Evergreen Planet: A Science Fiction Archery Adventure

By Robert Gillum

Philip Cornell grows up on an Earth covered by elevated levels of oxygen produced by an uncontrollable verdure of moss. Government decrees against incendiary technology to prevent fires have collapsed the world economies into feuding city states where swords and bows and arrows are common weapons of the time. The Conservancy replaces the United States Federal Government and imposes its authority over the land. The near future will bring death for the moss and result in global fires that will burn the earth to a crisp. With salvaged materials, the Conservancy begins the task to build survival domes on the floor of New York Bay. Trained by the greatest logician of his time, Philip takes on his governments request for him to destroy mammoth crocodiles that threaten completion of the domes. Forced to accept the help of Josiah Rhue, the salvage kingpin and henchman of an enemy high in the government, Philip increases his understanding of Rhue until he realizes this enemy poses the greater threat to the survival of humankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Oct 11, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493112326

Robert Gillum

Always captivated by stories of the legendary archer Robin Hood, Robert Gillum spent years enjoying the sport of archery and the manufacture of his own archery equipment. At last, the limited field of archery adventure stories—mostly rehashed versions of the Robin Hood stories—led Gillum to attempt his own first contribution to this literary field. Hindered by the demands of everyday work, his desire to write stretched over many years to yield a novel that has been a labor of love steeped in the lore of archery that has made it endure through the ages, in Evergreen Planet.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MAN OF THE DESERT

By the year 2210, a global moss had dominated the Earth’s surface for more human generations than anyone remembered. Nitrogen secretions from this greenery poisoned the soil until, in the summer of 2187, the last food crops failed, and famine wars erupted. Across the world, most of the human population collapsed within two years. In the boundaries of the United States, the remnants of the scientific community and available craftsmen retreated to the last patch of Arizona desert for its isolation and security. For eight years, these pioneers in this changed world labored to build the twenty-one levels of the Citadel. With staggered terraces stretched over a square, half mile, this city graced the land as the sole place of a safe and prosperous life. In defense of the citizens, an able army garrisoned inside fortified walls, from where it ventured forth in the year 2198 and enforced social order over the territorial lands.

Secure within the Citadel’s countless chambers and halls, Daniel Cornell had grown into manhood. On his private balcony, halfway up from the desert floor, he fixed his gray eyes on the horizon. There, hordes of black birds approached on the March winds in the twenty-seventh year of his life. As this rush of wings soared overhead, he recalled the years before when, from his same perch, he had seen such massive departures rise like a silent, distant speck. However, since two years ago, these flights lifted as dark clouds that whispered like waves in a nearby sea. For over the horizon crept a thick, mossy blanket, where insect infestations nourished the flocks ever closer across the outreaches, the protective stretch of desert between the moss’ encroachment and the Citadel.

Like in the frequent spirit of his fellow citizens, Daniel admired the scene around him. To his front lay the southern ramparts—blunted, wedge-shaped projections from the base of the outer walls. In the east, solar cells sparkled where they dotted the landscape for the supply of electricity. Next to these gleamed arrays of heat mirrors that supplied hot water. Thirty or more habitats called Earth domes rose in the west. These reached a height of two hundred feet and dazzled the eye with the sun’s reflection. All of this testified for the Citadel as the highest civilization across the land.

Daniel remembered an old-timer’s story about changes that had swept Earth while the moss spread and built up a dangerous level of oxygen. To help prevent uncontrollable fires, all governments restricted incendiary technology—including internal-combustion engines and firearms. Thus, those armies in the famine wars had fought with compressed-air weapons in caution against igniting the immediate battle ground. And, always, everyone lived threatened by paralysis to their nervous system if placed under sudden and prolonged exposure to the outside air.

In regard to the atmosphere’s toxicity, Daniel checked the mixture from his rebreather’s output and firmed the supply tube beside his nose. Under this nuisance, he wished that he had made the adjustment to the elevated oxygen as did the creatures in the wild. However, he and his fellow citizens had grown accustomed to breathing the regulated air that ordinances required in buildings wired for electrical power; otherwise, a high probability of air-borne combustion existed.

Although the whole population followed recommended safety precautions, Daniel, even now, thought about the final consequence of the moss’ wide reach—a planetary fire. This "Feuer-Reich," the so-called Kingdom of Fire, stood destined to burn the surface of Earth to a crisp. For in the year 2200, a scientist discovered the moss’ monocarpic cycle, a biological clock that ordained for this verdure to flower and die en masse with the onset of next year’s spring. Then, in an inevitable moment, when electric fingers shot from the heavens, the tender of moss guaranteed fulfillment of the predicted catastrophe. As well, the aftermath of dense smoke stood to block the sun and impose an ash winter over land and sea. Thus, Daniel had lived for ten years with the knowledge that he faced an end to his life as he knew it. In this awareness, he imagined the Citadel laid waste by the Feuer-Reich, for if set ablaze, the surrounding moss existed close enough to incinerate or suffocate every living thing at its center.

In pursuit of more relaxing thoughts, Daniel recalled the festivities that had occurred when the first harvests from the Earth domes flowed into the Citadel’s storehouses. After that, these lush cultivations provided many secret and fanciful adventures for him and his friends in their boyhood. With these same comrades, he traveled across the outreaches and barrier moss in search of inventive play. These thoughts on carefree days surrendered to a restless memory—the event that fell to him when his father Jack set out to survey the floor of New York Bay. There, the Citadel intended to test underwater domes for refuge against the onset of the Feuer-Reich.

By a turn of fate, Jack died in an accident under the dark water. Daniel remembered the grief of his mother Catherine. But after her time of mourning, she adopted a steely determination to fulfill her husband’s work. In this commitment, she served the Conservancy, a ruling council established at the Citadel to replace the federal government after its collapse.

To Daniel’s discontent, his mother’s duties now distanced her far from him while she governed as Regent over the greater region of York, around New York City. There, after Jack’s death, an enclave of scientists and workers struggled to build the haven site for placement of the survival domes.

At last, Daniel’s nostalgic remembrances ceased. He paced beside the balcony wall twenty feet from his private chambers. Spawned by the bold departure of the last spring before the Feuer-Reich, a breeze cooled him against the midday sun. The blackbirds had finished their journey overhead. He heard taps by boot heels. At a glance, he saw the approach of a Citadel guard, clothed in the usual khaki uniform, black boots, and belt. This young man stopped and saluted. He delivered an envelope and left. In Daniel’s continued freedom from the Citadel’s airtight corridors and chambers, he opened this letter addressed to him in his mother’s handwriting. A son’s admiration for his mother—nurtured by their equivalent minds and similar line of face—now heightened Daniel’s expectation for her words. As he read, he pictured her stately image, for her striking features and high cheekbones formed a beautiful and strong face—by his father’s own account the quality that had first caught her suitors’ eyes.

Daniel expected his mother’s congratulations on his recent promotion to Lieutenant Colonel and his appointment to the post of Chief Science Officer at the Citadel Academy. With a mind at ease, he read Catherine’s words of praise, and, then, her letter gave him cause for concern. For she mentioned threats to the haven site—shortages in construction-materials, a lack of underwater workers, and attacks against them by giant crocodiles under the moss flows over the bay. A hint of political intrigue weaved throughout her official tone, and Daniel sensed a telltale and troubling urgency in her spirit of duty. He searched the letter for missed evidence of the latter. Failing in that, he read his mother’s further accounts of the crocodiles.

These leathery monsters, wrote Catherine, grew to lengths of thirty-five feet. Saurians the locals called them—after dinosaurian ancestors—and the bay-floor workers regarded them as bloodthirsty. With each account of these attacks, the threat to the haven project loomed more evident; moreover, Daniel understood that these creatures threatened his mother’s survival as Regent. Then, he read her plea for help. Without hesitation, he determined to set himself under her authority and thought to depart for the enclave at the earliest possible hour. Upon acceptance of his official post, he received many documents transmitted for his inspection. Late afternoon found him returned to his chambers with its plush furniture, and walls hung with paintings that depicted the desert and seascapes. Here, he received good friends and in separate meetings said his good-byes to two special young women at the Citadel.

With the passing of hours, the sun approached the horizon as a reminder that the time to leave for the enclave had arrived. Daniel’s black Labrador retriever, Angus, accompanied his master. They set out on a journey that carried them through the human traffic along the Citadel’s spokelike corridors, where some citizens stopped to bargain over intended purchases at vendor stalls. At last, a lift-tube deposited the two companions beneath the city at a chosen place. There, in the subrail station’s cavernous space, long, arched ceilings echoed with the hum from electric engines and many people’s gossip.

With Angus placed in a subrail, baggage compartment, Daniel entered into one of ten silver, passenger cars. He relaxed in his own berth until he felt its descent into a tunnel through the earth. His ears caught the subrail’s swish along its permanent magnet suspension. His thoughts shifted between the danger to his mother and his imaginings about the near-by walls that passed like a blur outside his shuttered windows. He contented himself in blind travel until the last rays of sunset peaked in at him as he entered onto open country. He admitted more daylight and, for a while, watched the countryside pass by. A subtle pressure against his body revealed that his car now increased its acceleration toward the enclave—a journey undertaken at a speed of a mere one hundred and fifty miles per hour due to the age and condition of the rails.

At last, in escape from the journey’s boredom, he daydreamed about the Citadel. He had never tired of a scene there—the desert painted with fractured light just before sunset and decorated with shadowy fingers that crept over the dunes. And sometimes, in the day’s heat, cloud-puffed skies displayed majestic golden eagles en route to their hunts over the barrier moss, those vast fields of verdure that stretched beyond the sandy outreaches. He thought about his teenage years, when his climbs over the Citadel’s terraces supplied him with many daring adventures. With brute strength acquired from gymnastics, he stretched and contorted his six-foot-two-inch body in a search for finger crevices or footholds along the terraced walls. Often, while he climbed upward, onlookers had recognized him by his brown shock of hair. Their reports to his mother brought him her rebukes. Regardless, on many occasions after a successful climb in the late night, he crawled with stealth across the city’s rain-collection roof. At its inner, lower rim, drains in a vapor-retention cover opened into a central catch basin. Here, a pristine reservoir glimmered where he had taken many a stolen swim undetected by security guards.

Even with Daniel’s departure, he anticipated his return for a pastime begun with his father after the famine wars—a hunt with the bow and arrow for rabbits within the barrier moss’ thick stalks. Afterward, there followed a tasty meal cooked over a fire, allowed on the desert. During the night, these two hunters lay snug in sleeping bags against the night—comfortable even in the winters, as they had grown mild under the cover of the oxygen-rich atmosphere. As well, the elevated humidity spawned occasional rains that cooled the two men on the desert and nourished the moss’ encroachment across the outreaches.

Daniel knew that from these youthful experiences had grown his love for the desert. In this knowledge, he hoped for a quick return to that silent refuge, for, there, he practiced best his training in logic, a skill sharpened by the most respected mentor in the land.

At last, fatigue moved Daniel to adjust his large frame within his berth. Under the subrail’s muffled surge, he fell into restless slumber as he thought about the saurians of York.

CHAPTER 2

A HARSH REALITY

Stirred from sleep by the conductor’s call for departure, passengers left their berths on the late-night subrail as it approached New York Bay’s western shore. Daniel’s car slowed and lurched a final time as it stopped inside Hudson Bay Station. In anticipation of a new morning and a different world, he stepped onto the boarding platform. He inhaled the fresher air and stretched his heavy muscles and sinews against the stiffness from his restless sleep.

The station’s dome-shaped ceiling echoed the sounds from subrails set out toward their destinations—some to the city-states and others back to the Citadel. Daniel’s eyes made an unsuccessful search for a familiar face among the travelers and well-wishers who milled about in the tiled, side court. Aware that his subrail had arrived early by fifteen minutes, he resigned himself to wait for his mother’s representative. Stories about the bay area had raised his interest to the extent that he ignored pangs of hunger felt on his awakening. His move out of the flow of passengers on the boarding platform provided him with a pause to take in his surroundings. With curiosity, he studied and judged the passersby. He first noticed that in the diminished, local economy, most people lived under the need to make do with older devices. These included such things as outdated walkie-talkies, other worn electronic equipment, old-style hand tools used by maintenance people, and keyed handcuffs carried by civilian security guards. As well, he recognized those persons native in the area, for the influence of the nearby, coastal city-states stood out through many individuals whose personal appearances he considered medieval in style. This distinction often declared itself through a person who wore a sword or dagger and, in one instance, by three men who carried bows and arrows, all these things the weapons allowed for nonmilitary personnel. Thus, Daniel understood why the Conservancy had given his mother the medieval title of Regent. In regard to the designation of New York City and its outlying area as York—after England’s Middle-Ages city—such a name better suited the local culture, also. All this stood in marked contrast to the Citadel.

Daniel reflected on this last refuge for higher civilization in the land—by good fortune controlled by the Conservancy, for, during more than a decade, the survival of the remnants of population had depended on the Citadel’s power over the sometimes rebellious city-states. He knew that this distant authority had left its mark on the locals—a manner of speech called regallion, in which a person spoke with complexity and eloquence when the desire existed to draw special attention to one’s own words.

Out of Catherine’s vivid descriptions, Daniel turned his attention to imagining the region’s water and land. Most of this lay under the mossy verdure that, by her account, now displayed a ruby red color where heavy dew caught the morning sunlight. In idleness, he watched travelers depart and trickle into shadowed corridors around him. His thoughts settled on speculations about the saurians and their possible presence on the flows at this early hour. Those gray eyes caught a man’s movement onto the boarding platform. This unarmed stranger approached dressed in black adorned by a crimson cape embroidered in black, the Conservancy’s state colors, worn by its dignitaries.

The caped-man saw Daniel and picked up the pace with three guards, each one clothed in a gray, dress uniform and outfitted with a dart rifle hung from the right shoulder. Across each soldier’s chest stretched a silver sash. Daniel stood dressed in the same style uniform; whereas, his high boots, waist sash, and officer’s insignia set his general appearance apart from that of these three men under his studied gaze. In a purposeful manner, he projected the proper air for his rank. With an eye to further study of these men in approach, he noticed that each guard’s sword hung from the waist rather than the back—a sign that they approached on a diplomatic mission. As well, the body language of these armed men and the rhythm of their boots confirmed Daniel’s assumption.

The guards drew near—men, nineteen or twenty years-old—there to protect the caped-man. The inscription on the sashes of these young men declared the previous year as the time of their graduation from the Citadel Academy.

At Daniel’s front, the dignitary that had arrived, now forced a smile onto his own lips and drew his body to full height at around six feet. Regardless, his slender body stood in shabby contrast to the muscular military officer in front of him. Colonel Cornell, I am Victor Cromwell, said this man under escort. The words carried a pretentious air. By chance I find myself here to inform you that your contact will arrive an hour late.

Ample time to view some of the area, said Daniel.

Indeed, said Cromwell. You will be met by Max Wetzel in the subrail station’s restaurant after your morning’s meal. The Regent sends her deepest apologies. May I say it’s the times that are at fault—so many demands on so few.

Daniel thought that under Cromwell’s polished manner lay a basic cruelty, suggested to anyone by the thin, pale face set off by a sharp nose. All these features lay framed by slicked-down, black hair. Everyone had heard about this person through his edicts as the Citadel’s Interior Secretary or by disparaging comments from citizens. Daniel felt fortunate that his many years’ duty in the city-state of Los Angeles had prevented his formal introduction to Cromwell until now. Again, this conservator stretched his height and bowed his head in pompous diplomacy.

I trust that we kept you informed prior to your departure, Cromwell continued. I know that your mother—err—the Regent waits for you to assess the saurian problem. His voice projected an extreme politeness. Daniel ignored the pretense.

Before my departure for here, I learned that another man died on the bay floor, he said.

Yes, Catherine told me about such an incident—a diver from Norfolk in the former state of Virginia, I believe, said Cromwell.

Do we have the saurian that did this? said Daniel.

The attack happened at the work periphery, said Cromwell. Catherine has said the beast escaped in moments.

Surely the man’s body is here in preparation for shipment, said Daniel.

Cromwell’s face showed his loss for an answer. He turned and walked to the guards with whom a discussion took place. While Daniel watched, he felt a warning as to the unnaturalness in Cromwell’s visit to the subrail station, a place likely unacceptable to the pampered tastes of this bureaucrat, who now returned from the guards.

The corpse is in storage, Cromwell said.

I want to see, said Daniel.

The pale, cruel-faced man in black bowed his head. Daniel sensed the purpose of the gesture—to flatter and lead him to a path of thought. For a moment, this conservator pressed his lips together.

Catherine said your travels would have you famished, he said. The food here is excellent. Daniel nodded his head yes in acknowledgment.

I shall tell my mother you were insistent, he said, but I must refuse for now. I want to see. Cromwell chewed his lip.

May we walk? he suggested. He moved with Daniel five more paces from the guards. The remains are—well—gruesome, he continued. I have been informed that everyone hears about these incidents. We—

Killings you mean, said Daniel, annoyed by Cromwell’s excessive, diplomatic manner.

Yes, we don’t like to publicize them, said Cromwell. It forces up wages and there’s concern for morale.

Nevertheless, said Daniel, we must all be hardened to these times. Impatient, he toyed with the handle of his sword. Cromwell took a deep breath.

Very well, he said. He nodded his intention to comply.

Daniel made a hand gesture for his host to carry on.

Cromwell beckoned to the three guards, who approached and received his request to view the deceased diver. One guard took up the lead to the station’s arched access tunnel. As Daniel followed in stride, he managed only to fantasize as to how Cromwell had braved the discomforts in travel to the enclave.

Passed through the airlock to outside, they all inhaled and felt a surge in energy from the rich, outside air. Each individual secured his rebreather tube under his nose. Daniel’s eyes took in the sky, a light shade of green, for the moss’ waxy green leaves so reflected their color against the wetter and, thus, lower atmosphere over water that no one saw the blue sky above. In a glance backward, he saw the subrail station’s arched entryway, draped under moss like an ancient ruin, which deceived as to its age of a mere century. Where he walked along a terrace hemmed in by a stone wall, he eyed the moss flows, which in broad swarths glowed from the sun on morning dew—true to his mother’s word. Cromwell took notice.

It’s splendid—isn’t it, Colonel? he said, yet indifferent by his voice’s tone.

Yes, said Daniel. He felt the March winds against his face—a reminder of this force destined to sweep the Feuer-Reich across the moss. Then, even a saurian stood at risk of perishing.

In the short time before Daniel’s departure from the Citadel, the saurians’ karma had loomed self-evident from all the information transmitted to him by the Regency. Now, he used his vantage beside the bay to search with his eyes for a first sight of these dinosaurian beasts. In his thoughts loomed this threat to his mother’s authority, for if construction of the haven-site domes fell behind, the threat to everyone’s survival stood to raise demands for her removal.

Even after an extensive inspection over the flows by Daniel, he failed to discover creatures larger than seagulls. He shifted his attention to New York City. Stretched over Manhattan Island’s main length, these ruins’ lay under a bright-green, mossy canopy that cast dark shadows underneath—a hint of the danger and uncertainty along the water-logged streets, there.

On the bay, moss-skimmer pilots steered in a bold passage from the docks at Hudson Bay Station. Daniel had seen a moss skimmer in photographs that showed the spade-shaped cabin set on a lancet-shaped platform with a railing. Underneath this deck, struts extended to pontoons whose bottom surface carried runners. Set apart in the rear from the cabin, an electric-motor pod powered the push-fan. Daniel continued to study these crafts and anticipated his opportunity to pilot one of them.

The pace set by the lead guard increased in consideration of the group’s mission. Daniel shifted from his observation of the bay. Inside a tunnel off the terrace, the group stopped before a shiny metal door that opened to a guard’s determined push. Vapor clouds from the refrigerated interior brushed Daniel upon his entry. With respectful authority, he pressed a guard to pull a shroud back from over a wheeled table. He heard the crackle of the frost-covered cloth in its fall to the floor. On the table lay a human corpse on its back, its limbs broken and twisted—the face contorted in a manner expected by him. He had seen the frozen expressions on men who had died in reflection on their impending death. Seeped out from under the dead man’s back, blood lay along the ribs and waist—evidence of deep penetration by the saurian’s lower teeth. Daniel clucked his tongue to emphasize the scene before him.

Such a generous bite radius, he said. His words sent frozen breath into the air. The reality is severe compared to a report on paper, he added. He looked at the guards, their eyes fixed on the body.

Cromwell kept behind the others in an obvious attempt to avoid closeness to the grisly scene, as ample space existed for his approach.

Daniel frowned at the presence of such behavior—especially because it rose from a person in higher authority. With tight lips, he smiled at the guards and their apparent innocence—young men, conditioned to lay down their life for the Regent yet unaccustomed to the harshness before them. In sympathy, he remembered his own exposure to the death of others in war—personal combat that had resulted in his rapid rise to higher rank. Hardened to gruesome spectacles by the time that he had reached the age of twenty-three; nevertheless, he felt compassion for the man who had died. Evident in the guards’ eyes, uneasiness dominated their expressions while they looked on the dead body. For Daniel, this loss of life represented a challenge to his arrival, for his mission’s responsibility loomed more burdensome in the scene before him. His curiosity moved him to ask at length about the worker’s death. Soon wary that his focus on the morbid seemed strange to others, he shortened his inquiry. He wished that they knew how the accounts from his mother had heightened his interest about the bay and the saurians. At last, his hunger pangs had changed into a monster that demanded its morning meal. With his companions, he exited the cold storage and returned to the subrail station.

Cromwell offered a civil farewell and departed with his guards.

At Daniel’s request, a porter brought Angus from the subrail’s parked, baggage car. This faithful canine wagged his tail and nudged against the hand of his master, who patted the furry head and fitted a custom-designed rebreather to the soft, warm muzzle. With Angus at heel, Daniel set a determined pace in anticipation of a meal at the adjacent three-story dining hall. In continued curiosity about the saurians, he hoped that, from the higher elevation, he had a better chance to see one of these spectacular beasts.

CHAPTER 3

THE SAURIANS OF YORK

Angus waited for his master and wandered the dock in animal curiosity about those who came and went from the dining hall beside the subrail-station. There, a carpeted chamber, hung with chandeliers, provided Daniel a secluded table while he ate and reflected on his mission. Near his meal’s end, a man in a waiter’s formal suit brought him the customary bill.

The saurians hunt fairly close to the dock, said Daniel, stirred out of the quiet that he had kept while he dined. The waiter paused.

Then you’ve seen them on the bay? he said.

No, said Daniel, but the angle from here highlights the paths of their tails in the moss.

Some of our patrons watch from here for the saurians, said the waiter. He pulled a field-scope from his jacket pocket. For your viewing, Sir.

Daniel received the field-scope, adjusted its focus through a hurricane window and watched the moss flows on the bay. He searched for a saurian and speculated on their habits—now, about their gruesome breakfast, for sure, he thought. Despaired of a chance sighting, he shifted his attention back to Manhattan. He watched through the distance to where wind scattered white-water plumes from a moss skimmer as it lifted out of a watery channel beside the island. The push-fan flashed in the sun as the pilot steered toward Hudson Bay Station. Impressed with the pilot’s ability under speed, Daniel followed the skimmer’s progress until it skidded sideways to a stop at dockside. A man clothed in brown emerged from the cabin and bounded up the ramp. On the dock, Angus advanced but halted at the confidence evident in this stranger’s approach. This newcomer’s square face dominated his image and spawned Daniel’s recognition of Max Wetzel. While a major in the Citadel’s army, this family friend had, at times, met with Jack Cornell to advise on government matters. Sometimes, Max’s son Jared accompanied his father and visited with Daniel—much to both boys’ mischievous pleasure, for they spent many hours to wander the haunts and corridors throughout the Citadel.

The hiss from an airlock door preceded Max’s entry. His black, wavy hair-shock covered his neck and set him apart from other people as he walked into view across the dining hall. A broad smile broke across his tanned face. He raised his right hand in greetings and dislodged the rebreather tube from under his nose.

In anticipation for his departure, Daniel rose from his dining table.

Max’s short sword jostled at his hip as his stride took the lead over the rest of his six-foot body. When he reached his young friend’s dining table, he said, Welcome, Daniel Cornell.

Daniel recognized this use of both his first and last name as an act by Max to show special recognition. With well-developed muscles, Max shook hands. His fierce, hazel eyes tilted up the extra two inches to meet the younger man’s own steady gaze. Further pleasantries passed between the two men.

We’ll have to leave now, Max said. Catherine gave strict orders that I am entrusted with your safety, and the tide has started to break the flows. I’d hate for Old Saurius to get you." Daniel smiled at the nickname reference to saurians.

Yes, mother’s wrath at such a mishap would rise to new heights, he said. He recalled his mother’s brief mention of travelers seized by saurians when unlucky moss skimmers had fallen through fissures in the moss. From his chair back, he removed his short sword and secured its scabbard belt around his waist. Max, how is Mother? he said. In earnest, how is she?

Indomitable as ever, said Max. Both men chuckled.

Still, she’s anxious to see you because we lose workers under the bay each month, said Max. Daniel grimaced at this news.

We can fill any shortfall with troops, he said.

Months are required to train them, said Max. It’s best we hire experienced workers. For that, we had to increase wages. Daniel smiled in a second show of amusement about Catherine.

The mother I know should have half the dollars in the Citadel’s realm, he said. Max chuckled in his agreement.

I wish the problem lay with but finances, he said. He held up his right index finger in a gesture to delay the subject. We’ll talk on the way in.

Departed from the elegance in the dining hall, each man positioned his rebreather tube. Angus approached and whined to his master, who petted him for his patience and wondered if his canine companion’s primal mind shared his own anticipation for a return to the Citadel and the quiet isolation of the outreaches. Daniel stretched his chest against some stiffness that lingered from his restless night aboard the subrail. He walked and chatted about Max’s half-Chinese wife and Jared.

Max said that his wife had made the adjustment to enclave life, but that sometimes, she missed the familiar culture at the Citadel’s Little China. As for Jared, he had replaced the officer who had assumed command of the garrison at Los Angeles when Daniel departed to the Citadel Academy. This last revelation carried in an anxious tone detectable only by those trained in human behavior.

I know, friend, Daniel said. It’s Jared’s safety on your mind.

Still, there are outbreaks from those rebels, said Max.

Not to worry, said Daniel. The Citadel chose Jared for his ability—I can assure you. And at the academy, he pressed me the hardest with a sword.

A smile on Max’s face revealed that he took comfort in the counsel. With Angus in lead toward the dock, the two comrades weaved their way through many men and women dressed in street clothes, construction suits, or military uniforms.

The air from the bay cooled Daniel and Max’s face. In the distance to their front, the Statue of Liberty cast the shadow of her torch across the moss flows. Closer, about a dozen seagulls flashed their wings in the sun where they soared over the dock, bordered by eight moss skimmers. A few of these craft displayed rounded bumpers bolted to their prow. Questioned about this, Max said some skimmer pilots worked to push the cargo barges that ran the coastlines between the city-states. He urged Daniel and Angus onto the passenger side of a skimmer, whose boarding deck and guard railing ran beside the cabin’s door. Inside lay a clean-walled interior, except for an obvious, tool chest set against the wall opposite the door. Two swivel seats fronted the pilot consol from which hung a first-aid kit in the center. On the ceiling stretched several long poles, fitted into clasps and affixed with a flag opposite a single, pointed end. A very large fuel-cell generator sat to the pilot’s side at the rear.

Settled into the pilot’s seat, Max said, I see you carry the weapon of choice for here.

Yes, the short sword, said Daniel.

I like that, said Max. You come prepared.

Daniel’s lips creased in a slight smile. He withdrew the sword and studied the blade, at its wide base much rounded for five inches and tapered upward at an extreme degree for two feet to where it came to an angular point. In continued admiration for the weapon’s graceful lines, his left hand traced the hand guard, constructed from a slender, steel oval that on the ends curved forward to catch an antagonist’s blade. He felt the comfort from his grip on the thick handle, flared back to the chromed, steel butt and wrapped with leather. Several twists of the sword about its center of gravity revealed his skill to control this rather, heavy weapon. One can better execute a parry than with a heavier ended blade, Daniel said, and it maneuvers well with a single hand. Max nodded to show his agreement.

The design comes from the locals here—the ‘Muklaks,’ he said. They determined that most lethal attacks come by a sword thrust, so they see little need for a heavier-ended weapon. Their technique is deceptive. You defend against many thrusts and, then, there arrives a slash from the blade when you least expect it. Max winked at the contradiction in these words.

Daniel nodded yes to show that he understood, as he had received similar training. When he heard the push-fan beat the air, he took the seat beside Max. The skimmer turned toward the middle flows. To Daniel’s left, the Hudson River’s exposed, reflective ribbon poured into the bay. He assumed that the currents and fresh water there prevented the moss’ growth because that greenery flourished best in a salty environment, the place of its incubation.

From the sub-station dock, the skimmer set out at an angle toward the southern shore. There, the various buildings’ moss-covered outline tapered to terrain dotted by low ruins shrouded under the same greenery. About one-quarter mile in from this shoreline, a bulge like a giant worm wound along westward to beyond the human eye’s reach. Daniel knew this contour represented the dike for holding back the floods that the scientists predicted when the polar ice caps began to melt. After years to demolish the masonry buildings for the dike’s construction, the threat never materialized to expectations. In regard to the absence of other structures, Daniel assumed that they had suffered destruction during the famine wars. On his left, he saw the dip and rise by Manhattan Island’s canopy, in places caste somber and darker green under the shade of a passing spore cloud released by the moss. About five miles from the island’s tip sat the World Technology Building, tapered upward to its top. Built before the collapse of the global economy and abandoned soon afterward, this structure stood alone like a stylistic Aztec ruin under the moss’ green tendrils. Closer now, the haze on the coast had thinned out to reveal a bridge that spanned the bay’s inlet. Daniel pointed, there, to indicate his interest.

Narrows Bridge, Max said, and on the right is the enclave.

For a moment, Daniel watched in the direction of this work settlement. The sun’s reflection from the windows of Regency Tower gave rise to his comment about this tall structure’s apparent stability against the severe storms.

Max grimaced and pointed at his ear in an indication that he had difficulty understanding the words. He pushed a button on the ceiling. The sunroof closed and cut off much of the sound from the skimmer’s electric push-fan. Above the low hum from the fuel-cell generator, Max replied that the tower had shields to rise and buffer it against the winds.

For a moment longer, Daniel continued his attention to Regency Tower, for he knew that, there, his mother waited for him and defended her power as Regent. Farther out and high over the ocean, he saw an object silhouetted against the sky. Through the haze, he managed to recognize this form as a dirigible. He asked about its purpose.

The weather forms vortexes at such a close distance that radar cannot detect them, said Max. The dirigibles are used to study the storm clouds. The Muklaks taught us about the patterns that the sky develops just before a funnel cloud drops. Daniel nodded in acknowledgment.

It’s a bit dangerous—but clever, he said. He reflected on Catherine’s latest letter. Mother said the vortexes resemble snakes that have risen up on their tails.

We worry about the debris in them, said Max. If it’s too dense, it can beat us to death.

Daniel continued his visual search over the bay while the skimmer headed straight for the inlet. To his right, a mile from him, he sighted a finger of land that extended into the bay. Max explained that, there, at Military Ocean Terminal, the enclave stored equipment and supplies for the haven project. Daniel observed that from this projected land strip, a bridge extended to a round, black superstructure. Under inquiry, Max said that through this off-shore place, the haven-site workers descended to the bay floor. We’ll visit the site tomorrow, he added.

Farther toward the coast, about twenty people dotted the moss on the bay, where they stood or sat beside a flag and pole like the type on the skimmer’s ceiling. Max steered forward and weaved among them—men and women who fished through holes to the water. Each flag had a number, used to reserve each fishing hole, by Daniel’s guess. Beside a few of these marker poles lay fish in piles. A fisherman seated on a small, wooden box stood up as the skimmer approached and stopped. The push-fan ceased to whir. When an air-piston hissed and opened the cabin door, Max stepped onto the deck.

We’re on our way in, he said. Came in on the north side. How steady is this section?

Solid, replied the man. I don’t take any chances if it ain’t—what with the size of Old Saurius on the increase. This fisherman took pliers and re-formed a fishhook held in his left hand. At a marker pole, the tinkle from a bell caught his attention. He went to investigate and, by degrees, leaned over and peered into a nearby one-foot hole in the moss. He looked back at his visitors. Can’t be too careful, he said and tugged on a fishing line. It slipped through his grip, and he began to coil it into his hands. A jerk on the line launched a snakelike creature out of the hole and onto the moss. The long, slender body flopped around—an eel with eyes white and half blind from a life in the darkness under the flows. With a curved knife, the man whacked his catch into behind the gills and placed the edible, main part into a pail.

In curiosity, Angus poked his nose outside the cabin door. He brushed past Max, leaped from the skimmer, and began to chew on the eel’s discarded head.

Daniel stepped outside the skimmer’s doorway. He waited for a moment and called his furry companion, who at first whined and, then, jumped back into the skimmer. Daniel gave a pat for the obedience.

Many down there? he said as he eyed the catch of fresh meat.

Plenty—eels, squid—whole schools, said the fisherman, and the saurians love’m. Can’t be too careful though. The man smiled. Sure would be a surprise to catch Old Saurius on this thin line. He held it up and chuckled.

Daniel understood the intended joke that, with a saurian to defend against, a thin line is the least of anybody’s worries. He never doubted the offered reason for caution, as the high oxygen level and humidity had elevated the atmospheric pressure. Thus, the wild creatures’ successive generations, always outside in the air, had taken more oxygen into their cells and gained enormous strength and endurance through increased size—the same as had dinosaurs under those conditions.

Max stepped onto the moss, lifted the marker-pole out of its place, and used it to probe through the fishing hole.

Four feet thick—I’d say, he said. "The same as over land. Saurians can’t break much more than three feet of root mass." He stuck the pole back into the moss. The fisherman took out a tobacco pipe.

Yep, just keep the hole small, he said. You’ll be okay.

Daniel entertained his knowledge that the moss had its own adaptation in the water—tiny air sacs that gave the roots buoyancy to support even a skimmer’s weight. In the desert, a tougher root and stalk mass had developed for expanded water retention under the shade of the silky top-matt. The roots received debris from the greenery above and, with the nitrogen from the atmosphere, built soil suitable for their own nourishment.

Max returned to the skimmer. Under the whir from the push-fan, he waved good-bye to the fisherman, who watched his visitors’ departure and tamped tobacco into his pipe. The two travelers passed other fishermen, all in this risky distraction from their confined work within the enclave. One man left his spot on the flows, raised an arm in farewell to those who remained, and walked toward a skimmer positioned out from the bay’s southern shore. Daniel had a question about this man’s gesture.

Then these people, here, know each other. he said.

They’ve seen each other, for certain, said Max, because no more than five thousand people live and work at the enclave.

A limited population for such a grand project, said Daniel. Max winked to agree.

You’re right, he said. Approximately, a hundred of these personnel are Citadel soldiers who work on the project and provide security, and there are the five hundred Regency guards. Also, eight thousand or so scavengers work and live at the salvage plant across the moors from the detachment station.

Daniel knew that none of the city-states along the coastlines numbered more than about fifty-thousand citizens—about twenty million people in all. He understood that most of these population centers struggled to survive off the oceans when the growth of food crops proved impossible in the soil saturated by the moss’ high nitrogen secretions. A few of these city-states had fared to an easier life after the scientists introduced the Earth domes to grow crops. These governments consisted of those with large populations and revenues to afford such technology. As to the other settlements, his mother had written that their more challenged life kept them from rebellion. For a moment, he felt his good fortune to live at the Citadel—free from such a harsh life. In this acknowledgment, he entertained admiration for Max’s adaptation to the bay area and its challenges.

And you’ve been here from the outset? Daniel said.

Since twenty-two hundred, said Max. I was a diver commander then, when Jack led the survey party here. Nine years ago. It seems much longer without him.

He used to send me specters of the area, said Daniel. The three-dimensional images did great justice to the vastness of the moss flows.

Those were the rough times, said Max, when nobody knew what to expect under the bay.

Daniel realized that the skimmer now passed the place over the central channel where his father had died. In a sense of solemn respect, he pressed the overhead button for the sunroof and raised himself to look out over the moss flows. His gaze drifted to where he had talked with the fisherman. There, five people dashed about and waved their arms in the air. Through the distant haze, he saw the scene that gave rise to the agitated behavior—a saurian with an object dangled from its jaws. In an assumption that a fisherman had fallen victim to the bay, he dropped back to his seat. You said saurians can’t break through more than three feet of moss, he said. He pointed to draw notice back up the bay.

Max took the hint of direction and locked the pilot wheel. He slowed the skimmer and stepped to the rear in the cabin. Through a porthole, he searched the distance. He moaned to show that he saw the reason for Daniel’s alert. This will liven our day, he said. With three, long strides, he reached the pilot consol and turned the skimmer, which rocked on the pontoon-runners. These hummed under the surge in speed by Max’s hand on the throttle.

Daniel watched through the haze to where the fishermen continued their taunts to distract the saurian, for an obvious assumption applied that it intended to carry its prey into the dark water. With the closure of distance, he sized up the scale of the snaggle-toothed jaws to the person in their grip, which made more evident the saurian’s huge dimensions. Daniel had earlier observed that the fishermen went around unarmed—a justified reason for his concern when he saw the saurian lurch through these defenseless people.

The skimmer reached the conflict. By the familiar clothes, Daniel recognized the human victim as the fisherman with whom he had talked. Max sped toward a six-foot hole protruded above the moss flows, the place where the saurian had broken through to its prey. Now, this reptile slithered in that direction. The skimmer overtook the obvious attempt at escape back through the breach in the moss. Max spun the skimmer around into the saurian’s path. He stopped the push-fan, activated the side door, and stepped to the tool chest where he rummaged among its contents.

Daniel seized a marker pole from the ceiling. He ran through the side door, leaped onto the flows, and worked his uniform sash to bind the short sword to the pole as a makeshift spear. Although he expected assistance by Max with some weapon secured from the chest, Daniel pressed forward and maneuvered for the best chance of a lethal cast at the scaly hide.

In a jog, Max closed the distance toward the determined saurian. Arrows bristled from a quiver across his back. With his left hand, he extended an arched stick—a flat-limbed longbow by Daniel’s instant recognition. In a single motion, Max stopped, raised the bow, and drew to release his arrow but lowered it, for he had lost the chance for a proper angle of shot. He continued to advance by front-foot increments with his rear foot in tow. The saurian stopped, rose on all fours, and eyed the two human newcomers. With the fisherman in a toothsome grasp, the leather armored beast turned left to face the distraction by this man’s comrades, who persisted to wave their arms and shout. Again in one motion, Max brought the bow up and pulled the arrow back to his cheek. A white-feathered shaft traced a path to behind the saurian’s right leg. The creature wheeled to face the source that caused its pain. The fisherman dropped from the huge jaws.

Max stretched his stance to a lower profile. He elevated his bow. His arrow whizzed under the saurian’s snout and plunged to the feathers into the yellowish and white throat. Moss flew from under the webbed feet in their effort to propel the scaly body toward the hole torn in the moss. Along this leathery hulk’s chosen path for escape, Angus dashed from side to side. His lips wrinkled into a snarl. The huge beast lunged.

Under attack, Angus scurried aside. His teeth sank into the serrated tail.

The further aggravated saurian turned to face the threat from the rear. Angus backed away.

Daniel continued to advance or retreat in a move for an open moment to cast his spear.

Max shifted position and advanced to sixty feet from his intended target. An arrow clacked on his bow and embedded itself in the huge body’s greenish neck. A webbed foot raked and broke the shaft, near which plunged another feathered shaft. Vapor spewed from both wounds. Another shaft struck six inches away. A half minute passed with the wounded saurian up on all fours while it shifted its head from side to side to see the various antagonists. As if tired by its own weight, the leathery body eased onto its stomach. A glaze settled over its eyes. Moments later, this creature shuddered and ceased to move. Proper cause to relax vigilance dawned on those present when Angus darted in and bit on the toothsome snout—to no response.

Very much impressed with the saurian’s sudden death, Daniel disassembled his makeshift spear. Human moans drew his attention and that of the others to where lay the rescued fisherman. Hastening toward there, he examined this man’s wounds. He called to the other fishermen to bring bandages from the skimmer. As for himself, he accepted that his encounter had driven home even more the danger from the saurians’ presence in the bay.

CHAPTER 4

THE NATURE OF THE THREAT

The fishermen on the moss flows brought bandages for their wounded comrade. In a spirit of fellowship, the two travelers to the Muklak village examined their kill.

Daniel stepped off the dead saurian’s length. Forty feet, he said. Max placed his hands on his hips and looked along the sprawled, leathery body.

Whew, biggest I’ve ever seen, he said. To measure the head, he laid his bow alongside it. About seven feet, he said. This bruiser could have swallowed a man whole. Daniel paced beside the carcass.

The immensity of their size is lost in mere description, he said.

Indeed, said Max. He paused in thought. The bay patrol will dispose of this one, if the scavengers don’t get him first. Scavengers often eat saurian. They know how to cook it.

Daniel gestured to receive the longbow for his inspection. With it in hand, he pulled to half draw and admitted to himself the considerable strength required. He stepped around Max and withdrew an arrow from the quiver. Opposite this shaft’s feathered end rested a small stitched triangle, which he removed. To his interest, a fairly flat, bodkin point armed the arrow rather than the more triangular and flatter broadhead. A thick, reddish-brown substance covered the entire blade. He assumed that he looked at blood and started to touch the sharpened point to determine its keenness. His wrist felt a slight grasp by Max’s right hand.

Poison, said Max. His voice carried in a low tone.

Daniel’s lips puckered because he, now, realized the reason for the protective sheaths. In a moment’s pause, he considered the fatal mistake of an accidental prick from this arrow. In this regard, he remembered the glaze soon fallen over the saurian’s eyes.

Now I understand your bow’s effectiveness, he said. He paused. What poison do you use? It’s not strychnine. That causes severe convulsions.

Cobra venom mixed with curare, said Max.

Curare, said Daniel. That explains the quick kill.

I was not certain of the strength needed for those poisons, said Max, because I hadn’t used them before.

And before today? Daniel asked.

Max held up his left forefinger to request a moment’s pause before he answered. He faced the back of the strung bow. By his right hand’s grasp just above the handle, he stuck the lower bow tip into his right boot’s instep. With the heel of his left hand, he increased the arch in the upper limb while his fingers there worked the string out of the notch.

Daniel watched—caught up in his friend’s smooth performance.

Max pushed the lower, bow limb about one foot into the moss, where it stood upright. He turned to answer the open question. Before now, he said, I haven’t needed poison because the largest saurian that I had hunted measured a little over thirty feet. I encountered that particular one near the Hudson River’s outlet—up there. He pointed west, back up the bay. "That bruiser died by my three arrows buried to eight inches. However, over the last