Giant Killer: 7/?
by Nan Smith
15
"Here he comes," Mark said.
Alan glanced at the screen. The sleek, dark shape of the Patrol cruiser appeared through the bank of clouds and came toward them, looking evil and deadly against the misty background.
Mark grabbed the controls. "Let's get the hell outta here."
"Here comes another one," Alan said, trying to control the tremor in his voice. "He's trying to cut us off."
Blue flame exploded across their port side. Mark swore. "He's got us. We're gonna have a hard time maneuverin'."
A third blip appeared on the scanner. Alan pressed the transmitter. "Mayday! Mayday! This is Little Boy Blue. Need immediate assistance!"
Mark glanced at him. "The cavalry don't come over the hill no more, kid."
Their com came to life. "This is the Patrol battlecruiser 'Leviathan'! *You aren't Terran Air Defense! Identify yourselves at once!"
Alan glanced frantically at Mark. "What'll we do?"
Linley compressed his lips. "They're gonna catch us. We're gonna hafta bail out."
Alan nodded. "I've never done it."
"Nothin' to it." Linley got up and stepped to the control room's bulkhead. He pressed an unseen catch and the hidden cabinet there popped open, revealing a pair of grav-harnesses and backpacks. He removed the items. "Set her up. Hurry."
Alan was already doing so. "All right, she's set."
Mark threw him one of the evacuation kits. "Put it on and get to the hatch. Hurry."
Alan struggled into the backpack, checking to be certain that the catches were solidly fastened. The last thing he needed was for something to come loose in mid air. The ship was diving toward the planet under computer control. He could hear the scream of air against the hull.
Mark checked his pack over quickly and yanked him toward the airlock. "Get ready to jump as soon as the airlock opens. An' take it easy. You're linked with me."
"I'm not surprised." Alan gulped.
Linley grinned. Together they crouched in the airlock.
The scream of air ceased abruptly, and Alan felt his stomach do a somersault. The ship nosed upward abruptly, and for an instant he felt his feet leave the deck as the gravity died. The hatch popped open.
A blast of air from behind was reinforced by a shove from Mark's hand between the shoulder blades, hurling him outward, and an instant later he was plummeting through space, his eyes screwed shut and the wind whistling past his ears. The battlecruisers roared past overhead in pursuit of the fleeing scout ship.
Then, the grav harness activated, and suddenly he was floating gently toward the Earth. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and saw beneath him the green, leafy canopy of enormous trees. Looking up, he saw Mark a few meters above him, and his partner waved jauntily at him.
Then he flinched violently at a sudden, brilliant flash of light. An explosion rent the air. Their ship, he realized. Alan twisted his head, about, but could see nothing.
He floated gently downward into the top of an enormous tree, and his grav-harness tangled with a branch. For a moment, he dangled limply, waiting for the limb to break, but it held. The harness tightened painfully across his chest.
"Ouch!" He twisted about, trying clumsily to unhook himself. After a good deal of squirming and wiggling, he succeeded, and then clung tightly to the swaying limb, craning his neck in all directions. "Mark! Where are you?"
"Here!" The shout came from somewhere behind him. "Where are you?"
"In a tree!" He could sense his partner now, perhaps twenty meters away and a little below him. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah! I'm in a tree, too!" There was the crack of a limb and a muffled curse. "Are *you* all right?"
"Sure!" Alan gasped. "Can you get down?"
"Yeah, I think so. How 'bout you?"
Alan glanced down, but could see only tangled branches and leaves. "I guess I can."
"Meetcha on the ground!"
"Okay." Alan gingerly began his descent. The branches were slippery, covered with rotting moss and swarming insects. The air around him was hot and muggy.
He slipped, scuffing his knuckles painfully on the bark of the tree before managing to stop himself. Slowly, he regained his footing and shinnied down a narrow limb. Something settled on his neck and there was a biting sting. Sweat trickled into his eyes.
"Howya doin'?" Mark's voice was above him, now. Linley must be having a harder time descending the tree than he was.
"I'm okay," he gasped. "How about you?"
"Fine," came the breathless reply. "Be careful."
"I am." Alan descended to another limb, this one swarming with ants. One of them bit him on the leg and something else crawled across his chin. He swiped at it.
At last, the ground came into view. It was about three meters below him and thick with underbrush. Cautiously, Alan inched his way off the branch, hung by his hands a moment and let go.
Somehow, he managed to land without injury and brushed ants from his trouser legs. Looking around, he saw that they had come down in a rain forest, and on every side there was an abundant growth of vegetation. Mosquitoes settled on his exposed face and neck.
"Mark?" he called.
Above him and to his right, there was an alarmed squawking, and a dead branch hurtled down. Something went flapping away into the shrubbery. The tree branches parted with a mighty crash and Mark plunged through, landing with a terrific thump on the ground, beside him. His partner swore.
Alan hurried to him. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, fine. Bloody branch was rotten. Broke right in half." Linley stood up, rubbing his posterior and grimacing. "Y'know, I ain't never climbed a tree before in m'life? They didn't have no trees in Scaifen."
"I never thought of that." Alan was shocked. "I guess you did pretty well, then."
"Yeah, I guess." Mark slapped at a mosquito that had settled on his neck. "I s'pose you've climbed at least a thousand trees in your life, huh?"
"Well -- yeah."
"I figured." He glanced around. "Where the hell are we? This doesn't look like any part of Terra *I* know."
"Somewhere in the tropics, I guess," Alan said. "Julia went down over Canada, and we headed south when they came after us, so we're probably somewhere near the equator. South America, most likely." He slapped at mosquitoes. "Think the Underground tracked us?"
Linley shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. They wouldn't'a seen us bail out, though, so unless they get a tracker after us, they ain't gonna have any idea where to look." He slapped at another mosquito. "Looks like we're on our own a little longer."
Alan shrugged. "That's okay. We've been on our own before and done all right."
"That's m'boy. At least we made it to Terra. Too bad about poor li'l Miss Austell, though."
"Oh." In the flight from the Patrol ships, Alan had had no time to tell him. "Julia wasn't killed in the crash."
"She wasn't?"
"No. I'm sure I'd have sensed it if she was. I was holding the bracelet, you know."
Linley's face split into a smile of relief. "Y'know, sometimes I think you was really worth savin', after all. Well, we got a date t'keep. Let's get movin'."
They started slowly through the underbrush, ripping aside vines and thorns. Mark led the way, trying to clear the path for his smaller partner. Alan plunged along behind him.
After fifteen minutes, he was drenched with sweat and panting. Linley swore under his breath, and Alan could see the back of his shirt was limp with perspiration. The small backpack hung crookedly, and acted as a convenient landing strip for the winged insect life of the tropical forest. The giant trees towered over them, festooned by vines and creepers that tangled luxuriantly around them and blocked their path. Mosquitoes whined enthusiastically in the air, settling on every exposed patch of skin available.
Linley paused at last and sank down on a fallen log, wiping his face. "Gettin' a nostalgic feelin?" he inquired.
Alan dropped beside him, unsealing his shirt. "Midgard was never like this."
"That's for sure. At least the circumstances are a little better this time. An' there ain't no dinosaurs t'worry about."
"Just watch out for snakes," Alan advised him, dryly. "And scorpions."
Mark made a face and glanced up into the masses of greenery overhead. Moisture dripped from somewhere above, and Linley wiped his face. "Hellish climate." He slapped at his neck. "What the hell *are* these things, anyway? They got a sting like a Shallockian daggertree."
"Mosquitoes," Alan said, philosophically.
Mark regarded the small, slain body on his palm. "So that's a mosquito. I've heard about 'em, o' course, but I ain't never met one personally, before. I been to Terra lots of times, too."
"Where on Terra?" Alan asked.
"Siberia, and twice to Greenland."
Alan nodded. "Mosquitoes like hot weather, that's why."
"Oh." Mark slapped again and shrugged off the small backpack. "Maybe there's repellent in here. Check yours."
Alan did so, but came up empty handed. Mark was rifling through his own kit. "Damn!"
"No repellent," Alan said, resignedly.
"No repellent," Mark confirmed. He snapped the kit shut. "Well, if we keep headin' west, we're bound t'end up somewhere. Ready?"
"I guess so." Alan waved his hands futilely at the whining swarm. "I can't understand why they're still so interested in me. I can't have that much blood left."
"It's your sweet nature shinin' through." Mark got to his feet and plunged forward again. Alan struggled after him.
The Patrol, of course, would have no idea where to look for them, he thought, but neither would the Underground. Alan knew very well exactly how big the land mass they were on was. They might wander for weeks or even months and never encounter civilization. He glanced longingly at the communicator on his wrist. They didn't dare use it to call for help. The Patrol would be expecting someone to do exactly that, and be waiting. They were going to have to get out of this on their own.
Ahead, Linley swore colorfully as his shirt snagged for the hundredth time on a dangling, thorny branch. Alan reached forward to unhook him.
"Easy; I'll get you loose."
Mark grunted and waited until Alan freed him, then plunged on. Alan tried to follow and also got snagged. Mark turned at his exclamation and disentangled him, cursing softly. "Whatta place! Is that water I hear ahead, or is thirst makin' me hallucinate?"
"No," Alan said. "I hear it too. Look at the size of that spider!"
They paused, gazing in admiration at the huge, colorful creature poised hopefully in the center of a beautifully geometrical web.
"Wish he'd catch a few of these blasted mosquitoes," Mark said.
"She," Alan corrected.
"Huh?"
"She. With spiders, the female is the one that spins the web."
"Oh," Mark said. "Sorry baby. Come on, kid."
It took them over thirty minutes to reach the water -- a swift, rushing cascade that tumbled over a pile of rocks into a shallow pool. They bent to drink, heedless of possible contamination, and splashed water on their sweating faces.
"Glad you packed an extra pair of shoes," Alan said. "This hike in your socks would have been hard on the feet."
Mark looked down at his soggy tennis shoes and scowled darkly. "I sure hope Miss Austell is enjoyin' herself. Those shoes she ripped off cost me forty-six credits back on Shallock."
"Well," Alan said, "if she went down over the Canadian Northwest at this time of year, she'll be glad to have them. As I recall, she was wearing a pair of rather skimpy sandals on our date. And I'm pretty sure she didn't have a coat with her, either."
"She does now," Mark said, witheringly. "But that she's welcome to. I sure as hell don't need it in this climate."
Alan stood up, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe we'd better get going."
"Yeah." Mark also straightened up, shoving a scraggly bush aside and aiming a kick at a small, papery object dangling from it.
"Mark, *no*!" Alan shouted.
It was too late. The object fell with a soft, popping sound, and suddenly the air was dark with swarming insects. Mark gave a howl of pain and surprise, and Alan felt the biting stings of the creatures on his face, neck and right through the material of his shirt. He leaped, landing knee-deep in the stream, and plunged beneath the surface. Mark followed, cursing fluently, but even the water didn't discourage the tiny marauders that clung to their clothing and swarmed around their heads when they tried to surface.
"Come on!" Mark yelled, suddenly and grabbed his wrist, yanking him from the stream. They crashed recklessly away through the shrubbery.
At last the insects abandoned the pursuit, and Mark and Alan came to a gasping halt. Alan disentangled a small, black body from his hair and Mark, still swearing vividly, removed one from behind his ear. "Damn 'im! He got me one last time before I finished him. Where the hell did those critters come from, anyway?"
"From that funny little thing you kicked," Alan told him unhappily. "It was a wasps' nest."
"A who's nest?"
"Wasps," Alan said. "Stinging insects. They build nests and hundreds, sometimes thousands of the things live inside." He reached up to brush another of the creatures from Linley's collar. "They're very protective of their homes."
"Yeah, I noticed. Holy hell! I never saw no wasps in Siberia, neither."
"They like warm climates, too," Alan said. "I'm sorry, Mark, I tried to warn you."
Linley stared at him a moment longer and then began to laugh. "You poor kid! You look like a poodle with the chicken pox! There's red bumps all over your face, and your hair's all standin' on end."
Alan tried to smooth down his hair, discovering another wounded hornet as he did so. "You don't look so great, either," he remarked, a little resentfully.
"I know. C'mon; let's get outta this jungle before we get killed."
They strode on, scratching miserably at the stings and pausing occasionally to remove another injured warrior from their persons. Thirty minutes later, the light began to fade, but the air seemed no cooler.
Mark recoiled suddenly, swearing and pulling at his face and hair. Alan stepped up beside him. "What's the matter now?"
"I walked right through one of those spider webs, dammit!"
"Where's the spider?"
"How the hell do I know? She's probably perched on my ear. See her anywhere?"
Alan peered at his partner, examining his clothing carefully. "No. Bend down so I can see your hair. Hmm; here's another wasp." Gingerly, he brushed the creature from Linley's head. "But I don't see any spider." He stepped back, grinning at his partner. "She probably ran for her life when she saw us coming. Wish the wasps had been that cowardly."
"And how!" Linley detached the remnant of web from his nose. "You sure Madame Spider ain't crawlin' on my neck? Feels like she is."
Alan looked. "No, I don't see her anywhere. Look, Mark, maybe you'd better let me lead. I know more about tropical Terra. I might be able to avoid trouble."
"You're the psychic," Mark objected. "I'm supposed to look out for you."
"Mark!" Alan glared at him.
Linley grinned. "Easy. Actually, I know a lot about tropical environments. That was part of our trainin' in the Patrol."
"But not Terra's tropics," Alan said innocently. "There's no way you could possibly know more about Terra than I do. I've lived here all my life." He broke off suddenly, a familiar sensation crawling over his skin.
Mark noticed. "What's the matter?"
"Alan lowered his voice. "There's a psychic nearby!"
"A psychic? Here?" Mark glanced quickly around. "Terran or Jil?"
"Terran."
"Undergrounder? Is he trackin' us?"
"No." Alan concentrated. "I'm sure he isn't. He's untrained and young, but he's a good one."
"Is he pickin' you up?"
Alan nodded. "I don't think he realizes it, though. He's using his talent unconsciously, just like I did in the beginning." Alan closed his eyes, reaching for the approaching mind. "He's getting very close."
Mark heaved a sigh of relief. "Well, at least he can take us to civilization. If he's wanderin' around in the jungle, he probably lives around here."
Alan nodded. "Here he comes now."
A moment later, there was a crackling in the underbrush and a little boy, perhaps eight years old, appeared through the tangled greenery. He smiled when he saw them, obviously not in the least surprised.
"Hi there," he said, in Portuguese.
Alan had studied Portuguese in high school, and, like most psychics, had learned the language easily. "Hi," he responded. "Who are you?"
"I'm Billy Santos." He nodded vaguely to the north. "From Las Cavas. Five or six kilometers that way. Who are you?"
"I'm Alan Woodruff, from Florida, and this is my friend, Steve Lawson."
The little boy looked them over, his smile becoming a grin. He was small and slender, with large, beautiful brown eyes and thick black hair. His teeth appeared very white against his tanned face. "Was that your ship I heard explode?" he asked.
"Probably," Alan told him guardedly. "Our ship went down and we had to bail out. We're pretty lost. Do you think you could take us to the nearest town?"
"Sure!" Another flashing smile. "I'll take you to Las Cavas -- that's my village. My dad's the sheriff. He'll be glad to help you out."
"Thanks a lot," Alan said.
"Sure." The boy turned to Mark looking a little puzzled. "Don't you speak Portuguese?"
Linley looked confused, glancing at Alan. "Uh --"
"No, he doesn't," Alan said quickly. "Steve's from offworld. He doesn't speak English very well, either."
"Oh." Billy looked interested, and then spoke in flawless Basic. "What planet *are* you from?"
Mark's jaw dropped. "Holy hell! Who taughtcha that?"
"My mother," Billy said proudly. "She used to say that all kids in this day and age should be able to speak Basic. She taught me English, too. Mom spoke four -- maybe five languages." The little boy's face grew suddenly sad. "She died, though -- about three years ago."
"I'm sorry," Alan said.
The smile reappeared. "It's okay. Look, we better get going. It'll be dark soon."
"Lead on," Alan said. "We'll follow."
**********
