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CHAPTER 7

“Now, about the crocs,” Jason said, sighing. “I’ll need Alfred, a hundred kilos of flexmet and a seat again. When they’re done with the first one, drag the other one up and start on it. Repeat as necessary absent other orders.”

Lunch was going to have to wait.

He had Alfred fly him fifty meters downstream, close to the bank, not far from the butchering area, then, cautiously, lowered to near water level. The river was tannin, clear of silt but dark with stain from tannin leaves, and it was impossible to see deep. One of the crocs could just snatch him while he was working.

Nobody said this job was safe.

He extended a rod of flexmet down then turned it into the narrowest spike that was solid. He then drove the spike deep into the soil before mentally commanding it to extrude a circular plate at the bottom and thicken. From that point he moved out into the river, leaving behind a rope of flexmet. Ten meters out he drove in another spike then had the intervening material spread out into a very wide “ghost net” of thin, but not quite cutting thin, squares of flexmet a meter wide.

“Can a drone do this?” he asked.

“No, they don’t have enough weight to drive it into the ground,” Jewel said.

“Then Alfred will have to do it,” Jason said. “Take me back to the conex, Alfred.”

When he was back out of threat, Jason pulled out his phone and extended it into a pad.

“Bring up the detail satellite image of the spit,” Jason said.

When the image was on the pad he outlined an area around the spit about fifty meters out, including the area that was being used for butchering the crocs.

“I want this around the entire spit. Keep one drone attached to it. It can feel when something hits the net, right?”

“Yes,” Jewel said. “When the flexmet moves it will be able to sense the change.”

“So, like a spider web,” Jason said. “When something big hits it, warn me and generally warn the drones and bots. Something big enough to move a bunch of this flexmet is big enough to be a problem. But we shouldn’t panic for every fish that taps it. Have the attached drone stay upstream and keep an eye out for drifting logs, et cetera. Those aren’t threats. If they are logs. When something hits, just move the net out of the way. Ditto for driftwood. Does that make sense, am I leaving anything out and can you manage it?”

“Yes,” Jewel said.

“Will one hundred kilos of flex do it?”

“Less,” Jewel said. “At that thickness. I would suggest a slightly smaller mesh. It is potentially possible a small croc could get through.”

“We need the flexmet for other uses,” Jason said. “If there’s any left over, bring it in.”

“Roger,” Jewel said. “We just lost a drone.”

“What happened?” Jason asked.

“Elephants apparently don’t like them buzzing around their heads,” Jewel said. “It was trying to get a sample of a bug on its head.”

“Was it video recording?” Jason asked.

“It was.”

“Show me.”

The video was of the back of an elephant on which there was a medium-sized, fluorescent-green bug. As the drone approached a tendril of flexmet extended in an apparent effort to capture the insect. Which took off to the left in the video. The drone spun around to follow and was catching up to the beetle, its probe extended, when the video went wild, flashing views of every direction, then cut off.

Jason snorted and shook his head.

“Slug it with a tag ‘Elephants don’t like to be bothered,’ just include the thirty seconds or so of the incident and put it up on a channel. People like funny videos.”

“It’s not the only drone that’s been attacked,” Jewel said. “The birds don’t like them in general. But those all survived.”

“Add those if they’re funny,” Jason said. “But the elephant one begs a question. Questions. Why are we sampling insects? And how far away are those elephants? ’Cause elephants should definitely be on the ‘dangerous animals’ list.”

“The elephants are just under a kilometer out,” Jewel said. “Not close enough to be a threat. We’re sampling the insects because there is a small payment from the government for every identified new species. Also, you get to name them.”

“How much per species?” Jason asked.

“Depends,” Jewel replied. “For macrofauna, including birds larger than a crow or mammals the size of a rabbit or larger, reptiles larger than one and a half meters in length, or giant amphibians if found, twenty-five cents. Fifteen for macroflora. Ten cents for smaller avian or mammal species. One cent for insects as well as for most small flora. You’ve so far made sixty-two credits, sixteen cents.”

“How much of that money has been from insects?”

“Eight credits and four cents. Those have to be caught and stored and they’re quite hard to catch.”

“Quit trying to catch bugs,” Jason said with a sigh. “There’s a gazillion of those things and I don’t want to go to the trouble of naming them all. Insects evolve like crazy, so there will be basically no species of insects on this planet that are not new species. And at a penny apiece it’s not worth the time of the bots. Ditto small amphibians and lizards. Any new macro reptiles or amphibians, fine. But not the micro stuff. Leave that for colonizers.”

“Roger,” Jewel said.

“How do you name stuff, anyway? We didn’t cover that.”

“Just name it,” Jewel said. “I’ll upload it to the appropriate database.”

“I hereby name this river . . . Crocodile River,” Jason intoned, waving his hand around in a spell-casting gesture. “I need a flag or something.”

The rule was that whoever first set foot on a piece of land or alongside a river got to name it. Another reason people wanted to land.

“That name is already taken by one of the Pre-Wakening explorer parties,” Jewel said.

“Of course, it was,” Jason said, dropping his arm. “Benton River then.”

“Benton?” Jewel asked. “Not Brandywine?”

“I used to live in Bentonville,” Jason said. “If I get my way, I’m going to be naming a bunch of rivers. And this isn’t the Brandywine. I’ll know the Brandywine when I see it. Nobody upstream already named this?”

“There is one tributary that is named,” Jewel said. “But since you are at the mouth of the river, it is now the name for the full river.”

“How far inland does it run?” Jason asked.

“The head of the Benton starts with a glacier on the slopes of Chindia Mons,” Jewel said. “It runs, as the crow flies, for eight hundred kilometers. More in total length. You also have the right to name this county but not the region.”

“Jewel County, then,” Jason said.

“You’re so sweet,” Jewel replied. “Query: I don’t have a Jewel anywhere in your contact lists.”

“Girl in my high school,” Jason said, shrugging. “Pre-Internet. But this county is named for you, Jewel. Okay, I’m going to hit the ground as soon as the net is in. Close to the forest or close to the water? Crocs or tigers? Any more crocs that hit the net, snip them. As soon as they’re snipped drag them downstream, and downwind, and get to butchering.

“I hate the idea of just killing them. They’re magnificent, hundreds of years old, and killing them by drone seems a tad obscene. But we can’t have them get in the way. We’ve got fish and shrimp to catch.”

He looked out over the river as Alfred continued putting in the warning net.

“The President is right: We need preserves. Not just Avia. These big crocs take hundreds of years to grow to this size. Kids of the future should have a chance to see them in the wild. But, for now, we need to get them out of the way so we can get to work. People got to eat, too. Set one drone to collecting up the flora samples that are potentially good for food . . . ”

“Something big hit the net,” Jewel said. “Downstream.”

“Have it open up to let it through,” Jason said. “Where?”

The glasses highlighted the area, not that they needed to: The spikes that were above water were wriggling back and forth and the drone had lifted into the air with a thin line of flexmet extended to a spike to control the flexmet.

Jason started to give a command but Jewel had already deployed a drone to prepare for an attack as Herman and the drones pulled away from their butchering.

The second croc to attack had been pulled out of the water and was in the process of being butchered. It was that carcass the third went for, bursting out of the water in a blitz attack. This one was between sizes, about fifteen meters in length.

It grabbed the midquarters of the partially butchered croc and started to hump back into the water. As it did, a drone dropped down and neatly snipped off its head.

“When the flexmet gets hit, can it essentially open a hole that’s wide enough for the head to fit through then close down and snip the head before it ever gets to land? Can it find the neck?”

“Yes,” Jewel said after a moment. “Probably. That took some calculation and depended on the information from the crocodile that just hit the net. But it should be possible. We won’t know for sure until another one hits the net. If it doesn’t occur quickly, the crocodile will thrash, which may pull the net out of the bottom. But it can be reset.”

“Better to kill them before they get close.”

“And we have a successful test,” Jewel said immediately. “Upstream.”

“That quick,” Jason said, looking upstream. There was a ripple. Possibly.

“Want it dragged in?” Jewel asked.

“Waste not,” Jason said. “If possible. Reasonable, anyway. But take it to the same butcher area downstream. Returning to the point. Get a drone to . . . No, you figure it out. Start bringing in the potentially edible flora samples in the most efficient way. And make a note we need at least forty drones next time as well as another Alfred. Also, which of these conexes are empty?”

“The one you’re standing on is about empty of coffins and cases,” Jewel said.

The coffins of croc meat had been building up. Cases were neatly stacked all over the spit. He hoped that there wasn’t a sudden, unexpected flood. Nothing could be sure on this world until they’d been there for a while. But he’d set up sat-observation to check for signs of flooding upstream. And with the countermonsoon set in, it should be okay.

Should be.

The flexmet, tractors and drones were scattered across the conexes. Old habit based on the possibility of losing cargo for the thousand and one reasons that you could lose cargo.

So, there was no one container that was empty of flexmet, tractors and drones.

“Which one has my personal coffin?” Jason asked, regretting the terminology immediately. “My personal gear?”

“That one,” Jewel said, noting one of the central conexes.

“Discontinue the butchering evolution,” Jason said. “If any more get killed by the net, Alfred and Herman can pull them ashore. Cover the current butchered with a flexmet tent to keep them out of the sun. I want the one with my personal stuff emptied of coffins except my personal stuff. Then rearrange the conexes. Put the others in an oval, long side out, touching at corners, with the personal conex center, at the high point of the sandbar.”

“It would be easiest and quickest if you were off the conex,” Jewel said. “For current protection reasons, I suggest you take a flight with Alfred.”

“Done,” Jason said. “Bring him over.”

The tractor picked him up and lifted him fifty meters in the air then the conexes opened up like flowers and Jewel got to work.

The sides and top of the conexes were flexmet. Though it had to remain with the conex, it could be used to move cargo. The coffins from the indicated conex were rapidly moved to other containers until it was clear of all but Jason’s personal effects. At that point they all went to contragravity and Herman used tractor beams to rearrange them.

It was done in less than two minutes. The tractor beam on the bots was long enough that Herman could do all the work hovering at about ten meters up in the middle. When he was done, Herman got back to work butchering.

“As a guy who’s run warehouses, I can safely say that this tech has done away with millions of jobs,” Jason said. “Employment is going to be an issue. The longshoreman’s union would particularly like to have a word. Drop me down in the middle of the conexes, Alfred.”

The middle of the conexes was windless and hotter than on top, which had been getting toasty. But it felt good to finally be standing on the sand.

“Open sesame,” Jason said, putting his hand on the end of the conex.

The wall dilated and he stepped into the shade then put his hand on the wall. The upper portion of the wall turned to bars with mesh from waist-height down.

Between the shade and a tiny bit of wind that cooled things down considerably. He held his hand up and snorted. There was virtually no heat being transmitted through the ceiling. Flexmet appeared to be a near perfect insulator.

Jason opened his personal containers and considered the contents. One was mainly full of all his guns and ammunition along with some camping and fishing gear. The other had mostly stored food and more camping gear. With the exception of guns, ammo and a knife, he didn’t need most of it. But it was comforting.

He considered the air mattress for a moment then touched the wall. Sure enough, an air couch could be made from the flexmet.

“This stuff is going to eliminate a huge number of potential devices,” Jason muttered. “But since it’s an insulator, it’s not going to be much good for cooking.”

“It can be used as an oven,” Jewel suggested.

“But not as a pan,” Jason said, dragging one out.

“Where do you want the samples?” Jewel asked.

“That end,” Jason said, gesturing in the direction of the land. “Off to the side. Keep them in stasis. I’ll sort them out in a minute.”

He considered the pan for a moment as drones buzzed in and out carrying flora samples. What was missing was something to put in it and a heat source.

He’d spent a half credit on a nifty little device for starting fires similar to a torch lighter. Instead of using propane, it simply heated air to ignition temperature.

“Also, bring me about four ounces of crocodile meat.”

He pulled out one of his medium fishing poles, already rigged with a sinker and bobber, and headed in the direction of the water.

He contemplated the containers in the way. They were, as ordered, corner to corner. So, he laid his pole against one of the containers and spit on his hands.

“Put this one on contragravity,” Jason said, pushing with both hands on the one to the right.

It was hard to get moving but as he expected it wasn’t going to stop.

“And drop it,” he said. There was now a narrow gap. Definitely too narrow for one of the big crocs to negotiate. But just to be on the safe side, he touched the containers on both sides and it was possible to create a wall closing the gap.

“And now we’re cooking with fuel oil,” he said, picking up his pole. “Speaking of which. Have bots go get some firewood. Dry wood. There’s driftwood. That’s a good choice. Have it cut into pieces about a foot long and pick up dry smalls. Can they figure out to cut it using the decap method?”

“Yes,” Jewel said.

“Are we relatively certain there are no crocs around?” he asked as he approached the water’s edge.

“Relatively certain,” Jewel said.

He still had his Garand on his back and his Magnum for all the good they would do.

He took the small chunk of crocodile meat from the hovering drone, cut off a still smaller piece, put it on a Number One hook and tossed it into the river, just short of the markers for the warning net.

There was an immediate bite and his rod bent when he set the strike.

“This place,” Jason said. “There is no sport to it. Do I need to say don’t get my line tangled in the warning net?”

“Already covered,” Jewel replied.

The fish was a fighter, that was for sure. Then it jumped and he recognized the species from his first landing.

“Is this a new species?” Jason asked.

“It is not,” Jewel replied. “Bala shark or silver shark. It was a common fish-tank specimen on Earth. Native to Malay Peninsula, Borneo and Sumatra.”

“Edible?” Jason asked.

“Considered a delicacy in its native range. Said to be quite tasty.”

“I’m so in,” Jason said, pulling in the bala. He’d started to learn to just keep some flexmet around as wristbands and used it to make a fish landing net. The silvery fish was about fourteen inches long and very lively.

He slit its throat, tossed it up on the sand, rebaited the hook and went back to fishing.

He’d caught four bala when something grabbed the fifth he was reeling in and snapped the line.

“Well, that was uncalled for,” Jason said. “I’ll be back for you, my fine fishy friend, whatever or whoever you are.”

The four bala would make a meal so he decided to just clean those and make it lunch.

“Status on threats?”

He’d kept one eye on the river while fishing. Drones and a defense/warning net was all well and good but keeping an eye out was better. So far, he’d seen no more giant crocs. Cleaning the fish was best done at the waterline but . . . still.

“We caught one croc while you were fishing,” Jewel said. “Already being cleaned.”

Now you tell me?” Jason said.

“It was well away from you downstream and it was over so fast,” Jewel admitted. “You seemed to be having fun. There are, however, issues.

“The male tiger apparently heard the jackals before they were terminated and is heading this way as is the female. Two leopards have been spotted headed this way as well. Adult male tiger at five hundred meters. Female at four hundred. Juvenile male leopard, three hundred fifty. Adult male leopard, six hundred. All slowly headed this way.”

Jason looked at the fish and sighed.

“Put the fish in stasis,” he said, holding up the bala. “Lunch is going to have to wait. Again. Decapitate all jackals and other scavengers or predators within the one-kilometer lease zone except sport hunting animals like leopards and tigers . . . ”

“Stasis on the fish or cleaned?” Jewel asked, interjecting.

“Clean it, then,” Jason said. “Then put it in stasis. Other threats?”

“The herd of elephants is still outside the five-hundred-meter zone but closer. Eight hundred meters at present. There is a herd of buffalo in the kilometer zone that appear to be headed for the river. But they should pass outside the five-hundred-meter zone or barely inside it based on the trails.”

As she was speaking, a drone dropped to pick up the fish then carried them over to the slaughter zone to be cleaned.

This life might be too easy, Jason thought. Then he thought about the crocs and tigers and decided he was okay with servants to clean fish. It wasn’t much different than a safari from what he’d gleaned. The Great White Hunter would shoot the animals and Others would handle it from there. He wondered for just a moment which was more ethical: Hiring dirt poor Africans to do the butchering or not hiring anyone and using robots.

Musings for later.

He could just have the drones kill the tigers and leopards but he’d never had a chance to hunt, either. Even knowing there were going to be lots more opportunities, he wasn’t just going to have them decapitated.

“We’ve been killing snakes as we find them inside a one-hundred-meter zone. They’ve been gutted and skinned. There are basically too many in the five-hundred-meter zone.”

“You know, I came down here because I thought it would be less busy,” Jason said, taking off his hat and wiping his forehead.

“Depending on how long it takes to cook, you probably have time to cook your fish,” Jewel said diffidently.

Jason thought about it then shook his head.

“Just clean the fish,” Jason said. “I could have you snip the tigers and leopards but I’m not going to do it. And I’m not going to be cooking fish when they get here. Herman’s going to have to handle the crocs himself. I’m going hunting. And I’m going to need Alfred to carry the kill.”


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