Dark Ararat - Brian Stableford [94]
“Do you know who did it?” Matthew demanded.
“Not for certain.” It was another calculated provocation, although he didn’t go so far as to favor anyone with a meaningful look. Matthew began to feel just as uncomfortable as his two companions.
“Where?” Matthew asked, anxious to have done with the conversation.
“Outside. I’ll take you.”
Matthew knew that Solari had been at the crime scene for most of the morning. He couldn’t imagine that there would be any useful forensic evidence left after a week of imperfect weather, but Solari obviously thought that he had found something significant—something that he wanted to talk over with the only person on the Base who couldn’t possibly have committed the murder.
“Okay,” Matthew said, brusquely. “Give me twenty minutes. Are you eating?”
Solari shook his head. “I took a packed lunch with me,” he said. “Thought I might be gone all day—didn’t expect to find anything so soon.”
Matthew turned to the doctor and said: “How’s Maryanne?”
“Better,” Kriefmann told him. “She won’t be running, skipping or jumping for a couple of days, but she’ll be able to sit up in bed, read, even answer stupid questions….” The final remark was obviously slanted toward Solari.
“I met one of the monsters just now,” Matthew reported. “Just a little one. Lurking in the vegetation—odd, that, for a creature able to fix solar energy, with no apparent natural enemies in the vicinity.”
“Its instincts probably can’t figure out that it’s in a safe area,” Kriefmann pointed out, grateful for the distraction. “Maybe it won’t be safe for long—if the critters really are becoming more common, the predators will begin to move in soon enough.”
“I’ve only seen pictures of the predators,” Matthew said. “Things like big rats with crocodile snouts and things like frilly lizards. Have you ever seen anything like that in the flesh?”
“Nothing particularly scary,” Kriefmann told him. “There are lizards up here, but they mostly stick to the treetops. Mammal-equivalents too, but mostly herbivores and moppers-up of little worms. The serious hunters only come out at night, though, so there might be more around than we suppose. By day, the ruins seem unusually peaceful by comparison with Earthly subtropics. According to the evidence gathered by the flying eyes things are busier downriver—but that may be an illusion. It may be our presence that’s scaring the wildlife away. A pity, if so. There are lots of worms, of every size imaginable, but worms don’t hum like flies or sing like birds. It’s noisier as well as more crowded downriver, so I’m told. More species down there use sound signals.”
While Matthew collected his meal, Lynn Gwyer asked Solari where he had worked back on Earth. Having already heard the story, Matthew felt free to concentrate on his food. This was a prepackaged meal sent down with him in the shuttle, so it didn’t have the slightly offensive taste and texture of the locally extracted manna substrate, but it was as bland and unappetizing as the meals he’d had on Hope. The colonists had food technology that would allow them to do better in time, but they were obviously still thinking in stern utilitarian terms. Matthew didn’t doubt that the wheat-manna pancakes and thinly sliced synthetic vegetables would serve his nutritional needs, but he couldn’t help wondering whether the humans on the surface might have felt slightly more welcome here if they’d paid more attention to matters of aestheticization.
While Matthew ate, Kriefmann quizzed him about his condition, and advised him to try not to overtax himself during his first few days on the surface. The chance, Matthew thought, would be a fine thing. As soon as he had dumped the remains of his meal and its packaging in the recycler, Vince Solari stood up, obviously expecting him to follow. He signaled his apologies to Lynn.
Once they were