“Relax, kid. We got it.” The woman pulled her mask off. She was another young pretty.
Tally wondered if these were the people in the clue. The “fire-bug eyes.” Was she supposed to be looking for them?
“Is she going to make it?” a voice popped through the cabin.
“She’ll live, Jenks. Make the usual detour, and work the fire a little on the way home.”
Tally looked down as the machine climbed. Their flight followed the course of the river, and she saw the fires spreading across to the other shore, driven by the wind of its passage. Occasionally, the craft would shoot out a gout of flame.
She looked at the faces of the crew. For new pretties, they seemed so determined, so focused on their task. But their actions were madness. “What are you guys doing?” she said.
“A little burning.”
“I can see that. But why?”
“To save the world, kid. But hey, we’re real sorry about your getting in the way.”
They called themselves rangers.
The one who’d pulled her from the river was called Tonk. They all spoke with an accent, and came from a city Tally had never heard of.
“It’s not too far from here,” Tonk said. “But we rangers spend most of our time out in the wild. The fire helicopters are based in the mountains.”
“The fire whats?”
“Helicopters. That’s what you’re sitting in.”
She looked around at the rattling machine, and shouted over the noise, “It’s so Rusty!”
“Yeah. Vintage stuff, a few pieces of it are almost two hundred years old. We copy the parts as they wear out.”
“But why?”
“You can fly it anywhere, with or without a magnetic grid. And it’s the perfect thing for spreading fires. The Rusties sure knew how to make a mess.”
Tally shook her head. “And you spread fires because…”
He smiled and lifted one of her shoes, pulling a crushed but unburned flower from the sole. “Because of phragmipedium panthera,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“This flower used to be one of the rarest plants in the world. A white tiger orchid. In Rusty days, a single bulb was worth more than a house.”
“A house? But there’s zillions of them.”
“You noticed?” He held up the flower, staring into its delicate mouth. “About three hundred years ago, some Rusty figured a way to engineer the species to adapt to wider conditions. She messed with the genes to make them propagate more easily.”
“Why?”
“The usual. To trade them for lots of stuff. But she succeeded a little too well. Look down.”
Tally peered out the window. The machine had gained altitude and left the firestorm behind. Below were endless fields of white, interrupted only by a few barren patches. “Looks like she did a good job. So what? They’re nice.”
“One of the most beautiful plants in the world. But too successful. They turned into the ultimate weed. What we call a monoculture. They crowd out every other species, choke trees and grass, and nothing eats them except one species of hummingbird, which feeds on their nectar. But the hummingbirds nest in trees.”
“There aren’t any trees down there,” Tally said. “Just the orchids.”
“Exactly. That’s what monoculture means: Everything the same. After enough orchids build up in an area, there aren’t enough hummingbirds to pollinate them. You know, to spread the seeds.”
“Yeah,” Tally said. “I know about the birds and the bees.”
“Sure you do, kid. So the orchids eventually die out, victims of their own success, leaving a wasteland behind. Biological zero. We rangers try to keep them from spreading. We’ve tried poison, engineered diseases, predators to target the hummingbirds…but fire is the only thing that really works.” He turned the orchid over in his hand and held up a firestarter, letting the flame lick into its mouth. “Have to be careful, you know?”
Tally noticed the other rangers were cleaning their boots and uniforms, searching for any trace of the flowers among the mud and foam. She looked down at the endless white. “And you’ve been doing this for…”
“Almost three hundred years. The Rusties started the job, after they figured out what they’d done. But we’ll never win. All we can hope to do is contain the weed.”
Tally sat back, shaking her head, coughing once more. The flowers were so beautiful, so delicate and unthreatening, but they choked everything around them.
The ranger leaned forward, handing her his canteen. She took it and drank gratefully.
“You’re headed to the Smoke, aren’t you?”
Tally swallowed some water the wrong way and sputtered. “Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Come on. An ugly waiting around in the flowers with a hoverboard and a survival kit?”
“Oh, yeah.” Tally remembered the clue: “Look in the flowers for fire-bug eyes.” They must have seen uglies before.
“We help the Smokies out, and they help us out,” Tonk said. “They’re crazy, if you ask me—living rough and staying ugly. But they know more about the wild than most city pretties. It’s kind of admirable, really.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I guess so.”
He frowned. “You guess so? But you’re headed there. Aren’t you sure?”
Tally realized that this was where the lies started. She could hardly tell the rangers the truth: that she was a spy, an infiltrator. “Of course I’m sure.”
“Well, we’ll be setting you down soon.”
“In the Smoke?”
He frowned again. “Don’t you know? The location’s a big secret. Smokies don’t trust pretties. Not even us rangers. We’ll take you to the usual spot, and you know the rest, right?”
She nodded. “Sure. Just testing you.”
The helicopter landed in a swirl of dust, the white flowers bending in a wide circle around the touchdown spot.
“Thanks for the ride,” Tally said.
“Good luck,” Tonk said. “Hope you like the Smoke.”
“Me too.”
“But if you change your mind, Tally, we’re always looking for volunteers in the rangers.”
Tally frowned. “What’s a volunteer?”