by J. N. Chaney
Alma leaned over and said something to my father, who nodded in response. “Get us out of here, Slates,” my father ordered, tapping the back of the pilot’s chair. “We don’t want to be here when the pack shows up.”
“Working on it,” Slates grunted, lifting the small ship into the air.
I stayed quiet, but a scan of the landscape gave me pause. Four more of the creatures were running toward the gorge.
The lines went taut when it came time for the load to leave the ground, and the vessel rocked hard as it was met with the resistance. I gripped the straps of my harness and pressed my feet into the floor to keep from tossing side-to-side.
Our vessel was old and well past its prime. Despite how well our ancestors had made these ships, time had gotten the better of them all, and each had begun to show signs of disrepair.
All the seats were worn, the padding sticking out from the ripped seams. None of the display screens were without cracks, nor did the engines run as smoothly as they once had. No matter how many fixes our engineers made, the ships always felt like they were on the edge of breaking down.
One day, my father would often tell me, these ancient machines would stop working completely. We would have to find a new way to hunt and bring our kills home.
But everyone else would say that this was a problem for later. There were too many things to worry about today, and we could only do so much.
For now, we worked with what we had available.
Not wanting to distract, I turned on the built-in display and brought up the external feed. The view was grainy, but I could see the cargo as it swayed gently below us. It was steady enough for now, but a hard and sudden gust of wind could always change that. The ship struggled with the weight of the Boneclaw, the landscape below getting smaller, meter by meter.
The engines screamed in protest, pushed to their limit in our effort to move higher, faster, and with too much weight. The creatures roared again, audible despite the engines, and their call echoed through the valley and into the gorge.
The cargo cleared the large boulder and scraped the top of it, sending vibrations up the lines and into my seat. At the same time, the group of Boneclaws broke into the gorge and galloped on all fours to our position.
They barreled toward us, close enough now that I could see them through the cockpit window. Then I lost sight of them and I had to use the feed again.
Upon reaching the body of their packmate, they stopped and sniffed the ground, finally rearing up to let loose a scream that sounded like a terrible mix of agony and rage.
The largest of the four climbed up the boulder, his eyes fixed on us, and it leapt into the air in a show of power, its claws outstretched and reaching for us.
It was in that moment that I caught sight of the creature’s face. One side of it bore a horrible scar from forehead to cheek, crossing two milk-white eyes without pupils. I felt the creature’s claws scratch the bottom of the cargo box, causing the entire ship to tremble, and I instinctively stiffened.
We were moving away, however, and climbing out of reach enough for me to let go of the breath I’d been holding.
“It… it had eyes,” I muttered, confused as to how that was possible. Boneclaws never had eyes. They used sound rather than sight.
Alma smirked. “Ah, yes. A defect that shows up occasionally. Like how Leif Tarcher has a third nipple. Completely useless.”
She settled back in her seat and closed her eyes as if this was no more exciting than plain oatmeal day.
I said nothing to her, choosing to accept what she told me as fact. Alma had always known more than most others. If she said something was true, then it probably was.
I wondered if the Boneclaws might try to follow us, but the more I watched them from the viewscreen, the more secure I grew. They didn’t move from their spot, staring out at us with their heads tilted, listening to us as we flew. After only a few moments, all four surrounded the dead remains still on the ground and leaned over it.
As one, the group reared up and released a sad, keening wail that left me shaken.
“Do they grieve?” I asked my father, perturbed by the idea.
He shrugged. “Even frost horns will leave the herd to find lost young and cry out if a member of the herd dies,” he told me. “It means nothing.”
My discomfort at that revelation must have showed on my face because his voice took on a stern tone.
“It’s nothing more than a primal instinct to survive, Lucia. Every loss weakens their numbers. They know that, but not on the conscious level that we do. Don’t make the mistake of humanizing them. Others have tried and to no good end.”
“Aren’t they made from humans?” I asked. “Doesn’t that mean that they’re more than simple animals? At least partially?”
“No. They’re experiments created by arrogant people who should have known better,” he countered. “Now, I will hear no more of this. Trust in my words. I have seen enough of them to know the truth of this.”
My mouth snapped shut at that, and I nodded tightly. Clearly done with the conversation, my father turned and began speaking to Alma.
I stayed silent for the rest of our short trip across the valley, but I couldn’t get the image of the mourning Boneclaws out of my mind.
2
As we neared the cliffs on the opposite side of the valley, the pilot pulled the transport up. Part of the wall slid back and out, creating a wide landing space and revealing the hangar inside. To anyone who might pass, if there had been someone else on the planet to see, it would have looked sheer, all the way to the top.
The Eternals, our ancestors, had done this on purpose, though it seemed odd to me. Janus, a holographic intelligence known as a Cognitive, had taught us many things about our ancestors, although his older memories were becoming less reliable in recent years.
Still, the Cognitive said that the scientists were operating here covertly in an attempt to hide their work from the public eye. The Eternal leaders were afraid that if the public discovered how severe the degeneration had become, panic might arise, and so this research outpost had been built. The scientists needn’t have worried, though. In the two thousand years since their arrival, no one else had ever come.
There were many theories about why this had occurred, but the most accepted was that the rest of humanity had likely watched our ancestors lose control over these facilities and opted to forget them. We had no evidence of this, of course, but it certainly made for a good story.
It didn’t take long for the rock to finish its transformation, and almost at once, a group of people came out with a large hover cart. They guided the cargo onto it, released the straps, then signaled Slates to retract the lines before going inside.
The hangar was huge, built to house more than ten times our current number of vehicles. I had seen holo pictures that showed what it looked like back then, all those centuries ago.
Neat rows of all-terrain hovercrafts, indoor explorers, and ships of varying sizes, all lined up neatly. Now the room stood three-quarters empty, the working vehicles taking up only a small portion. There used to be more people here, too, Janus had told me. What an age that must have been, I remembered thinking, that they could live in such luxury and comfort, going about their daily work, never having to hunt for food or struggle to stay warm in the freezing cold.
Next to the operational vehicles, several more remained broken and in need of repair. These outnumbered the others by at least double. Beyond that, broken down and scrapped parts had been meticulously organized into their places. Our mechanics, what few there were, intended to fix all of these vehicles, but it was difficult enough to keep our existing machines in working order, so I had no illusion of the rest ever seeing repair.
On the other side of the hangar, the harvested remains of the Boneclaw were being unloaded at the makeshift processing center. It had been erected to make things cleaner and easier.
We also used the space for large community meetings and ceremon
ies. The next event coming up was the selection ceremony, when the new leader would be chosen from a group of six prospus, of which Nero and I were two.
Thinking of the ceremony made me nervous, so I let my thoughts wander back to the Boneclaws and their odd behavior.
Records and stories passed down through the generations told of how, not long after the Boneclaws had been created, they had broken free of their cages. The animals had fled the facility, leaving chaos and destruction in their wake.
In the early days, the scientists tried to retrieve their experiments, but those efforts had failed. The Boneclaws attacked, destroying the Eternals’ vehicles, and killed anyone who approached. Eventually, all attempts had been halted and efforts were redirected to repairing the damage, which had been extensive. Some areas were beyond maintenance, particularly the section dedicated to powering the main facility. The colonists were forced to move deeper into the compound, closer to the core, shutting down unnecessary sections to conserve resources.
This had marked the end of their history, and the beginning of ours.
Within the first century, one of the three facilities had gone dark, its tritium core offline.
Once the power systems began to fail, it had become increasingly apparent that the colonists would have to find a way to supplement their resources.
That was when the hunts began.
The ramp opened and I left the ship, heading to the work areas. I saw my friend Karin Riddell, one of the other prospus, working alone at one of the stations. She was already covered in gore.
Since I was still a mess from the hunt and didn’t mind getting my hands dirty, I joined her. Working with the others was fun and I always made a point to talk to as many as I could throughout the day.
My father said this was something that real leaders did, but I just liked to be social. Taking over as figurehead for the colonists seemed like a long way off. At seventeen, many of the adults still considered me a child.
He’d taken part in his own Selection ceremony around my age, then trained to take over when he was forty and the Director retired.
Karin smiled and waved when she saw me coming, and I grinned back.
We were close to the same age and had grown to be good friends over the years.
“Looks like you had an eventful hunt,” she said, gesturing at the Boneclaw pelt with a hint of jealousy in her tone. “Was it exciting?”
I nodded grimly. “Yeah, but not in a good way. It took down the frost horn calf we were tracking then almost killed Father.”
Her eyes went big at the news. “Is he okay?” she squeaked.
I nodded again, then began to recount the last few hours. “I threw a spear at it, which gave Nero time to chop its arm off and cut off the head.”
At that, Karin arched an eyebrow. “Wait, you mean he did something besides stand there and look pretty?”
“Haha. You know he’s a talented hunter, despite his other, many faults.”
“They are legion,” she agreed, then jerked her chin in his direction. “Look at him over there, preening. No doubt bragging about his kill, just loud enough for Maria to hear.”
The young hunter in question leaned casually against one of the walls, talking to his father, Mario, my father’s best friend.
He was handsome, but Nero knew it and used it to his advantage whenever he could. Extra rations, first pick of new clothes, and special gifts from his many admirers.
I disliked this immensely because he accepted it all without any promise of returning their affections. This resulted in fights between friends and hurt feelings. Enough that my father had to step in and say something.
“No doubt,” I said, turning back to the work.
Karin groaned. “He’ll be even worse once he starts leading hunts.”
“What if he becomes the next Director?” I pointed out. “Then we’ll all have to do his bidding.
“Unless you two get married.” Her lips curled up into a smirk, then she winked. “I heard he has quite the thing for the current Director’s daughter.”
At this, I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t even completed training yet. Besides, I don’t want to get married anytime soon. It would just be a distraction at our age.”
I meant it too. Not that I had anything against marriage or kids, it just didn’t sound like anything I wanted to do now.
Before Karin could come up with a response, a young engineer named Josef Braid walked up to the table.
“Hello, ladies. How is the deconstruction going?” he asked pleasantly.
Josef had clearly been doing some deconstruction of his own, because his leather apron was splattered with flecks of blood and chunks of something I didn’t want to identify. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing pale forearms covered in more of the same. Partially obscured by gross matter were his blue markings. We all had them, in varying designs, and they allowed us to interact with the facilities.
“Great, we’re having a blast,” Karin responded, making a face as her fingers slipped in some of the juices.
“Hi, Josef. Making anything interesting?” I asked.
He was always tinkering with something in his little lab, working on new ways to use the fusion cores. I’d gone to him a few times for help on the weapon I was putting together for my upcoming scavenge and made a lot of progress.
“Not really,” he replied, frowning. “The fusion cores are getting harder to find and none of the collecting parties have come back with any information on the missing tritium core. Some still haven’t returned, and it’s been months.”
Several areas across all the facilities had suffered breakdowns and collapses over the years, and the third tritium core from the fauna facility was missing. After almost two thousand years of carrying the brunt of the systems, ours was depleting.
Janus estimated it would only last for another hundred or so years, a few more than that if we were lucky. This had hastened us to send groups out in search of the replacement.
Everyone came back empty handed except for tales of their trip. They told of an overgrown compound, ripe with danger. In recent months, some of the groups didn’t come back at all. No one knew if they had been killed, attacked by the wolves or Boneclaws, or if they had simply run off.
The latter seemed unlikely. Outside, the elements could kill quicker than the animals, and unpredictable storm cells could take visibility down to nothing in a matter of seconds.
I offered him a comforting smile and would have patted his shoulder, but I didn’t think he would appreciate the blood on my hands getting all over him.
“Don’t worry, Josef. We’re marking off sections as they’re cleared. Sooner or later, someone will find it,” I assured him.
“I hope you’re right, Miss Visaro.”
I’d told him to call me Lucia, but he always said Miss Visaro. Truth be told, I kind of liked it, though I would never admit it.
The power in the hangar flickered, then came back on.
“Hate when it does that,” murmured Karin.
She wasn’t alone. The power going out was something we all feared. With no natural lighting to speak of in the caves, it got awfully dark when the power glitched. It was uncomfortable going from seeing in one instant to blindness in the next.
That was another reason we’d begun collecting oil from the frost horns. We used it to make lamps, learning the technique from Janus’ records of ancient Earth. If the power was off for more than a few minutes, we had them as back-up.
“It’s happening more often,” said Josef, looking worried. “If this keeps up, we’re going to have to start rationing power and look at ways to reduce consumption.”
I looked up in alarm. “It’s that bad? Does my father know?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s not dire yet, and Janus’ calculations appear to be correct, but I don’t like it. Anyway, stop by later. I think I have an idea for your staff.”
“Alright, I will.”
When he was gone, Karin wiggled her eyebro
ws at his back, then elbowed me in the side. “I think Mr. Braid has a thing for Cyril Visaro’s daughter too.”
“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” I teased. “Reading too many of those old romance texts.”
“I’m telling you, Luce, you should try them. Very stimulating.”
I had to laugh. She’d roped me into reading one before and it had been too boring to finish.
“No thank you,” I said, shaking my head. “Give me hunting and scavenging any day.”
“Hey, I like that stuff too,” she said, a little on the defensive side. “I just enjoy a little romance on the side. One day, I do want to get married and have a couple white-haired angels running around.”
Finished with work, I chuckled, then grabbed a towel to get the worst of the muck off my hands. “Let’s go get cleaned up. We’re starting to smell.”
Later, when I had time to be alone and think, I found myself in one of the viewing rooms, digging through the archives.
For the rest of the day, people had been coming up to me with words of congratulations on my successful hunt. They’d all looked almost gleeful. I’d been asked to recount the story more than a few times, and by curfew, I was ready to pull my hair out.
I’d smiled and nodded, as had been expected, but for the first time since Selection training began, my heart wasn’t in it. The image of the mourning animals continued to plague my thoughts until I’d finally given up on sleep and come here.
It was a place I had come to often as a child, sneaking out of my room at night to look at holo images of ancient Earth. My Nana would tell me stories of the planet, though she had never been there. They were passed down from our ancestors, like so many others.
They told of deep blue water that sparkled from the rays of a sun that actually warmed the skin. Grass that wasn’t buried under a meter of snow. Weather that didn’t kill you if you stayed out for hours. She said people went outside for fun, to play and work and enjoy nature.
I didn’t see what was so special about going outside to do something. Some of the kids liked to play a game called tag ball.