“Jeffer wanted us to look at this,” Booce told them. “Something must have hit the trunk while it was younger. The wood’sgrown around it.”
The wood bulged to hide it like some secret treasure.
Rather was almost inside the crater before he could see anything. Carlot, ahead of him, had stopped. Booce was at his shoulder. Rather heard him gasp.
Carlot said, “Metal!”
“I must apologize to Jeffer,” Booce said. “Metal indeed! The tree may consider it poisonous; see how reluctant the wood is to touch it! But the Admiralty won’t think so.”
Rather asked, “We want this?”
“We do. Secret auction, I think.” Booce was deep into the crater, running his hands over the reddish-black surface of the metal. “Six or eight thousand kilos. No point in trying to move it. We’ll have to show it to the Navy anyway, unless…hmm.”
Carlot looked at her father. “We don’t want to attract attention.”
“Exactly. I have to think about this. Well, my merry crew, I think we’ve earned a holiday.”
They climbed back around the trunk, taking their time.
Booce knew just where to find the shelled burrowers.
After lunch they spent a day tethered in the now strongly running waterfall, first washing each other and squeezing honey out of their clothing, then wrestling. They still got some painting in before sleeptime.
In twenty days they had reached the wild tuft.
Rather had never appreciated foliage before. It had surrounded him all his life. He gorged, savoring the taste and texture. “You love it too,” he observed. “Carlot, Booce, why don’t you live in a tree?”
“Oh, there’s foliage in the Clump too,” Carlot said.
“All kinds. Rather, I can’t wait to show you!”
They slept in foliage. Rather slept like a dead man, from exhaustion and the familiar sensation of sleeping under tide, in a womb of soft foliage. He woke early, feeling wonderful.
Carlot lay not far from her father. Her face was griefstricken. She thrashed in slow motion, unconsciously trying to hold herself against the tide.
Rather took her hand, gently. “Hey. Nightmare?”
Her eyes opened. “Oh. Rather. I was trying to get to Wend. She was screaming and trying to fly with just her bare feet—” She shook her head violently and sat up.
“Something I have to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“When we were swimming. Father noticed you were up.”
“Up? Oh, up. You’re very pretty,” Rather said a little awkwardly.
“We can’t make babies.”
“We can’t? Hey, the jungle giants and the London Tree citizens didn’t have any trouble. I’m a dwarf, but—”
Carlot laughed. “Father says we can’t. He wants me to marry another logger. I think he wants it to be Raff Belmy, from Woodsman, but definitely another logger. I thought I’d better say something before…well, before you got to thinking.”
“Thinking. Well, it’s too late, then.”
“It’s all right, then?”
“Sure. Go back to sleep.” The truth was that Rather was almost relieved. Carlot with her clothes off made his head swim and his blood boiclass="underline" an uncomfortable feeling.
And Booce didn’t want his daughter to love a dwarf savage. Should he resent that? Somehow he didn’t.
Breakfast was more foliage. Then Booce gave Rather the matchet. “Pry the bark off. We want a complete ring of bare wood half a meter across. We’ll paint along behind you.”
Three and a half days later he was halfway around.
The bark was soft, easy to pry loose, but the trunk must have been a good two klomters in circumference. They returned to the wild tuft to sleep and eat. Rather was one vast ache, but it still felt good to be sleeping in tide, in foliage.
After breakfast Rather was still on the matchet. The Serjents seemed to share Citizens Tree’s faith in a dwarf’s superior strength. He finished the job before they slept again. They were ahead of schedule. Jeffer would not bring the CARM down for them for another six or seven days.
From the base of the trunk they watched a moby attack the bugs descending along the honey track. Mobies normally skimmed clouds of bugs from the sky for their food. This was a tremendous creature, mostly mouth and fins, riding the wind toward the trunk and the bug-swarm at a hundred meters per breath. It realized its mistake just in time. It thrashed madly, gaping, irresistibly comical, as the wind hurled it toward the tree. Its flank smashed loose a shower of bark as it passed.
The bugs descended like a cloud of charcoal dust. They reached the ring of painted bare wood and spread to north and south. The cloud condensed, growing darker, swarming-a few ce’meters out from the bark.
“Carlot. Do you like it on the tree?”
She nodded, watching the bugs.
“Booce? I’ve watched you. You like it here.”
“I love it.”
“Then how can you kill trees?”
Booce shrugged. “There are plenty of trees.”
Chapter Nine
The Rocket
from Logbearer’s log. Captain Booce Serjent speaking:
YEAR 384, DAY 1280. TEN DEGREES WEST OF THE CLUMP. WE’VE FOUND A GROVE AND CHOSEN A SHORT ONE, 30 KLOMTERS.
DAY 1300. REFUELED IN A RAINCLOUD. EVERYTHING’S WET.
DAY 1310. ANCHORED AT MIDPOINT OF TREE.
DAY 1330. RYLLIN AND KARILLY MUST HAVE LAID THE HONEY TRACK BY NOW. BUGS ARE FOLLOWING THEM DOWN TO THE TUFT. I’LL TAKE LOGBEARER IN TO PICK THEM UP. WE’RE ALL EAGER TO RETURN TO THE ADMIRALTY, BUT THERE’S NO WAY TO HURRY THE BUGS.
DAY 1335. RYLLIN AND KARILLY ARE ABOARD. FROM THE IN TUFT THEY SPOTTED A POND 50 KLOMTERS WEST AND A LITTLE IN. THE WOMEN ARGUE THAT WE CAN FIRE UP THE ROCKET AND START OUR RETURN WITH OUT WAITING FOR THE BUGS. THE POND WILL LET US REFILL THE WATER TANK. IT WOULD GAIN US TWENTY TO THIRTY DAYS.
NOW IT’S MY CHOICE. THERE’S A RISK, BUT I’VE NEVER YET HELD OUT AGAINST THE WOMEN. I’LL GIVE UP EARLY, SAVE TIME.
DAY 1360. THE BUGS HAVE REACHED THE HONEY BAND AROUND THE IN TUFT. ORDINARILY I WOULD BE DOWN THERE SUPERVISING, BUT I CAN’T DO THAT WHILE WE’RE UNDER ACCELERATION.
WE MAINTAIN STAGGERED WATCHES AGAINST HAPPYFEET. IF THEY FIND US WE CAN READY LOGBEARER FOR INDEPENDENT FLIGHT IN HALF A DAY. THE ROCKET IS HOT AND RUNNING.
DAY 1370. I’LL STOP FEEDING THE PIPEFIRE SOON. LET IT BURN OUT BEFORE THE BUGS CUT THE TUFT LOOSE. I CAN GUIDE US INTO THE POND ON THE LAST OF OUR STEAM.
IF THE ROCKET RUNS DRY IT’LL TEACH THE GIRLS CAUTION. WE’LL STILL FILL THE TANK BEFORE WE REACH THE CLUMP . YOU ALWAYS BUMP A POND OR TWO WHEN YOU’RE MOVING.
DAY 1380. A MATURE TREE IS DRIFTING TO BLOCK OUR PATH. DAMMIT. MAYBE IT’LL MOVE PAST.
NO FURTHER ENTRIES.
THE CARM PICKED THEM UP ON THE BRANCH AND REturned to its dock with the cabin half filled with foliage. Rather suspected that they would not eat foliage again, nor sleep in decent tide, for a long time.
He heard the argument when Clave wanted to restart the motor. “There’s no point,” Jeffer told him. “We’d be using fuel to fight wind. We’re doing fine.”
Booce added his voice to Jeffer’s. “We’ll sail even further in after the tuft severs. Leave us something to breathe!”
Had anyone else seen Clave glance aft? Clave had taken less than a breath to read the faces of his crew, but Rather had caught it.