LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

      Winkle sat on the ground next to Nichang, his rare white shell shining like phosphorus in the moon glow. If anyone had changed the world for Ice Beetles, it was Winkle with his electricity, computing engines, and crystal information storage networks. As a pioneer of technical philosophy and technology, Winkle almost singlehandedly had conducted the race from an age of chatter to an age of information.

      Chi wondered what Nichang had in mind, having drawn together a collection of such bright minds.

      All eyes rested on Nichang. They wanted answers.

      “My beetles,” Nichang began. “We have reached an impasse. It is no longer a matter of our finding a new haven in another cave and living out our days repelling occasional attacks from the Voles. It’s clear that they have a new weapon that shakes the foundation of our very survival. I have made the decision to take the colony to the Wasteland ice caverns.”

      “Sir, that will be a hard sell; those caverns are haunted,” Gnasher said.

      “We are out of options. I have sent an expedition north to find something more hospitable. I intend to endure the specters of the Wastelands for only a short while before we migrate.”

      “It’s no use,” Stig said. “The Voles are everywhere. I think we have seen only the first in a long pattern of attacks with their new weapon.”

      “Unless we create a counter weapon,” Chi said.

      “That will take years,” Stig said. “Their sonic thumper collapsed miles of vaults in seconds. We’re talking decades of mechanical technology to keep the vaults’ integrity, crumbled to ruin in a breath.”

      “I have a theory,” Winkle said.

      “You always have a theory,” Gnasher said. “I say we take the battle to the Voles.”

      Nichang raised a rake to silence Gnasher but kept his eyes on Winkle.

      Winkle went on: “It all comes down to math. The Voles generate frequencies that disrupt the ice matter. If we can counter that frequency, we might be able to foil their weapon.”

      “First we’ll need to capture the weapon,” Chi said.

      “Unfortunately, that is nearly impossible without a full frontal attack,” General Nichang said. “I have sent RECON missions into the Voles’ territory. They keep the sonic thumper well garrisoned. And they are multiplying like never before. Their population dwarfs ours by one-hundred to one. I’m afraid I have reached a rather bleak conclusion.”

      Everyone went still.

      “I’m afraid we have to face the facts,” Nichang said. “We stand on the precipice of extinction. I realize that I am leaving little space for hope. But, my friends, we have reached a point of desperation,” Nichang massaged his face bones with his spicules; it was the general’s first gesture of fatigue. “It’s time to level with you; we are down to a long shot. I’m sure you have all considered who is assembled here. You represent the greatest of our numbers. I consider you few to be the backbone of our entire civilization. Each of your talents have advanced our species. Now its time to put your talents to the ultimate test. And the very existence of the Ice Beetles rests in the balance.”

      “What are you asking?” Goorn spoke up for the first time, her voice lilting like a song, mingling with the ree of crickets and night creatures out in the jungle.

      “There is a secret project,” Nichang said.

      Winkle’s eye bones shifted at the mention of anything secret. He had an idea where Nichang was going.

      “It’s a ship--”

      “Are you sure you want to do this?” Winkle asked, his old voice quaking as he spoke.

      Nichang fixed Winkle with a somber expression. Winkle nodded and backed down. Nichang turned back to the others.

      “An expeditionary detachment found it in the jungle years ago. It’s two days journey from here. It is from that ship that Winkle, with his genius, has drawn so much in the way of information storage, networking, and mathematical technology. Winkle has decoded the language of the ship and even has postured that, in theory, he can fly it.”

      “In theory,” Winkle raised a rake to reiterate his point.

      “We are out of absolutes,” Nichang said. “Theory is all we have left.”

      “Where do we come into play?” Chi asked, already dreading the answer to his question.

      Nichang took in a deep breath of night air. He let it go in a long release. “While we search for new ice caverns suitable for colonization, you five are to leave our world and send out a signal for help. Our only hope is that we can find a peaceful force that will sympathize with our plight and come to our aid.”

      “We can do this without help,” Gnasher said, snapping his spicules.

      Nichang leveled a stare a Gnasher. “We can’t allow our arrogance to drive our race into extinction. The only way to survive on this planet is to defeat the Voles; that is a losing battle. I ask you to find the humility within you to pursue this, our final option.”

      Everyone around the table went silent. They looked at the ground or out into the boulder field. Only the sounds of the surrounding jungle--the crickets, the night birds, the clicking of bat sonar, the breeze--held them together as they each considered the weight of Nichang’s proposal.

      Chi finally spoke. “I will go.”

      “We are under orders; is that correct?” Gnasher said, inclining his head toward General Nichang.

      “I am leaving this one up to you. Once you leave Hull, I hope to see you again; but, in the face of repeated Vole onslaughts, and with our lack of understanding of what lies out there in the stars, I have to remain realistic. I fear that this will be our parting moment.”

      “So, we are under orders then,” Gnasher said, not relenting his gruff tone. “Under orders of General Nichang, leader of our colony. I consent to the better judgment of my tactical superior.”

      One by one, the others conceded.

      General Nichang smiled and looked at each of his friends, the finest bargaining chips he could put on the table, the finest of his species. If there was ever a chance of survival, he was putting that chance in the most competent hands he knew of.

      “When do we leave?” Stig asked.

      “Rest tonight and get an early start,” General Nichang said.

      The six Ice Beetles parted company. They went their separate ways to spend the rest of the night, perhaps their last night, with their kind, in the company of friends and family.

      Chapter 11

      A canopy of jungle trees shaded Chi and his little command from the blistering summer heat of the two suns. Mostly they traveled in silence. They had only been allowed enough time to issue short goodbyes to their families and friends before setting out just before first light. Only the sounds of their rakes scraping through the leaf-carpeted ground, over dust and pebbles, kept them company as they wended their way through the scrub and foliage, so thick that they had to take turns bushwhacking at point.

      Winkle’s little receiver kept blinking and emitting short crackles. It indicated the party’s global positioning while tracking the extra-terrestrial ship’s beacon--a mayday signal the craft had emitted since crash-landing on Hull nearly 60 years ago. “We’re getting close,” Winkle said, taking the tracker out of one of his exoskeletal pockets and checking their bearings. “We’ll be there in less than an hour.”

      “Why haven’t we known about this ship?” Gnasher asked. “Seems we might have benefited from exploring space.”

      “We have known about it,” Winkle said. “At least in certain circles. It was my mentor, Abstel, who discovered it.”

      All of the company knew of the legendary Abstel, even

Скачать книгу