Chapter 5

Returning to their camp, the men were in a mood of thorough depression. They couldn’t understand what had happened to Eakins and they didn’t feel like speculating on it. The ravaging afternoon sun beat down, reflecting heat back from the white sand. The damp jungle steamed, and appeared to creep toward them like a huge and sleepy green dragon, trapping them against the indifferent sea. Gun barrels grew too hot to touch, and the water in the canteens was as warm as blood. Overhead, thick gray cumulus clouds began to pile up; it was the beginning of the monsoon season.

Drake sat in the shade of the copra shed. He shook off his lethargy long enough to inspect the camp from the viewpoint of defense. He saw the encircling jungle as enemy territory. In front of it was an area fifty yards deep which they had cleared. This no man’s land could perhaps be defended for a while.

Then came the huts and the copra shed, their last line of defense, leading to the beach and the sea.

The expedition had been in complete control of this island for better than three months. Now they were pinned to a small and precarious beachhead.

Drake glanced at the lagoon behind him and remembered that there was still one line of retreat open. If the bug and his damned menagerie pressed too hard, they could still escape in the ketch. With luck.

Sorensen came over and sat down beside him. “What are you doing?” he asked.

Drake grinned sourly. “Planning our master strategy.”

“How does it look?”

“I think we can hold out,” Drake said. “We’ve got plenty of ammo. If necessary, we’ll interdict the cleared area with gasoline. We certainly aren’t going to let that bug push us off the island.” He thought for a moment. “But it’s going to be damned hard digging for treasure.”

Sorensen nodded. “I wonder what the bug wants.”

“Maybe we’ll find out from Eakins,” Drake said.

They had to wait half an hour. Then Eakins’ voice came, sharp and shrill over the walkie-talkie.

“Sorensen? Drake?”

“We’re here,” Drake said. “What did that damned bug do to you?”

“Nothing,” Eakins said. “You are talking to that bug now. My name is the Quedak.”

“My God,” Drake said to Sorensen, “that bug must have hypnotized him!”

“No. You are not speaking to a hypnotized Eakins. Nor are you speaking to a creature who is simply using Eakins as a mouthpiece. Nor are you speaking to the Eakins who was. You are speaking to many individuals who are one.”

“I don’t get that,” Drake said.

“It’s very simple,” Eakins’ voice replied. “I am the Quedak, the totality. But my totality is made up of separate parts, which are Eakins, several rats, a dog named Oro, a pig, an anteater, a cassowary--”

“Hold on,” Sorensen said. “Let me get this straight. This is not Eakins I’m speaking to. This is the--the Quedak?”

“That is correct.”

“And you control Eakins and the others? You speak through Eakins’ mouth?”

“Also correct. But that doesn’t mean that the personalities of the others are obliterated. Quite the contrary, the Quedak state is a federation in which the various member parts retain their idiosyncrasies, their individual needs and desires. They give their knowledge, their power, their special outlook to the Quedak whole. The Quedak is the coordinating and command center; but the individual parts supply the knowledge, the insights, the special skills. And together we form the Great Cooperation.”

“Cooperation?” Drake said. “But you did all this by force!”

“It was necessary in the beginning. Otherwise, how would other creatures have known about the Great Cooperation?”