Micro

“Is the base open?” Peter asked Kinsky.

“I don’t think so. People died at Tantalus. There were predators.”

“What kind?” Karen demanded.

“Wasps, I heard. But,” Kinsky went on musingly, “there were micro-planes at Tantalus Base.”

“Micro-planes?”

“Small aircraft. Our size.”

“Could we fly to Nanigen?”

“I don’t know what the range of these aircraft is,” Kinsky answered. “I don’t know if any of them were left at the base.”

“How far above us is Tantalus Base?”

“It’s two thousand feet above Manoa Valley,” Kinsky answered.

“Two thousand feet up!” Rick Hutter exploded. “That’s…impossible for people our size.”

Kinsky shrugged. The others said nothing.

Peter Jansen took charge. “Okay, here’s what I think we should do. First, let’s try to find a supply station and take what we can from it. Then we’ll try to get to the parking lot. We’ll wait there for the shuttle truck. We have to get back there as soon as possible.”

“It’s obvious we’re going to die,” Danny Minot said, his voice cracking.

“We can’t just do nothing, Danny,” Peter said, trying to keep his voice even-sounding. He sensed Danny could break down into a panic at the drop of a hat, and that would be dangerous for the whole group.

The others went along with Peter’s plan, some of them grumbling-but nobody had a better idea. They took turns drinking water from a dewdrop on a leaf, and began moving again, looking for a trail, a tent, or any trace of human presence. Small plants near the ground arched over them, sometimes forming tunnels. They wound their way through the tunnels, and wandered past the trunks of stupendous trees. But there was no sign of a supply station.

“Okay, so we’re going to bleed to death if we don’t get the hell out of here fast,” Rick Hutter said, as they hiked along. “And we can’t find a damn supply station. Plus we’ve got a psychopathic giant looking to kill us. And I’ve got a blister. Is there anything else I need to worry about?” he asked, sounding very sarcastic.

“Ants,” Kinsky replied calmly.

“Ants?” Danny Minot broke in, his voice quavering. “What about ants?”

“Ants are a problem, I’ve heard,” Kinsky answered.

Rick Hutter stopped in front of a large yellow fruit lying on the ground. He looked up and all around. “Yes!” he said. “That’s a chinaberry tree. Melia azederach. The berry is highly poisonous, especially to insects and insect larvae. It contains around twenty-five different volatiles, principally 1-cinnamoyl compounds. This berry is absolute death to insects. It can be an ingredient for my curare.” He took off the backpack and stuffed the chinaberry into it. The berry filled much of the pack, and loomed out of the top of the pack, a bright yellow ovoid, sort of like a giant melon.

Karen glared at him. “It’s going to leak poison.”

“Nope.” Rick grinned and tapped on the yellow berry. “Tough skin.”

Karen gave Rick a skeptical look. “It’s your life,” she said curtly. The group moved on.

Danny Minot kept falling behind. His face had gotten red, and he kept wiping his forehead with his hands. Finally he took off his sport coat and threw it to the ground. His tassel loafers had gotten coated with mud. He sat on a leaf and started scratching inside his shirt, and pulled out a single pollen grain, and held it between thumb and forefinger. “Does anybody know I have serious allergies? If one of these objects gets up my nose I could go into shock.”

Karen gave a scornful laugh. “You aren’t that allergic! If you were, you’d be dead by now.”

Danny flicked it away, and the grain danced off, spinning as it drifted through the air.

Amar Singh couldn’t get over the profusion of life, the small creatures that seemed to exist in every nook and cranny of the micro-world. “Gosh! I wish we had a camera. I want to document this.”

They were young scientists, and the micro-world revealed a wonderland of unknown life. They suspected they were seeing creatures that had never been noticed or given names. “You could get a dissertation out of every square foot of this place,” Amar remarked. He began thinking he would do just that. He could get himself one incredible PhD out of this trip. If I survive, he reminded himself.

Little torpedo-shaped creatures with jointed bodies and six legs were crawling about on the ground. They were quite small and were all over the place. Some were sucking up strands of fungus as if they were eating spaghetti. As the humans walked along, every now and then one of these creatures would get startled, make a loud snapping noise, and flip high into the air, spinning end over end.

Erika Moll stopped to examine one of them; she picked it up and held it, while it struggled, snapping its tail with vigorous clicking sounds.

“What are these things?” Rick asked, pulling one out of his hair.