A/N: Thank you again for your comments, ladies - always appreciated, and I'm glad you're enjoying the tale. Having abandoned things in mid-air at the Colony, it's time to go back and see how they're going to tackle the dual infestation problems...
Chapter Twenty-Three
Restoration
From Yseult's viewpoint, it looks like utter chaos: people hurrying hither and thither, waving sheets of plastic, lashing out with shovels - whatever they can get their hands on to try and keep the enormous clouds of insects away from the green stalks of next year's grain supply. There are far too few people, and far too many locusts - but still they try; anything to protect the crops while the work goes on to prime the cannons with the appropriate pesticides.
Chris is busy on his comm unit, talking to people in the control unit, checking how soon they'll be ready. Then he looks up, "We've got something else we can try while we're waiting - it'll be another ten minutes at least before the cannons are ready."
She leans across the table that he's sitting at, "What? Is there anything I can do?"
"It's experimental - something Malcolm asked one of his people to set up: ultrasound - we were trying frequencies that would repel insect swarms. It was something he came across before the occupation."
She nods, remembering. Most people have probably forgotten - if they noticed in the first place - but the Sixers had used sound frequencies to direct a large dragonfly back and forth into the colony, and the concept had stuck in his mind as a possibility to protect the fields without using pesticides. Even though their measures are based on natural ingredients, they're still pretty toxic, and that doesn't fit with Taylor's game plan for Terra Nova.
"What do you need me to do?" She asks, all business.
"Get across to the control unit - the setup's in there. It's pretty straightforward - we've got speakers across the area, and all you need to do is work through the frequencies until you find one that has an effect. You'll be able to see if it's working - there's a view across the main spelt fields. Just be careful - these things aren't going to attack you, but there's a hell of a lot of them, so I can't guarantee there won't be collisions."
She smiles, and fetches out a pair of safety glasses, "I'll put these on - that'll keep them out of my eyes, at least."
Once outside, she is grateful that she thought of the glasses, as the locusts are like a blizzard of exoskeletons, battering into each other, into the ground, and into her. In some ways she wishes that she'd found some goggles. The control unit is a small cabin about a quarter of a mile from where she is now - so she can get there in two minutes or so if she runs. The trouble is, it's very hard to see where she's going.
Every now and then, the cloud clears enough for her to see the cabin ahead, and she keeps on going, forcing her way through the mess of insects. They're not malevolent - just hungry, but it's the colony's survival at stake, so they've got to be driven off. Even if it doesn't entirely work, if she can get them into the air again, then that'll do until the cannons can be fired.
People are still trying to scare the locusts off the crops - and the success rate is probably close to zero. For every insect that they drive off, at least two more land in its place, and already she can see that damage is being done. Quickly…quickly…
It feels like forever, but at last she's at the door, and scrambles inside, with only six or seven locusts in her wake, that the small team within quickly dispatch with a few well timed stamps on the floor.
"Has anyone tried the ultrasound?" She asks, breathing quickly from her haste.
"Not yet," One of the group turns to her, "We need to arm and prime a hell of a lot of cannons. The controls are over there - it's pretty straightforward - we've got a list of possible frequencies stuck on the wall. Try those."
"Will do." Yseult crosses to a separate desk, set alongside a wall with a good, wide window so that she can, as promised, see the effects her attempts are having. Equally, as promised, it's a pretty simple setup - all she has to do is switch on, and type in numbers to indicate the frequencies. She's familiar with the concept - people have been using ultrasound as an animal repellent for at least a couple of centuries - but no one's tried it on such a scale before. God knows if it'll work now - but anything's better than nothing if they're going to keep their food supply.
She scans the list - which seems to be a list of different animals, and the frequencies that work with them. Printed from an old source, it seems to consider the Colony to be vulnerable to cats, dogs, lizards and rats as much as insects; but at least she's got a set of figures to work with: 38 to 44 kilohertz.
"Okay…start at the bottom and work up." She mutters, and begins typing in numbers. Just as long as they repel, not attract…
It proves to be a frustrating exercise, as each change seems to briefly disturb the creatures, before they resume their predations. She doesn't dare to go up too quickly - in case she misses the one that really does the business - but it's not looking good as she reaches 42kHz, and once again all the swarm seems to do is shudder slightly.
"Oh, come on - give me a break!" Annoyed now, she has to force herself not to hurry. Behind her, she can hear the pest control team talking, and she knows that there's a problem - one of the ducts is blocked, and the cleaning mechanism is struggling to clear it.
Gradually, she works her way up, a fraction at a time, until she hits 43. Then 44. Still nothing.
"Damn!" she sits back, frustrated.
It was seriously clever, actually. They used a specific subsonic frequency to attract the dragonfly - its tympanic membranes could pick up the sound from miles away.
What frequency did they use? Malcolm identified it, and he told her, but she didn't retain the numbers after only one hearing. God…if only she could remember. But then, what's the point? Unless the dragonfly species eats locusts - which it might well do. They are, after all, insectivorous. It's got to be worth a go - but what was the bloody frequency?
Hang on a minute: subsonic. That's neither ultrasonic nor infrasonic. It must mean a sound that's lurking close to the range of normal human hearing - but not quite. Which means it's low, not high.
Think, think, think…
It took me a while to work it out - I was trying ultrasound for a hell of a long time and it didn't make the blindest bit of difference, so I got fed up and started on the infrasound instead - but that didn't work either, so I started at 20Hz and began to work up - and then I found it at 32.8. Even though it couldn't fly, it still had a bloody good try at getting off the ground. It must be a mating call or something - probably the females calling the males.
"That's it!" Excited, even though she's not convinced it's going to work, Yseult quickly punches in the frequency, and sets it going.
For a moment, it looks like another dud - but then…
It's remarkable - the locusts are starting to move, slowly at the moment - as there are so many of them, and there's always the principle of safety in numbers. But gradually, the cloud lifts from the plants, and the creatures seem confused, going this way and that as though aiming to confuse a predator. That dragonfly species must be that predator, then - and they assume that there are creatures closing in. It probably won't drive them away entirely, but it's a sufficient distraction to give the team behind her the time they need to prep the countermeasures.
One of them turns to look out of the window, "Bloody hell…"
"Does that give you enough time to finish up?" Yseult asks.
"Two more minutes, and we'll have the sirens going, Max." He assures her, "As long as they stay up a bit longer, then that should give us the breathing space we need."
Relieved, she turns back to the rolling blizzard of insects, that are still confused and in the air; until, finally, the sirens sound to send the field teams to their shelters.
Jim is seated at Taylor's desk, working his way through sets of records. He is not surprised to find that the rosters have fallen apart, or that the few cameras they have watching the perimeter haven't had their footage saved for nearly six weeks. God, has it only been that long? It felt like months while it was happening…
The inventory of the armoury is no better, and he has no idea who has a weapon now. But then, with the hasty capitulation of the men in that he had confronted, it's likely that no one's going to start fighting him when he retakes command. Not while they're fighting to save next year's grain stocks, anyway. It's still damned annoying, though; the only way he can be sure of accounting for every weapon is to have an amnesty - and thus people will get away with stealing them. It's a pain, yes - but better that than someone hiding a weapon and someone's child finding it.
Guzman to Shannon.
He picks up his comm unit, "Go ahead."
I've found Jackson. Sleeping like a baby - but he's a bit on the heavy side, so it'll be a bit longer than I expected getting him into the brig.
"Fair enough. If you need a hand, I can see if anyone's around."
No need. Pete's just shown up. Guzman out.
Jim smirks as he sets the comm unit back down. Pete'll enjoy that - the worst thing for him was being unable to protect Yseult: something of a self-appointed duty in Malcolm's absence. Jackson's behaviour was a disgrace to the Colony as a whole, and Jim isn't entirely convinced that the man isn't responsible for Parker's death, either. The trouble is - how do they prove it? Can they?
Jackson won't confess to it - that's for sure. The only way is to get the others to drop him in it - though, with things as they are, he's pretty sure at least one of them will do that - particularly if they think that they're going to get kicked out of the colony. The chances of that happening are pretty slim; but the threat remains, and it's almost certainly lurking at the back of their collective minds.
He looks up, distracted by the sound of a distant siren, then another, and another. Good - that means they're ready to fire the pesticide cannons. Hopefully that'll be enough to save at least a proportion of their crops.
His comm unit goes again, and he picks it up, "Shannon here."
It's Chris - we're about to fire up the cannons; but we think we've managed to drive the locusts off the crops. We've been trying sound as a deterrent, but no one had the chance to really get it working. Max has just managed to find a frequency that bothers them, so it gave us some breathing space. Give us a couple of hours, and we should be locust-free.
"That sounds good, Chris. Keep me posted. Shannon out."
He resume his perusal of the official records, and sighs at their abandonment. Why do people think it's easy to run this place? Only a fool would really belief that Taylor sits up here and stares at the ceiling for hours on end - not when there's so much to keep track of. That's the whole point of the records. Now they've got a whopping great blind spot that he can't get back. As soon as everyone's emerged from the sheds, he's gonna re-assemble the security staff and set them to work on checking the perimeter. While it's not likely that there's severe damage, the one thing he doesn't want is encroachment by foliage - they can't see what's on the other side of the fence line if that happens.
He's still looking through the files, and finding things that are quite astounding: half-finished computer games, confidential staff files that have been read through as though they were magazine articles - and even some remarkably unpleasant pornographic images that he shut down as soon as he realised what they were. Thus he is not aware of the passage of time, and looks up in surprise as the door opens to admit Guzman and Pete.
"Jackson's still sleeping, Mr Shannon - but when he wakes up, he'll find he's no longer in Max's lounge."
"Good. Leave him to do that by himself and freak out over it. I imagine he'll be a total wuss now we're the ones with the power again."
"I have no doubt of it." Guzman agrees, cheerfully. Everyone knows that old adage about bullies being cowards. Some aren't - but most are.
"Well, I can tell you that he's one sick bastard." Jim advises, "Judging by the photos he left on the terminal screen, he's got a serious issue with women in authority. No wonder he was trying to pick on Max - she was the ultimate chauvinist's target. Only Elisabeth was a bigger one - but he didn't want to take me on."
"He didn't rate me, then." Pete says, crossly, "Must be because I'm a queen."
"I wouldn't call you that." Guzman admits, looking at Pete's enormously muscled arms, "Not when you're capable of ripping my head off."
"Oh, I wouldn't do that to you." Pete is grinning cheerfully, "You're too cute with that head on."
"What do you want me to do next, Mr Shannon?" Guzman asks, hastily, though Pete's grinning even more widely. They all know he's joking.
"Keep an ear out for the field sirens - as soon as they sound, get the security staff back to the marketplace and get them formed up. We need to have people on the gate, and I need to get patrols out to check the boundaries as soon as we can, so we can get any encroachment cut back. Round up our rogue senior staff - but don't put 'em in the brig yet. I don't want them anywhere near Jackson, not if we can get them to tell us who killed Parker."
"You think it was Jackson?"
"I'd bet all the terras in my pocket if I had any." He pauses, "If you can find Boylan, send him up, would you?"
"Will do." Guzman turns and departs.
"I'll get back to our compound." Pete volunteers, "Max might be more easygoing than that lot that were in here last - but she can be a right demon if the place is a mess."
Jim nods, then looks across as the tall forester opens the door, "Don't even think about it. I want Jackson to face Taylor without broken bones."
"Spoilsport."
She doesn't complain - but Malcolm knows that Mira's extremely uncomfortable bunched up in the passenger seat, despite the efficacy of the fracture compound. But then, she's never complained about anything at all, ever, as far as he can figure out, so he keeps his eyes on the route ahead, and keeps a careful eye on her. Just in case.
Now that they're returning south, he wants to get moving as quickly as he can - given the length of time it took them to get here, he knows it's not an overnight job. He lost count of the number of times they were obliged to camp on the way down - probably because it became so regular that he didn't even think about it. It was only the stops where they were particularly concerned about those damned bambiraptors that really stuck in the mind.
At least they can move more quickly now, as they're not looking for anything - just making their way home. Well - home for most of the party. God alone knows how their new arrivals are going to behave once they get there. He's quite convinced that the only reason they haven't had any form of meltdown between them is because they can't take in how far back in the past they really are.
The one thing he wants to do - other, of course, than kiss the hell out of his wife - is get Taylor back as soon as possible. That distillate proved to be remarkable - but it's a temporary palliative, and it's running out. The only way to ensure that they don't lose him for good is to get him back and hand him over to Elisabeth as soon as they're through the gates - and he can't even call ahead to let them know that the convoy's coming back for at least another week.
"Don't be too much of a hero, Mira. I don't want you passing out - not while we're making such good time." He's learned long ago that it doesn't do to suggest to Mira that she's weak. Better to frame it as a potential inconvenience to the party as a whole rather than old-fashioned chivalry.
"Don't worry. If I start seeing spots, I'll let you know." She says, then smirks slightly, "Or heel over and throw up in your lap."
"The hell you will. These are my favourite trousers." He quips. Of course - he's a parent. What parent of a small child doesn't live a life punctuated by regular outbreaks of vomit?
Now that he's been out in the desert for a reasonable time, Malcolm seems to have largely set aside his paranoia about running out of water - but not to the extent that he's willing to take risks. As soon as it becomes clear that the sun's getting too high for them to safely continue, he calls a halt, and Dunham organises a team to set up awnings in the lea of a rhino so that they can at least get some shade. Even the guards have to stay under it, so strong is the sunlight, so the fencing's out again. Not being one to miss an opportunity, however, Malcolm has already set up a rank of solar cells so that they can recharge the spare vehicle batteries, while Mira has rigged up one of the spare condensers to act as a primitive air conditioning unit. It's pretty close to being on its last legs anyway, so if they kill it, then it'll just be broken down for parts for the others.
"How long d'you think we need to stay here?" Malcolm asks, a little impatiently. God, he wants to get back now that it's all over.
Mira squints out into the bright sunlight, "At least four hours." She sighs, "We'll have people with heatstroke at the wheel if we go too soon - the louvres are all very well, but no one ever built one of these things with air-con in the cab."
They look up as Dunham approaches, "Sorry, Doctor - but your professor guy is trying to disconnect one of the batteries from the solar farm."
The pair look up at him, surprised, "What the hell is he doing that for?" Mira asks.
"Guess." Malcolm sighs, and clambers to his feet.
Sure enough, Falker is crouched over one of the rhino batteries in the full sunlight, cursing as he tries to figure out the connections. What is it about that damned laptop? The only way that they can power it up is to get it back to the Colony and jury-rig something - it's a project that Malcolm is quite looking forward to, as he delights in tinkering with electronics when he gets the opportunity, but now is most certainly not the time.
"Please don't do that, Doctor. We need the batteries to get us back to the Colony - if we lose a vehicle out here, then we're in serious trouble."
Falker ignores him, and continues to fumble. Annoyed, Malcolm crouches beside him, "Leave that alone and get back under the awnings." He's never given a direct order before, and it's rather difficult to sound as forceful as he'd like to; but he's been put in charge of the convoy, and what he says, goes.
"I'll get back under those sheets when I've got power for my laptop."
Oh, for God's sake. Irked, Malcolm finds it in himself to speak assertively without sounding petulant, "If you don't leave that alone, I'll have Dunham confiscate the laptop and hang on to it until we get back to the Colony." What the hell is on the bloody thing, anyway? Surely he's not that fixated on his data? Particularly now that it's no damned use to anyone anymore.
Falker turns and glares at him with a shocking degree of venom. While the comments he read about the man from critics were hardly complimentary, none of them ever pointed out just how unpleasant the man can be. He remembers reading some posts on an old forum somewhere that suggested the man was an out and out conspiracy theorist - but it's only now that he's beginning to wonder if those suggestions were right.
Rather than back off, however, he returns that glare with a steady gaze of his own, and watches as the man stands up and almost flounces back to the shelter of the awnings.
"I don't know about you." Malcolm turns to Dunham "But I'd 'accidentally' forget that blasted laptop if I could be sure he wouldn't turn round and walk back to get it."
"What's on it, Doctor?"
"God knows - but if it's just climate data, then he's even more of an idiot than I thought."
"I guess we'll find out once we get back." Dunham muses.
"True. Go and get yourself some water. We'll move on in about four hours."
The armoury is locked up tight - and Jim is relieved that Jackson didn't manage to work out how to change the code after he'd programmed it in. Not that Jim had felt it wise at the time to change it again straight afterwards like he did with Parker.
Once inside, he starts checking the inventory, working his way through serial numbers and quantities. To his relief, other than being returned to the racks in nothing remotely resembling their proper order, none of the sonics are missing - be they pistols or rifles. The only weapons currently absent are the ones that were taken out by the expedition. Getting the weaponry back in order again will be a pain in the ass - but at least he isn't going to have to have that amnesty that he was worried about. While they'd had their hands on the guns for a while, at least they'd been putting them back every night - presumably Jackson didn't trust them any more than Parker did before him.
Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the faint drone of the field siren, and sighs with relief. At last - he can get his security teams back. They'll be pretty relieved, as well - the protection of the colony is completely drummed into them, so he knows that, no matter how tired they are, when he asks for a show of hands to man the gates as soon as people can get changed, he won't be short of volunteers.
Emerging from the armoury, and locking it up with another new code - just in case - Jim makes his way back to the marketplace, though it's far too soon for anyone to have got back from the fields.
"There you are, Shannon. I thought you wanted to a word?" Boylan is leaning nonchalantly against the wall of the Command Centre.
"Yeah - sorry; I realised I wanted to make sure there weren't any guns in the wrong hands. Jackson's pals have put me back in charge."
"Damn." Boylan grins, "So much for an outbreak of an anarchy. I guess I'm not getting my hands on a sonic pistol anytime soon."
"Hell no." Jim chuckles, "So; what did you pick up while you were the spy in the ranks? The more we know, the fairer we can be when it comes to dishing out the justice." He indicates that they should go upstairs.
Once he's sitting at the desk, Boylan looks irked, "I didn't get as much as I would've liked - must be losing my touch - but Jackson's definitely your man over Parker's death. I heard him rowing with Drummond about it. Drummond was freaking about being chucked out of the Colony - but Jackson threatened to do just that to him if he didn't shut up. So he did."
"Thought so." Jim sighs, "How interested were the others? If they got scared and didn't know how to back out of it, then at least they deserve that mitigation."
"Feeling magnanimous in victory, then?" Boylan smirks.
"Not really. Just thinking about how our reaction'll go down. They were talking about injustice and elites and all that crap - so we need to prove them wrong. I can't guarantee that Jackson won't be shown the door - but the rest of them'll be staying here. We need them too much to be throwing them out. But that's up to Taylor when he gets back."
"Which is when, precisely?"
"God knows." Jim gets up again and crosses to the window, where he can see some of the security staff are starting to assemble, "They went out with enough supplies to last about eight weeks - they've been gone nearly six; so it could be any time between now and two weeks away. Or longer if they ration their supplies."
"Plenty of time to clear up the mess, then."
"Yep." Jim sighs, "We haven't burned the place down - but God alone knows what the crop yields are gonna be like this fall. Until the teams report back from the fields, I don't know whether I'll be telling Taylor that everything's AOK, or that we'll be issuing ration books for the winter."
"Yeah; it's a toughie" Boylan agrees, "I'll go and see what the bar's looking like. Might as well give people a place to come and gripe at. Never know what you'll overhear when people are jabbering in a bar."
"Anything you can get'll go down well." Jim agrees, "Much as I hate to say it - thanks for all you've done while this has been happening. There's no way we'd be where we are if you hadn't been doing that whole self-interested spy thing."
"And that's any different from usual?"
Jim laughs as Boylan departs, then follows him down to the marketplace where the former security teams have all gathered, more than eager to get back to work that doesn't involve the tending of crops. It isn't, after all, what they signed up for. Even having to go straight on shift is better than being out in the fields, and he's not surprised that everyone seems more than happy to do it.
Guzman steps over to join him, "I think everyone needs to get home to shower and change first, Mr Shannon."
"Sure." He concurs, "I'm not asking people to man the towers in cargo pants. I'm gonna need a couple of volunteers to go into the armoury and put all the weapons back in the right places. It looked like everything was back in - but until the guns are all on the right racks, I'm not taking anything for granted."
"On it."
Jim leaves Guzman to it - the man's more than capable of organising the troops without any interference on his part. Besides, he can see that Yseult has come back in from the fields, and he's keen to tell her that Jackson is well and truly locked up in the brig. She's also got Chris in tow, so he's got the opportunity to find out how much damage the locusts have done - and how much they've saved.
Beckoning, he invites them up to Taylor's office, "Okay, what's the damage?"
"Not as bad as it might've been." Chris looks very relieved, "Pretty much everyone was out there batting plastic about and that kept a lot of them off - but the really useful thing was our sonic protective system. We've been trying to make it work for months - but we were using the wrong frequencies. Max found the right one."
"Well, not exactly." Yseult admits, "I just remembered what Malcolm said about that dragonfly, so I started trying low frequencies instead of high ones. It looks like the dragonflies are major predators of the locusts - the moment they felt that signal, they started to lift. I think it just had them going into defensive mode - like starlings flocking in the evening - but it grabbed us enough time to get the cannons ready."
"Most of them took off - so we aren't overwhelmed with corpses." Chris adds, "It'll take a while to get them cleared - but I think that's the perfect job for the people who decided that they didn't have to do any work while we were so busy."
Jim snorts with amusement; something for Jackson's nervous cronies, and the various hangers on that acted as minders and - supposedly - guards. They'll love that - and so will everyone who had to watch them sitting pretty in the Command Centre while those who had more important things to be doing were expected to do their work instead.
"I'll have Guzman and Reilly organise them into work parties." He grins, "And then we can get started on getting things back to normal. I don't know about you," he continues, but I think I'm gonna go see my wife. You might wanna go fetch Erin, Max."
"God, yes."
"I'll help Guzman and Reilly with the work parties." Chris adds, cheerfully, "Go enjoy your mushy reunions, folks."
The heat of the sun is oppressive, and no one is emerging from the shade of the awnings; while Malcolm has put together a rota so that people don't hog the condenser that he's rigged into a cooling system. While he doesn't believe that most people would - the temptation to do so is very strong, and he doesn't really trust himself not to claim some sort of priority and pretty much camp beside it.
Most people are asleep - the only sensible thing to do under the circumstances - though Dunham and Carter are watching beyond the fencing, just in case. Malcolm would be drowsing, too - but not quite yet; not when he's got the inventory to check. It might be that he's being over-cautious, though the time he's spent out here has largely stemmed that stressed paranoia that punctuated the outward journey; but he's in charge of a lot of people, and the one thing that scares him now more than anything else is failing to get them all back alive.
He looks across to the small group of survivors, who are still keeping themselves to themselves somewhat. Janet is close to Diego - which merely confirms the existing suspicions that they were in a relationship before coming through the portal - and she's cuddling that toy dog that she was so desperate to retrieve from the ship. It so reminds him of Yseult and Schmidt that, for a moment, he completely fails to notice that Falker's not with them.
Oh hell. Not again.
Irked, Malcolm starts looking about to see if he can spot the tiresome scientist. They've set up the solar cells again to keep trickle-charging the vehicle batteries and power the condensers that they're using for water rather than cooling. What's the betting that the idiot's gone back there to try and connect up that laptop? God, he's not going to get Dunham to confiscate it - he's going to take it off the fool and dump it somewhere in the desert once they're under way again. There's nothing on that bloody thing that's going to make a blind bit of difference to their circumstances now, so it must be some sort of obsessive form of possessiveness. Either that, or this is his way of coping with the fact that he's never going to persuade anyone of anything now.
Setting his plex aside, he steps across to Dunham, "Falker's AWOL again."
"What?" Dunham looks up, and then all around, "Not again…"
"I'll check the solar farm." Malcolm sighs, "God, if he's messing about with that, then I swear I'm going to 'accidentally' lose that blasted computer of his on the way back."
"I can do that if you want, Doctor."
Rather than allow him to go alone, Dunham follows Malcolm round to the spot where they've set up the solar panels in the full sunlight to get the maximum power into their batteries and devices. Sure enough, Falker's there again, fumbling with some of the leads and clearly attempting to identify the connections. Why he's doing it, Malcolm can't even begin to guess; their cables are completely different to the ports on that laptop - the power transfer is also completely different given that the two devices are about a century apart in terms of technological advancement. A bit of research in the Eye, and he can fabricate a replacement - so why all this faffing about now?
"Can you please just stop doing that?" Malcolm's tone of voice is not one of appeal - more frustration, "We need that power to go to the batteries for the vehicles. It's bad enough getting stuck here - but it'll be deadly if that happens once we're back in the forests. We won't be able to get sufficient sunlight to the cells through the canopy - so it's now or not at all."
Falker seems quite indifferent to the overall safety of the expedition, "Once this is charged, I'll get out of your hair."
"Except you can't connect it up. I've told you - once we're back in the Colony, I can build something that should fit. I can't do it here - I don't have the parts or the tools."
He is rewarded for his offer with a vicious glare, "I want to do it now. Except for your obstruction. Jesus - I even get it here. What is it with you people, trying to suppress my work?"
"And how, precisely, am I doing that?" Malcolm demands, crossly, "I've offered to build you a new power cable once we get back - it's impossible to do it in the middle of a desert. Even if I had the right materials, I can't guarantee that it won't be contaminated with sand."
"Yeah, right." Falker reaches for another cable.
"Right. That's it." Angry now, Malcolm steps forward and grabs up the laptop, "I warned you what would happen if you didn't stop messing with our equipment. Whatever's on this laptop isn't going to run away, and we can't pollute an entire planet in a week." He turns and hands the computer to Dunham, only to see his expression change, and his hand suddenly dive for his pistol. He has no time to turn - and staggers as a heavy weight suddenly lands on his shoulders.
"Give that back to me, you bastard! That's theft!" A fist strikes over his shoulder, and then the flat of a hand delivers a stinging slap to his ear as Falker lashes out over the confiscation, "GIVE IT BACK!"
For a moment, Malcolm forgets where he is, and it's Mike's weight pressing down on him. The heat of the desert becomes the heat of the furnace, and he's being pushed downwards…
Someone brushes past him, and the weight is gone. Shocked, Malcolm turns back to see Dunham has tackled Falker and pinned him down on the sand, "That's enough of that, Doctor." His voice is calm, but firm, "Stop fighting me or I'll have to stun you."
"You're all in on it!" Falker is raving now, almost spitting as he shouts, "I'm trying to save the world, damn you!"
"I'm sorry, Doctor." Dunham retrieves his pistol and stands back to deliver the shot. In an instant, the howling man is silent and still.
"Great." Malcolm mutters, "Now that's two people I might have to confine on the way back. There's only four more doses of distillate."
Dunham turns, dismayed, "Only four? I thought there were more?"
"I had Bram test them to see how they were holding up." Malcolm sighs, "Three of them had oxidised - and it turned them toxic, so we had to chuck them. Once they're finished, it's only a matter of time before we lose the Commander again - and I want to be out of the desert before that happens."
"I guess I'll have to rearrange the rhinos again."
"Looks like it."
Between them, they lug Falker back round to the camp, and deposit him with Janet and Diego. She looks equally shocked, "What happened?"
"We've had to stun him," Malcolm explains, "He tried to disconnect a battery from the solar farm - we need those batteries to get back. When we stopped him, he accused us of conspiring against him, and attacked me."
Rather than look surprised at such a revelation, she instead sighs, "Oh dear - I didn't realise he was thinking that. A lot of people didn't take any notice of his results, and he sometimes convinced himself that it was a conspiracy. It was just people burying their heads in the sand - but it was becoming a bit of a problem at the University. One of the reasons we were studying plankton in the ocean was just to get him away from the campus for a bit."
"I've told him he was right." Malcolm says, bemused, "It doesn't make any sense that he'd think I was conspiring against him to suppress his data."
"It might be stress." She volunteers, "He'd just got divorced, and his application for tenure got turned down because he wouldn't stop insisting that people accept his data without question."
"Did he submit any papers for peer review?"
She shakes her head, "I'll keep an eye on him."
"I'd be grateful if you could. I'm going to keep hold of the laptop for the time being. Once we get back to the tree-line, it's going to be a lot more dangerous. We're so far out that you haven't seen the local fauna yet. If nothing else convinces you how far back in time we are, then a buitreraptor should cut the mustard - though I'd prefer to get back to the compound before we encounter an acceraptor or carnotaurus."
She swallows, nervously, "I'll make sure he doesn't cause any more trouble."
Malcolm nods, "Thanks."
Hopefully she can do as promised - otherwise he really is going to have to confine two people on the way back to the Colony. Hell - the sooner they're back there, the better.