Warren Fahy - Fragment

The creature lifted a hand and squeezed his eyes shut. “Stope,” he said.

Hender must have heard, Geoffrey realized, examples of how every letter in the Latin alphabet was pronounced.

Hender opened his eyes. They flicked in different directions as he scanned the downed plane’s dusky interior. With two hands he jostled the hanging jars. They immediately lit up to generate some light, then, with a third hand, he pointed at a scrap and gestured silence with his fourth. In a humming voice that warbled like an oboe, he said: “Fro-zun Myoolet.”

The six humans were shocked into silence for a few heartbeats.

The creature was undeniably applying the rules of pronunciation on his own now: he could not be merely copying what he heard them say.

“Frozen Mullet,” Geoffrey corrected.

The creature’s eyes fluttered and his mouth pinched downward at the corners. “Mullet?” He held one hand up and closed his eyes. “Stope.”

Geoffrey corrected him again: “Stop.”

The creature’s eyes opened and swiveled toward Geoffrey as he placed four hands on his four hips. “Stop?” he honked. He sounded irritated.

All but Thatcher and Cane nodded vigorously.

“I really don’t see the point of this,” Thatcher objected. “When we obviously have to-”

“SHUT UP!” Nell, Geoffrey, Zero, and Andy shouted.

“He’s learning to read,” Geoffrey said. “So shut up, Thatcher!”

“Shut up, Thatcher,” Hender fluted, and his wide mouth seemed to smile at the red-faced zoologist.

Thatcher looked at Hender with dread and then at Cane. The soldier sat rigid, with eyes fixed in an inward stare.

“It doesn’t know what it’s saying!” Thatcher scoffed.

The creature pointed to a series of sun-bleached aluminum cans lined on a shelf: “Coo-ers, Bud-wee-izer, Fahn-tah, Hawaye-ee-an Punch!”

“Yes! Coors, Budweiser, Fanta, Hawaiian Punch!” Nell encouraged.

Cane’s eyes squeezed tight and he grasped the gold crucifix on the chain around his neck as he gripped the stock of his assault rifle.

The creature waved four arms at the ceiling, then leaned forward. “Dane-jer. Cah-ooti-own. Hazar-doo-us mater-ee-als. In case of ee-mergens-ee open escap-ee hatch. Abandun sheep!”

Geoffrey nodded, thrilled. “Yes! Danger. Caution. Hazardous. Emergency. Escape! Abandon ship!”

Hender nodded at each of Geoffrey’s corrections. “Yes, danger caution hazardous! Escape! Hender signal ah-thers. Hender signal.”

Geoffrey’s mouth fell open.

“He means it!” Zero said.

Nell leaned forward with sudden urgency. “How many others? How many?” With her fingers she counted slowly. “One-two-three-four-”

Hender nodded. “Four others.”

Thatcher sank back against the wall of the plane, a grim conclusion visible in his expression. He glanced again at Cane, who was now whispering over his crucifix.

The creature hurried toward them suddenly and they shrank away before they realized he was motioning for them to follow. He stepped through the biggest of several round holes that were cut into the side of the wrinkled B-29 fuselage.

“Time for a tour,” Andy said.

“Tooouuur!” the creature grunted, nodding his head on his bobbing neck.

They followed Hender up a spiral stairway that seemed half-natural and half-carved inside the massive tree.

In niches beside the stairway, various man-made glass vessels glowed faintly green. Hender flicked these jars as he passed them, and each brightened as bioluminescent bugs swirled inside, illuminating the passageway and revealing more signs, trash, labels, and artifacts tacked to the walls and hanging from the ceiling.

Hender paused before a chest-high niche and tapped a bug-jar inside it. Inside the niche the humans saw a propped-up coconut. It wore a somewhat askew scarlet cap and bore a crudely carved human face blended with eerie elements of Hender’s anatomy. Lying next to it was a pocketknife with an ivory handle, which Hender picked up and handed to Nell.

“It looks like scrimshaw,” she said. “A name’s carved on it here, see?” She showed it to Geoffrey.

Hender took it from her and read it out loud: “Hen-ree FERRR-reeeers.”

“No way,” she whispered. “Henry Frears?”

“Yes, OK!” Hender warbled.

“What’s the matter, Nell?” Geoffrey asked.

“Henry Frears was the name of the man the Retribution lost while collecting water on the island,” she said.

“Huh?” Geoffrey said.

“Captain Henders recorded it in his log when he discovered the island in 1791.”

“Where’d Hender get a coconut?” Zero muttered.

“If this is Frears’s hat,” Nell said. “Then Hender may have actually seen him. That would make Hender over 220 years old!”

“I told you,” Andy said. “I think he’s a lot older than that.”

Hender whistled and gestured with three hands for them to follow.

They passed another niche displaying another carved coconut. This one wore a WWII American officer’s cap. A long gouge in the side of the coconut was smeared with red pigment.

“Maybe the captain of the B-29?” Zero suggested grimly.

They passed more rooms, peering into them with frustrated curiosity, as they hurried behind their tour guide up the winding passageway.

In another niche, an uncarved coconut gazed out at them. This one was faceless. It had dried red seaweed for hair and wore a Mets baseball cap.

“Hey, my cap!” Nell exclaimed. She reached for it and put it on her head with a half-smile at Hender. “I left it behind on StatLab.”

Hender’s head swiveled down toward her on his long neck, and he nodded. “Nell, yes!” he croaked, seeming to awkwardly mimic her smile.

She glanced back at Geoffrey with wide eyes. “He said my name!” she whispered.

Strung along the corkscrewing ceiling was a collection of glass fishnet floats and plastic buoys. More random garbage, battered and bleached, seemed pinned to every available square inch of wall space. As they came around a curve they saw, mounted above them and illuminated by a freshly-riled jar of bugs, what appeared to be the faded figurehead of a Spanish galleon, a mermaid carved in wood, half human and half fish.

“Looks like a cargo cult,” Thatcher mused as they came around another bend in the stairs and amidst the flotsam saw a life preserver stenciled with faded dark blue letters: R.M.S. LUSITANIA.

“Thank you, God!” Zero laughed as he videoed it with his handheld and head-mounted cameras.

Nell glanced at Geoffrey behind her, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Geoffrey nodded and impulsively squeezed her hand.

As they came through a level passage they saw artifacts that were clearly more recently acquired: pieces of ROVs, an Army helmet, even an Incredible Hulk action figure.

Hender opened a door. They emerged on a huge branch under the umbrella of the tree’s canopy.

Below, attached to the trunk of the tree, hung an enormous waterwheel-like structure.

From the wheel spooled a thick cable of braided green fiber. The cable ran through a pulley on a branch that reached over the cliff.

A basket the size of the Trident’s large Zodiac hung at the end of the cable against the orange glow of the setting sun, swinging slowly in the steady wind that blew seven hundred feet above the sea.

Hender pointed at the basket and then at some of the garbage stacked in piles on the wide branch.

“Hender’s got an elevator,” Andy told them.

“That must be how he got his collection! The elevator must go down to a beach where he got all this stuff.”

“Trash,” Thatcher said, glancing back at Cane. “Humanity’s calling card.”