It was a small settlement, a supply base actually, one of the far-flung spots of civilization where food and water was stored for the oil exploration engineers. There was a main building with robin's egg blue panels -- clearly the reason the settlement was called Robin's Egg -- and two smaller geodesic domes on the far side of a narrow landing strip.
As they drew closer, George and the Kid saw something else as well: two dozen men and women who could only be described as Basin Riders. From the looks of it, every Basin Rider on Cerebrus was here. Four others had come out of the scrub brush behind George and the kid by the time they made the yellow, pot hole-strewn landing strip in front of the collection of geodesic domes.
As George held the kid on the far side of the landing strip, the Basin Riders cleaned the support staff out the supply base with military precision. They entered each dome quickly and removed all the occupants, no more than ten men and half that many women, at laser point. The prisoners were lined up shoulder to shoulder well back from the landing strip where they held them under guard.
"Well, kid, here's what we went to all the trouble to have you see. You just stand right here beside the landing strip and report back to English Petroleum exactly what you see here today."
"What am I going to see?"
"That I should spoil your surprise?" George put his hands to his chest in mock surprise. "No. No. No. I want you to savor every moment of this. It will be something you can tell your grandchildren."
As George was speaking, a soft throb could be heard in the distance. Everyone turned to the source of the sound and suddenly, from behind an outcropping, an English Petroleum cargo skyrider could be seen skimming along just above the surface of the sulfur flats. The kid looked at George and then at the Basin Riders, surprised that no one seemed particularly concerned. Cargo skyriders were sometimes troop carriers. But this possibility did not seem to concern the Basin Riders. They just stood silently in their black, brown, and grey-streaked long coats.
As the kid looked from the skyrider to the landing strip, George could read the kid's mind. The landing strip was obviously too small to handle a skyrider of that size. The aircraft itself was one of the larger, newer cargo models, 400 feet long and 40 feet wide. Built for speed and carrying capacity, it would only be able to land if the pilots were very good. But it could never take off again. For whomever was onboard, this was assuredly a one-way trip.
The skyrider pilots were very good. They hit the sulfur plain just before the beginning of the airstrip, taking out ten feet of scrub before the skyrider hit the actual strip. Those pilots were going to use every foot of air strip they had -- and then some. As the skyrider roared by George and the kid, tons of sulfur rose and swirled in billows of yellow dust coating the men.
George had his face covered with the red bandana he kept around his neck. The kid didn't have a bandana so he choked on the biting sulfur dust. Not having a bandana was a sure sign of a tenderfoot on Cerebrus.
As the skyrider passed George and the kid, the engines suddenly reversed, the blast piercing their ears. Clearly whoever was flying that crate certainly knew how to land. The craft slowed quickly and even as it ploughed off the landing strip into the shrub, it was apparent that it would not be damaged. The minute the plane stopped moving, the engines cut off. Instantly the plain was silent.
"OK, kid, let's go."
George, the kid and three Basin Riders walked through the settling dust clouds to the back of the cargo craft. When they arrived, the huge belly door was just settling and low enough for the five men to step inside.
"We're calling this Noah's Ark." George waved his arm around the interior. "What you see here are our secret weapons: coyotes, rattlesnakes, dingoes, hawks, and weasels. Animals that eat animals. This is how we're going to fight English Petroleum. We're going to beat you at your own game."
"I don't get it," the kid was scratching his head as the five of them walked the 300 feet to the end of the cargo hold. "You're bringing more animals here to die?"
"No. We're bringing animals here that will check the populations of mice, rabbits and voles. There is so much food here for these predators, thanks to English Petroleum, that their population is going to skyrocket."
"So?"
"So, 18 months from now when the United Nations environmental observers finally get to Cerebrus, they are going to see an environment. It won't be the original environment that was here but they are going to see an environmental balance nevertheless, one that has to be protected."
"I don't believe you."
"You don't have to. The only reason you're here is to see what we're doing. Then you report back to your headquarters."
As George was speaking, the Basin Riders stood in queues and began unloading the cargo. Larger animals that could run or fly great distances were simply released from their cages. The Basin Riders maneuvered the pallets with the cages toward the open tail gate and pulled up the trap door. The coyotes and wolves exploded out of the cages, took a single jump off the tail gate and disappeared into the brush. Eagles and hawks erupted out of their open cages and disappeared over the horizon in every direction as fast as they could fly. The kid counted well over two hundred carnivores before he decided to stop keeping tabs on the different types of animals.
"What are in the bags?" the Kid asked George as Basin Riders began collecting burlap sacks and tying them to the targors.
"Those are the smaller carnivores: rattlesnakes, badgers, weasels and the like. They can't cover the country the way the larger animals can. Every Basin Rider is taking a collection of them as far from here as possible, dropping them off where they know the mice and rabbits are thickest. These predators are still drugged from the trip but in a day or two, they'll be fine. Sure, we'll lose some along the way, that can't be helped. But those that survive are going to eat and eat and eat. Then they are going to reproduce and reproduce and reproduce. Like I said, by the time the United Nations environmental observers get here, there'll be a balanced environment to protect."
George led the kid out of the cargo skyrider bay and back to the loaded targor. Only then did George toss the kid his satchel.
"Here's where we part company," George said as he mounted the targor. "You just report what you saw. You'll get a promotion. They can't fire you."
"Why are you doing this, George? You're a wild-catter! One of us!"
"Got a conscience, kid. I like the world in a balance, with fuzzy and scaly animals all around me. This is my seventh planet and I've seen what your people will do for money. I just want them to know that it's not going to happen any more. You did notice that the cargo skyrider was an English Petroleum plane?"
"Yeah. THAT I did notice."
"Well, the company's starting to rot from the inside. There's a new world out there. Not that science fiction stuff you've been reading. This is the real Frontier and we're saving it, one planet at a time. It may be slow but it's effective. Even using your company's property to do it."
"Where are you going, George? You can't get away."
"Already have. As soon as you report back, English Petroleum will abandon Cerebrus. I'll bet on that. Six months from now, this will be a habitation colony again, good people looking to start new lives here. Naw, I'll be OK. I'll be able to retire here, maybe even open up a targor dude ranch. The targors will love it."
George turned his back on the kid and slowly started riding up the hill. All around the kid were Basin Riders, their targors loaded with bulky burlap sacks, heading off in different directions. The cargo skyrider was empty now, sitting abandoned on a runway too short for a takeoff. There'd be a spotter plane along soon; no one could take off with a English Petroleum cargo skyrider and expect to disappear into the badlands. Someone was bound to come looking for it.
George turned around one last time and looked at the kid unconsciously reaching toward the bottom of his satchel.
"By the way. I emptied that tranquilizer pistol you've got in there. Those guys at English Petroleum loaded it with an adrenaline booster, not a poison. There was enough in that capsule to give me the strength of two targors for about a minute. Just enough time for me to tear you to pieces before I died. They're not expecting you back. After you report in, you should take retirement. Get out of the company. You might even think about coming back here, being a Basin Rider. You could be real valuable having been on the inside. Think about it. You found me once. You can find me again."
With that George turned his back on the kid and disappeared. One instant he was there and in the next, all that was left was a cloud of yellow dust where he and the targor had been before they were swallowed by a curtain of scrub.
