📗Larval Haze | 4: Nectar Like the Old Skies of Earth

Following the events of Strange Harvest, the honey must flow as life grinds on beneath the jungle's alien canopy...

This is Hanlon’s Reader, an independent author’s publication. Here you’ll find stories, books, essays, and other things. I’ll be tinkering away here for a while.

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📗Larval Haze — 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

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📗 Part IV: Nectar Like the Old Skies of Earth

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After the Surgeonbot finished its painful work, Gaultmann left me alone to rest. Barkland hadn’t returned since I saw him drag Leguro’s corpse away, and long streaks of partially-dried blood still remained on the floor. I began to wonder if he was planning to come back.

Surely he didn’t just go charging off into the jungle. We didn’t need the whole plant, just its flowers—from them, we could extract enough nectar to feed the five larvae once they hatched. Did he even know what to get, or how to extract the lotus nectar? Or how many flowers we’d need? If all he got was the fruit itself, we’d be back at square one. 

All I could do was wait for my old schoolmate, new best friend, and now partner in crime, Barkland Shaw. I wanted to heave a big, depressed, weary sigh without ripping my guts open again, but I knew I couldn’t. 

My wounds itched. I couldn’t get up. And I had to shit in a bedpan yesterday. Maybe that was the straw that broke Leguro’s back. 

For some reason that made me think of Goldwater and I wondered if she was alive. Whatever medical magic she’d worked on me had saved my life. And for that, maybe I got her killed. 

But probably not, I thought—Goldwater just didn’t seem like the type to get killed, full stop.

I tried to focus on what I knew. Mueller and his harvester team had filled me in a little on the Dusters before we came out: they were a gang of outlaws, part of a wide-reaching criminal empire that had built fortified “grow labs” in the jungle to manufacture the mind-control dust they grew from the mushrooms out here. Given that their operation overlaps with the harvesters’ territory, there’s friction.

I assumed I was in one of their grow labs, but beyond that I couldn’t know. Whatever the case, I needed to find a way out of here, wherever here actually was. 

The air and gravity inside felt about Earth-normal, so I could tell we were in some kind of pressurized building or enclosure with gravity plates in the foundation. But that was the case for just about every structure built on Surface, since the increased gravity on the planet was strong enough to require negation with nullsteel and artificial control with gravplates.

This planet was marketed as a crown jewel during the Pre-War times, before we broke off from the rest of humanity—not that I was alive then. Now we were Surface, the long-lost twin sister, glimmering more green than blue like Mother Earth… I had seen plenty of the old propaganda in history class. 

My friends and I used to mock the overly earnest, extravagant claims they made: Enough land for ten Earths! Find your home on the endless frontier!

Just as I began to doze off, I heard some noises outside. Someone opened the door with a mop and bucket, remaining in the doorway and surveying the mess inside. Glowering at the task ahead of him, he muttered, “Fucking hell.” 

It was one of the others from before who had refused to help Barkland, a young man wearing a short-sleeved shirt tucked neatly into the belted waistband of his pants. I guess he got roped into it after all—maybe that’s what Barkland had been doing.

I said, “I’d offer to help, but…”

The newcomer smirked as he tore the corner off a plump bag of coarse absorbent powder and dumped the whole thing over the pools of wet blood at the room’s entrance. “Right. No, it’s okay, see: I am Fasma the fucking janitor now.”

I could see past him into the hallway a little and it looked like Fasma had already cleaned up the rest of the mess. 

Barkland had mentioned some of the others didn’t want me around—hopefully this guy wasn’t buddies with Leguro. Maybe I could soften him up, make an ally. “Congrats on the promotion.”

“Maybe someday Boss Barkland makes me Chef like Norczek.” Fasma grinned, stood at attention, and gave a mocking fist salute over his heart. Then he bent down and used a small scoop to shovel up some of the gunky absorbent powder, which had sort of clotted the blood together. 

Raising an eyebrow at Fasma, I said, “Assuming the new boss doesn’t end up like that.”

He dunked the grimy mophead into the water bucket and made no reply, just silently started mopping the rest. Still unsure exactly where we were, I craned my neck around to try and learn anything useful about the place while the door was propped open. But all I could see down the short hall were dim lights and dirty metal walls, nothing useful. 

“Where is Barkland?” I asked.

“Don’t know.”

“It’s important that we talk before he goes back out there,” I insisted. “Where is he? Did he leave?”

Silently, Fasma raised a hand to his chin and stared off as though deep in thought before suddenly snapping his fingers. “Ah, I remember! He was very clear that I tell you this, and so I am surprised I forgot: he is taking a long, hot bath with rose petals and lavender.”

“Right.” I nodded. “Got it.”

“Fucking new guy, asking questions.” Fasma shook his head and went back to cleaning up as fast as possible while pointedly ignoring me. 

I didn’t have to wait much longer, though—Gaultmann came dashing around the corner and nearly crashed into Fasma wheeling the mop and bucket out the door. “Hey, watch it!”

Gaultmann caught himself on the wall and narrowly avoided knocking the bloody rinse water everywhere. “Sorry mate, go on. Jackson, I’ve got Barkland on comms needing help.”

Idiot. So he did go out on his own, immediately, without talking through the plan. Probably got out there and realized he didn’t know what he was even really looking for. 

“Do you have a link?” I asked. “And lenses?”

After Fasma trudged away, Gaultmann cautiously entered on the wet floor to hand me a tiny, round, black button-like device. “Just a link.”

I held it on the tip of my finger and stuck it securely on the little flat part of my right ear’s cartilage above the lobe, just outside the entrance to my ear canal. The link adhered itself securely and immediately I could hear Barkland midway through a string of curses.

“—cking murdery bastards, go on, get!” He shouted as though scolding a misbehaving pet. “Get outta here, that one’s mine!”

“Barkland,” I said. “It’s Jackson. What’s going on, where are you?”

“Thank fuckin’ stars, man!” The relief in his voice was immediate and his reply came quick and strained. “There’s some lotus growing in this swamp nearby so I went to get some of those red flowers, for the nectar, right? But these goddamn—get off me—goddamn tentacle spider things are everywhere!”

“Octopiders?” 

“Is that really what you call them?” Gaultmann interjected.

“What, is there a scientific name?” I shrugged. “It’s what the harvesters called them—”

“Spidery, tentacled, yeah that’s them,” Barkland replied curtly, out of breath and frustrated. “It’s like a swarm, they’re eating everything. There were fields full of this stuff, I swear. Should have grabbed some before.”

“They come from the water,” I told him. “Listen, you need to go up to the treetops. Get off the ground. See the vines on the tree trunks? Follow them up and you’ll find more.”

“Vines…?” He grunted like he had just jumped and landed somewhere, then went quiet for a few seconds. “Shit, yeah, I see them. Knew you’d come through, Jackson! Nice!”

 At least he was going in the right direction now. I muted myself. “Gaultmann, I need lenses to see what Barkland is seeing; just audio isn’t enough if he gets in real trouble.”

Display contact lenses would let me sync up to watch his nullsuit’s camera feed and get a real time view of what he was dealing with at the moment. Gaultmann turned away, whispering to consult with Barkland, then nodded and left to find some. 

They were probably hesitant to give me that kind of access, which was smart. I’d be using it to look for ways out.

I took a long, steady breath and watched the Royal Lotus-branded Hive Frame my five fat grubs were locked within. This felt like the best thing I could do: prove my worth, recover, and keep the queen’s eggs—and myself—safe.

Then hopefully, eventually, escape.

***

“Doesn’t she know we’re going into peak season? They’ll be swarming over Hive Six before we can even get the new hires onboarded. We need her,” Mueller growled. 

Chavos shook his head. “She knows. She still won’t talk to you. Says you’re a sick fucker for feeding Jackson to the bugs, and you’re an evil coward for leaving him behind with the Dusters. Or maybe it was the other way around, evil fucker and sick coward—”

“I get it.”

“Just trying to be accurate, boss.”

“Once breeding season starts this year, those octopiders will be feeding on our livelihood every single day. Every day. Think about that. We need her back, Chavos, because every day Goldwater’s not here we aren’t working at full strength. Everything’s harder—”

“So we need to find Jackson, then.”

“Jackson? He’s dead. Is that what Goldwater wants?”

“Her and about a third of Hive Security. Half the warehouse crew, too. They’re calling a strike soon.”

“Is that what this is now?” Wearily, the old man dropped his head into his hands. “Jackson’s dead. We nearly lost Goldwater trying to get him back already. But we got her home safe, even if we had to leave him behind.”

“No, you already did lose her. Now you gotta get her back. And you know what? It coulda been me out there. In the hive, with eggs in my guts. You gonna leave me there next time?”

“You know I wouldn’t, Chavos.”

“Not so sure these days, Mueller.”

A sour silence hung between them. 

Chavos got up to leave, then stopped and said, “Even if he is dead now, we still oughta find him. If you agree to that… then Goldwater, maybe I can talk her into it. The others will go along with her, whatever she decides.”

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