Free Promised Land by Brian Stableford

If Max said we walked, then we walked. No argument.
    Unlike some people, I don’t exactly feel naked without a gun. On the other hand, I didn’t exactly relish the thought of tramping around in a jungle for a week or more without any kind of protection. Max had a gun, of course, and a call circuit, and a medical kit. But Max wasn’t what I called protection. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw a feather into a headwind. The prospect of what was to come was far from enchanting.
    Linda spent the afternoon talking to the Anacaona, looking for information about the search and trying to persuade individuals to act as guides. Apparently, everyone knew about the White Fire coming down, and they also knew where. Anybody and his cousin could have taken us to the spot, but that wasn’t quite what we needed. We wanted to find two people, not a patch of burnt ground. Most of the natives didn’t know anything at all about the forest nomads—they’d been brought here as a labour force by the colonists. But Linda was nevertheless confident that we could find exactly what we needed in the Anacaon village.
    While Linda was handling her end of the operation Max found other things to do as well, and for much of the time Eve and I were at a loose end. It was a familiar feeling.
    â€˜How much longer is it all going to take?’ Eve wanted to know.
    â€˜Max reckons a week yet before we find them’ I told her. ‘Figure another week to get back home. Then refigure in standard instead of this local quicktime. It still comes to a fair number of days’
    â€˜Charlot will be angry.’
    â€˜Sure he will,’ I said. ‘So what?’
    She didn’t feel the need to answer that one.
    â€˜Surely it would be easier to locate the forest people using a helicopter,’ she said.
    I shrugged. ‘If they don’t give us a copter there’s not much we can do except walk,’ I said. ‘But don’t be too quick to put it down to natural cussedness. Take a look at the trees around you.’
    She looked. She didn’t see anything significant.
    â€˜They don’t have leaves,’ she said finally.
    â€˜Too true they don’t,’ I told her. The trees were equipped with membranous drapes mounted on rubbery branches. To increase their photosynthetic activity they extended the drapes like the pages of a book. ‘That trick wouldn’t work if the trees were more densely packed,’ I pointed out. ‘This is open country, but it’s probably as close as those trees can grow without having things get in their way. In a jungle, things have to be done differently. All available space has to be used to maximum effect. I think we’ll find that inside the rain forest those membranes will be arrayed horizontally rather than vertically. The trees will be like giant umbrellas. The canopy will be just that. I’ll lay odds that from up top the jungle is just an expanse of solid green.’
    She tried to visualise it.
    â€˜What will it be like inside,’ she asked. ‘On the ground?’
    â€˜Dark,’ I said.
    â€˜And we have to walk around in there for more than a week?’
    â€˜Probably be more comfortable,’ I said. ‘You sleeping well?’
    She shook her head, knowing already what I was about to say.
    â€˜Circadian rhythms disturbed by the short day,’ I said, going ahead anyway. ‘In there we might be able to get back to a twenty-four-hour cycle.’ This was distinctly optimistic. For one thing there’s dark and there’s a pitch black, and there’s a big difference. For another, all the rest of the party were attuned to a seventeen-hour day, and wouldn’t appreciate our wanting to switch to twenty-four for our own convenience.
    â€˜Anyway,’ I continued, ‘I wouldn’t worry about little things like walking around in the dark if I were in your position. I’d be much more