The Eternal Enemy (18 page)

“Do you find the fact that you're still strong while the rest of us are weak a little strange, McGowen?” she asked.

“I hadn't given it much thought,” McGowen answered calmly.

But Straka could see the man was lying. She'd spent too much time with him to be fooled. She turned back and glanced at the building; none of the others were up and around yet. “You feel any different from how you used to? Notice any change in yourself?” she asked.

McGowen eyed Straka with raised eyebrows, giving her the once-over. He picked up a blade of mint-green grass and played with it, spinning it between his fingers. “No,” he said.

“No change at all?”

McGowen shook his head. “None to speak of.”

“Okay, McGowen. You've got the ball. I won't pressure you anymore.”

McGowen sighed heavily. “Let's just drop it, Cathy, okay? It's not going to help all of us. So I'm a little better off than the rest of you. So I can eat the grass. So I'm not starving. What's the difference? We'll all be dead, sooner or later. So my death takes place a little later. It's all the same thing, just a few days this way or that.”

Straka said nothing. She'd heard enough to have her suspicions confirmed. McGowen was different from the way he had been, and was different from the crew. He had the potential to outlive them all.

“Okay, McGowen. I said I wouldn't pressure you.” For now, anyway, Straka thought. I won't bring it up again unless I have to. But when I do, you'll tell me, and you'll tell us all. Or we'll make sure you're the first to go instead of the last.

Straka's spirits were still high, despite McGowen. Just having been able to spot the important points, to see that McGowen had lied, gave her the lift she so desperately needed. It didn't help her decaying physical state, but it did help her ignore some of the pain and discomfort.

Katawba came out of the building, and Straka watched his approach. The man had never seemed so lanky, and his tall, once-healthy and straight form looked hunched, as if his spine were curving, collapsing under its own weight. His shoulders were hunched forward, and he moved slowly, idly, but without the shuffling gait Straka had had to use. The lack of strength, confidence, and authority in his steps was painfully evident.

“Come on over and join us,” Straka said.

Katawba nodded as he walked to their sides and sat. “You look great, Cathy. You, too, George,” Katawba lied.

“So do you,” McGowen said.

Straka nodded her agreement.

“I only wish I felt as good as you say I look,” Katawba said.

Straka thought of bringing up McGowen's strange strength again, this time in front of Katawba just to see how McGowen reacted, how defensive he would get. All she had to say was, “McGowen feels fine,” and let them take it from there. But she decided against it. McGowen knew something he wasn't going to tell. If he wouldn't tell Straka alone, there was no chance of his opening up in front of Katawba.

“How are the others?” Straka asked.

Katawba shook his head slowly. “Maxwell may not make it through the morning. De Sola has a fever. You know how Kominski was?” Straka nodded. “Well, he's worse. He woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me he'd missed his turn in the geltank and wanted to trade with me. Jackson's not up yet. Martinez woke up hallucinating.”

“Things just keep getting better and better,” Straka said through tight lips. “What about Wilhelm?”

Katawba shrugged. “He seemed all right last night. But that was last night. There's no telling if he'll be sane this morning, or what he'll be like.”

Straka nodded. “Well, if he's sane, I want to talk with him, and I want you two there when I do. There are a few things we have to discuss, and the rest of the crew isn't going to be much in the way of help.”

Katawba's eyebrows seemed permanently arched. “Oh, really? Okay. I'll check to see if he's up yet.”

McGowen was on his feet before Katawba could make a move. He was smiling. “Save your strength. I'll check for you.”

Katawba returned the smile. When McGowen had disappeared into the building, Katawba motioned with a slight nod. “What's up?”

“Something's wrong. We missed something yesterday that we shouldn't have missed. All of which leads me to believe we're missing more than we're spotting. Watch him when he comes out.”

“Who?”

“McGowen. Watch the way he moves.”

“Right,” Katawba said.

Slowly, painfully, they shifted positions so they faced the building a little more. McGowen appeared a few moments later, half-carrying Wilhelm by putting an arm around his waist. Wilhelm's arm was draped over McGowen's shoulder. Wilhelm's feet touched the ground, and he moved his legs, but it was clear he was contributing little to their progress.

“He's sane, but weak,” McGowen said, a meter away.

“I see what you mean,” Katawba said softly.

“Put him down, will you?” Straka asked.

“Yeah, man. Put me down.”

McGowen lowered his crewmate to the grass as if he were made of leaded crystal.

“Hey there, cuties,” Wilhelm said.

“How're you feeling?” Katawba asked.

“About as good as you look,” Wilhelm said. “But this big goon didn't really have to help me. He was just showing off.”

Wilhelm smiled.

“But I did appreciate the help,” Wilhelm added.

“Listen. McGowen went inside to get you so that we could talk before the others are up. I need some opinions,” Straka said.

“Fire away,” Wilhelm said.

“First off, we're starving when we shouldn't be.”

“Huh?” Katawba said.

“I don't get it, man,” Wilhelm said.

McGowen said nothing. He played idly with another blade of grass.

“How long have we been without food?” Straka asked.

Katawba shrugged. “A few days. And I don't miss it.”

“We all do, Katawba. We all do. But two days isn't nearly long enough for us to be starving like this. We shouldn't be so weak. We haven't been exercising, so our muscle tone is bound to be pretty bad, but it's not like we're stranded in the middle of a desert or something.”

“Yeah,” Wilhelm said. “Good point.”

“Then tell me where all those calories have gone. Tell me what we ate for … how long was it? A week? Eight days? Whatever. Tell me why our bodies have been going downhill from the moment we stepped onto this planet.

“The only thing that makes sense is that we haven't been eating since we got here. Sure, we've put something that looked and smelled and tasted like food into our mouths, but there was no nutritional value to it.”

“Or it was like celery—eating it costs you calories,” Wilhelm offered.

“Possibly. Or it could have been so thin in nutrition it barely kept us alive. For all we know, the Habers could have assumed the food would last us for months. They may have thought it was a concentrate. Who knows? The important thing is that we've been starving since we got here.”

“No way. I can't buy that,” Wilhelm said. “If that's true, then that would mean that Markos is doing this on purpose.”

“Markos?” Straka said. “I don't think so. I don't think he's even here. Or if he is here, they're probably keeping him in a pen like this one, somewhere else.”

“What?” Katawba asked incredulously. “What are you saying? We know he's here. He's got to be here.”

“Who told you that?”

Katawba looked at her. “You … yeah, okay. You told us.”

“And I was wrong.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Okay, then, let's just forget about Markos,” Wilhelm said. “He's not important right now. If we've been dying like this, slowly from starvation, then how come McGowen's still so strong?”

Straka looked into McGowen's eyes. “Well? How about it?”

“You said no pressure, Cathy.”

“That was before. Well?”

“Well what?” Wilhelm asked, confused by their conversation.

“I want to know why we're weak and he's not. I want to know why yesterday, of all of us who tasted the grass, he was the only one who could eat it. I want to know why Maxwell is in there dying while he's out here strong as ever,” Straka said.

Katawba was already looking at McGowen suspiciously, and Wilhelm soon turned his gaze in McGowen's direction too. “Yes, McGowen. Why?” Wilhelm asked.

McGowen rose to his feet in a swift, fluid motion. “I don't want to discuss it. I didn't want to discuss it before.” He turned away and walked toward the barrier.

Katawba moved as if to go after him, but Straka put a hand on his arm. “Wait, Katawba. Let him go. There's no way you could stop him, and there's nothing we can do to make him talk.”

Katawba looked unconvinced.

“Chase him, then. Go ahead and waste what little strength you've got. All he has to do is keep walking and stay out of arm's reach.”

“I bet he could run if he had to,” Wilhelm observed.

“So, then what do we do?” Katawba asked.

“Right now, nothing. I just wanted to make sure that you saw what I saw, that I wasn't so far gone I was dreaming the whole thing. On this planet I haven't been sure of anything.”

“But there's more,” Katawba said. “I can tell. There's something you're not telling us.”

Straka gave him a look of surprise. “There is?”

Katawba rubbed his lower lip, unsure of whether or not to press her. “I think there is.”

Wilhelm touched Straka on the arm. “Are you holding something back?”

“No, not really. It's nothing definite.”

“Well, tell us anyway. We have a right to know.”

“Okay. Since you put it that way. I think we're suffering from something other than, or in addition to, starvation. Look at Kominski. No, never mind. He's a bad example. But look at De Sola. He's feverish, isn't he? And Maxwell—he's dying for sure. And not from starvation.”

“I see what you mean. Then what is it?” Wilhelm asked.

“This place. Bacteria. A virus. Something like that. Maybe the planet itself is poisonous to us.”

“Beautiful,” Wilhelm said. “Just what we need. I mean, what more could we ask for?”

“How about a little alien ship floating down out of the sky with some real food and water?” Katawba asked.

“Dream on,” Wilhelm said.

But Straka wasn't listening. She was staring at the horizon, at the approaching ship. “Gentlemen? What's that look like to you?” she asked, pointing.

They looked to where she pointed. “Oh my good God,” Katawba said.

“Baby Jesus,” Wilhelm said.

McGowen ran over to the group. “Do you see it?” he asked like a little boy at a three-ring circus.

“We see it all right,” Straka said. “Go in and get the rest of the crew out here. Carry them if you have to.”

15

The Haber ship landed in an open area twenty meters from the building. The whole crew with the exception of Maxwell waited for the bay door to open. Straka, McGowen, Katawba, and Wilhelm stood in a tight little group. McGowen was helping Straka stand. De Sola swayed back and forth unsteadily, a few meters away. Kominski was closest to the ship, standing motionless like a hunting dog pointing out a quail. Jackson stood nearby, eyeing the ship hungrily.

But the ship just sat there, humming quietly, a neutral gray in the early-morning light.

“What the hell are they waiting for?” Wilhelm asked.

Jackson wheeled around and glared at him.

Jackson turned back to the ship, and Straka caught Wilhelm before he had a chance to respond. “Cool out,” she said softly to Wilhelm. “This is not the time to react to him.”

After what felt like hours, the bay door slowly rose. Kominski started to whimper like a little child, making mewling sounds. He was drooling, wild-eyed, waving his hands as if communicating with an invisible being.

The Terrans faced the same unfriendly scene they had faced once before; an armed group of ten Habers in the doorway, small weapons by their sides. Straka recognized one of the Habers, the one who stood a step closer to the deck's edge than the others. His name was Alpha, and his eyes sparkled with color and life. She swallowed air as she waited for them to do what they must have come there for—to unload the stores.

Kominski was crying. He threw himself on the ground in the direction of the ship and started crawling on his stomach, rooting in the dirt like a wild hog. He made strange grunting sounds, muffled by the grass, once in a while letting out a short squeal of excitement.

A chill ran up Straka's spine. “Get him to his feet!” she said to McGowen.

McGowen walked over and lifted Kominski as if he were a doll. He sat Kominski on the grass and had to slap him across the face several times before he was silent. McGowen returned to Straka's side, frowning.

Alpha jumped to the ground. He stayed by the ship, out of the line of fire. “Get into the ship, Straka,” Alpha said.

“Where are you taking us?” she asked.

“Not all of you. Just you, Straka. Get into the ship.”

An icy flash ran down her spine, pinning her to the spot. Her hands started to tremble. Her eyes darted from man to man, looking for support. She touched her lips with her tongue; both were too parched to give each other any moisture. But still she sweated; beads of moisture ran down her sides, her face.

“I'm not going anywhere. Not until my crew is fed,” she said with as much conviction as she could muster.

“You must come with us,” Alpha repeated.

“Not until we get some water,” she said.

The crew murmured their agreement. “And some food,” she added.

“We have no food with us,” Alpha said.

“What about water?” she demanded.

“We have no water,” Alpha said. “Get in the ship.”