Micro - Michael Crichton [128]
“Home sweet home,” he said. He began taking off his armor, hanging it in a storage space. Side passages went off into additional rooms, and they could see electronic equipment in one room.
There was a desk with a computer sitting on it, several chairs made of twigs and woven grass. A circular fireplace hearth occupied the center of the hall. A rack near the fireplace held strips of smoked insect meat. Rourke had also laid in supplies of dried fruit, edible seeds, and chunks of dry taro root.
Rourke’s bed was the shell of a candlenut packed with soft, shredded bark. A tall pile of cut-up candlenuts sat heaped against one wall. Ben Rourke carried several of the oily pieces of nutmeat to the fireplace, and he lit the fire using a gas torch. The fire caught, throwing light and warmth through the room, and the smoke went up through a hole in the ceiling.
Ben Rourke seemed to be a jack of all trades, clearly a brilliant man who knew a lot about many things. He seemed happy in his fortress; he seemed to have found a life he enjoyed. They wondered about his story. How had he ended up here? Why did he hate Vin Drake? What had Drake done to him? Karen and Rick both glanced at their hands and arms, and noticed the bruises there. It would be a good idea to persuade Rourke they needed to leave for Nanigen soon; or to learn from him how he had beaten the bends.
The first order of business, however, was for Rourke to examine Rick and Danny and tend to their medical needs. Rourke started with Rick. He rubbed Rick’s limbs, stared into his eyes, and asked questions. He got out a small chest and opened it; it was a medical chest, rather like the kind that sea captains took with them on long voyages. The chest contained a number of items, including forceps, scissors, sterile compresses, a very long scalpel, a bone saw, a bottle of iodine, and a bottle of Jack Daniels. Rourke examined the puncture wound under Rick’s arm, where the wasp’s stinger had gone in. He doused the wound with iodine, which made Rick jump; and he said it would heal. He added, “You guys need a bath.”
“We’ve been in the micro-world for three days,” Karen said.
“Three days,” Rourke said thoughtfully. “Actually you’ve been here longer than that. I suppose you’ve noticed the time compression?”
“What do you mean?” Rick asked.
“Time moves faster for us here. Your bodies are running faster; your hearts are beating like a hummingbird’s.”
“We had to sleep during the day,” Karen remarked.
“Of course you did. And your time is running out. The bends are already affecting you; I can see it. The crash will come soon. The bruising, the pain in the joints, the nosebleed, the end.”
Karen asked Rourke, “How did you avoid the bends?”
“I didn’t. I damn near died from them. But I found a way to make it through; maybe some people can survive them.”
“What did you do?” Rick asked.
“Right now we have to deal with this fellow’s arm.” He turned his attention to Danny.
Danny had seated himself in a chair near the fire. The chair was made of wicker woven from fern hairs and tiny twigs, yet it was massive and quite comfortable. He stretched out in it, cradling his arm. The sleeve had torn off completely, and the larvae under the skin made the arm bulge in lumps. Ben Rourke studied Danny’s arm, poking it gently. “It was likely a parasitic wasp that egged you. She mistook your arm for a caterpillar.”
“Am I going to die?”
“Of course.” Danny opened his mouth with a frightened look, but Rourke added, “When is the only question. If you don’t want to die right now, that arm has to come off.” He drew out the long scalpel and handed Danny the bottle of Jack Daniels. “Anesthetic. Start drinking while I boil the tools.”
“No.”
“If you don’t get that arm off, those grubs could migrate.”
“To where?”
“Your brain.” Rourke held up the bone saw and touched its teeth.
Danny leaped out of the chair and stepped backward, holding the bottle in front of him like a club. “Stay away from me!”
“Don