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WORD COUNT: 3342

A Friend of the Earth

Cary C. W. Thomas

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The dog's body slumped to the earth as the muted double pop!

of the silenced rifle shot, and the bursting skull of the guard

dog, faded away into the moonless night surrounding the neatly

manicured lawn and scrupulously kept gardens of the modest single

story mansion. The dog died in the whitewash from the mercury

vapor lamps mounted intermittently to the exterior of the mansion.

Only parts of a three meter high fence were visible in the

weakened illumination beyond the dog's body. Beyond the fence,

thick woodland sheltered the ebony atmosphere, denying the cooling

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light access.

Along the south side of the rectangular manse, just outside

the fence, a few tree limbs rustled, disturbing the trees'

protecting girdle.

A bulbous metallic nose poked its way through the dense tangle

of limbs. Emerging a few inches, the silencer became motionless,

floating like a nefarious hummingbird.

The sniper fired again as a second guard dog appeared around

a distant corner of the house, coming to investigate the suspicious

noise that had announced its companion's demise. The dog only had

time to orient on its dead fellow, and begin to open its jaws to

declare its discovery, before the bullet pierced its skull. The

body fell leadenly to the crisp grass, releasing a sigh from its

deflating lungs to mingle with the inconspicuous breezes that

came onto the mansion's grounds over the tops of the indifferent

trees.

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The bearded, corpulent man ignored the soaring images flung

onto the wide screen of the projection TV. Eyes closed, his mind

provided him with all the necessary imagery to revel in the

magnificent aural flights of Prokofiev's Romeo and Juliet ballet.

His watch began its insistent beeping. For a few seconds he

attempted to ignore the sound but his facial twitches betrayed

his inevitable recognition of the signal.

He canceled the alarm with a touch of a finger to the watch

rim and turned off the disk player.

Pushing himself up out of his comfortable armchair he moved

across the carpet of warm russets and browns. Detouring around

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the wide projection screen, he moved out of his living room into

the undivided, intimate dining section and through the open doorway

into his spacious, well lit kitchen.

Going to one of the cupboards below a counter he got out a

clean, stainless steel bucket which he placed by a large,

freestanding butcher block in the middle of the floor. Flipping a

switch in one of the block's legs, he turned on a single flood

light directly above the cutting surface.

He moved to a large door set in between the cabinets that

lined the walls. Pulling on the large, heavy latch he opened the

door to a refrigerated locker.

Inside, he selected a large hindquarter of beef from a shelf

and hefted it onto a hooked rack suspended from a rail attached

to the ceiling.

The rail passed out of the locker into the kitchen, ending

above the butcher block. He pushed the meat ahead of him into the

kitchen, closing the door.

Letting the meat hang on the hook, he used saw and clever to

fill the bucket on the floor, chopping the meat into small chunks.

Finished, the bucket generously full, he rolled the remaining

meat back into the locker, giving the rack a shove at the door.

He would reshelve it later.

Slamming the locker door behind him, he picked up the bucket

and headed toward the living room. There, he stopped at a carved

cabinet and withdrew a portable tape recorder and three or four

tapes. Pocketing the tapes in his lounging jacket and slinging

the recorder's long strap over his shoulder he headed toward the

door that would lead to the mansion's basement and another fruitful

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night's conversation with his informant.

He jumped violently, after taking only a few steps, when the

tall, narrow-frame window by the front door shattered inward,

broken by the butt of a rifle. A gloved hand shot through the

opening and grappled with the simple twist lock-button in the

center of the door handle. The door burst open even before the

intruder's hand had been pulled back through the window. The door

shuddered to a stop, only inches open, as it caught up against

the security chain.

Setting his bucket down and putting the recorder on a nearby

table the bearded man stood calmly as the muzzle of a silenced

pistol was poked through the smashed window. Through the narrow

opening of the door he could see the silhouette of the man against

the brightly lit grounds. "Unchain it, Evan! I can easily kill

you from here." The voice was harsh and taut. Evan walked over to

the door, closed it and unlatched the chain. He had barely stepped

back when the door was pushed violently open by the man outside.

The man picked up his rifle, resting against the jamb, and walked

in, closing the door behind him.

The intruder grinned companionably at Evan.

While he spoke, the man chucked the rifle butt under one

arm, keeping the pistol trained on Evan. He opened the rifle's

chamber and cleared it.

"Your security's not too good, is it, Evan? The closest

guard's hundreds of yards down the drive."

The man waved the pistol in the direction he spoke. He laid

the rifle on a nearby table. He pulled off his gloves and green

plastic camouflage cap. His entire outfit was camouflage green.

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Evan examined the man's face. A day's stubble shaded the

man's lean jaw, but Evan still recognized him.

"I don't think you need have come to see me in such a

flamboyant fashion, Jeral," said Evan.

"I have a very strong feeling it would have been too easy

for you to turn me away and avoid me if my appearance had been

more formal. I am rather angry with you.

"Let's sit down, hmm?," Jeral said as he gestured to some

seats.

As Evan lowered himself into a chair he saw Jeral notice the

bucket of meat on the carpet. He met Jeral's gaze. Jeral seated

himself facing Evan, still carefully aiming his weapon at him.

"Your dogs won't need feeding tonight. Sorry I had to kill

them," Jeral said, nodding his head toward the bucket on the floor.

Jeral looked about the room.

"You seem to have a conspicuous lack of security, Evan. Makes

me wonder if it wasn't set up this way just for me."

He smiled widely at Evan.

"Or am I being too pompous?," Jeral continued. "No alarms,

no guards in the forest, just two dogs, an electrified fence, and

a couple of guards at the front gate. Not much for such a

successful and reclusive entrepreneur as yourself."

"I never expected an armed assault, Jeral."

Evan paused, then continued.

"I can imagine reasons why you've come, but your violent

entrance would seem to jeopardize your realizing anything you

might gain."

"I'll worry about securing my 'gain' as you call it. Maybe

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I've come for a little vengeance. It wasn't very nice of you to

run out on me with the money in London. Your con was very good

and I thought I played my role in it very well. Well enough to be

paid my share."

"I needed all the money, very desperately. I tried to locate

you afterward when I had no more need of it. Then, I was willing

to give all of it to you."

"How long afterward, Evan," Jeral said bitterly. "One, two

years, maybe? You certainly weren't in a hurry to pay me off. I

wonder how hard you really tried?"

Evan waited for him to continue, but Jeral just sat there

holding the gun on him unwaveringly.

"What do you want then?," Evan said. "I can pay you the money

if you want ---"

"I've no doubt that you can do that very easily. No, I want

something more."

Jeral waved his hand in a vague gesture at the room.

"You used the con money to work up to all this, didn't you?

That's what I want: what is it that makes you so valuable to your

employers, or should I say partners? The oil and mineral companies

are doing a good job of misdirecting the media. They've got the

newspeople believing it's that mystic Claude Jenson who's leading

them to the new deposits. But fortunately I know you, Evan. And I

remembered your big PR splash before you dropped out of the

public's eye. And now I find you living quite well.

"I think its you, Evan. You're supplying the companies with

their deposit info, and however you're doing it you can get it

into a crate and move it around."

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Jeral zipped open his camouflage jacket and pulled out a

medium sized envelope. He flung it at Evan who caught it clumsily.

"Go on, look inside," Jeral said.

Evan lifted up the unsealed flap and spread the sides of the

envelope so he could get at its contents. He pulled out about a

dozen color photos.

Turning them upright he looked at them.

"That's what you needed the money for, four years ago. To

transport whatever you found in England here, to America, and

keep it safe. Then you established your 'reputation', or should I

say your amazing ability, by finding the Lost Dutchman Mine. That

was a good move, Evan. You really got attention."

The pictures were not even six months old. They showed the

mansion and grounds, the structure finished but the grounds still

torn up in places, the landscaping not yet completed. The photos

were of the back of the house. A large truck was parked right by

the unusually large well area outside the basement door. A self-

contained crane arm on the truck was lowering a large rectangular

crate down into the well. Telephoto shots showed workmen in the

well guiding the crate onto a heavy duty coaster. A few photos

showed Evan standing at various spots supervising the operation.

"Don't tell me it was a piece of precious furniture, either."

Jeral's voice was rough. Evan suspected Jeral was reveling in his

little intellectual accomplishments.

"I saw all your furniture brought in by van. Uncrated," Jeral

said.

"What was it you found, that could tell you where to find

untapped deposits, Evan? That's what I want."

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Evan put the pictures back in the envelope and laid it on

the floor next to his chair. Now he looked at Jeral. He studied

the tensions in the man's face and saw the outward telltales of

utter satisfaction that hinted at an internal exuberance bordering

on glee. Evan now knew that Jeral wouldn't accomplish his purpose

here by just learning of Evan's informant.

Jeral intended to kill him afterward. Possibly that had been

Jeral's goal all along. Discovering Evan's secret was just a

convenient windfall.

"Alright, Jeral," Evan said. "Yes, I found something in

England. Do you remember the trips I used to take out into the

countryside?."

Jeral nodded that he did.

"I found it there," Evan continued. "An animal, nearly dead.

It could speak human language, Jeral. Scared the hell out of me

when it called to me for help. It can't move, you see, it's buried

in the ground. It called to me for help only because it was

starving to death. Urban development had threatened its food

supply. It agreed to give me something in return for my help. It

told me of its ability. You might call it an intimate with the

earth. Somehow, it can sense things within or on the earth. That's

what I found. It agreed to give any information I wanted if I

would protect it.

"We're dependent on each other now: it for my protection, me

for it's information."

Jeral chuckled softly, shaking his head slightly.

"I would have found Jenson's spiritual mysticism more

believable."

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Jeral's slight smile faded and he looked cooly at Evan.

"I'm impatient, Evan. What..."

"You don't have to rely on my word. I can show it to you.

That's what was in the crate you photographed."

Evan watched Jeral ponder over the offer a moment. Jeral

nodded and rose.

"Ok, we'll go see this fantastic creature of yours. But be

careful, Evan, if it's a trick I'll kill you at the first hint."

Evan walked over to the basement door. Out of a corner of

his eye, through one of the windows, he glimpsed a large

rectangular blot hanging over the barbed wire that topped the

perimeter fence. Outside the fence, unnatural glints of light

betrayed some form of ladder leading up to the insulating sheet.

Opening the door he turned on the basement light.

Evan a few feet ahead, they descended a rough oak stairway

that led to an earthen floor. Jeral closed the door behind him as

he followed.

"You've been extraordinarily patient these past four years,"

Evan said as they went down.

"Finding you was quite a job, especially after you dropped

out of sight after the Lost Dutchman find...."

"I preferred to make my business contacts unobtrusively. The

Dutchman ploy was only to pique the companies' interest. That and

a gratis demonstration. That was enough."

"...then there were financial problems: getting back from

England, living, moving..."

"I see."

Evan reached the dirt floor.

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Directly before them, across the spacious room, was the

basement doorway through which the crate had been moved. A concrete

apron ran from the door to the center of the basement.

Evan moved off to the right of the stairway, walking toward

the wall opposite the basement door.

There, he came up to a tarpaulin draped over some form of

frame which held the tarp off the earthen floor. To one side a

plain, sturdy table and cushioned chair stood on another, smaller

concrete apron. Over the tarpaulin, suspended on a vertical boom

from an overhead beam, was a microphone. The 'phone's lead ran

overhead to drop down to the table.

"Wait a minute," said Jeral as he moved into a better position

to see what would be beneath the tarp.

"Alright, but slowly, and keep your hands in sight," Jeral

warned, leveling his weapon at Evan's back. Jeral watched closely

as Evan pulled the tarp off its frame.

As Evan let the tarp drop to the ground by his side he heard

Jeral's breath hiss as he saw the animal.

Flush with the surface of the floor, the creature's visible

portion resembled a large sphincter muscle. Dark brown, leathery

skin emerged from the earth to form a puckered, closed circular

orifice.

Jeral looked at Evan.

"You said it could speak," Jeral prompted.

"Yes, I can."

The creature's susurrant voice rose from the floor. Startled,

Jeral trained his gun on the creature. Out of the corner of his

eye, Jeral had seen the sphincter deform over two parallel ridges

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just below the flesh.

The orifice had elongated in line with the ridges and the

being had spoken in a human manner.

As Jeral watched, the mouth deformed again.

"Who is this other, Evan?"

Evan looked to Jeral first. Jeral nodded his approval,

returning his attention to the creature.

"A former friend, Pedna," Evan said.

Jeral looked up at Evan as he spoke the name.

"It has a name?," Jeral said.

"Pedna, so I call myself," the creature responded for Evan.

Jeral wiped his free hand across his upper lip, looking back

at Evan.

"How large is it, underground?," he asked Evan.

"Quite extensive when established in a permanent location.

It has rootlike growths that go into the earth. It gets its

moisture through the roots. When I transported it, it was able to

shorten its roots so I could dig it up. Then it had to have water

poured into the earth it traveled in."

"So I do not dry up and die," the creature added.

"Does it get its food from the ground, too?," Jeral asked.

Evan hesitated a second.

"No, it feeds from the surface. It eats ---"

"Meat," the creature interrupted quietly and with the word

shot forth tentacles up about Jeral from muscular sheathes growing

in the earth around the being.

For a fraction of a second, before his muscles could respond

to the frantic signals traveling from his mind, Jeral thought

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jets of water were being sprayed up around him. Then he felt the

cool tentacles curl about his legs and arms, grasping the gun and

tearing it from his fingers. As he struggled, he fell to the

ground.

Evan walked calmly to the table and seated himself.

"You were right about the security here, Jeral. It was meant

for you," Evan said quietly, not loud enough to be heard over

Jeral's terrified screams and imprecations.

Tentacles closer to the mouth had emerged and grasped Jeral,

the further ones releasing.

Jeral dug deep troughs in the soft dirt with his fingers as

he was dragged closer to Pedna. His yells were almost animalistic

as he struggled with the powerful, leathery tentacles.

Evan thought of what he must do upstairs afterward: bring

the rifle down so Pedna could pull it and the gun deep into the

ground. Burn the photos, put the meat back in the locker, and the

recorder and tapes away.

Then lock himself in his bedroom and call the front gate

guards. When they arrived and could find no intruder he would

suggest the man had fled when he could not get at Evan. As for

any letters or negatives of the photos Jeral might have left,

Evan felt he could deal with those. It was the man Evan feared,

the only partner he had taken on in his five years of embezzlements

and cons during his former life.

Jeral's legs were well into Pedna's mouth now. Jeral pushed

down against the flesh, trying to draw himself out. But Pedna's

flexible, prehensile tongue held fast.

A muffled snap came out of Pedna's mouth. Jeral's head jerked

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back, his face contorted in excruciating pain. Then Jeral passed

out, his body going limp.

Pedna's lower set of grinding jaws had broken the man's legs.

Soon Jeral's face disappeared below Pedna's lips.

Evan waited a few more moments then got up. He walked halfway

to the stairs then stopped.

"You'll have to bury yourself for a while, Pedna, while the

guards and police investigate. I'm going up to get another weapon

he brought so you can pull it into the earth with the handgun.

I'll rake out the scuffle after you're underground, then call the

guards. OK?"

As an answer a sheath poked above ground near the gun. The

tentacle extended, felt for the weapon and pulled it down after

the sheath. Small clods of dirt fell in after the gun. The tentacle

would dig and pull until the weapon was quite deep.

Evan started for the stairs.

"Evan," Pedna said. Evan put his hand on the rail and looked

back. "Yes?"

"Because we may not speak to each other for a while I need

to tell you something of great importance to me. While I am

underground you may prepare whatever may be needed."

"What...? What do you mean?"

"I have found another of my kind, Evan. In the continent

south of here. It is a female, Evan. I want her. As soon as

possible."

As Evan ascended the stairs he mentally reviewed his financial

assets.

He had known a time would come when their impasse would end

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and one of them would gain some advantage over the other. Evan

had hoped it would be himself. Now he felt it was otherwise. But

what disturbed him as he climbed the stairs was a building

trepidation toward Pedna that he had never experienced since

unearthing the creature from beside the maple tree in the pleasant

English countryside. During the four years he had kept Pedna his

most persistently disturbing speculation about his informant had

been how its kind dispersed its offspring. What kind of

independence did the method confer to the young? And to what extent

did the young have fealty toward the parents?

Soon, he would know.

THE END

Afterword

The kernel for this tale grew from an appreciation of E.

Nesbit's glorious creature, the Psammead (pronounced "sammy-add"),

or sand-fairy. My creature is much more vicious. Though the

Psammead had a ferocious temper, it would never eat anyone. The

Psammead appeared in Nesbit's novel "Five Children and It". The

Psammead would grant the children wishes so they would go away

and leave it alone in it's sand pile. It was a very grumpy fairy.

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