Scattered Suns - Kevin J. Anderson [71]
The second and third attempts were little better, but by the fourth poletree they had enough wood to begin. They sank the main logs deep into the ground, poured water into the holes, and packed them in with a mixture of mud and gravel. They worked together to raise the corner supports, sliding crossbars into notches that Orli made in the logs, and the shelter began to take shape.
They followed Steinman’s grand plan as best they could. When the major work was complete, the girl stared at the makeshift shelter. No doubt Steinman had envisioned a quaint and primitive palace, a rugged Robinson Crusoe home. Instead, it looked like a shack that would blow down in the first big storm.
It was the sort of poorly planned and poorly executed scheme her father might have come up with.
Stung by the thought, she lifted her chin. No matter how rickety the place looked, Orli was proud of their work. She and Steinman had built this themselves, with only the most primitive materials and under difficult circumstances.
“That’ll do,” she said. Steinman clapped her on the back.
Tired of having furry crickets to eat every night, Orli scavenged among the prairie grasses in search of other grains, tubers, or fruits that might be edible. She had no idea where to start, though. She carefully nibbled samples of leaves, berries, starchy roots. She identified and shied away from a few leaves with a powerfully bitter or acidic taste; one bluish berry made her vomit instantly. But a lumpy brown root tasted sweet enough, and she experienced no ill effects after she ate it. Some of the flowers were so spicy that they made her nose burn, but they tasted fine. Gradually, she added color and variety to their diet.
Steinman watched what she was doing and cautioned, “Spit out anything that tastes like poison.”
“And what does poison taste like?”
“I don’t know. If I tasted poison, I’d probably be dead.”
Exasperated, Orli rolled her eyes and looked up into the sky as if for guidance—and froze. She squinted until she was sure that what she saw was the burning trail of a descending ship heading directly toward the canyon and the destroyed colony.
“A ship! A ship—look, Mr. Steinman!”
Steinman clapped his hands and laughed. “Probably one of the Hansa supply ships, kid. Weren’t we supposed to get another delivery of equipment?”
As the small vessel flew high overhead, swelling from a black speck in the sky until it became recognizable as a cargo ship, Orli ran out on the prairie, waving her arms.
“Come on! We’ve got to get to the town site before he decides to take off again,” Steinman called.
The two of them crashed through the grasses. Lowriders, hearing their wild approach, scuttled away, not wanting to face this noisy stampede. Orli rapidly outdistanced the older man, but forced herself to lag so Steinman could catch up. She was anxious to see the rescuers, but on the chance it was another robot attack, she wanted the old hermit nearby.
By the time they reached the landing field just outside the canyon, Orli’s throat was raw from yelling. Beside her, Steinman wheezed like a set of giant bellows, but he didn’t seem to notice. He stumbled ahead, taking the girl by the hand.
The ship had already flown into the canyon to investigate, then circled back. The pilot must have been trying to transmit to the colony station, but heard no response. The cargo ship cruised again over the black, sooty ruins and tipped its wings to indicate that the pilot had seen the two of them. After searching for a cleared spot in the rubble, the craft set down.
Orli ran forward with tears streaming down her face. A man with wide eyes, frizzy hair, and leathery skin stepped out of the supply ship. The expression on his lean face was one of utter astonishment. Orli remembered Branson Roberts, who had delivered