Strange Harvest

Part IV: Honey

"We're near the nesting grounds, so keep close to the Packhound," Mueller ordered. "Stay alert, and don't worry about the wasps themselves. They're big, but they can't get through the Packhound's force barrier. Our biggest threat right now is dusters. We'll be vulnerable while we're gathering the honey."

"Tropical storm's picking up strength off the coast, boss." Goldwater's weather radar popped up on my lenses, the storm to our southeast an angry churn of bright colors indicating severe wind and rain. "It's nearly a Category 1, could be a Cat 2 by the time it gets here. This is gonna be worse than we thought... latest projections have it making a hard northern hook for us."

"Well, that scraps any chance of things going smoothly," Mueller griped in response. "No more delays—we do not want to ride this out. Eyes up, weapons out. We grab our honey and leave as quickly as possible. That storm could wipe out our whole harvest if we get hit on the way out."

I could think of almost nothing I wanted less than being stuck overnight in the jungle during a hurricane stealing honey from giant alien wasps' nests.

But instead I said, "Yes, sir," like an idiot.

Our harvest party continued to push forward on the lush jungle floor, all of us clustered within about thirty feet of the trotting Packhound. That was the maximum effective range of the force barrier, which would be the only thing stopping us from getting swarmed by the wasps once we reached their nesting grounds. I tried not to dwell on Warren's death—but all it took for her was one little quillworm. What we'd be going against... well, I couldn't deny that the odds weren't looking too good for the most expendable, least experienced, lowest ranked member of the harvest team.

To them, even the fucking fabricant was worth more than me.

I stuffed down the bubbling panic in my chest and took a few deep, measured breaths, exhaling slowly each time. I told myself to keep moving, stay with the team, don't panic, and don't fuck up. Mueller had a plan that ended with us getting out of the jungle with a full cargo of honey, and he always made it back. If I could stick with Mueller and stay alive, I'd make it home. Simple rules: don't fuck up, stay alive. I repeated this to myself several times, finding it actually started to calm me down.

Goldwater opened my private channel, her concerned voice breaking me out of my mantra. "Jackson, you good?"

I faltered, embarrassed—and for a second I thought I'd been saying don't fuck up, stay alive over and over on our comms. But then I realized that, as our medic, she must have seen my biometrics spike. "Sorry. I'm fine, just..." I paused. "Just nerves, you know?"

"You're not the only one. I lost Warren before we even got started. Dusters on our ass, probably watching us right now. And we've still got the harvest to do, start to finish. So now, with that hurricane headed our way, you can be damn sure we're all shitting ourselves, too." I laughed, and Goldwater lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Don't let him know I told you, but even Chavos still gets the shakes before a fight. It's normal. Just your body's way of handling stress. Your suit will compensate."

"Thanks, Goldwater," I said, then added, "And hey—don't take Warren personally. Nothing you could have done."

Her icon winked green on my display just as Mueller started giving orders again.

"Okay, this is it. Stop here for a minute. Jackson, come give me a hand with this." Mueller approached the Packhound as it slowed to a halt and lay down, its knees bending at an unsettling angle. The sturdy transport bot's cargo doors opened like wings, folding upward to reveal eight gleaming silver kegs. "Get these four on this side out of there. It's time to wake our friend."

I hoisted the kegs out one at a time and helped Mueller pull the fabricant's stasis pod out from the center of the Packhound's hold. Emblazoned with BioLock's name in bold block letters, it looked like a sleek, compact coffin that had a round window to display the fabricant's sleeping face—a middle-aged woman, I realized. I'm not sure why, but I'd been expecting a young man. Like myself, I guess.

Mueller must have accessed the pod with his internal display, because it started opening up without him touching a thing. The lid unsealed and slid to the side, the fabricant woman within immediately waking with a warm smile. "Rise and shine," Mueller said in greeting.

"Rise and shine," the fabricant repeated, seeming amused by the words as she sat up. "I am Lina024. Thank you for choosing BioLock, operator. How can I help you today?"

"Name's Mueller." He extended an armored gauntlet to her. "Welcome back to the world, Lina. Today, you're deep in the jungles of Surface and you'll be assisting us with harvesting some lotus honey. Will you be troubled at all by one point two seven gees?"

"Not at all, Mr. Mueller," Lina024 said, rising easily to her feet. She smoothed out the wrinkles in her plain black jumpsuit. "Optimal functionality up to one point five."

"Good." He reached inside the Packhound and pulled out a small device with a harness. "I've preloaded you with additional information you'll need to help us. Can you confirm you're able to access all of that?"

"Yes, I have it. Would you like a review?"

Mueller shook his head and helped Linda024 into the harness, tightening the straps for her and settling it onto her back. "No time for that, I'll just have to trust you. In case you couldn't tell, this is a portable force barrier. We get into trouble, you just slap the button on your chest there and it'll keep the bugs away. Now, come with me. The rest of you, get the Packhound loaded back up and meet us at the harvest site."

With that, Mueller bounded off into the jungle, the fabricant dashing off after him without hesitation. I watched the fabricant run for a moment before bending to lift a keg back into the Packhound's cargo hold, wary of Chavos taking the opportunity for another jab at me.

It was jarring to see what looked like a normal person walking around without a pressure suit or air supply in this wholly alien environment. Somehow, Lina024 was able to run at a full sprint without a mechanized nullsuit in Surface's one point two seven gees. Her modest form hid the strength she'd been created with—for me, it would be grueling just having to walk in that, let alone running through uneven terrain.

With a resigned sigh as I grabbed another keg, I reminded myself... don't fuck up, stay alive.

***

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