Jack Mcdeviit Deepsix

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picked up the water container and went to the river's edge. MacAlIister
gathered some branches and started a fire. The women began trying to work out
what the raft should look like.
Nightingale studied the water. It was shallow inshore, but muddy and dark. He
watched Chiang make a face at it and venture out a few steps. Nightingale
asked what he was doing, and Chiang explained he was after clear water. He
scooped up some and it must still not have looked very good because he got rid
of it and went out a bit farther.
"That's a mistake," said Nightingale. "Forget it. We'll figure out something
else."
"It's not a " Chiang's expression changed, and he cried out. Something yanked
his feet from under him. He went down and disappeared into the current.
Nightingale whipped out the cutter, ignited it, and charged after him. He
couldn't see why Chiang had fallen, but he caught a glimpse of blue-gray
tendrils.
Something caught him, whipped around his ankles, and tried to drag him down.
Then it had his arm.
Nightingale sliced at the water. Mud-colored fluid spurted from somewhere.
He almost dropped the laser.
MacAlIister arrived, cutter in hand, at the height of the battle. He lashed
around like a wild man. The water hissed and tendrils exploded. Nightingale
came loose, and then Chiang. By the time the women got there, only seconds
after it had begun, it was over.
"It's okay, ladies," said MacAllister, blowing on his cutter as if it were an
old-style six-gun. "The shooting's over."
That night they could see Morgan's disk quite clearly. It resembled a tiny
half-moon.
They assembled the raft in the morning. They lined up the logs and cut them to
specification. Hutch, unsure of her engineering, required crosspieces to hold
the craft together. They fashioned paddles and poles, and there was some talk
about a sail, but Hutch dismissed it as time-consuming on the ground that they
didn't know what they were doing.
It appeared that they were at a drinking hole. A few animals wandered close
from time to time, looked curiously at the newcomers, kept their distance,
dipped their snouts in the current when they could, and retreated into the
forest.
The sun was overhead by the time the raft was ready. Relieved to be under way
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again, they climbed aboard and set off across the river.
The day was unseasonably warm. In fact, it was almost warm enough to turn off
the suits. MacAllister sat down in front, made himself comfortable, and
prepared to enjoy the ride.
They'd scouted out a landing spot earlier. It had a beach and no rocks that
they could see and was a half kilometer downstream.
Chiang and Hutch used the poles, Kellie and Nightingale paddled, and
MacAllister allowed as how he would direct. They moved easily out into the
current.
Nightingale watched the banks pass by. He turned at last to Hutch. "It was
criminal of them," he said, "simply to abandon this world."
"The Academy claimed limited resources," she said.
"That was the official story. The reality is that there was a third-floor
power struggle going on. The operations decision became part of a tug-of-war.
The wrong side won, so we never came back." He gazed up at the treetops. "It
never had anything to do with me, but I took the blame."
MacAllister shielded his eyes from the sun. "Dreary wilderness," he said.
"You didn't know that, did you, MacAllister?" said Nightingale.
"Didn't know what?"
"That there were internal politics involved in the decision. That I was a
scapegoat."
MacAllister heaved a long sigh. "Randall," he said, "there are always internal
politics. I don't think anyone ever really thought you prevented further
exploration. You simply made it easy for those who had other priorities." He
looked downriver. "Pity we can't get all the way to the lander on this."
Kellie was watching something behind them. Nightingale turned to look and saw
a flock of birds hovering slowly in their rear, keeping pace. Not birds, he
corrected himself. More like bats.
They were formed up in a V, pointed in their direction.
And they weren't bats, either. He'd been misled by the size, but they actually
looked more like big dragonflies.
Dragonflies? The bodies were segmented, and as long as his forearm. They had
the wingspread of pelicans. But what especially alarmed him was that they were
equipped with proboscises that looked like daggers.
"Heads up," he said.
All eyes turned to the rear.
MacAllister was getting to his feet, getting his cutter out. "Good," he said.
"Welcome to Deepsix, where the gnats knock you down first and then bite."
"They do seem to be interested in us," Hutch said.
There might be another problem: They were well toward the middle of the river,
and the current was carrying them faster than anyone had anticipated. It was
obvious they were going to miss their selected landing place.
The river had become too deep for the poles. Chiang and MacAllister took over
the paddles and worked furiously, but they made little headway and could only
watch helplessly as they floated past their beach.
The dragonflies stayed with them.
They were operating in sync, riding the wind, their wings only occasionally
giving vent to a flurry of movement. "You think they could be meat-eaters?"
Hutch asked Nightingale.
"Sure," he said. "But it's more likely they're bloodsuckers."
"Ugly critters," said MacAllister.
Hutch agreed. "If they get within range, we're going to take some of them
out."
"Maybe it's not such a bad thing," said Chiang, "that this world is going down
the tube."
MacAllister laughed. It was a booming sound, and it echoed off the river.
"That's not a very scientific attitude," he said. "But I'm with you, lad."
"Oh, shut up, Mac," said Nightingale. "It's the efficiency of these creatures
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that makes them interesting.
This is the only really old world we know of, the only one that can show us
the results of six billion years of evolution. I'd kill to have some serious
time here."
"Or be killed." MacAllister shook his head, and his eyes gleamed with good
humor. "Your basic mad scientist," he added.
Chiang drew his paddle out of the water and laid it on the deck. "They're
getting ready."
Nightingale saw it, too. They'd been flying in that loose V, spread out across
maybe forty meters. Now they closed up, almost wingtip to wingtip.
MacAllister watched Nightingale draw his cutter. "I'm not sure," he said,
"that's the best weapon at the moment." He put his own back into his pocket
and hefted the paddle. "Yeah." He tried a practice swing.
"This should do fine."
The dragonflies advanced steadily, approaching to within a few meters. Then
they did a remarkable thing: They divided into three separate squadrons, like
miniature fighter planes. One stayed aft, the others broke left and right and
moved toward the beams.
Hutch held up her hand. Wait
They began to close.
The boat was completely adrift now, headed downriver.
"Wait."
The ones in the rear moved within range. Kellie and Chiang were in back,
facing them.
"Not yet," said Hutch. "If they come at us, be careful where you fire. We
don't want to take any of our own people out."
Hutch was on the port side, MacAllister to starboard. Nightingale dropped to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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