An Accidental Alliance (10 page)

     
“I had my doubts,” she admitted, “You never really know if something will work until you try it, and while we did test it out near the base, we didn’t have conditions quite like that – gravel under an inch or three of running water – to test it in. The theory was sound, but…”

     
“But you could have told me,” Park complained.

     
“Why should both of us have worried?” Iris asked. “It worked and that’s enough.”

     
They continued on down the river and found another shallow the next day. After portaging by it, they moved a few miles further down the river before stopping for the night. “Signal strength is about seventy percent,” Park reported on his nightly report to Arn. “I didn’t expect that. Over.”

     
“I directed your team to extend their repeaters in your direction first,” Arn told him. “You’ll have a strong signal on your next move too. After that, they’ll be swinging off to the east and then north along the foothills of the mountains. Over.”

     
“Yeah, okay,” Park replied with a nod Arn could not see. “It’s a good idea. When they’ve finished the circle around the base, have them follow the line of mountains for a while. Over.”

     
“I will,” Arn promised. “Any particular reason why? Over.”

     
“It’s a natural boundary,” Park replied, “the one between Ohio and Congo, maybe. Over.”

     
“You’re kidding, right?” Arn asked, only belatedly adding, “Over.”

     
“Not by much,” Park replied. “Remember what Iris told us about Pangaea Proxima? Over.”

     
“Oh, yeah. I guess it slipped my mind,” Arn admitted. ”Do you really think Africa is on the other side of those mountains? Over.”

     
“If you had seen them you wouldn’t doubt North America ran headlong into something the size of a continent,” Park replied. “Africa is as good a candidate as any. Over.”

     
“We’ll know in time,” Arn finished. “Over and out.”

     
The next day, Park and Iris spent the morning on the northwest side of the river. They took videos and still pictures of the various animals and flora in the area. The golden-silver grass was still prevalent here, but there was other vegetation in the area. Most of the small and weedy plants they encountered had been present elsewhere, but the tall grass had been more noticeable.
 
Here where that grass had been trampled and eaten the smaller undergrowth was both more obvious and plentiful. With the grass out of the way, some of those lesser plants had the room to grow and develop. One that seemed quite common had long flat yellow-green leaves that stretched out on the ground. There was a tight bud in the middle of each plant that Iris thought might be a flower in the wet season.

     
They saw more of the postmammals in various shapes and sizes and more postavians, but none of the land-squids, which suited Park just fine. In the afternoon they moved to the other side of the river and saw more of the same, with one exception. There was a tree. It was only twelve feet tall and its double-lobed leaves were a dark oily green, but it was completely different from anything else they had seen so far. They took a lot of pictures of the small tree, but when they noticed there was nothing living in the tree, they were careful not to touch the leaves as they collected some samples and placed them in zip-lock bags. “It may be perfectly safe,” Park told Iris, “but that looked all too much like the shininess of poison ivy.”

     
They spent the next week slowly making their way down stream and adding to their map of the region and taking a lot of pictures.

     
There were plenty of flyers in the sky. They had seen the various insects and one of Park’s scouts had managed to capture one of the bat-like things that had been seen earlier. It turned out to be another postmammalian species, although some few true mammals had been discovered. The class of mammals had begun as post-reptilian burrowers and seemed to have returned to a troglodytic existence, although the biologists reminded everyone that they had hardly explored even a significant fraction of the world, so there could yet be many species of true mammals and birds somewhere.

     
The strangest of the flyers Park and Iris saw first appeared on the sixth day after the second portage. Iris first spotted the odd object in the sky when it floated into view from behind a hill. It was about five feet in diameter with eight stubby triangular appendages hanging down below it.

     
Park lifted the binoculars to his eyes. “Well, that’s one for the books. A flying cephalopod.”

     
“Are you sure?” Iris asked.

     
“Looks vaguely like an octopus filled with helium,” Park replied. For all I know that might be what it is.”

     
“Not very likely,” Iris laughed, “but it could be full of hydrogen. I suppose it might break water into its constituent elements. The oxygen could be to breathe and the hydrogen to float.”

     
“You think a cephalopod could evolve the ability to electrolyze water?” Park asked.

     
“I do, yes,” she replied. “Or it could be a chemical process.”

     
“No,” Park shook his head, “Water is one of the most basic products of an organic chemical reaction. To separate them chemically and get pure or almost pure hydrogen you need an electrical current. Well, electricity is part of life and some creatures are truly shocking, like the so-called electric eels, so maybe you were right the first time.”

     
“I’d like to get one for a sample,” Iris mused.

     
“If I shoot it, it will likely burst into flame,” Park replied. “It occurs to me that is not the safest way to get around in a storm.”

     
“It probably comes back down to earth then by releasing the gas,” Iris speculated. As though on queue the creature suddenly twisted around and shot downward to the river well ahead of the boat. It crashed into something that was swimming on the surface and instantly wrapped itself around the swimmer and after a series of squawks, dragged it down into the water. “Did you record that?” Iris asked.

     
“I did,” Park confirmed. “I didn’t get a clear view of what it attacked, though. We haven’t seen many things that swim on the surface of water.”

     
“I couldn’t tell either,” Iris admitted, “but it was probably a land animal that was crossing or fishing and instead the fish – sort of – got it.”

     
“Haven’t seen many fish that could get something that size yet,” Park noted, “but then the river isn’t consistently deep enough yet to support such a creature, I don’t think.”

     
“There could be something that cocoons itself during the dry season like a lungfish,” Iris pointed out.”

     
“There could,” Park agreed, “but I don’t think this river gets more than three feet deeper during the wet season if that. The banks are not very high here so it would flood if the level came up over two feet. Judging from the nearby vegetation I’d guess it floods maybe to three feet and likely does not more than briefly each year. If you look carefully, you can see the change in vegetation on shore.” Iris looked and nodded.

     
As they came to the spot where the flying cephalopod had been they saw it through the clear water of the river where it had nearly stuffed the entire other creature into its mouth. Not having a net they chose to proceed on and leave it to its meal.

     
That night, on the extreme southern edge of their communications link to Van Winkle Base, they received a static-filled warning from Patty Zinco. “We’ve discovered another new class of animals,” she told them between the clicks and hisses of the almost non-existent signal. “We’re referring to them as Neoreptiles and the ones so far are nasty. Over.”

     
“How so?” Park asked. “Over.”

     
“So far all the samples we’ve found have venomous adaptations of one sort or another. Mostly it’s poisonous skin and/or claws. The venom is extremely powerful and even their touch can paralyze quickly. If you see anything that looks vaguely reptilian, give it a wide berth. Do not attempt to touch one without adequate protection or maybe just don’t try for now. Over.”

     
“Roger that,” Park agreed. “How large are these things?”

     
“Most are small and lizard-like,” Patty told him, “but we found one just today that was four feet in length and looked like a small crocodile. The morphological differences were only apparent on internal analysis. They’re all mean and feisty and they do not tire easily unlike many of their ancestors. Over.”

     
“Thanks for the warning, Pat,” Park replied. “Please remind Arn we ran out of repeaters the day before yesterday so we will be passing beyond contact range tomorrow probably. Over.”

     
“Will do,” Patty promised. “You be careful, now. This isn’t Central Park. Over.”

     
“No, what’s left of that is jumbled up in the Atlantic Mountains. Over,” Park replied.

     
“Atlantic Mountains?” Patty asked. “I had not heard we named them. Over.”

     
“Well, that’s my suggestion anyway,” Park replied. “Over and out.”

           
The river gradually took a more southerly course and by the time they reached a wide confluence over a month after starting out, it was already starting to turn back toward the south southeast. The tributary nearly doubled the size of the river and the confluence was a knot of roiling currents, but they kept to the eastern edge of the river and managed to get past without incident. From then on the crystal clear waters were replaced by ones that were deeply tinted by brown silt. It was only a few days later that Park realized they had crossed the equator.

     
They continued on in that manner for the next month on a more or less southeasterly course. It had been an idyllic time for the two explorers. The wide river became even wider, growing to over two miles across as they continued. Park believed it was navigable to many ocean-worthy ships of the twenty-first century and there was still no end in sight.

     
On their exploration days they would hunt for fresh food, relying on experience and their testing kits. Anything they did not like the taste of, they avoided and so far that had seemed to serve them well. Some days they would spend time swimming in the river or just idly watching the clouds go by, when there were clouds. As often as not the sky was cloudless and Park began to wonder how far off the rainy season was. They had been awake for months and so far there had been no rain. Surely there would be a monsoon or other form of storm soon.

     
They were a day beyond the second major tributary and now headed east southeast, when they heard a scream from just around a wide bend in the river.

     
“That sounds like a woman,” Park opined, quickly grabbing on to something. He knew what Iris would do next. There were several strange zapping sounds and an animalistic roar in response.

     
“It did to me too,” Iris agreed. “Are there people here after all?” She opened the throttle and let their carefully hoarded fuel rush to give the motor an extra boost.

     
“It’s not impossible,” Park told her over the sudden roar of the engine. “Not very likely, but certainly within the realm of possibility.”

     
The boat picked up more than enough speed to have supported a pair of water skiers as it zipped around the bend, giving Park and Iris their first view of who had been screaming. In the water ahead of them was a young woman, maybe sixteen years of age. They could only see her from her shoulders up, but she had long, dark brown hair and well-tanned skin and appeared to be wearing a tight, hot pink sleeveless garment, which Park though might just be a form of swimsuit. She was holding what obviously had to be a weapon and there were two things that looked like eight-foot long crocodiles near her. One was obviously dead or maybe just stunned and the other was thrashing around in pain. Had those been the only aquatic menaces nearby, she would have been perfectly safe, but Park could see several others approaching from every direction.

    
 
The teen aimed her weapon at the next nearest neo-croc, as Park thought of them, but when it fired, instead of the loud zapping sound, it only emitted a faint pop and a small stream of vapor. Terror filled her face as she turned to see what was making the strange sound. Seeing the boat she slipped the weapon into a sheath on her back and started swimming toward it.

     
There was another neo-croc on a collision course with her, so Park lifted his rifle and took aim. After their previous weapons proved inadequate, Arn had issued the best assault weapons he could find to all the scouts. Park fired off a burst and his target began spewing blood. The other neo-crocs suddenly turned on that one and began to eat.

     
“Coh!” the young woman shouted at Park and Iris as the engine grew quiet and the boat began to slow down. “Miganz tana keepa!”

     
“What?” Park asked automatically. Then he silently cursed himself. There was no way either of them was likely to know each other’s language.

     
But she made the same mistake and sounding like every tourist in history who thought that by merely speaking slowly, clearly and loudly they could make themselves understood, she pointed at the neo-crocs and repeated, “Keepa! Miganz tana! Toh pikka cohna plis ta salapa. Jeefah!”