Still Human- Planet G

by Jerry Underhill

  Huston sighed as he unzipped his bag and began pulling out tinder and twigs, ruffling up his fire making materials. After striking life into the pile several times, a spark grabbed hold. Piling materials atop the young flame and entombing it inside a square of larger logs he’d carried up, he sat cross-legged with the apple Scott had brought him and sliced a chunk off with his knife.

  They were gone.

  He’d made it back to the Clouds’ canopy level village. After he’d walked about the ground-level, he’d climbed into the canopy to see if there was anything indicative of what’d happened. No sign that they’d fled in a hurry or been attacked. Things weren’t scattered around or disheveled the way you might expect if they left in a scared hurry. Not that there were always visual remnants of those instances in nature when chaos and carnal violence had punctuated the appearance of harmony with the cries of prey.

  He itched at a scrape on his leg.

  So much genetic modification in nature for such micro moments of peril.

  Their walking sticks, which they’d posted in a big circle around the central fires at each of the encampments Huston had been to, and which he couldn’t be sure were associated with their spirituality or were merely a way to monitor comings and goings, were gone too.

  Frustrated, he tossed his half-eaten apple onto his pile of gear and made for the rope he’d hung. He figured he might as well pack up his tent. Working his way down slowly, he finished the last of the height with a splash into a muddy puddle, and walked the short distance to his tent.

  Looking around, the only trace of anything that’s changed from before was a cryptic smear of opalescent liquid on the tree facing his tent. His stomach dropped at the thought that it could be blood.

  Stepping towards it, he gingerly rested his palm against the coarse bark and brushed his fingertips along its shimmering scales. A jolt surged through him.

  Whereas their form of telepathy seemed to communicate meaning through fairly universal interpretations of natural things, like sending the image of trickling water to convey gentle movement, this otherworldly sensation was more abstract. His mind sizzled with a vision as crystal as a lucid dream. He felt himself plunged into a sea; a wave unto himself, building and traversing as he rolled across the surface of a body he could neither discern the depths nor extent of, but broiling with great troughs and spewing foam.

  He held wildly to his formless self as he felt his body rolling over to fall into deep chasms of a medium that was slowly morphing from liquid to...other. But the drop never came. His body kept rising, the scene opening to reveal a seascape of waves smashing against a distant shoreline, which gave way under the force, carrying the energy into rolling hills of grass and trees- themselves climbing thousands of meters as the wave spiraled through them, before rebounding against some unseen barrier. The environment recoiled in thunderous crashes.

  And suddenly, he felt himself fly forward, a Cloud appeared before him. Instead of crashing through the being, the world around him exploded into white.

  When he came to, he awoke with his face buried in fallen leaves. His bag was on the ground next to him, though he couldn’t remember taking it off, and he had a terrible headache, which had been made worse by the disorienting disconnect he felt from his body. It felt like what he imagined being poisoned would feel like.

  Spitting the taste of blood and wiping red from his lips, he fruitlessly searched around his mouth for a cut as he crawled to pick up his bag. His body responded with uncertainty as he worked to lift it. Entirely unsure of much at all, and feeling the weight of vulnerability, he staggered away from the site, thinking only of alien hallucinogens, the need to lose elevation, and the Clouds. If that wasn’t blood, poison, or some psychoactive chemical, was it a form of communication from them? He was frustrated. How could he trust a sense that slipped from his consciousness as he reached for it?

  This time he took a new, longer path which would bring him into the valley before working over the ridge and back to the colony. Into the valley where he knew that the R.01 river originated, possibly at a spring, before carrying adjoining streams on a snaking path to the sea.

  He was tired enough that he barely thought of anything at all as he made his way over the mountain and down the precarious, muddy slope of the other side. But when he did, it was of their neighbors. It was disconcerting to not know the limits of the place. The Clouds’ example showed that something drove survival mechanisms here beyond Earth’s evolutionary ceiling. But maybe that wasn’t true. Lots of species at home had unique gifts and sensory experiences; why should he consider the Clouds and Cavers something altogether unprecedented merely because they were more relatable to man?

  Huston plucked his way through thickening understory while barbed bushes tore at his clothes in blind defense of would-be berries- as sure a sign as the glittering rays ahead of him that he’d reached the open canopy of a valley pond. Maybe there was a spring here.

  Putting his map back into his pack, a fleet of shadows drew his eyes to a mass of birds flying overhead. He watched them settle out of sight in the trees somewhere down river.

  Taking his boots off and wiping sweat off his face before stepping out of the shade, he splashed into the clear water. Its cold touch on his legs delivered a jolt as it soaked in at his knees and inched higher; the icy grip of smoothed stones beneath his feet was nearly as unbearable as it was relieving. He looked around as he set about drawing water, uncomfortably aware of the time of day and the appeal of a freshwater source like this… to all. Given what the Clouds and Cavers could do, he suspected the predators on the planet could do just about anything they wanted.

  Finished, he splashed out and sat down amidst the calmer rays of late afternoon, noticing a massive bird nest out of one eye as he downed a quart of water. He watched the nest while assembling a small ring of stones, while striking a small fire into its center, piling twigs atop the climbing flames and setting water to boil, while making and drinking coffee, and off and on as he consulted the map from his pack. Nothing had come, gone, moved, nor chirped, though he hadn’t expected such an easy answer. Lacing his boots and wiping sand from himself, he crossed a fallen log over the valley trough and made his way to the base of the nest’s tree.

  Nearing the thing, sitting like a great saucer atop a bed of standing toothpicks, he could scarcely imagine the beast who made it home. Nothing that size could have escaped their efforts to classify the suite of animals aboard the planet, particularly not something so routinely above the cloak of forest cover.

  The tree it rested on rose 100 feet into the sky; its trunk burst from the ground at the very edge of a cliff which fell precipitously into the pond below- the bottom of which was marked by evidence of higher water levels. Curiosity piqued, Huston half-ran up the hill, noticing as he passed the lowest branch that a few of the surrounding trees had their branches torn away, with one having been halved, seemingly by something heavy tearing into the canopy.

  He moved quickly. The tree branches were plentiful and the craggily bark easy to hold onto. Finally poking his head over the nest’s lip, the unencumbered valley winds grabbing at his shirt, he nearly flinched in horror. The nest floor was littered with disfigured skeletal structures. Here and there he could make out an almost complete humanoid body, with great gouges into skulls, ribs, and leg bones as if bludgeoned. Perhaps scavenged remains from battlefield or the accumulated discards of long-dead baby food. No flesh nor moisture remained, suggesting the nest had been abandoned for some time, particularly considering the deterioration of some of the lesser materials used to build the nest. The structure felt strong though. Strong enough for him to make camp in it that night. He peered down. It wouldn’t do to stay in it without tying himself to an overhanging limb. As much as the scene bothered him, it bothered him more to stay at ground level.

  The planet had taken on a new, more ominous atmosphere.

  He needed to get back to Port Wallace to help Scott, but he was too tired to immediately
turn back. The nest and its residents were fresh reminders of the world’s mystery, and of his role in the colonists’ lives. Sighing, he slowly worked his way down the tree- deciding to hike out at sunrise. He’d camp. Exploring the valley floor could wait until later.

  Chapter Seven

  Day 23- afternoon

  The hike back from the empty Cloud village gave me a lot of time to think- hiking can be a good and bad thing like that. What we’re doing here is so special. I don’t imagine it’s lost on anybody just where we are and the romance of what this is. Don’t imagine, either, that many have forgotten that the history of colonization hasn’t always been happy and peaceful...

  I was able to watch a recording of Scott notifying the colonists. They took the news well. Obviously we half-expected this kind of unexpected. Most of us probably hoped we’d find sentient life forms, actually. There was a pregnant sort of silence when he told of how both the Clouds and Cavers were the initiators of contact, though. I think that kind of agency, that kind of pro-active, coordinated intelligence struck some of them with a bit of fear. I don’t blame them for feeling that. If you’re the inferior being facing aliens, whether they are altruistic or marauding, at least you know your place in the exchange, and I imagine that most of the colonists thought we’d be the superior beings anyway, given the lack of any signatures you might expect from advanced societies. And in that case, we’d also know our status, or at least be in control. Easier to know and to respond. But this is more uncertain.

  Huston lifted his head. A carpet of green unfurled in the valley before him; the expanse billowing into snow-caked ridges and peaks of a range he’d only begun to explore.

  I’m happy to be back. Was able to get here just as the sun was rising. Finally seeing the colony’s walls, running lights, and raised flag was heartwarming, as was seeing other humans grouped together. We’ve lost something in not seeing each other as special animals- as just another organism buzzing alongside others. Small packs of beings trying to trust others and themselves, but not just with securing survival on their minds, happiness too.

  A bunch of my friends and several of the colonists came for one-on-ones this morning while I was in the temple. Gangotra was one of them. He came to talk to me about the aliens and to continue our conversations about the things he’s feeling. Our discussions of the parallels between the human sense of spirituality and his relationship with the nano-tech are tremendously unique. And truly, if spirituality is the feeling of being connected, can’t we relate the affect? It’s an interesting side effect of the core software underlying the nano fields within our bodies matching the core of his own. I sometimes wonder whether Wallace anticipated it when he realized he could use the code he’d developed for Gangotra to solve our concerns over vulnerabilities to alien pathogens by inserting fields of nano-bots into our systems to eradicate unwelcome biological profiles- that Gangotra would be able to access the respective hive intelligences within us, leading to a complex recognition of his own individual essence and the underlying code he shared with what is now inside all of us; in spirituality, with the light we share. It gives new meaning to his name. ‘Gangotra’, from ‘Gangotri’, where a Hindu temple sits at the source of the Ganges River.

  The sound of footsteps on fallen leaves stirred Huston to turn.

  “Huston, and he’s outside of the walls!” Scott said with a laugh. “I cannot believe it. You didn’t get enough time outside before?”

  “There are aliens inside those walls, Scott.” Huston responded dryly.

  Scott considered him a moment before sitting down.

  “Yeah, well you've always wanted to believe.” Scott paused. “I hear that you're speaking tonight.”

  “I should. Outside of this morning, the congregation hasn't seen my face in over a week.” He paused. “I shouldn’t have left. I know things got a little tense here. Should’ve been here to help you sort it out.”

  Scott smiled.

  “Ah... Well, it was a few things at once. Sum bigger than the parts. Wallace's sickness, Gangotra's breakdown and reset, hiccups in communications and power. Resource anxiety. Your disappearance was one of the bigger sources of unrest. Or not so much unrest, but rather, unease.”

  Huston found he had little to say in response. He opened a bottle for himself, took a sip, and gestured to his friend.

  “Want one?” He asked Scott.

  “Thanks. What strikes me most out here is just the lack of basic comfort.” Scott said, taking the drink. “I think we humans operate on a basic sense of unspoken assurance that, fundamentally, a system is in place within which we can have a semblance of ordinary life. Even out on deployments in more dangerous territories, one knows that there is a rudimentary safety net.

  Huston nodded. They’d had these conversations before, but in theoretical terms and without the weight of alien contact.

  “Our terrestrial mining, for all the basic construction sorts of metals that really aren't worth bringing down from space, isn't up yet. And it's not supposed to be up just yet. But everyone knows that vulnerability.” Scott paused for a long, thoughtful moment. “It's the little changes that pick at our tiniest thread of normalcy.”

  “Sorry.” Huston repeated.

  “Should be. Don't feel too special, though. I hear there was a minor riot in building A over a missing charger.”

  “Understandable.” Huston smiled.

  Both men drank in silence, staring out over the unmitigated expanse of alien wilderness.

  “How did we miss this?” Huston asked, after a long pause. “We were so cautious in surveying the planet, gathering information about the landscape, studying microbes, anchoring ourselves in the fundamentals of this place- to be thrashed about in the churning froth of whatever seems to be going on between the Clouds and Cavers is cuttingly disillusioning. Are we still expecting tourists to be showing up here?”

  Scott shrugged.

  “The board has convened. We are back on schedule. Although I have to say … I think for a long time, this whole colony is going to be one great lie. One great reassurance that that thread of normalcy is a whole lot beefier than it really is.”

  “So nothing too far out of the usual human experience. You're still in charge?”

  “Until I'm defeated in hand-to-hand combat. Yes.”

  Huston laughed. The image of Scott fighting to hold onto his reign was as funny as the image of Wallace waking up to be the first challenger was unfunny.

  “I have a set of one on ones, meetings with a few groups.” Scott continued.

  “You should meet with the congregation too.”

  “Ah…I dont know.” Scott said. He looked uncomfortable. “Do I really belong there? You’re not fire and brimstone, but I still just can’t sit through those kinds of things.”

  “There’s no law that everything has to be spiritual.” Huston assured him. “Can be conscientious and good intentioned. Willing to listen at least. Build the structure of normalcy.”

  “Alright. I’ll go. Anyway, you asked about tourism…” Scott shook his boot to get a bug off his laces. “It's not just tourism that Copernica is investing in, and some of the other profitable ventures are going to require more to make them work. Xenobiology and xenopharma is going to be huge. Whole reason we bought Serles-Kampl last year was actually to turn it into a xenobio firm to tear through g159c. Last year, whatever… the year before we left Earth. We’ve figured most of it out from home, but…”

  “Yeah?” Huston’s voice rang with suspicion.

  “What were you writing when I walked up? Is it a poem?” Scott said jokingly, apparently needing a change of subject.

  Huston smiled at the change in subject, though he made a mental note to pay more attention to the corporate forces at large.

  “Recording my thoughts about things, for whatever it's worth...can’t sort out what we’ve dropped into- and I know much more than them. I’ve an affinity for the Clouds and recoil at the thought of the Cavers. I don’t know eno
ugh to trust those reactions as insightful instincts, though, and I know I have a bias. One of the reasons I came here is my own pursuit of spiritual understanding, as you know, my wrestling with the deepest in me, and the spiritual nature i’ve felt from the Clouds draws me to them.”

  “I can't share in that. I can't communicate with them the way you say you can.” Scott responded, clearly trying to keep the tone light.

  “Might be too generous to consider it communication.” Huston said- almost to himself.

  “It's comforting to know what the Cavers want. I kind of like them.” Scott said.

  “Really?” Huston replied in surprise. “Does the board want to trade with them? The guns?”

  “We need to know what’s going on.” Scott said in mild frustration, before Huston’s expression persuaded him to qualify his stance. “I like them in the sense that everything about them is repulsive and offensive to human sensibilities. I have no intention of giving them guns. Worst comes to worst, our tech level is our survival. We can live because we can mow them down. Or at least set up turrets to buy ourselves enough time. Not that I want it to come to that, obviously... I’m not saying your instincts are wrong, but the situation demands the pacification of my best diplomatic efforts. It isn’t a time for instincts.”

  “I'll need a drone...and a bike.” The minister responded immediately. He recognized the olive branch and the challenging position they sat in, and he agreed with his friend completely.

  “Sure, but you aren't taking my boat.”

  “Can’t claim a boat you haven’t named yet.” Huston said as he stood up and walked away.

  Chapter Eight