A Girl Called Badger (Valley of the Sleeping Birds) (2 page)

“We need help!”

Father Reed shuffled into the corridor. “Were you born in a cave, Wilson? Let them in and shut the hatch.”

The men squinted in the light as they brought the stretcher to the treatment room. As they set the stretcher on a black slab in the middle of the room, a wooden hunting mask clattered on the floor. Wilson saw a braid of long black hair and realized who was under the blanket.

One hunter took off his gloves and wiped his face.

“We werent’t doing anything, just watching the outer line when she fell down. I couldn’t get her to stop shaking or wake up.”

“Thank you, Simpson, we’ll take care of it. You can return to your posts,” said Father Reed.

“Please look after her, sir.”

The metal door rumbled shut after the men and Wilson and Reed were left alone with Badger. Reed pulled off the blanket and her arms and legs began to tremble violently.

“Don’t let her fall! I have to get her clothes off.”

“What?!!”

“Don’t be so shy. You don’t have to look.”

Wilson turned red and his ears burned as Reed unbuttoned the furs. Luckily, she still had an undershirt, but it had pushed up and exposed her midriff. Near the navel Wilson saw a curved scar longer than his hand. Without thinking he touched it. Her skin was cool and soft under his fingers.

“Stop that and get things hooked up,” said Reed.

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.” Wilson pulled Badger’s arm out of the overcoat and wrapped it with a flexible blue band.

Reed handed him a small disc. “Put this on her left shoulder. No, the other left!”

The priest slid a metal circlet onto Badger’s forehead then wrapped her torso with blue material. The bands and discs all had long black cables that stretched across the girl and down to the slab.

“Display screen.”

Wilson found it on the counter. Reed touched the screen a few times and the Badger’s body stopped moving.

“Fix some tea, please.”

“How?”

“Hell’s bells, the water is over there! Seventeen years old and you can’t–”

“No, sir,” said Wilson. “I mean, how did you stop the shaking?”

“Oh, that. Just a reset.”

“What if you didn’t do that … reset?”

Reed shook his head. “That wouldn’t be very nice, now would it? She’d die, eventually. At least that’s my guess––I’ve never seen it go that far. Twenty years ago I had a patient with this sickness, and had to do quite a few resets.”

“He was fine?”

“Not as such. But he was mostly the same grumpy Gus until he died years later. In fact, we were on a scouting trip the second time it happened. That time I had to do a manual reset.”

“A manual?”

“We were in the eastern plains and well out of range. Watch now and I’ll show you how to do it. Take the forearm here–”

Father Reed placed the Badger’s left arm in Wilson’s hands. The soft skin had warmed and deepened in color to a healthy tan.

“Supinate the palm to the sky, put two fingers from your other hand to the medial forearm, then press five times––short short long long long.”

The point was in the middle of the six-inch scar from the name-giving ceremony. Wilson’s fingers brushed the delicate, tiny hairs on Badger’s arm as he laid it down. He rubbed the scar on his own arm in reflex.

“If you two are done touching me, can I have my clothes back?”

Wilson and the priest both jumped two feet.

WISPS OF COLD AIR swept through the doors of the wooden building as if the morning breeze wanted a part in the service. Most villagers entered and headed straight for a favorite bench. Others chatted around the iron stove and fussed over it as they would a small child. Painted symbols from the old days lined the walls and bundles of hemp dried in the rafters above.

Wearing a bulky yellow suit and carrying his priest’s helmet, Wilson walked to a walnut pulpit at the far end. The conversations trailed off and the villagers sat down as he opened a small book and whispered to a gray-haired woman holding a guitar in her lap. The woman nodded and strummed a pair of stanzas, then everyone joined Wilson as he began to sing:

What a fellowship, what a joy divine,


Leaning on the everlasting arms;

What a blessedness, what a peace is mine,


Leaning on the everlasting arms.

Leaning, leaning, safe and secure from all alarms


Leaning, leaning, leaning on the everlasting arms

O how sweet to walk in this pilgrim way,


Leaning on the everlasting arms;


O how bright the path grows from day to day,


Leaning on the everlasting arms.

Wilson led the villagers in three more hymns then closed the book and stepped to the left. Father Reed walked to the pulpit in his special blue jumpsuit.

“Praise be to the founders that sustain us and guide us. They provide a safe haven from forces of darkness. They provide shelter against the bitter cold of winter. We’ve been protected from harm, but not only that, have been given the knowledge and power to improve ourselves. In return we honor the rules of the founders with our actions. Airman Ralph Lewis was a brave and honest member of Station. As the third rule states, by protecting others we give meaning to our lives. Lewis was a good example of that, and many times–”

Wilson was tired from the night before and strangely unsettled. Badger sat in the second row and he couldn’t keep from looking at her. He tried to distract himself by staring at a blue and gold founder’s shield painted on the wall nearby. He didn’t understand what was wrong with him and why she wouldn’t get out of his head. Everyone knew everything about everyone else at Station and Badger was bad news. She didn’t socialize with the other girls and kept to herself. If she talked to anyone it was the men of the hunting parties and guard duty. They were all solitary types like her. They stalked deer and set traps for tribals who wandered over the perimeter. Wilson guessed the long, silent hunts attracted lone wolves. But was she born that way? Even when she was first brought to Station she’d been a quiet child––the black duck, as his grandmother used to say.

He still thought she was beautiful.

“Ensign!” Father Reed was frowning at him. A few children giggled.

“Yes sir. Sorry sir.”

Flushed, he quickly read from a sheet of hemp paper.

“Weather is expected to be clear all week. A group of tribals are moving southwest, four kilometers from Yellow Creek. A small pack of dogs or wolves is following.”

“Thank you, Ensign Wilson. Please bow your heads. The Shepherd watches me, I lack for nothing; he makes me lie in meadows green, he leads me to refreshing streams, he revives life in me. He guides me by true paths, as he himself is true. My road may run through a valley of doom, but I fear no harm, for he is beside me.”

AFTER CHANGING OUT OF his heavy priest’s outfit Wilson walked to a hut on the western edge of the valley. Deer and wolf skins stretched over racks outside and the foul smell of ammonia and rotting flesh hung in the air. Inside, all grades and sizes of leather hung on the walls. His mother sat at a workbench sewing a moccasin with a thick needle and leather thong. Dark stains covered her yellow hemp blouse and brown trousers.

“Hi Cubbie! I’m almost done.”

“Mother, I’m seventeen, don’t call me that. I’ve been Ensign Wilson five years now.”

She chuckled. “Don’t get so twisted up, dear. There’s nobody around.”

“Why weren’t you at the meeting today?”

“Too much work.”

“Ma, that’s always your excuse.”

She waved a hand at the walls. “That’s because I’m always busy!”

“I’ll help you tomorrow, I promise.”

“Son, I didn’t fall from the apple tree yesterday. I know that Reed twists his mind in knots just to find a project for you every single day. So don’t worry about your old mother.”

“Don’t be like that, ma!”

She knotted off her work and stood up.

“Finished! Let’s take these to Brownie.”

Sunshine cut through the cool droplets of mist as they walked toward the center of the valley.

“Why so quiet, Cubbie? Is something wrong?”

Wilson hesitated as a young couple passed, holding a wicker basket between them.

“It’s just ... we buried Lewis today. I wonder if he’s with father right now.”

His mother rubbed Wilson’s brown hair and hugged him tight.

WILSON FINISHED HIS MID-DAY meal and walked through one of the underground corridors that connected sections of the village. He took a short-cut through the greenhouse. Now just a dark, empty space, in the winter it would be packed with greenery and bright lights. In the earthen ceiling above his head tiny dots felt his steps, glowed red to light the way, then faded to black.

The far wall of the greenhouse and a tunnel emerged from the darkness. Wilson walked a dozen meters and turned left. The walls were painted with reflective white triangles, meaning an old earthquake had damaged the passage. Wilson thought it was stupid. All the kids used shortcuts and nothing ever happened.

He passed a black opening, also marked with a triangle. A pebble cracked and rolled in the dark. Wilson turned to look and someone shoved him from behind.

“Hey!”

He stumbled a few steps and dropped to one knee. A firm hand twisted his right arm behind his back.

“Stop!”

“Keep walking,” said Badger. She pushed him into the dark a few dozen steps, turned him right for a bit, then let go of the arm.

“I wouldn’t move,” she said. “There’s a thirty-foot drop-off right here.”

“You’re crazy!”

Wilson couldn’t see anything. He kept both feet on the ground and a hand on the corridor wall. He considered backing away and thought it morbidly funny that he was more nervous about being alone with Badger than falling to his death.

“What’s this about?”

Badger snorted. “About? You tell ME what it’s about. Last night, when you two–”

“I didn’t see anything!”

“I hope not, you pervert. I’m not asking about that. I’m talking about my problem. You priests are supposed to have all the answers, but all I’ve been told is ‘don’t worry, it’s happened before,’ or ‘we can handle it, dear.’”

Wilson smelled spearmint on her breath and cedar from her clothes.

“I don’t know any more than you,” he stammered.

“Do you think I’m a child? All your books and machines and you don’t know?”

“We don’t … we don’t know everything.”

“That’s for sure. Spotted bears aren’t in your books. Range lizards aren’t in your books. What I know and you priests don’t should be in a book.”

After a long silence, Wilson cleared his throat.

“Hello?”

Footsteps echoed in the distance and he wondered if she’d left. His hand was still on the wall and he wondered if he could get back to the main corridor.

“Keep still,” whispered Badger.

Something squished against the wall and Wilson jerked his hand away.

“What the–!”

“It’s dead now. Answer my question.”

“I told you, I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I’ve seen you staring at me, priest. I’m not stupid. You must be disgusted with me just like everyone else.”

“That’s not true!”

“Which one? That you stare at me or I’m a freak?” Wilson heard the smile in her voice.

“Never mind,” she said. “Just use the power of the Holy Spirit or whatever stupid ways you priests have to find out. And by Holy Spirit I mean beg, borrow, or steal to find out why.”

“All right, I’ll try.”

“Don’t say that, just do it.”

Wilson heard steps and Badger’s voice came from farther away. “If you don’t want a long trip in your future, keep a hand on that wall.”

Wilson did as he was told and walked around the corner. He still couldn’t see a thing.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Watch out for spiders!”

Her laughter echoed in the hallway as Wilson walked faster. He realized he’d never heard Badger laugh before. He felt strangely elated she hadn’t punched him in the nose.

TWO

W
ilson went to his room and opened a medical text.

Reed wanted him to study cardiac rhythms but his eyes glided over the pages like a lazy summer breeze. He carved a line into the wood of his desk with a fingernail and thought about the earthen smell of Badger’s skin and the scar over her navel.

He found Reed in a small room packed with books, his teacher’s face covered with an emerald glow as he read from a display. The dim light and smell of ancient pages always reminded Wilson of mushrooms.

“I have a question, sir.”

Father Reed scratched his beard and didn’t look up. “Yes?”

“The situation with Airman Chen ...”

Reed smiled to himself. “Yes, what about it?”

“I’d like to know what’s wrong with her.”

“She experienced a tonic-clonic seizure, not idiopathic, but the result of a power connection issue.”

“I’m sorry––what kind of issue?”

“Power connection. That’s what the display indicated. However, between you, me, and the wall I have no idea what it means.” Reed waved his hands at the books on the walls. “Look at all of these volumes in agriculture, animal husbandry, biology, or medicine. Not one manual for the treatment scanner.”

“But if her problem is medical, can’t we do something?”

“It’s not actually a problem with her body,” said Reed. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I was going to wait until you’ve had more medical training, but I suppose now it’s better to tell you.” He pointed at the large display on the wall. “What do you see?”

“The normal perimeter map. Those two dots are Brown and West in the foothills. That cluster in the center is Station. That pair is Zhang and–”

“Harden, exactly. But how do we get this information?”

“Radar?”

“No, but electromagnetics are involved in the signal. On the twelfth anniversary of a citizen’s birth, each is taken to the Tombs, given a sleeping tonic, and passes through the name-giving ceremony.”