The Pioneer

by BRIDGET TYLER

  “Stay here until I return,” Dr. Brown says. Then she flips her blackout hood up and disappears back into the dark expanse of the cave.

  “Harsh,” Miguel says as we go inside. “I thought for sure she’d drop the mysterious thing once we were alone.”

  “I don’t think she wants us to know more about the Sorrow,” Leela says. “Jo and I had a little chat with Ord’s brother, Tarn. He said that Dr. Brown has sworn loyalty to Ord. She doesn’t actually want us down here at all, but Ord does, so she’s going along with it.”

  “That’s disturbing on several levels,” Beth says.

  “Why?” Chris asks. “Ord wants to share his world with us. What’s so terrible about that?”

  “That depends on why he wants us here,” Leela says.

  “Better question,” Jay says. “Why does the ISA want us here?”

  “We’re an Exploration and Pioneering Team,” Miguel says. “Title kinda speaks for itself.”

  Jay shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. The commander told Jo that the Planetary Survey Report we have isn’t complete because parts of it are classified, remember? She has to have been talking about the Sorrow.”

  “You think the ISA intentionally violated its own rules?” Leela says.

  “It would explain why they decided to keep parts of the report secret,” Jay points out. “If they hadn’t, who knows how many countries and corporate sponsors might have pulled out?”

  “Not to mention the E&P team,” Miguel says. “My mothers would have peaced if they’d known.”

  “But why would the ISA bother?” Leela says. “It’s not like it was going to stay secret once we got here. Why not keep looking for an unoccupied world?”

  “I think Dr. Brown knows,” I say, pulling her old flex from my pocket. “When I asked her, she gave this back to me and said all the answers were here.”

  Miguel makes a face. “Cryptic much?”

  “The Sorrow appear to be an authoritarian society,” Beth says. “If Dr. Brown has sworn fealty to Ord, contradicting him might be seen as a violation of that oath.”

  “The ISA would feel the same way about sharing classified information,” I say. “But that doesn’t stop her from letting us figure it out on our own.”

  I press the flex against the wall screen to sync it with the cabin, and then tap on the file icon labeled Backup. It pops open, revealing hundreds of subfolders. One of them is labeled Planetary Survey Report: Tau Ceti e.

  Wow. I didn’t think it would be that easy.

  It isn’t.

  There’s only one file in the folder: Appendix G, a detailed taxonomy of all the plants and animals the Rangers surveyed on Tau. I pull it up on the cabin wall screen so the others can see and skim through the web of Latin.

  “Looks just like the taxonomy in our version,” Leela says.

  “No,” Beth says. “It doesn’t.” She taps a name to enlarge it.

  Lucifossor sapiens.

  “The Luci prefix obviously refers to lucifer which means ‘light bearing,’” Beth says. “The root fossor means ‘underground digger.’”

  “And sapiens means wise,” Jay says.

  Beth nods. “It is only used once in Earth’s taxonomy. For Homo sapiens. ‘Wise man.’”

  Human.

  “Sentient Underground Light Bearer,” Chris says. “That has to be the Sorrow.”

  “Dudes,” Miguel says, “if this is part of the original report, that means Jay’s right.”

  “They knew,” Leela breathes, staring up at the web of words. “The Rangers knew about the Sorrow, and they told the ISA, and the ISA sent us here anyway.”

  I feel stupid for being so shocked. It’s not like we hadn’t already put most of the pieces together. I guess I was still hoping we were wrong.

  “Interesting,” Beth says.

  While the rest of us have been staring at each other like the whole universe just grew a second head, Beth has been studying the Tau taxonomy. She double-taps another species on the chart, and the wall screens zoom in on the words:

  Chorulux phytoraptor.

  “This species has also been redacted from our version of the report,” she says.

  “You sure?” Jay says.

  Beth nods. “I paid special attention to the Tau hybrids. I’d planned to write a paper once the terraforming program is up and running.”

  “So Chorulux is what?” Miguel says, talking it through. “Chorus for ‘dancer’ or ‘singer,’ and lux is ‘light,’ obvi.”

  “Light Dancer,” Beth says. “It’s the classification for a genus of Tau plants that are unusually active. It includes Chorulux fidus and Chorulux neon, the roots of which the Sorrow have cultivated at the center of their city.”

  “Dr. Brown called them solace trees,” I say. “She said those woven roots were originally nests for the Sorrow’s ancestors.”

  “That fits with the origin mythology Ord shared with us,” Beth says.

  “So is Chorulux phytoraptor another kind of tree?” Chris asks.

  “Maybe,” I say, my pulse skittering as I close the file and skim through the other folders in Backup. “But phyto means ‘plant,’ and raptor means . . .”

  “Badass predator,” Miguel says, just as my fingers come to a stop on a subfolder labeled Chorulux phytoraptor. I open it. There are a dozen folders, plus hundreds of photographs and vids. The first few that I try are corrupted. Finally, I find one that will open.

  A picture of the predators that attacked the crash site expands across the wall screen.

  Chris sucks a hiss through clenched teeth.

  “Seriously,” Miguel says, bobbing his head in agreement with Chris’s involuntary reaction.

  “Fascinating,” Beth mutters. She yanks off her flex and presses it over Dr. Brown’s to copy the files. “Absolutely fascinating.”

  “This has to be a mistake,” Leela says. “How could a species of pack-hunting predators be plants?”

  “According to their placement in this taxonomy, phytoraptors are related to plants in the same way that we are related to monkeys,” Beth says, pulling her flex free and swiping open the newly copied files. “They evolved in the same genus as the hybrid trees, but that doesn’t make them plants, per se.”

  “Still,” Leela shakes her head in disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

  “Different planet,” Miguel says. “Different evolutionary pressures.”

  Leela rolls her eyes. “It was a rhetorical question, Captain Obvious.”

  Miguel grins, “Doctor Obvious. Technically speaking.”

  “But why would the phytoraptors have been left out of the survey report?” I say. “The fact that Tau has dangerous predators wouldn’t have ruled it out for E&P.”

  “Unless they’re sentient too,” Jay says.

  “You think the plant monsters are intelligent?” Leela asks, skeptical.

  Jay shrugs. “The only other species that got redacted was the Sorrow, so . . .”

  “Those things aren’t people! They’re monsters!” Chris shouts, abruptly. “How can you even think . . . They ate Mom.”

  The pain that grates through his voice is almost more than I can bear. I don’t know how to comfort him. I guess nobody does, because it gets really quiet after that.

  Finally, Miguel says, “Okay, people, we’re all crazy exhausted right now. We’ve got a couple of hours, so we should grab some shut-eye while we can.”

  “A prudent suggestion,” Beth says. “However, I need to continue and learn what I can about Chorulux phytoraptor from Dr. Pasha’s notes. Given the threat they pose, we can’t afford to be unprepared.”

  “Good call,” Leela says.

  “Better you than me, B,” Miguel says. “I’m beat.” He grabs the pillow from the cot and tosses it to Leela. “Let’s share the cozy, shall we?” He takes the blanket and turns to Chris. “You want the cot, bro?”

  “I’m not tired,” Chris says, so quietly I can hardly hear him. He stalks across the cabin
and collapses cross-legged on the other side of the 3D/recycler combo, pointedly putting it between us and him.

  “Suit yourself,” Miguel says, flopping down on the cot.

  Leela and Miguel both fall asleep quickly, despite Beth muttering to herself as she skims through the phytoraptor files on her flex. I spread the blanket out on the floor and lie down, but I’m not even slightly tired. I’m probably imagining it, but I feel like my skin is still buzzing from the sonic energy the Sorrow used to heal me.

  Jay sits down next to me with his back against the wall. As usual, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. He’s just there.

  I consider telling him about the crazy reactions I’ve been having when I hear the Sorrow’s language, but I don’t. Trying to put the tactile and emotional sensations into words makes me wonder what it would be like to touch his skin. Or have him touch mine.

  The thought makes me feel warm all over. I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. I need to change the subject, even if I’m only having this conversation with myself.

  “Not reading tonight?” I say, hoping he can’t hear the residual embarrassment left by my internal monologue.

  “No flex,” he says, showing me his bare wrists. “I took it off while we were trying to help the chief. Got left behind in the commotion.”

  “Oh. Right.” Jay’s flex was monitoring the chief’s pulse when we abandoned her body to the phytoraptors. My brain keeps trying to forget.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone. And Chris . . .”

  I look across the cabin to where Chris is studying the knife Ord gave him.

  “I almost took it away from him on the walk back,” Jay says, following my gaze. “But I figure he doesn’t need us treating him like a little kid right now.”

  “Still . . . ,” I say.

  Jay nods. “Makes me jittery too.”

  I give up on sleep and sit, propping my back against the wall beside Jay. “We shouldn’t have gone into the city,” I say. “We should have waited and let Mom deal with Ord.”

  “Dr. Brown gave us an order,” Jay says. “We didn’t have a good reason to refuse it. Sucks, but it is what it is. My mom always told me taking orders was the hardest part of military life. Don’t think I really understood what she meant until today.”

  “Is your mom a marine, too?” It’s a relief to talk about something that isn’t a mind-blowing revelation or an emotional quagmire.

  “Nah,” he says. “She was North American Army Nursing Corps when she was young. She only did it to pay for school. She was so mad when I told her I wanted to enlist, but my grandfathers had my back. They’re both Marine Corps. They met doing peacekeeping work in the Pacific after the 2040 typhoons. One of their buddies from back then helped me apply for Space Operations School.”

  “So you always wanted to leave Earth?”

  “Nope.” He chuckles softly, like he’s amused with his past self. “I wanted to come to Tau. When the GFP announced that they’d found a viable world, I watched the survey report vids they put on the public channels. The second I saw this place, I knew I had to be a part of it. Busting my ass in basic training to land a spot in the Pioneer’s marine squadron was a hell of a lot more feasible than coming up with a PhD in eighteen months.”

  I’ve always known I wanted to explore other planets, but I never questioned whether I’d get the chance to do it. I never had to. What would I have done to get here if I hadn’t grown up a Watson?

  “What?” Jay says, and I realize I’ve been staring at him. “You thought I was in it for the sexy uniform?”

  “You say that like I think your uniform is sexy,” I counter, hoping that I’m not blushing. Again.

  He grins. “You say that like you don’t.”

  Damn it. I’m definitely blushing. This is why I can’t talk to him. Ever.

  Before I can think of a comeback that might salvage my dignity, Beth huffs a theatrically irritated sigh. “I’m trying to educate myself on a grave threat to humanity’s future on this planet, and I find your flirtatious banter highly distracting. So, if you don’t mind—”

  “Beth!”

  Jay bursts out laughing. “Sorry, B.” He shoots me a grin. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.”

  With that, he leans back against the wall and closes his eyes. Like he can just go to sleep now and not be at all preoccupied by either the flirting or the public acknowledgment of the flirting or the fact that we’re stuck in a massive underground cave system and completely dependent on the hospitality of extraterrestrials whose world we’ve accidentally invaded.

  I hear the soft whisper of a snore. He’s asleep.

  Unbelievable.

  I’m positive I’m never going to sleep again, so I pull Dr. Brown’s flex off the wall and open the Chorulux phytoraptor file again. I swipe through the pictures and the anatomical drawings. They’re kind of beautiful, in a terrifying way. No two look alike, but that’s true of most species. I tap open a subfolder called Encounters. It contains four video files: Bob. Blue. Spike. Sunflower. I open the first one, and Dr. Pasha’s face fills the screen.

  “This is interaction six with subject Chorulux phytoraptor 345, affectionately known as Bob.”

  “Pretty sure you shouldn’t be getting affectionate with a superevolved carnivorous plant,” an amused voice calls from behind the camera. I recognize the rich alto. Dr. Brown.

  “Jealous?” Pasha smirks.

  “You know me,” her disembodied voice replies. “Always have been territorial.”

  “Anyway,” Pasha says, smothering a chuckle, “CP345, otherwise known as Bob, has been visiting us on a daily basis for the last three weeks. Though phytoraptors are predators, Bob has never displayed any overtly aggressive behavior toward us. In fact, I believe he is attempting to communicate.”

  “Uh-huh.” I hear Dr. Brown’s disbelieving snort behind the camera. So does Pasha. He makes a face at her through the lens as he continues.

  “Some of us find it improbable that an intelligent life form might have evolved from carnivorous flora. But there are stranger things in heaven and Earth, and on Tau Ceti e; and as scientists, we have an obligation to explore even the improbable. To that end, I have been trying to teach this subject, and several others, American Sign Language. The other subjects in Bob’s . . . oops, we need a group noun.”

  “Bouquet?” Dr. Brown suggests from behind the camera, chuckling.

  “Cute,” Pasha says, mock glowering. “You get to edit this, you know.” He squares his shoulders and starts over. “The other subjects that Bob travels with are not interested. But Bob has engaged. He has two dozen signs so far. Today, I’m going to attempt a simple conversation.”

  The camera swings to reveal a trio of phytoraptors on the other side of a particle shield. They’re not bothering to camouflage themselves, so I can see them clearly, despite the shimmering warp of the force field. Instead of blending in, their skin is rippling through shades of green and brown and the turquoise of Tau’s sky. They’re sitting back on their haunches, watching Pasha. They’re bipedal, like the Sorrow, but I wouldn’t call them humanoid. Their arms are nearly as long as their legs, and each has different . . . what’s the right word? . . . foliage, I guess, since they’re plants. One of them has long black spines all over its head and running down its back. Another has whorls of electric-blue petals clustered on its shoulders that seem to bend and flex with every move of its head. The third is plain in comparison. It’s shorter and broader than its fellows, with a smooth, round head that makes its wide eyes look even bigger.

  Pasha disengages the shield.

  “Do you have to do that?” Dr. Brown says from behind the camera.

  “You’re armed,” Pasha says. “So is Amahle.” He points off camera to his left. “We’re fine.”

  He cautiously approaches the three phytoraptors.

  “I’m going to start simple,” he says, narrating for the camera. He brings his hand to his forehead and then brings it out at an upward angle.


  “Hello,” he says out loud as he signs. “Nice to see you.” He points to himself, then taps the extended index and middle fingers of both hands together. “My name is . . .” He makes the sign for p and shakes it. “Pasha.”

  The plain, burly phytoraptor shuffles forward on his feet and knuckles. Pasha takes a tiny, inadvertent step back. The camera jitters—Dr. Brown pulling her stunner, probably. But the phytoraptor doesn’t attack Pasha. He just studies him.

  Pasha repeats the sequence of signs two more times.

  “I think you owe me twenty bucks, Pash,” a female voice with a delicate Nigerian accent calls. That must be Amahle.

  “Damn,” Pasha says.

  Then Bob raises one hand to his forehead and draws it out and up at an angle.

  Hello.

  All three human voices on the recording speak at once:

  “Yes!”

  “Did that just happen?”

  “I knew it.”

  I find myself leaning forward in anticipation.

  Pasha repeats the full greeting again in sign and English: “Hello, Bob. My name is Pasha.”

  Bob raises his hand to his forehead once more. Hello. Then he shifts his weight back to his haunches and taps two straight fingers on both hands together. My name is . . . He makes the sign for p and shakes it. Pasha.

  Pasha wilts. “It’s not responding. It’s imitating.”

  “Hey,” Dr. Brown calls from beyond the camera. “There’s no pouting in science.”

  “Who says?” Pasha grumbles.

  The recording ends.

  I drop the flex in my lap, relieved. If Pasha had actually managed to teach the phytoraptors sign language, it would seriously complicate our relationship with the Sorrow.

  I watch the next video—Blue. It’s a lot less interesting.

  I have no idea that I’m asleep until Beth shakes Jay awake, which wakes me up too, since my head seems to have fallen on his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong, Beth?” Jay says, quiet but instantly alert.

  “Is Dr. Brown here?” I mutter, scrubbing grit from my eyes.

  “No,” Beth whispers. “And I need to find her.”