Free GeneStorm: City in the Sky by Paul Kidd

stiffened by the blast – an absolute picture of shock. His budgerigar slipped and fell. Beau ended up sitting in the filthy creek, still staring in silence toward the crater in the middle of the gorge.
    From behind Snapper, Kitt and Onan, the wagoners crept about the corner of the gorge and staggered past, led by Tammin, the caravan master. Tammin leaned on Snapper and pointed in amazement at Beau, his eyes lighting up with joy.
    “He’s saved the day! Captain Beau has saved the day!” Tammin waded up the creek, relieved passengers and wagon crew following in his wake. “Three cheers for the captain! Hip hip!”
    “Hooray!”
    The passengers and crew of the caravan surged forward. Beau was hoisted up on their shoulders and borne in triumph back towards the wagons. The women of wagon number three ran forward, dancing about with stars in their eyes. Beau modesty tried to brush off their praise – no no, the merest stuff! Any red blooded fellow would have done it! They carried him off, while the last few fragments of dead Screamer plopped down out of the trees. Throckmorton descended dazedly from above, looking rather the worse for wear, with twigs and passion-gum fruit sticking to his wings. He settled beside Kitterpokkie, who stared at Beau in amazement as the procession disappeared.
    “Well I never!”
    Snapper sighed. This sort of thing seemed to be the hallmark of her world. She was dead tired, saddle sore and utterly smothered in mud. Beside her, Onan fluffed out his feathers, showering them all with yet more mud.
    “Salty cracker?”
    “Yeah. Salty cracker. And about twelve hours of sleep.” Snapper fought painfully up to her feet, then helped Kitterpokkie and Throckmorton up out of the mud.
    “I just hope these people stand us some drinks once we hit town.”
    The mantis looked wanly back towards the crater.
    “Bugger. All my belongings were on the rear wagon.”
    “Well, we can fix you up somewhere to stay. You seem a useful sort.” The shark patted her on the shoulder as the group wearily walked off toward the caravan. “Come on Throckmorton. I’ll shout you a beer, mate. I’ll shout you a beer.”
     

Chapter 3
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Three days of riding out across the plains. Three days of slow golden sunrises and grass trees sparkling with dew. Smoke bush swayed and rippled in the breeze, washing back and forth like a vast silver ocean. Strange animal hybrids lived in the brush; creatures part plant, part rabbit and part mouse that led busy lives out in the quiet. Dandelion mice and catbirds flitted through stands of wattle trees, vanishing as the wagon train slowly grumbled near.
    In the evenings, gorgeous sunsets slowly uncurled their wings while the wagon train made camp. Out in the scrublands, fat little floating rodents emerged from roosts and drifted in the skies, lighting the evening with bio-lights. Passengers lounged beside campfires and played guitars or grass flutes. There were nightly games of cards, and dominos played with painted tiles. Beau – the hero of the hour – was excused his night sentry duties, and instead disported himself amongst admiring female travellers, reading stories aloud or sampling gifted titbits of food and wine.
    Snapper made camp with the wagoners, and took the liberty of sharing their food. Crispy fried bacon plant and oatseed cakes for breakfast. Baked meat melons or mystery meat stew for the evening meal. One night she brought forth an old treasure – a long recorder carved from a single sweep of dark red wood. She played while Onan danced, much to the delight of the passengers and crew. The cockatoo then shamelessly wheedled one and all for salty crackers, hard biscuits and sugar balls.
    Snapper spent her evenings with Kitterpokkie, swapping tales and sharing cherry wine. Between them they managed to prune and groom poor Throckmorton, repairing the damage caused by tumbling through the trees. They spruced up his foliage and scrubbed his tendrils,