Strange Harvest

Part V: Venom

Chavos, Goldwater, Sarabi, and I moved as quickly as we could, frustrated by the Packhound's deliberate pace on our overgrown path. The thing was picking its way through to avoid crushing flowers and vines, stepping only on soil and the thick carpet of dead leaves coating the ground. I found myself agreeing with Chavos about Mueller's insistence on moving through the jungle on foot, especially with the storm bearing down on us. What did it matter if we punched through the treetops, when a hurricane was about to tear the whole jungle a new asshole? But neither of us was about to argue the point with Mueller.

All of us kept an eye on Mueller's video feed as we pushed forward, eager to see the first batch of our prize. On the live feed in a corner of my display, the lead harvester and the fabricant walked downhill toward a thirty-foot-wide steeloak tree. It looked like the soil had been eroded on the lower side, leaving a tangle of exposed roots. The hive would be somewhere underneath.

But while we watched, we also had to be mindful of dusters. Scouting drones from the Packhound swept the surrounding area, but they'd seen no sign yet. The dusters were still out there somewhere, and likely knew exactly where we were going since they'd taken Warren's armor. The harvesters had apparently been at it long enough that they'd attracted some unwanted attention.

From what I understood about their whole operation, years ago Mueller and his company had built artificial hive frames in four ideal breeding locations near the lotus wasps' original nesting grounds. Then, he baited some worker wasps to the areas with rotten lotus fruit. Once the wasps found the bait and the artificial frames, they'd bring a wasp queen and help her gather leaves, wood, and other fibers which the queen could process into her own secreted, papery material for the walls.

She'd complete the hive and have workers gather lotus nectar for her, which could then be processed into pure, natural, lotus-infused honey and sealed inside the artificial hive frame's cells. From what the harvesters said, we could just set up the kegs, turn the taps, and let the honey flow. But, like everything else about this job so far, we'll see how that fucking goes.

Mueller's helmet camera zoomed in on the base of the tree, and against the pockmarked, silvery bark, I could see groups of crimson lotus wasps flitting in and out of a large gap that led deeper into the tree's root system. "Lina, turn on that bubble now," he ordered. "They're all worked up about something—unusual to see so much activity at this time of day."

"You want to wait for backup?" Goldwater asked. "Packhound's still about twenty minutes out at this rate... but I can send a couple guys I know."

"Yeah, I'll take your 'couple guys...' if you can vouch for 'em," Mueller replied wryly. "Hard to find good talent out here."

"Yeah, I got my resume right here," Chavos interjected, lifting a middle finger into view of his own helmet camera and sending it to everyone's display. "Good enough for y'all?"

Mueller snorted a laugh. "Guess I'll have to take what I can get. Chavos, bring Sarabi with you this time. Goldwater, you and Jackson stay with the Packhound until it reaches the harvest site." Display icons blinked green all around. Chavos shouldered his rifle, nodded to Sarabi, and the pair disappeared within moments. Meanwhile, Mueller's view turned back to the fabricant. "Lina, hide here and keep watch. If you see anyone other than our team, stay out of sight and let me know. I'll make contact with the queen first, and then we'll introduce you. Don't want to upset her any more than she already is."

Truth is, I was glad not to be picked to go with Chavos—the security of the Packhound's force bubble was not something I was eager to leave. I wondered if Goldwater had spoken with Mueller after she checked on me, if she'd told him I was shaken, not to rely on me. If she did, I didn't care; if anything, I should have thanked her.

At this point, I realized, I just wanted to get home. Back under the dome. Out of my suit. There was a certain comfort in giving in to that fact—I'd come out here to get away, and yet here I was wanting only to be home again. I guess I didn't hate Overlook as much as I thought I did. But we still had days to go, even if the harvest and the hurricane and the wasps and the dusters all went smoothly. My hopes of that happening dropped like a meteor from orbit, with no sign of stopping.

"Hey, Goldwater," I began to her alone, the Packhound trundling between us, "If you said something to Mueller about me, uh... thanks. Seriously. I don't think I should have come out here."

She glanced over at me, her expression hidden behind an opaque black visor, and shrugged. "You got this far."

I nodded. "Which means now I have to get back. I mean, this is only halfway, and that was the easy part—"

Mueller interrupted on the common channel. "Jackson, we need you out here! Octopiders in the nest!"

"Fucking what? Octopiders?" I demanded, confused and alarmed as I raised my rifle and started toward the edge of the force barrier. "What are—"

Mueller cut me off, short of breath, his voice tense. On my display, I could see him crawling past the entrance of the nest, the headlamps on his helmet revealing a path into the depths of the tree's cavelike root system. "Checking the honey now. Goldwater, send a few drones and give him the scream beam."

I skidded to a stop and spun on my heel. "Scream beam?"

"Shit. Here," Goldwater opened up the Packhound without stopping it, stuck her arm inside, and pulled out a pistol-like device with a widened cone for a barrel and a corded plug extending from the base of the grip. "Turn around."

I obeyed, asking as I glanced over my shoulder at her, "Goldwater, what the hell are octopiders?"

"Exactly what they sound like," Goldwater said as she plugged the weapon into a power outlet on the back of my nullsuit, then handed it to me. "Nasty little spidery tentacled fuckers. This'll drive them out. Now, move! The drones will cover you, go! Go!"

I took off running in the direction of the nest, my lens display supplying me with a waypoint off in the distance. In my peripherals, I saw the black baseball-sized drones catch up with me and maintain my speed as I tore through the jungle in bounding leaps. Within two minutes, I could see the steeloak on top of the hive looming overhead, roving swarms of bright red lotus wasps buzzing around the base of its trunk. The three scouting drones with me went screaming off straight toward these groups of wasps and baited them into a wild chase away from the tree.

"Mueller, I'm here! What do I do? Chavos! Sarabi!" Mueller's video feed had gone dark when he went into the nest, and now no one was replying.

"Get your ass inside, Jackson!" Goldwater hissed. "They can't hear you down there!"

Swallowing my panic at the thought of what I might find, I pointed the scream beam ahead, crouched low, and slowly approached the gnarled opening Mueller had disappeared into, hoping desperately that the angry clouds of lotus wasps above continued ignoring me in favor of the drones.

***

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