However, none did he eat. For how was he to know which of the primitives would become the enlightened? To which species would he bereft his knowledge and the power of language?
The Light Bearer interacted with each living thing that crossed his path, testing the capacity for intellectual growth. None fit the description he’d been promised before leaving Huron. All offered blank stares, empty eyes, and souls void of understanding. Those who attempted to eat him, he killed with the blaster. Their blood stained the earth as witness to his growing barbarism. Eyo Two-Suns, the academic who’d lived on Huron, would not have dreamt of killing. But Eyo was no longer alive. Only the Light Bearer remained—the lone carrier of a power beyond the imagination of Argon-12’s uncivilized beasts. Language, speech, and written signs—gifts to a virgin world millions of years behind the advanced Huron race—would die with him…unless he could signal the distress beacon and receive aid from beyond the stars. It was unlikely and far flung. But Eyo hoped.
As he trekked the dark depths and treacherous jungle terrain, the Light Bearer sensed a familiar tingle. Dread lingered throughout anxious nights and stalked him all through the shadowed days beneath the forest canopy. No animal he’d seen had possessed the power of reason. Yet, even so, he couldn’t shake the growing intuition that a cunning being followed him—out of sight, imitating his movements and tracking his progress.
After leaving the rainforest, the Light Bearer crossed marshlands toward mountain regions. The crests, painted white at their peaks, hovered above dead vegetation. Bitter streams wove through leafless trees. Grassless fields blossomed no flowers nor scenery of vibrant colors. All was dull, grey, and lifeless.
The Light Bearer essayed the tallest mountaintop, estimating the elevation and distance. The beacon remained in his possession, strapped across his back using a vine from the jungle. He adjusted the poncho, lowered his visor, and began his journey into the silent valley as thick fog descended from the highland slopes.
No winged creatures chirped. Only Eyo moved, hiking toward the mountainous cliffs as a pale substance rained from the frigid sky. Its flakes covered the countryside in a white blanket. It crunched under his feet and made the climb difficult. When he licked the flurries off his hand, frigidity melted on his tongue. The precipitation was good to eat yet offered no sustenance. The Light Bearer raised his forearm to shield the gale and continued his ascent.
Then, suddenly, he smelled it. His prowler. The creature that had followed him since the jungle’s edge. It was closer now. The Light Bearer checked the blaster’s remaining ammunition. Two shots. One for the stalker. The last for himself, should the situation require it.
Winter’s talons gnashed the rocky terrain as the Light Bearer slunk through ravines with the blaster in hand, jumping at the slightest hint of a crouching predator. He plodded his own path, one marked by an aimless sense of direction.
The Light Bearer toiled on the ridge until sunlight faded and the mountain bowed beneath the stars. The priests, scientists, and oligarchs of his home planet had professed their research and proof of possible evolutionary leaps on Argon-12. The Light Bearer had yet to establish their beliefs as solid truth. He remained alone, not just in race, but also in mind. That changed when he made camp for the night.
After amassing a bundle of kindling in a shallow cave, the Light Bearer set about stacking the sticks while the smell of his follower lingered in the unfriendly air. The blaster sat next to his knees as he knelt next to the cache of dead leaves and brown sticks. Bony fingers caressed two rocks and slapped them together, striking again and again until sparking a flame in the pit. Smoke curled. And as the Light Bearer blew slowly on the growing flame, he heard the first utterance from the stalker. It was a whoop, long and clear.
He snatched the blaster and pointed it to the grotto’s opening, ready to shoot at the slightest movement. All was quiet for a short time as the wood popped and the flame grew. Light soaked from the belly of the hollow and penetrated the darkness beyond. That’s when he saw it. Two oval, luminous specs reflected the firelight. The beast hooted again, and the Light Bearer nearly pulled the trigger. Gradually, with hesitation and caution, the beast crept toward the edge of the glow. As the darkness receded, the Light Bearer was able to make out the creature’s form.
It was a biped. A two-legged being covered in hair. Two large, muscular arms hung at its sides. The creature’s face was flat, with a small nose containing two flaring nostrils. Its hands had five fingers, one more than that of the Lighter Bearer’s green-skinned species. It lowered to all four limbs, approaching with intense curiosity. The Light Bearer kept the blaster trained on the organism's form. Was this the biped type professed by the Huron scientists? Could this be the unique entity on Argon-12 capable of evolutionary breakthrough?
He couldn’t be certain, yet never in his journey across the terrain had the Light Bearer encountered such a creature. It seemed attracted to the fire’s heat as its black eyes marveled at the substance. Seemingly transfixed, it ignored the Light Bearer and approached the flame with finger extended. The result sent the biped scampering away, nursing a burnt appendage. Guttural sounds and grunts emanated from its primitive lips. A thick tongue clicked sharp teeth and made noises that the Light Bearer took to be some sort of communication.
The Huronian’s memory returned. He was an expert in primitive languages. Yes. He would, after years of study, be able to translate the beast’s mannerism and dialect. Certainly this new interaction would mean the culmination of his life’s work. Wouldn’t it also ensure that Explorer One’s crew hadn’t died in vain? If there was one biped, there must be others. Elderly, family units, and little ones with highly-impressionable brains. Could this be the species the priests had said would, in time, inherit the Huronian enlightenment?
The Light Bearer lowered the blaster. Firelight danced upon the cave wall as the inarticulate mammal fearlessly edged back toward the fire. Its eyes locked on the Light Bearer’s.
A sense of peace, long absent, flooded his chest. He would not die uselessly. The Huron named Eyo would pass on his gift of knowledge and foster this raw species with reason and intellect. They would inherit his skills and scholarly resources. The academic surged within the forefront of the Light Bearer’s mind. Indeed, he had been scholar of speech, writing, and teaching on Huron. Now, he was the most intelligent being on a planet. A perpetual god to the primitive beast that imitated his hand gestures and sitting position by the fire.
Days passed as a winter storm raged outside the cave, making further ascent an impossible endeavor. Bunkered in the hollow with an unwelcome guest, the Light Bearer considered his options. He could continue the climb and attempt the distress call, or, he could stay in the grotto until the weather cleared. The large biped displayed no signs of leaving the hollow. It sat at the edge of the entrance each day, studying the Light Bearer while impersonating his movements, sounds, and mannerisms. The professor often smiled at this, thrilled at the evolutionary breakthrough happening fifty feet away. Each night he assembled firewood from his dwindling supply and sparked kindling by striking two rocks. The biped mimicked the motion, whooping when the flame simmered and consumed the wood. It would then slink toward the heat, basking in the fire’s orange glow.
The guest gave no signs of intending harm, nor did it attempt to attack the Light Bearer, who often shared grub from his stores of plants and nuts. The beast nibbled with delight, flashing yellow fangs behind fat lips. Gradually, the brute gained confidence and spent each day a little closer to the Light Bearer, who marveled at the creature’s curiosity and early signs of cerebral potential. Surely this was a being in which he could invest his efforts while awaiting the Huronian rescue ships. By the time help arrived, he would have proven himself a capable teacher, rearing this ingrate into a state of competent communication. Then, he’d be promoted to the head of Argon-12’s linguistics division. His family would be honored back on Huron.
The Light Bearer took to naming his guest “Tak
a-Ugon,” meaning “smelly child” in Huronian dialect. When the firewood supply ran low, Taka-Ugon followed the Light Bearer from the cave and copied the operation of snapping tree limbs and scooping twigs into its arms. It followed the alien back to the grotto, grunting with pleasure when the efforts were rewarded with warm flames.
The Light Bearer imagined the process and the years it would possibly require furthering the hairy biped’s linguistic capabilities. Where had it come from? The jungle, most likely. And were there others? Of course. It was only logical. Yet why had this creature followed him without attacking? Perhaps it, too, was lonely or an outcast. Was his species evolved to possess a tribal mentality? If so, it was a logical conclusion to assert Taka-Ugon as either a scout or an exile. In time, the Light Bearer would learn the truth.
Weeks had passed in which the Light Bearer began a regime of instruction upon his new student. He used soot from the fire to paint symbols and letters on the cave walls, laying the groundwork for the beast’s eventual leap toward hieroglyphic associations. The work was tedious and often fruitless, but the Light Bearer proceeded with patience. Taka-Ugon sat nearby and watched his host scratch strange things on the walls while imitating the movements of writing. When the Light Bearer tried teaching it words and their meaning, he was met with a blank stare, ignorant eyes, and a child-like fascination. Bliss reigned in the creature’s psyche. Only time would tell if it, or its offspring, would develop into competent communicators.
Yet, even if his student never evolved, the Light Bearer deemed his efforts worthwhile. Taka-Ugon proved to be a favorable companion; a pet worth feeding and indulging with attention. Where were the others? Would they be as friendly? If they found the cave, would they, too, bow to the power of the Light Bearer’s fire? Or, would they rebel against his existence? These questions and more plagued the Light Bearer during restless sleep spent upon the uneven stone floor. Each night, he curled next to the fading embers with the blaster in hand, watching Taka-Ugon snore at the far end of the cavern. Alighting the beacon was the Light Bearer’s priority. And he wouldn’t survive another trek with only two shots of blaster ammunition.
The time for decision approached when one day, without warning or provocation, Taka-Ugon left the cave and didn’t return. The Light Bearer waited a full day before giving a small search. He followed its tracks to the base of the cliff, but the hunt proved futile. The winter snow had ceased, and the temperature displayed a small rise. Would it be clear enough for another climb? The Light Bearer assessed the steep, rocky slope. The trek would be slow and tedious; an exercise in strength, stamina, and fortitude—skills his body had developed in the course of his journey to the mountain but had lost during the lazy days of sitting in the cave. Even so, the time was ripe. It was now or never. The hope of rescue was worth the risk.
He inspected the distress beacon’s metal structure and determined it was still in quality condition. With the blaster at his hip and the poncho over his shoulder, the Huronian made preparations. He’d use the remaining firewood that night and would break camp at dawn. By the evening sun, he would be high enough on the peak to activate the beacon and send the signal. Then, he’d return to the cave and later journey toward a fairer climate until his rescue arrived. The plan would work. Even if help never entered Argon-12’s atmosphere, the Light Bearer could die knowing that he’d expired all possibilities. He would pass with honor, having fulfilled his duty as a teacher and an emissary of Huron’s ideals.
The night before his climb, the Light Bearer burned the last of his cache of firewood, watching yellow light dance upon the cave wall’s primitive art. His eyes sagged, dull and heavy. He hadn’t slept much while Taka-Ugon had been his visitor. The fear of being eaten or attacked had been too great. But since the wayward student hadn’t returned, the Light Bearer allowed himself much needed rest. He’d need ample energy for his new journey.
Darkness overshadowed the cave as sleep overtook the Light Bearer. He slumbered for what seemed seconds, awaking to the sound of chattering teeth and clamorous grunts. A foul smell seized his nostrils as tired eyes fluttered open, groggy and blurry in the cave’s poor lighting. The fire’s glow had dimmed, but the intruders’ forms were clear enough. Taka-Ugon had returned, bringing other guests with him. The brutes were just as hairy and pungent as the Light Bearer’s student, but possessed greater height, broader shoulders, and wider hands. If Taka-Ugon had indeed been a scout, these must have been its superiors, having traveled to witness what their tribesman had discovered.
The Light Bearer’s hand jolted toward the blaster, wrapping cold fingers around the trigger. His heart pounded as his pulse galloped. Sweat trickled from his glands. His nostrils flared.
One of the larger beasts held the distress beacon in its hands. It turned it over, sniffing and licking its metallic frame.
Steady, Eyo. Easy.
The blaster raised. The beast opened its jaws, attempting to press the device against its teeth. Technology, millions of years beyond the beast’s comprehension, suddenly beeped. The Light Bearer gasped. The signal button had been pressed. In several short passes of the clock, the battery would drain.
His hand fondled the trigger. Taka-Ugon glanced toward him, uttering a shrill cry. The third intruder poked the fire, burning its fingers. It yelped, scaring the massive brute that held the distress beacon. A piercing wail erupted from the metal box, followed by a red flashing light. The beast panicked. And as the box clanged against the stone floor, the primitive biped reared balled fists.
The Light Bearer yelled. Metal crumpled. Roan lights flickered. The siren whimpered. A frail finger pulled the trigger, sending a scarlet flash into the beacon’s assailant. The laser tore a hole in the brute’s flesh, dropping it to the cave floor. Taka-Ugon and its remaining partner froze. The Light Bearer panted. Explorer One’s last remaining hope of rescue had been destroyed. One shot remained in the blaster.
The Light Bearer cursed Taka-Ugon. The sudden jump to his feet startled the two bipeds, who backed toward the cave entrance, snarling with large fangs and pounding their chests.
Firelight faded. The Light Bearer aimed the blaster. But, before he could pull the trigger, the two monsters sprang upon him. He crashed to the floor, pummeled by their raining fists. Their teeth tore his skin and ripped his bones. Pure azure blood dripped upon the cave floor as the blaster slipped from the Light Bearer’s grasp and clattered from his reach.
He rasped, attempting to breathe with fractured ribs and a broken neck. Luminance darkened in emerald eyes as the two assailants thumped their chests and chortled victory cries. They left him alone to breathe his last, observing as the larger mammal huddled next to Taka-Ugon. It grunted as the smaller mammal smacked two stones together, igniting the spark of flame.
Jo Niederhoff
Jo Niederhoff is a writer and preschool teacher most often found either on the outskirts of Denver or somewhere deep inside her own mind.
Her work has appeared in anthologies by Black Hare Press, along with Dragon Soul Press's Spirit anthology. While she has no plans to go into space herself, the concept of space fascinates her and one of her favorite pastimes is reminding herself how large the universe is; followed by a quiet breakdown because the answer is always "slightly too large".
Some credit for this (and for her geekiness in general) must go to her parents, for letting her watch Star Trek when she wasn't even old enough to read.
Learn more at Facebook.com/Jo.Niederhoff
No One Knows Where You’ve Been
Jo Niederhoff
The second thing Valentina thought as the rocket shook around her and she imagined at any moment she would tear through the blue of the sky and expose whatever lay beyond it, was a desperate prayer.
Please, please, don’t let me die here.
Below her, on that Earth, crowds watched the rocket carry her up. There was no singular moment when she broke through the sky and vanished from sight. The rocket merely grew smaller and smaller, a blur of light be
coming a speck. Then she was gone.
The first thing she thought, back on the launchpad, waiting for ignition, was an echo of what had been said years before.
Poyekheli.
The first thing Valentina Tereshkova said once she had broken through the sky to hover above it was, “It is I, Seagull.”
Ya-Chaika.
Her voice was her own: calm and collected. She was not there to compose poems. All she needed was to tell everyone she was alive and could see from one end of the world to the other.
But there was poetry in that, wasn’t there? She had risen screaming into the sky like an eastern star. The air had beaten against her, rocking her little ship from side to side with winds stronger than any she had imagined before. Even her parachute jumps had been nothing compared to the speed she now faced.
But the Earth was beautiful. The sky was a brilliant blue line, which grew darker the closer it was to the planet. From so high above, the roiling white clouds looked almost tranquil. There was Russia, stretching out beneath her, but already she could see the rest of Europe to the west and Asia to the south. She was moving fast; soon she saw the ocean, then the Americas, and then she would swoop over Russia again. On and on she would go, fifty times maybe, before she returned.
There was poetry in this. If she were a poet, she would know what to do with it.
The very first thing she did, while she still rose, tearing through the air and leaving fire behind her, was give a wild, eager cry as though her heart had slipped past her brain to control her mouth and throat.
“I’m on my way!” she cried.
And she was.
Space Bound: A Dragon Soul Press Anthology Page 31