Micro - Michael Crichton [56]
“We’ll need your help,” Peter said.
Kinsky lifted the spear from the soil and gazed at a mite that walked along the spear, waving its forelegs. “All I want is to get home to my family,” he said softly, and shook his spear, tossing the mite away.
“Your boss couldn’t care less about your family,” Rick Hutter snapped at Kinsky.
“Rick doesn’t have a family,” Danny Minot whispered to Jenny Linn. “He doesn’t even have a girlf—”
Rick lunged at Danny, who scrambled away, shouting, “You can’t solve a problem with violence, Rick!”
“It would solve you,” Rick muttered.
Peter took Rick by the shoulder and squeezed it, restraining him, as if to say, Stay cool. To Kinsky he said, “Are there any other possibilities for getting back to Nanigen? Besides the shuttle truck, which might not exist.”
Kinsky bowed his head, thinking. After some time he said: “Well—we could try to get to Tantalus Base.”
“What’s Tantalus Base?”
“It’s a bioprospecting facility in Tantalus Crater, on the mountain ridge above this valley.” Kinsky pointed vaguely toward the mountain, which was only a green shape, barely visible through gaps in the tangled forest. “The base is somewhere up there.”
Jenny Linn said, “Vin Drake mentioned Tantalus during the tour.”
“I remember,” Karen said.
“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