Michael Crichton - State Of Fear

"Well, the old ways are better," Ted Bradley said, trudging along behind, "if you ask me."

Henry turned. "You got cell phones, you got computers, you got antibiotics, medicines, hospitals. And you say the old ways are better?"

"Yes, because they are," Bradley said. "They were more human, they allowed more of the human texture to life. Believe me, if you ever had a chance to experience these so-called modern miracles yourself, you would know that they're not so great"

"I got a degree at the University of Melbourne," Henry said. "So I have some familiarity."

"Oh, well, then," Bradley said. And under his breath, he muttered, "Might have told me. Asshole."

"By the way," Henry said, "take my advice, don't do that here. Don't talk under your breath."

"Why not?"

"In this country, some pelas think it means you've been possessed by a demon and they'll get scared. And they might kill you."

"I see. Charming."

"So, in this country, if you have something to say, you speak up!"

"I'll remember that."

Sarah walked alongside Bradley, but she was not listening to the conversation. Henry was a character, caught between worlds, sometimes speaking in an Oxbridge accent, sometimes dropping into Pidgin. It didn't bother her.

She was looking at the jungle. The air on the road was hot and still, trapped between the huge trees that rose up on both sides of the path. The trees were forty, fifty feet high, covered in twisted vines. And at ground level, in the darkness beneath the canopy above, huge ferns grew so thickly they presented an impenetrable barrier, a solid green wall.

She thought: You could walk five feet into that and get lost forever. You'd never find your way out again.

Along the road were the rusted hulks of long-abandoned cars, windshields smashed, chassis crumpled and corroded brown and yellow. As she walked past she saw ripped upholstery, old dashboards with clocks and speedometers ripped out, leaving gaping holes.

They turned right onto a side path and she saw the helicopter ahead. She gasped. It was beautiful, painted green with a crisp white stripe, the metal blades and struts gleaming. Everybody commented on it.

"Yes, the outside is good," Henry said. "But I think the inside, the engine, maybe is not so good." He wiggled his hand. "So so."

"Great," Bradley said. "Speaking for myself, I'd prefer it the other way around."

They opened the doors to get in. In the back were stacks of wooden crates, with sawdust. They smelled of grease. "I got the supplies you wanted," he said to Kenner.

"And enough ammunition?"

"Oh ya. All things you asked for."

"Then we can go," Kenner said.

In the back, Sarah buckled her belt. She put on headphones. The engines whined, and the blades spun faster. The helicopter shuddered as it started to lift off. "We have too many people," Henry said, "so we will have to hope for the best! Cross your fingers!"

And giggling maniacally, he lifted off into the blue sky.

The jungle slid beneath them, mile after mile of dense canopy forest. In places, wisps of mist clung to the trees, particularly at the higher altitudes. Sarah was surprised at how mountainous the island was, how rugged the terrain. She saw no roads at all. From time to time, they passed over a small village in a jungle clearing. Otherwise, nothing but miles of trees. Henry was flying due north, intending to drop them off along the coast a few miles west of Resolution Bay.

"Charming villages," Ted Bradley said, as they flew over another one. "What do the people grow here?"

"Nothing. Land's no good here. They work the copper mines," Henry said.

"Oh, that's too bad."

"Not if you live here. Biggest money they ever saw. People kill to work in the mines. What I mean to say is, they kill. Some murders occur every year."

Bradley was shaking his head. "Terrible. Just terrible. But look down there," he said, pointing. "There's a village has actual thatched huts. Is that the old style, the old way of doing things, still kept alive?"

"No man," Henry said. "That's a rebel village. That's new style. Big thatch haus, very impressive, big house for chif." He explained that Sambuca had instructed the people in every village to build these huge, three-story structures of thatch, complete with ladders going up to high walk-ways at the third level. The idea was to give rebels a view over the jungle, so they could see the arrival of Australian troops.

But in the old days, Henry said, the people never had such buildings in Gareda. The architecture was low and open, erected mostly to protect against rain and let smoke out. There was no need for high buildings, which were impractical since they would blow down in the next cyclone anyway. "But Sambuca, he wants them now, so he makes the yangpelas, the young fellows, build them. There may be six or eight on this island now, in rebel territory."

"So we're going over rebel territory now?" Bradley said.

"So far, so good," Henry said. And he giggled again. "Not so long now, we'll see the coast in four, five minutes andOh damn shit!"

"What?" They were skimming the forest canopy.

"I made a big mistake."

"What mistake?" Bradley said.

"Tumas longwe es."

"You're too far east?" Kenner said.

"Damn shit. Damn damn shit. Hang on!" Henry banked the helicopter steeply, but not before they all glimpsed a huge clearing, with four of the enormous thatch structures interspersed with the more common houses of wood and corrugated tin. There were a half-dozen trucks clustered in the muddy center of the clearing. Some of the trucks had machine guns mounted on their backs.

"What is this?" Bradley said, looking down. "This is much bigger than the others"

"This Pavutu! Rebel headquarters!"

And then the clearing was gone, the helicopter moving swiftly away. Henry was breathing hard. They could hear his breath over the earphones.

Kenner said nothing. He was staring intently at Henry.

"Well, I think we're all right," Bradley said. "It looks like they didn't see us."

"Oh yeah," Henry said. "Nice wish."

"Why?" Bradley said. "Even if they did see uswhat can they do?"

"They have radios," Henry said. "They're not stupid, these yangpelas."

"What do you mean?"

"They want this helicopter."

"Why? Can they fly it?"

"Orait orait! Yes! Because they want me, too." Henry explained that for months now, no helicopters had been allowed on the island. This one had been brought over only because Kenner had pulled some very important strings. But it was specifically not to fall into rebel hands.

"Well, they probably think we're going south," Bradley said. "I mean, we are, aren't we?"

"These boys know better," Henry said. "They know."

"They know what?" Bradley said.

Kenner said, "The ELF would have had to buy off the rebels in order to land on the island. So the rebels know there's something going on at Resolution Bay. When they saw this helicopter, they knew where it was going."

"These boys aren't stupid," Henry said again.

"I never said they were," Bradley protested.

"Ya. But you think it. I know you, waitman. This in the back of your tongue. You think it."

"I promise you, I did not," Bradley said. "Really. I have no such feelings at all. You simply didn't understand me."

"Ya," Henry said.

Sarah was sitting in the middle of the second seat, wedged between Ted and Jennifer. Peter and Sanjong were behind in the little backseat, with all the boxes. She couldn't really see out the windows, so she had trouble following the discussion. She wasn't sure what it was all about.

So she asked Jennifer. "Do you understand what's going on?"

Jennifer nodded. "As soon as the rebels saw the helicopter they knew it was going to Resolution. Now, whatever we do, they'll be expecting it to show up in that area. They have radios, and they're in different groups scattered around. They can keep an eye on us. And they'll be there when we land."