“It’s time,” Re said over breakfast, setting his tea cup aside. “The warm days of sitting around and petting a crocodile are over.”

  Harlan lifted his head from the dishes he was washing.

  “What? Since when is petting a crocodile a privilege?”

  “It’s a privilege until you prove you’re worth something without my hints and a stick upside your head,” Re replied dryly. "We're going to get some real use out of you."

  Harlan froze for a second, then said slowly, “You want to… send me into the Wildlands?”

  “How did you guess?”

  Re stood and walked to the large map hanging on the kitchen wall. Harlan had always thought it was just decoration.

  “Here, in the Northern Ridges, a rare plant grows—kharirr.” Re circled a small area with his finger. “It absorbs Field force and concentrates it in its roots. A very interesting organism. I need it for my research.”

  “Hold on.” Harlan searched his memory. “I’ve seen that name in the greenhouse inventory. Did it die?”

  “Hm. You’re right. I already have a couple. But I need one more.” The scientist spread his hands.

  “For what? Just to chase me around the Wildlands?”

  “No. I need to compare samples exposed to different Field intensities. I never told you this, but there’s a reason the house stands here, in the middle of nowhere.” Re’s tone shifted, instructional. “There’s a depression here, and the crystals sit closer to the surface. The average Field force is thirty percent—maybe forty—stronger than anywhere else I’ve studied in this region.”

  “Wait. You have an instrument that can tell where crystals are more likely?” Harlan narrowed his eyes.

  “Fast profit? Is that all you think about? A prospector stays a prospector,” Re laughed. “Relax. It measures the relative surface gradient of the Field, not ‘where and how much to dig.’ Besides, a gradientometer costs more than a prospector could ever make back.”

  He cleared his throat.

  “Back to kharirr. I usually go myself, but as you can see—old age.” He smiled crookedly. “You’re the one who keeps calling me an old man.”

  “That’s because you’re gray,” Harlan said defensively, then added, unable to resist, “And you grumble.”

  “Absolutely true,” Re said, grinning. “And someone still has to feed Pinky… and check the Field pressure in the basement…” He stretched the words casually. “I cannot leave for two weeks and abandon everything. So you’re going.”

  “Last time that didn’t stop you,” Harlan tried to wriggle out.

  “And I came back wounded. So I decided to listen to you. Well done—you taught the old man something.” Re snapped the verbal trap shut.

  Harlan fell silent, studying him. It all felt rehearsed. And then it clicked.

  *An exam?*

  As if reading his thoughts, Re continued.

  “Since this is a longer trip, let’s count it not just as an errand, but as a test. Terms are simple.” His voice turned firm, businesslike. “Two weeks. Prepare everything the way I taught you. You must find kharirr, dig it out alive, and bring it back to the greenhouse. Fail or miss the deadline, and I've wasted a year on you. I stop teaching you. You’ll scrub floors—you’ve neglected them badly.”

  “Kind grandfather,” Harlan snorted. “And if I die out there?”

  “Then I definitely wasted my time,” Re shrugged. "What use is an assistant who can't even find a simple plant? I’ll have to look for another. A hassle, but such is life.”

  "Nice to know I'm replaceable," Harlan made a sour face.

  “Everyone is replaceable. Not everyone is repeatable.” Re fixed him with a stare. “Enough whining. Go pack your bag. And don’t forget the pistol. And your brain.”

  He stroked his beard.

  “Oh, and one more thing. Kharirr balances on the edge between plant and animal. Don’t let it bite your finger. It’ll hurt, and then you’ll likely be paralyzed. I strongly recommend reading up on it and observing a live specimen in the greenhouse.”

  ?

  Five minutes later, Harlan sat at the table in his room. A pristine sheet of paper and a pencil lay before him.

  *As Garret taught—plan everything before an expedition. Two weeks is a short run for the Wildlands. So it’s close. Still, any small mistake can kill me.*

  He wrote at the top, in large letters: KHARIRR. Underlined it twice.

  Then he added:

  Study:

  - Reference guide (traits, behavior, soil, light, temperature)

  - Greenhouse specimen (appearance, movement)

  - Safe extraction methods

  Then came equipment. The standard kit:

  - Tent

  - Heater

  - Sleeping bag

  - Spare underwear and socks

  - Two weeks of rations

  - Two-day water reserve

  - Cooking pot

  - Revolvers and ammo (2×100)

  - Knife

  - Med kit

  - Rope

  - Map

  - Compass

  Harlan frowned. Something was missing.

  “Container for kharirr,” he muttered. “How do you transport a living plant-animal through the Wildlands?” He sighed. “I’ll ask the old man.”

  He folded the list, slipped it into his pocket with the pencil, and went to Re.

  The old man handed him a book and instructions.

  “Specimens number thirty-four or fifty-two in the greenhouse—that’s kharirr. Reminder: it’s poisonous. Wear gloves.”

  “Then why didn’t you warn me earlier, when I worked in the greenhouse for months?” Harlan protested.

  “I did warn you,” Re replied calmly. “I told you clearly—don’t touch plants with bare hands.”

  Harlan swallowed. He’d touched them more than once while watering and taking readings.

  “How many more poisonous ones are there?” he asked.

  Re counted silently. “Maybe ten that qualify as dangerous. None of them—including kharirr—will kill you instantly from a simple touch. Unless you chew the leaves. Do you chew leaves?”

  “No,” Harlan said flatly. “But mark them. And do the same for the animals.”

  “Fine,” Re grumbled. “Only took you a couple of years to figure that out.”

  Harlan left with the book.

  “And I did give you a biota guide once,” Re sighed after him. “Lazy student.”

  ?

  KHARIRR (Khariris mordax)

  Classification: Hybrid form (flora/fauna)

  Habitat: Mountain terrain, elevation 800–1200 meters above sea level, temperature ?5 to +25°C.

  Description: Resembles a small shrub, 30–50 cm tall. Leaves dark green, fleshy, with sharp serrations. Root system relatively weak; roots and leaves possess contractile ability, allowing slow movement (up to 20–30 meters per day).

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Harlan raised an eyebrow. *Movement?*

  Traits: Actively absorbs Field force through leaves, stores it in roots. Under threat, releases paralytic toxins through fine leaf hairs. Effective on small animals for 10–30 minutes. Weaker effect on humans, but a leaf bite causes numbness and painful spasms; in some cases, temporary paralysis.

  *Gramps exaggerated a bit. Probably for the best.* Harlan frowned. *Or maybe the book is wrong again. Be careful.*

  Reproduction: Spores. Extremely rare; observed once every 5–7 years.

  Use: Roots used in medicine (nervous system stimulants); in cooking (small doses as tonic).

  Note: Extraction requires caution. Sensitive to root damage. Recommended to dig out with a full soil clump.

  Harlan closed the book.

  *So I need a container with soil. Big enough for the roots. Thick gloves—mandatory.*

  He returned to his room and added:

  - Transport crate

  - Gloves (thick leather)

  - Digging tool (narrow shovel or trowel)

  *In case I have to grab the leaves,* he added after a moment:

  - Insulated tongs

  *I should see it in person.*

  ?

  The kharirrs grew in the far corner of the northern greenhouse, each in a separate bed.

  Harlan stepped closer.

  It looked exactly as described: a low, dark-green shrub with thick leaves. The serrated edges were needle-sharp. One leaf twitched—slowly, barely noticeable, as if the plant were breathing.

  “So you’re kharirr,” he murmured. “Walked past you a hundred times.”

  No reaction.

  He pulled out his pencil and carefully poked a leaf.

  The response was instant.

  The leaf snapped inward, contracting. Fine hairs emerged along its surface. Harlan jumped back and dropped the pencil.

  “Hell. It’s fast.”

  He picked the pencil up carefully. Several small dark-green droplets clung to it.

  *That’s the toxin,* he decided.

  He wiped the pencil clean and rinsed it.

  Keeping a safe distance now, he watched. After a few minutes the leaf slowly relaxed, unfurling again. The motion was smooth, almost hypnotic. The hairs vanished.

  Since the book had no illustration, Harlan opened his notebook and sketched: leaf shape, serration pattern, estimated root length.

  Then he added notes in the margin:

  “Immediate response to touch. Leaves contract.

  Toxic hairs invisible until contact—likely deployed on demand.

  Toxin dark green.

  After attack, plant remains contracted. Leaf returns to normal in ~3–4 minutes.”

  At the bottom he underlined:

  DO NOT TOUCH WITH BARE HANDS.

  *Who am I writing this for?* he thought with sudden horror. *Am I turning into Gramps?*

  ?

  That evening, Harlan sat with Re in the living room, watching the fire and sipping tea.

  “You saw it?” Re asked without looking up from his notes.

  “I did. It nearly poisoned me.”

  Re snorted. “Then you provoked it.”

  “I poked it with a pencil.”

  “And it decided you were a predator.” Re set the pen down and looked at him. “Kharirr isn’t aggressive, but it defends itself. If you want it alive, you’ll have to work fast. It doesn’t tolerate being without soil. Dig it out with the clump and finish within a couple of minutes.”

  “Good to know. When were you planning to mention that?” Harlan asked. “Is there a proper container?”

  “Of course. One was lying around in the greenhouse. Otherwise it’ll grab you with its leaves and you won’t get far. Were you planning to use a flower pot?”

  “At first, yes. That’s why I asked.”

  They fell quiet.

  “Oh—and if it starts wilting on the way, try feeding it,” Re added.

  “How?”

  “I’ll give you fertilizer in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Harlan stood. “I’ll check the revolvers and turn in early. I leave at dawn.”

  ?

  Like his first expedition, Harlan didn’t sleep at all. The thought of going into the Wildlands alone—pure madness—kept running through his mind. Eventually, he gave up, rose an hour and a half before dawn, and went to the kitchen for hot tea.

  Re was already there.

  “Morning. Leaving at dawn—good,” he said approvingly. “We’ll do a final briefing.”

  “Morning.” Harlan sat, notebook ready.

  “Route.” Re tapped the wall map. “North from here. Over the pass—here. Then follow the stream until you hit the rocks. Kharirr grows on slopes with lots of stone and little snow. Look for dark soil.”

  Harlan wrote.

  “Dangers?” he asked.

  “Few. Not many large predators in that sector. If you’re unlucky, you might run into furrodyles.” Re smiled thinly. “Not Pinky. Don’t hesitate—run. At distance, you’ll probably make it.”

  “I doubt furrodyles are slow,” Harlan said.

  “They run very well—but they’re sprinters. If they don’t catch prey within five hundred meters, they rarely continue. Either way, keep quiet. Better not meet them.”

  Re rapped the map with a stick.

  “You might see ice wolves, but they rarely come that low. Everything else is trifles. The main threat is cold. Night temperatures drop to ?25°C. Lose the heater or break it, and you’ll have a few hours to make a fire. Otherwise—you freeze.”

  “Understood.”

  “One more thing.” Re handed him a small packet. “Fertilizer for kharirr. Sprinkle it at the roots. You don’t need to wait—apply it right after transplanting. The container’s by the door.”

  Harlan pocketed the packet.

  “And lastly.” Re met his eyes. “If anything goes wrong—turn back. Don’t play hero. The plant can wait. You don’t get a second life.”

  Harlan nodded. “Thank you.”

  “No need. Pinky’s gotten used to you.” Re smirked. “Training a new assistant would be annoying.”

  Harlan went to the door. On the threshold, he turned.

  “Re?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you really think I can do this?”

  The old man paused. Then nodded—brief, almost imperceptible.

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t send you.”

  Harlan tightened his pack straps and pushed the door open.