The Legacy of Heorot
Chapter 27

SALVAGE

It is much safer to obey than to rule
THOMAS A KEMPIS

    Deja vu:
    The Avalon horsemane trees were tall and narrow and absolutely vertical: trunks white as paper, with a fringe of dark green running like a stallion's mane down the leeward side. Hendrick's Skeeter had smashed sideways into a grove of them. The wreck had fallen into what seemed to be shallow water. The rotor blades were nowhere to be seen, and the tail was bent at a right angle.
    Cadmann's stomach soured, and something flipped in his mind, skewed dizzyingly . . .
    He was back in Zambia, southwest of the Zambezi River, on chopper recon over broken brushland. Below him were parched earth and brown, stunted vegetation. The year's drought had been harsh on the land, harsh on the people. This year, it was all too easy for the guerrillas to recruit starving tribesmen.
    Thermal scan verified that the area was clear of enemy troops. The scans had greater range than the enemy's light antiaircraft projectiles, and a LAP had brought down Sergeant Mguvi's helicopter. Somewhere in the smoking mass of torn metal beneath him was one of the two finest men Colonel Weyland had ever had the honor to command . . .
    That image was strong now, too strong. The rage it engendered was not far behind.
    Cadmann brought his Skeeter down close to the wreckage and played his searchlight beam over the trees and water.
    Beside him, Carlos cursed in Spanish. His machine pistol spat crimson streams of tracers into the darkness. The streams chewed into the mass of minigrendels as they swarmed around the Skeeter, feuding for a scrap of Hendrick. Little knots of grendels were fighting and eating each other; Carlos fired spurts at those.
    "There must be thousands of them," Carlos said hoarsely.
    "Maybe a hundred, maybe two. Save your bullets. This is like spitting into the ocean."
    Carlos's face twisted with loathing. "We can't leave Hendrick like this. We've got to bring him back."
    Cadmann felt numb. "Dead or alive, we'll bring him in. We have to salvage the Skeeter. But I don't see any breaks in the cabin wall, and what are they fighting for if there's no more Hendrick? He could be safe."
    "Why are they here if they don't smell meat? There's a breach. There must be."
    "Colonel, we can't remain in the area. The intelligence people say there's a hostile force moving in from the northwest. We' re not prepared to hold off an assault . . ." 
    An ugly choice to make. The lives of six men were at stake. And it was already too late to do anything for the laconic, steadfast Mguvi.
    So Colonel Weyland had left his friend in the singed brush, sealed in a crumpled tomb of steel and plastic. He had left a piece of himself there as well. 
    Not this time.
    Cadmann swooped down once more, giving Carlos time to empty his clip. "Feel better? Then don't waste any more ammo," he said grimly. "Before this is over, we're going to need every last cartridge."
    But if it really comes down to counting bullets, we're dead, all of us.
    Carlos did seem calmer as he slipped in another clip. "What next?" 
    "Pick up the wreck and carry it home." 
    "Can we carry that much mass?"
    "I'll sue the socks off somebody's descendants if we can't. It was in the design specs. We've got the power. There are lift rings built into the Skeeters. On top. The hooks have to engage." 
    "Ah. You mean, amigo--"
    "I mean that one of us drops in a harness and clips the lift lines into the rings. Take over?"
    "No. No, I do not fly and shoot at the same time, and if we must lose one of us, better it is me. No?" 
    Cadmann didn't answer.
    "So. Give me a moment." Carlos got out of the copilot seat and scrambled aft. Cadmann heard him fumbling with the rescue harness.
    "Done, amigo. Now tell me. Can these creatures leap to the top of a wrecked Skeeter?" 
    "Dam'fino. Carlos--Carlos, we could wait."
    "But Hendrick cannot wait. Mi coronel, you must give me directions."
    "Okay. We're supposed to have a harness operator. Isn't one aboard so you have to do it. Take that box there off the wall. Joystick in the center. Moving it up reels in line on your harness. Moving it down reels it out. Hang the machine pistol around your neck, then clip that box to your harness. Lose it and you're dead." 
    "Done." 
    "Test the lines. Try reeling in. And out." 
    There was a sharp whirr. "Si. It works."
    "Okay. I'll drop the tow lines as soon as you're on the way down. There's a lift ring just forward of the rotor base, and another about two thirds of the way aft. Clip the hooks into the rings and reel yourself up. Work fast."
    "Fast. You know it. I'm ready. I am stepping out now." 
    A slight gust swayed the Skeeter. Cadmann compensated automatically. "Okay?" he called.
    "Si. I am lowering myself. There are--Cadmann, there are a lot of those things, but I believe you are right. I think they have not penetrated into the Skeeter. Hendrick may be alive in there." 
    "Toss a grenade. Well away from the ship." 
    "Okay. Here goes." 
    Five seconds later there was a sharp whump!
    "It's working," Carlos called. "They are clustering there. Zip zip zip! Cadmann, some are on speed but most are not." 
    Cannibals. It figures. "Here come the tow lines." Cadmann lifted the protective cover and threw the switches.
    "Well done. Come to port. More. More. Stop. There. Hold it there."
    Cadmann fought to hold the ship steady against the gusty wind off the stream. Hurry up, hurry, you monarchistic son of a bitch--
    "The aft line is done. I am moving forward and--" 
    Weyland heard shots. One, two, then automatic fire. 
    "Carlos! Carlos, come in, Carlos--" 
    "Madre de Dios--" There were more shots.
    Cadmann tugged a grenade from his harness and pulled the pin with his teeth. Nobody does that. Well. I just did. He held it in his left hand and tossed it out the window as far off to the left as he could.
    Whump! "Carlos--" 
    "Done! I am reeling myself up. Go!" 
    "You know it, brother." Cadmann gunned the engines.
    "I saw his face. He's not moving but . . . but none of it is missing, thank God." 
    "Good enough."

    Cadmann, Jerry, Sylvia, and Mamie sat facing the assembled colonists. The room was silent as Zack spoke.
    "We're not going to talk about this behind closed doors. We all need to make decisions. We've been caught with our pants down yet again. There's no way we could have known--" 
    Bullshit. Cadmann glanced at Sylvia. She shook her head slightly. Cadmann didn't respond. I'm not the team of carefully selected geniuses who should have seen this. I'm only the guy who has to fix it. Too damn late, Sylvia! 
    "How's Hendrick?" Gregory Clifton asked.
    "Still in intensive care. He hasn't told us anything. He may lose the leg, the tourniquet was on a long time. Jerry promises a miracle. We'll see.
    "This time we had more warning. Nobody's dead yet. Twenty-twenty hindsight is better than none." Zack hesitated and gripped the podium as if searching for strength that wasn't there. Then he straightened decisively. "You've all heard rumors. Samlon are baby grendels, and they're changing. We're in trouble. Sylvia and Jerry will try to tell us just how much trouble. Sylvia, take over."
    Zack left the podium and came down to the front row. Cadmann indicated the seat next to him and half stood as Zack sat. Sylvia took the podium.
    Jerry inserted a video cube into the viewer and the image of a samlon floated in the air in front of the dining hall. Sylvia said, "Samlon. Zero to two feet long. No teeth to speak of. Totally aquatic. Good eating."
    She seemed to be speaking directly to her husband. Terry seemed calm and attentive. He was holding Justin. The child was asleep, his tiny pink fists balled, clutching at the fabric of his father's shirt.
    A second image joined the floating samlon. "This was clinging to Hendrick's Skeeter. Sorry about the head. We clubbed it to death. It's still the best sample we've got. You can see it's over a meter long. Note that the dorsal fins have atrophied, and the ventral have thickened and begun changing into legs. The flexible beaklike jaws have differentiated into teeth. The speed sac behind the lungs is beginning to inflate. Their metabolic rate has to be off the scale. Only an unprecedented rate of calcium transport could explain the teeth and the thickened bones."
    The third image was Cassandra's graphic representation of an adult grendel.
    Sylvia cleared her throat. "There are equations in the literature. We ran them through Cassie and we got some graphs." The fourth image appeared: a three-dimensional graph chart that glowed like a range of neon mountains. "It's not a lot of help. We're missing some of the numbers, but what's happening is clear enough.
    "Adult grendels are all female. Tadpoles are males. Most don't get much chance to demonstrate it because they get eaten. The grendels lay lots of eggs. The eggs turn into tiny samlon. The little samlon go away and eat the local scum until they turn into big samlon. The grendels eat big samlon.
    "Now, evolution says there will be more grendels if grendels eat something other than their own children. The grendels will eat anything rather than samlon. They must have exterminated everything within reach of water long before we came. They were back to eating nothing but samlon. It's been a stable situation for hundreds of years, or thousands, or conceivably millions. The flyers have had time to adapt, and we should have noticed that too."
    "Yes!" Mary Ann shouted. "The flyers. Of course! The way they fish--"
    "We've--" Suddenly Sylvia laughed. The incoherent wave of sound that rolled across her audience was ugly. Nothing was funny now.
    "Sorry," Sylvia said, and laughed again. "We've ruined the ecology, is what we've done! First we introduce new food sources. We won't be finding many catfish now. Then we killed all the adults. Mama hasn't been around to eat the samlon. Now it's spring, and all the samlon are growing up into grendels. The number of adolescent grendels is going to be far larger than the equilibrium population."
    "Holy shit," Gregory Clifton whispered; but everybody heard. It had gone deathly quiet.
    Mary Ann said, "Sylvia? Grendels eat all the time." 
    "What? Oh. Shit." Sylvia rubbed her temples. "Sorry. She's right, of course. They need a continuous food source, so they must lay eggs continually. This could have happened any time of year. We took out all the adults, so the samlon are all growing up."
    Cadmann thought. They still didn't have it right! I wonder what we're missing now.
    "How many grendels are we going to get?" Greg asked nervously.
    "That is difficult to predict. We haven't tried to fold in the rate at which grendels kill each other. The one thing that we can be sure of is that in killing the grendels we have unleashed an even greater threat.
    "We've got at least two things going for us. First, the grendels eat grendels. They'll fight for territory too. Clearly they'd rather eat someone else's children than their own. Evolution again. Second, we've been fishing. We've fished out the local environment. The majority of adolescent grendels haven't discovered us yet. They will. Before they do--" Sylvia shrugged. "It's Cadmann's problem now." 
    The hall murmured. Cadmann turned to Zack. "Sir?" 
    Zack took the stand again.
    "We have considerable evidence that even after the metamorphosis is complete, the samlon and grendels need water. I propose the use of a biodegradable toxin. We rescue what catfish we can and use our present breeding pond as a water supply. We poison the Miskatonic at its headwaters--" 
    Jerry shook his head. "That's a wonderful idea, Zack. Unfortunately, we didn't come here to poison Avalon, and we're just not set up for it. The best we could do is pump some of the heavy-metal industrial wastes into the water. That won't kill them quickly, but would definitely kill us slowly. No go." 
    "What about the Geographic?" Carolyn McAndrew's voice was cracking. "Can't we evacuate up there?" Her face was tight, and Cadmann saw her blink hard, as if trying to keep the tears back. One of the rifle troops. She saved my life that night.
    "We all saw what one of them did to us before," Carolyn shouted. "Who are we kidding? There's no way in hell we can fight this. I say it's time to quit." 
    "Quit?" Phyllis asked softly. "Quit and do what?" 
    Carolyn stuttered for a moment. She scanned the room, looking like a lost little girl. "Go home. We can still go home . . ."
    Stu stood, and spoke regretfully. "We can't do that, Carolyn. Geographic has life support for about twenty colonists for about a week. Then the oxygen recyclers will go to shit. You forget--we've been disassembling the ship for almost two years . . . "
    "Cryogenics. We can freeze--" Her mouth worked wordlessly, then the realization hit her. "Oh, no. Hibernation Instability." 
    Phyllis reached up to Carolyn's shoulder. "Sit down, hon." 
    Carolyn shook the hand off. Her shoulders trembled.
    Zack's face had something of the old strength in it, and even a grimly humorous curl to his lips. "This is it, Carolyn. No Fort Apache to reach. No bugle call. No way home. We fight and win, or we all die. And it's time to turn to the experts. Colonel Weyland?"
    Carolyn collapsed into her seat. The room was swept by a flurry of whispers. The implications of putting Cadmann Weyland in charge of civilization were obvious.
    Cadmann stood, and he felt that mantle of responsibility falling back across his shoulders. So be it. A job to be done, and at least the priorities seemed clear enough. "Sir." 
    "Please take the podium."
    "Yes, sir." Suck up that gut. Get your back straight. Cadmann marched to the podium. My job. And what in hell do we do? Doubtless something will suggest itself. First things first. "Tomorrow morning we start running the Minervas in shuttle mode. Up and down at three-hour intervals. Pregnant women and children first. Then indispensable skills. Zack goes up, and Rachel with him. Next, if there is still space, the wounded. We need to make up a priority list: there isn't going to be much room.
    "Meanwhile, all Colony defenses go into effect. All the other women will retreat to the Bluff with enough tools and equipment to improve fortifications there. Get to packing." 
    The room was silent for a long moment. "Without the crops here, we'll starve," Jerry said.
    True, but you didn't have to say it. "There's food in Geographic. We found some things to eat in the highlands. The trick now is to get through the next few weeks." After which there won't be as many mouths to feed.
    Sylvia raised her hand. "We need to capture a few grendels. Get them up to Geographic, where we can work on biological weapons."
    "Sure you can handle a live grendel? Damn dangerous thing to do."
    "We'll work on cages. Maybe we can catch samlon that are just changing. We need the information."
    "Agreed if you can do it. Stu--handle that? Report to me before we try anything. Nobody risks a Minerva or the ship without direct approval from me. Nobody. Zack, you confirm that?" 
    "Uh--yes. Yes, he's right."
    "What's the point?" Carolyn screamed shrilly. "Everything we do just makes it worse. What's the point in fighting? There's no safety--" Tears streamed hotly down her face.
    Mary Ann stood, and scanned the room uncertainly. "No . . . no, that's not true."
    She was taking it in with immense calm. She held Jessica tightly. The child's thin, short blond hair was as pale as spun glass.
    "How can you know?" Carolyn shouted. "Mary Ann, you're like me! You can't depend on your thoughts. Or anything."
    "I can sometimes," Mary Ann said. "Carolyn, think. We have Joes. They're alive." 
    "By God," Sylvia said. "She's right. It means--" 
    Mary Ann was triumphant. "That's what the Joes mean--it means that the grendels can only climb so high." 
    "They don't travel far from the water," Jerry added. "They'd cook themselves. We've seen how much heat their bodies give off when they're on speed. There's more than hope--as long as we don't panic." 
    We're a lot bigger than Joes. More meat.
    "Now then," Zack said firmly, "it's time to make some decisions. If we're going to have any chance of surviving, we need total cooperation. We can do this, but only if we operate at peak efficiency. No holding back, no dissension. There's no time for that. First of all: Colonel Weyland will take charge of defense, and we're on a war footing. If you have any objections to that, make them now. Do I hear objections?" 
    "What do you mean, take charge?" Omar demanded.
    "I mean, he says 'Frog,' you jump first and ask how high afterwards," Zack said. "If you want justification, look in the contracts we all signed. It isn't even fine print. It says that in the event of a threat to Earth or the Colony as a whole the normal rules are suspended and the Administrator has plenary authority. Anyone still think we don't have a threat to the Colony?" 
    Someone smothered a lone giggle.
    "So. You signed a contract that makes me God. I'm handing that to the archangel Cadmann. Objections? I hear none. So ordered. Colonel?"
    "Thank you. People, this meeting is too large to get anything decided. Some things are obvious. We'll have to evacuate this place. As soon as you leave this meeting, go pack. Divide things: essential, important, frivolous, waste.
    "Jerry, you're in charge of the technical stuff. Mary Ann, take him to the Bluff. Sylvia goes too. You'll work on defenses." 
    "Why your house?" someone demanded.
    "It's the most defensible place on the island," Carlos said. "Cabron, " he added softly so that only Cadmann and those in the front of the room could hear.
    "Stu Ellington takes charge of the Minervas. They're the most important things we've got. Stu, we'll need to work schedules, evacuation versus power requirements for the Colony, but the most important thing is that we don't risk one Minerva and for God's sake we never risk both." 
    "Right," Ellington said.
    "We'll want power as long as possible, but the first threat to a Minerva and that ship is off, " Cadmann continued. "Which means precautions about loading and unloading. Plan that as if the ship might go at any time. Any time. Even with people waiting to get aboard."
    "Whew. Right," Stu said. "That's not the most pleasant thought you ever gave me."
    "Donovan. We'll need a communications link between the Bluff, the town, and Geographic. Maintain constant input from Geographic's telescope and the Skeeters." 
    "Got it."
    "In your spare time, keep the Skeeters charged up, and on patrol. Ferry the wrecked one off to the Bluff." Cadmann passed his hand through his hair. "I'll need a staff meeting as soon as this breaks up. All department heads. We've got a hell of a lot of details to plan. Questions?"
    "Only one," Zack said. "I'll ask it for all of us. You're talking like we have to abandon the Colony. Are you sure of that?"
    "Sure, no. But it's the way to bet it," Cadmann said. "Remember what one grendel could do? Now think about thousands of them. If there's a way to defend the Colony against that threat, I don't know it. Anyone have suggestions?" 
    There was silence. They knew more now, and Cadmann could smell the fear building. From the buzzing a voice rose. "Hydrogen. Liquid hydrogen. Burn them." 
    Interesting, Cadmann thought. "Jerry?"
    "We don't have a lot, and the Minervas will need it. Containers. Transportation. I like the notion, but there are problems."
    "Think about it," Cadmann said. "I won't have time. Next?"
    "Come on, citizens, they're only animals," Terry said. His hands were clenched, white-knuckled, on the wheelchair arms. He wants to be standing up, Cadmann thought. "We came across ten light-years, and we came as conquerors! It's . . . it's funny, is what it is. Star travelers chased off by animals." 
    Carolyn cried, "You can say that? You?"
    "I'm not the first man in history to be mauled by an animal. We're still king of the beasts."
    Good for Terry. Cadmann looked soberly around the room. How many of these people were going to be alive in a week? It was up to them, it was up to him.
    Jessica looked so terribly fragile. For an instant he recognized the very real possibility that nothing they did would be enough. That their defenses would crumble before an onslaught of grendels.
    "As long as they don't chase us off the planet." Zack came back to the podium. "Cadmann, I expect you'll want to prepare for your staff meeting. Look, people, I know it's a shock--"
    "Shock!" Jerry exploded in laughter. "Zack, how many shocks do we get?"
    "Fortunately, this was the last," Zack assured them.
    "Heard about Zacky's Comet?" Harry Siep called. "Boils the oceans every four hundred years. Oops, three ninety . . ." 
    Cadmann grinned. "Yeah."
    "That's better," Zack said. "We'll make it. Look, we all know this won't be cut and dried. So what? Before we left Earth we didn't know what we'd face. Now we know the worst, and it's not as bad as some of us thought it would be! They are just animals."
    Carolyn giggled hysterically. Everyone could remember: Carolyn and four others standing outside the corrugated-metal building, four generic warriors firing into a single demon.
    "We just have to trust each other. We're each proficient in at least two vital skills. Some of us can handle three or four. I expect you to keep a running assessment of your emotional and physical reserves. Pitch in and help anyone beginning to fade. When you're fading yourself, first find, a replacement, then go somewhere and have hysterics."
    "But get permission from Cadmann first," Carlos said. "Hysteria without permission is strictly forbidden." 
    "Enough, then," Zack said. "Staff meeting in half an hour. The rest of you go pack."