glances behind her, looking first up at her nephew and then down at her son. She does not stop walking nor slow her pace, but does also quickly scan the rest of the line behind her to make sure there was not a problem.
“Yes, Cal?”
“We should set up camp for the night.”
“We have another hour of daylight, maybe more. We’re far enough south that—”
“Forget daylight,” says Cal. “The elders are tired. And I can’t carry them all at once.”
Ruth stops, holding her hand aloft, open-palmed, not clenched in alert. Cal halts, and raises his as well. One by one, hands raise from the front of the line to the end, signaling a stop but not danger. A collective sigh of relief passes softly through the line along with the outstretched hands.
“Fine,” Ruth says. “But if Ere thinks he’s tired now, he’s going to be exhausted by the time he’s done collecting the water for all of us tonight.”
“What-!” Ere starts to protest, but his mother cuts him off.
“Don’t send your cousin to make your requests for you,” she chides him. “And make sure to collect plenty of water, son. I’m parched.”
Chapter 7: Ever
Reaching the tree line, Ever is disappointed. There are still signs of incorporation everywhere. Natural as they appeared from a distance, these trees all have small outlets in their bases, linking them to the harbor check point system. They are uniform in their appearance: same height, same coloring, same number of branches. They reflected the sort of uniformity prized by Syns and rarely found in nature.
Damnation.
So much for her big adventure. The night is almost over; soon the sun will rise, and her mother and Angela will wake up, notice she’s gone, and send officers to haul her ass back to the boat. She should have gotten off in Costa Rica. Sector 27 was too close to home, and this place had clearly become too developed to be any fun.
On top of all that, her foot is throbbing. Wincing, she runs a quick self-scan. She’s relieved when the scan confirms she’s not losing enough blood to be in danger. The cut is small, but she shouldn’t keep running on it. Adrenaline spent, even walking is now painful. She’s on the verge of giving up, turning her own distress signal on, when something glints, catching her eye: a small fleet of sleek silver Chariots stationed near the synthetic trees.
She does an external scan; no cameras, no alarm system, no people. Gaining a second wind, Ever hobbles swiftly toward the unmonitored hovercrafts. Less than a mile behind her, several boats, including her family’s vessel, are approaching the shore, self-docking, everything following the set order.
Of course.
No need for staff. The check point program is precise and runs automatically. The hovercrafts are access vehicles, on hand in case any need arose for manual technical support. If a Syn staffer was required to service a malfunctioning dock or misaligned ship-to-land-transport connection, he would need transportation. And access vehicles all use the same startup code, because theft is unlikely. Too easily traced, since both the object and the thief were registered technology, trackable and instantly identifiable. Property theft these days was a truly idiotic crime, and thus one rarely committed in Syn society.
Ever quickly weighs the risks of committing this truly idiotic crime. Would she get in trouble? Yes, but as a first-time offender, a minor offense would bring little punishment. Especially if she returned the Chariot when she was done with it. The Syn