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  "Just say it," I demanded. "What's this toxin stuff about?"

  Georgie spat into the water and wiped his lips.

  "You cut your hand and let the toxin in. It's some sort of slime the plant secretes when it's in bloom. Heavy shit," he looked me in the eye. "If you don't get a serum injection pretty quickly, you're toast."

  I opened my mouth to answer but Georgie hurried to add, "Serum isn't the answer really, as you can still get gangrene from the wound. We might have to amputate the hand once the serum works. Or even the whole arm."

  "Go ahead," I rose. "Inject the serum. What are you waiting for?"

  He shook his head. "We don't have it. Only McLean does."

  "What kind of toxin is it?" Wladas asked. "Do you know its formula? If we..."

  Georgie smirked. "Why do you think I know? Carula is an alien plant local to this Continent. These life forms here may look as if they're nothing different, but the thing is, they are different. That's why..."

  "Quiet!" Grunt ordered.

  Jim reported the depth again. The captain responded with a "Keep her steady!" and leaned forward with the lamp. Georgie returned to his place at the stern. I waited a while, then sunk onto the bench and lifted my hand to my eyes. The palm had swollen. The cut itself had turned black and almost stopped bleeding. My fingers had turned blue.

  I heard a hum coming from above. Grunt turned to us. "Georgie, get the guns ready."

  "You think," the crane operator stepped over the bench and pulled two handguns from under his belt, "the raiders are already by the waterfall?"

  "Could be. If they saw us leave and semaphored the patrol..."

  "Nah," Georgie clutched one gun under his arm and got busy with the other. He unclipped the magazine, snapped it back in and put a round up the breech. "The patrol's on the plain. They'll never make it. Too much road to cover."

  He handed Wong a gun. "Take it. You sure know a gun from a clone's ass. Am I right?"

  His smile unchanged, the Chinese took the handgun.

  "When we clear the cave, look eastward," Georgie started to explain. "Once you see the waterfalls, fire away."

  Depends on the distance to the potential target, I thought mechanically and had another look at my swollen hand.

  "Georgie? You think you have a small axe?" I looked up at the captain. "Or something like a hatchet - sharp and heavy?"

  "Forget it, Mark," Grunt knew straight away why I wanted it. He laid his hand on my shoulder and looked me straight in the eye. "Even if you chop your hand off, the toxin's already in your bloodstream. We need to get you to the loggers. They might help."

  His tone was weird, as if he sent a message to the others. I paused and asked, "So what's the plan?"

  "That's better," Grunt nodded. "The current is about to take us out." He thumbed back at the cave's entrance. "New Pang is there. The river is in front of us. Its estuary is far north from the city. Not an easy place to get to because of all the rocks and sandbars. If we sail, it'll take us about two hours by sea to get to the loggers' camp. But up there, on the plateau," Grunt pointed up, "there's a crater. A big one. Filled to the rim with fresh water. McLean and his raiders guard the access to it because he's busy building a water pipeline. Builder my ass..."

  "Wait a sec. How come there're waterfalls there?" The map of the Continent had been blinking before my eyes for some time by then, but I couldn't see a lake anywhere on it. "The river level is way below the plateau. How come there's fresh water up there?"

  My temples stung as the map changed resolution and New Pang grew on it, stretching its coast beyond my view. I recognized the harbor we'd just escaped from. To its north, a cluster of cliffs jutted out into the ocean. A blue circle appeared on the plateau, too neat and round to be a natural crater. Past the cliffs, a thin ribbon snaked northward to the horizon edged in green. It had to be the river he'd spoken of.

  "It is," Grunt grinned. "The lake water had washed its way through the cliffs into the ocean."

  "Why doesn't the lake shrink, then?"

  "No one knows, that's the whole thing. Could be some underground streams. Could be the Forecomers' work. The crater has to be artificial. Neumann proved that it had nothing to do with the river." Grunt shrugged it off and looked up. "No point talking about it now. All we need is for the waterfalls to be raider-free."

  "They would have to make a detour around the lake," I realized. "It's quite a distance."

  "It is," Georgie said. "He's not stupid," he nodded at me, "and he's still standing."

  "True," the captain rose looking in front of him and scratching the tattoo on his shoulder. "That's why we'll go north. They can't catch up with us if we take the river course. There're no roads nor bridges nearby."

  "There were other boats in the harbor," Wladas said. "And a motor boat by the pier. If they..."

  "They won't make it," Grunt answered. "The tide is coming in. As for their motor boat, Oakum took care of that."

  The cave in front of us seemed to widen, its walls sloping to the water. The current carried us to the opening, barely wide enough for the boat. I could see the ocean and the narrow brown strip of the coastline.

  "How about the trawlers?" I asked as I sat back down. I started to shiver, cold sweat covering my face. "The fishermen McLean was talking about. If they head straight for the estuary, they..."

  "Nah," Georgie drawled. "They're too far to semaphore anyone."

  "Why semaphore?" I wiped the sweat from my forehead. "Why won't they use a radio?"

  "Not enough radio transmitters here, that's why. McLean has two, and another one at-"

  "Do shut up," Grunt butted in. "Come sit down, Oakum. Georgie, start the motor up."

  The crane operator gave Wladas a shove with a "gimme a hand, will ya?", then got busy with the motor undoing the braces to lower the propeller into the water. Wong raised his gun and sat on the stern.

  "How's your hand?" Grunt asked in a low voice. He glanced at the others and added, "How are you, in general?"

  I cringed. He nodded. "Hold on for a bit. A couple hours. I'm sure the loggers will know how to help you."

  Jim fastened his pole to the hooks along the side of the boat and sat next to the captain.

  "Why did you help us?" I said.

  The captain and Georgie exchanged glances.

  "Just a gut feeling," Grunt said.

  "Why didn't you leave last night?" I broke into a bout of coughing but didn't let him answer. "Just... ahem! just don't tell me that that was a gut feeling, too."

  "Well," Grunt bit his lips. "Well, we had to see how the ground lay first. When the trawlers left we decided to borrow the boat. Can't you see we left the shotguns behind to make it look innocuous?"

  "Yeah," Georgie mumbled next to him. "We're now, like, comrades in misery."

  He spat into his hands, pulled a handgun from behind his belt and said,

  "I'm ready. Fire her up."

  Grunt gunned the throttle. The motor coughed alive and idled.

  "Duck in," the captain looked over the boat one last time. "Off we go, then."

  He grabbed the steering wheel with one hand and gave gas with the other.

  I felt much worse, gasping for air.

  "One last question," I managed. Mustering my strength, I leaned forward feeling I was about to faint. "Why should the loggers help us? Grunt…"

  Chapter Eight

  King of the Forest

  Darkness. Light. Voices and screams came from afar. Darkness again - heavy, swampy and soundless. My head felt hollow, my mind failing to escape. A grenade exploded - no, that's a slap on my cheek, followed by more pain. A flash of light. A familiar voice called my name, repeating, "Mark, wake up! Open your eyes! Mark!" It died away... never to come back...

  Reality can surprise you sometimes. It may hurt worse than a nightmare.

  I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. It was pitch black. Where was I? Why was it so dark? I lay on something hard, a piece of tarp covering my head and body. It stank
of diesel and motor oil.

  I pulled the tarp off my face, propped myself up on one elbow and squinted into the dark.

  A hut. That's where I was. A sagging old brush hut with a dirt floor. Twilight came through the silent doorway.

  No, not quite silent. I could hear muted voices and smell campfire smoke. Something else, too... like the rustling of trees...

  I forced myself up and stepped into the doorway. It stood amid a woodland unlike anything I'd ever seen before. Treetops thick and heavy, their trunks warped, interlacing, growing every which way, their leaves rustling weakly.

  Where the fuck was I?

  The Information in my head ignored the question. I stood there musing until I remembered Grunt's words. Something about going to the loggers who could help me... For a moment, I was overwhelmed by the kaleidoscope of events, places, conversations, fights and chases. I staggered grabbing at the wall and remembered everything that had happened.

  Another whiff of campfire brought the smells of food and drink. A booming voice was answered by what sounded very much like Grunt's. Wladas spoke next. Plates clinked. Then the place fell silent.

  Things were getting better. There were people nearby, and that included Wladas. I sat down trying to control my breathing. The campfire had to be somewhere in the forest nearby... But of course! The rainforest. Where else would you find loggers?

  But why was I here and not with them? Why had Wong left me? He couldn't have done so because... because he...

  I vaguely remembered Grunt's story about the toxic carula plant. I'd asked him for a serum injection which they didn't have. I remembered I'd wanted to chop off my hand.

  I stared at the tarpaulin. I'd been as good as dead. Grunt had known it, and so had Georgie. They'd chosen not to tell me. They must have left me here for dead. So they'd covered me with this tarp planning on coming back to bury my body. In the meantime, they were having a wake?

  Looked like it.

  But I wasn't dead. I was alive and kicking!

  I walked out of the hut and followed the smoke trail. A bird crowed and another replied. Not necessarily a bird - it could have been a Pangean monkey for all I knew, warning its troop about the intruder.

  What had they done to me? They had probably tried to save me and failed. Or they'd thought they'd failed. No matter. I had to decide on my next step. Should I come out to the campfire or should I listen to their conversation first?

  The night fell fast. I stood still wondering if I should come out at all. What if Wladas had told everyone about who I really was? That could change everything. In that case, it wasn't a funeral party but a feast celebrating the successful liquidation of an FSA operative. Then Wong was dead, too: they must have killed him first realizing he didn't know much. As my cover man, he'd have tried to defend me, so it seemed logical to have killed him first. Then they would have tried to bring me back to life and force the FSA's plans out of me. But it hadn't worked because I'd kicked the bucket... or they'd thought I had, and that had been the end of it. Wasn't I right?

  I had to be.

  I nodded. The only solution it left me with was to try to get back to New Pang, find my contact and start everything all over again. Which I couldn't really do because I didn't know the city, had no money and risked bumping into McLean's men at every street corner, which was much worse than simply going solo. I still had to make it back to town in one piece. No, that wasn't the way to find Neumann and get us back to Earth.

  I heard Wladas' voice in the thicket: he was rambling on, barely coherent. A fast tirade in Chinese interrupted him, followed by a grim "yeah right" and a burst of hooting laughter.

  "Leave him alone, Wong," the booming voice said. "He's drunk as a skunk."

  Wong? I hurried along. So Wong was alive and with Wladas! Looked like I didn't have to go solo, after all.

  I saw a narrow passageway cut through the trees, their trunks scarred with fresh gashes. After a few more steps, I came out into an opening. My friends all sat around the campfire. Wladas faced me, swaying, trying to fill a mug from a flask. Jim sat by the fire stirring a pot of soup. Behind him on a log sat Grunt and Georgie, red-faced from either drink or the heat. Or it could have been be the twilight and the flames lending their hue to their expressions. Wong walked over to them and was about to sit down nearby when he saw me. He froze studying me intently.

  Excellent! All present and correct. Plus a stranger who sat on a block of wood sideways to me. A burly guy with a beard, wearing a dirty-gray shirt, a pair of leather pants and short wrinkled boots.

  Wladas noticed me. His face paled. He backed toward the fire, stumbled and fell flat on the ground. The others turned their heads toward me. Jim dropped his spoon into the pot. Georgie cleared his throat. Grunt stared at me, unblinking, while the bearded giant rose, his head reaching the clouds, and lay his hand on the hatchet behind his belt.

  He was a good seven foot tall, blond with a red beard on a freckled face. Slowly, his lips stretched into a smile. Who did he remind me of?

  "Er," Grunt raised his hand, his fat finger pointing at me. He exchanged glances with Georgie who mentioned clones under his breath. Jim swallowed and tried to fish the spoon out of the boiling soup. Wong came to me and motioned me to another block of wood next to the stranger's.

  "Hi there," I nodded to Jim as I sat down. "Everything okay? Not too scared of me?"

  The boy gave me a weak smile, then looked at the stranger and went on stirring the soup as if it made him feel better. The others didn't speak.

  "Swenson," the giant boomed and sat down next to me. "Lars Swenson's the name. I'm the boss here."

  He held out his hand, wide and calloused.

  "Mark Posner," I gave him a firm handshake and looked over my friends. "Cat's got your tongues? Nothing to say about my resurrection?"

  Lars slapped my shoulder as if he'd known me for years and said with a grin,

  "I imagined you different. My nephew told me a bit about you..." he studied my face. "You are different. Definitely."

  His voice was as strong as the rest of him.

  "Your nephew?" I raised my eyebrows.

  Lars took my injured hand and turned it palm up to the light.

  "Look, it's healed," he sounded surprised. "And you seem to be alive, too. I would never have believed it myself. You're one lucky man!"

  He looked up at me.

  "Oh yeah," he waved his hand at the fire. "That Jim over there is my nephew."

  I glanced at Jim. Now the likeness was apparent. Both had the same-shaped eyes and faces, but their noses were different, and so was their hair color - the boy's was lighter - but both were covered with freckles. Grunt and Georgie stirred and helped Wladas still hugging his drink back onto his feet. Several bowls and mugs stood on a piece of tarp next to a couple of enormous flasks. Wong moved into the shadows and squatted.

  "Jim is your nephew," I repeated. "And what does that make you?"

  Lars sized me up and slapped my shoulder.

  "Do you always take the bull by the horns?" he reached to the tarp. "Wipe your face with this," he passed me a wet cloth. "Have a drink and a quick bite. We can speak as we eat. No hurry, but you need to understand a few things."

  I ran the cloth over my face and hands, sniffed it and cringed.

  "Smells funny."

  "It's cao juice," Lars said. "An organic insect repellant. Perfect to keep midges away. Come on, rub it in before they feast on you," he grew serious. "Tuck in."

  Jim took the pot off the fire and filled a bowl for me. It smelled good. Lars produced a spoon from the side of his boot.

  "Do us the honors, Private."

  Private. Oh well. I wiped my face with the cloth and reached for the spoon slowly, watching Wladas. Had he been discreet enough? More than likely. Wong wouldn't have let him speak out of turn. And in any case, I'd have gotten a very different kind of welcome then.

  I began to eat. My new friend picked up one of the flasks while Wladas held out two mugs. Lars
handed one to me, filled to the brim.

  "To your return from the dead."

  The drink left me speechless. Warmth poured down into my stomach where the brew exploded in a ball of liquid fire clearing my head. McLean's bourbon couldn't hold a candle to it. A chocolate aftertaste clung to the sides of my mouth.

  They must have polished off the other flask while I'd been lying "dead" in the hut.

  Lars squinted at me smacking his lips. He tilted his head and poured the drink into his huge mouth.

  "Well," he said wiping his beard, "looks like we need a change of plans. You being alive and all that."

  "We need?" I asked dipping into my bowl.

  "Exactly. Now listen. Jim and this buddy of yours here," Lars nodded at the yawning Wladas, "they told me how you scorched McLean's digs."

  "Shit happens," I attacked my food.

  "That'll teach him," Lars nodded staring into the fire. "He's been going a bit too far just lately." He turned to me and added obscurely, "McLean and us, we're supposed to cooperate, but he seems to have put his eye on our little business. He wants us to dance to his tune. To which I say, fuck him!" He gave the finger to the twilight enveloping the woods.

  For a Scandinavian, he had an excellent command of Russian. Too good, even. He spoke like a native. I put the spoon down and glanced up at him.

  "Sorry, buddy, I forgot you didn't know us," he said. "We're loggers. I'm the foreman. We camp five miles away. Do a bit of logging, then drive the trunks down river to New Pang. We supply them with whatever edible fruit there is here, and send them fresh meat. Wind boar is plentiful around here. Hyena pelts, too...

  Edible fruit. Wild boar. What did it all mean?

  Lars glanced down at his pants. He sat down by the fire, licked his finger and rubbed at a dirty spot on his pant leg. "Everyone needs clothes, but there isn't much here to make them with," he shrugged. "The woods give us all we need, apart from oil, machinery and ammo."

  I pushed the bowl away and took a large swig from the mug.