Space Chronicles: The Last Human War

by Dean Sault

  Horde soldiers sensed victory and advanced into the last open field in front of the waiting Tanaracs when Vaal, the volcano at the center of the jungle, began to rumble. Sounds from deep inside her bowels grew so loud that all eyes on the battlefield turned to watch the belching giant. Ground shook violently, and Vaal’s rage grew until she began ejecting magma and ash high into the smoke-darkened sky. Strangely, massive lava-fireballs rained down, but only on the Karth positions, consuming Horde warriors by the dozen.

  The bewildered Karth retreated beyond range of the mountain’s fury and watched helplessly as a wall of fire spanned the rise between them and their intended victims. Three days passed before the wrath of Vaal subsided, and the protective wall of fire began to flicker out.

  Karth leaders amassed their forces, anxious to finish the conquest. Prospects of a quick victory emboldened the warriors who taunted their foes as they began marching forward.

  Tanarac women and children cried in terror. Everyone knew, if the enemy won, women would become slave consorts, and male children would be put to the sword. War-weary Tanarac soldiers tightened their lines, resolved to fight to the death.

  The Horde’s field general shook his head in contempt at the inferior Tanarac army. In his mind, they were unworthy of noble deaths. He gave the signal for his infantry to start their attack run. Enemy soldiers raised swords and crossed onto the still warm ground where the wall of fire had burned.

  A brilliant light suddenly knifed high into the sky from inside the edge of the jungle. It radiated with blinding intensity, rivaling even that of the second Tanarac sun. Karth infantrymen stopped their advance, while frightened Tanaracs edged away from the jungle where the strange light originated. A clear path opened from the forest edge nearest the glowing spire all the way to the Karth troops.

  Loose ferns parted at the dark edge to the jungle and a golden chariot emerged. Seven huge hicays, each bound in a harness of jungle vines, pulled the war wagon. The lost Tanarac child, now full grown, held the reigns.

  Over the years, the boy’s body transmuted into half-Tanarac, half-hicay. Unusually dark blue skin contrasted with long waves of golden hair that hung in loose ringlets from his head. Shorter tufts of blond fur covered his bare shoulders and back. His body rippled with muscles far greater in size than those of the best Tanarac athletes. Piercing eyes glistened like polished trill stones, the black gems of death traditionally buried with dead Tanarac spiritualists.

  Wheels creaked as the gleaming chariot slowly passed frightened Tanarac families and warriors. The charioteer ignored them. He guided his hicays onto open ground before the Karth warriors and stopped on a small rise half way between opposing forces.

  The beast boy made a sweeping visual scan from one end of the Karth line to the other. Then, with no outward command, his chariot surged directly into the nearest enemy troops. Fangs and claws of seven hicays joined the chariot master’s glistening sword to decimate entire enemy squads with each pass. The chariot easily breached enemy lines, and every Karth warrior who attempted a challenge was shredded by hicay claws or mortally sliced by the driver. Wave after wave of Karth invaders lived up to their reputation as fearless fighters. All died.

  The charioteer and his hicays defended Tanaracs with ruthless efficiency, surging back and forth through Horde ranks and leaving behind scores of dismembered soldiers. Karth arrows failed to penetrate thick fur of the hicays, and the charioteer’s mighty sword proved so fast as to cut arrows out of the air before they could reach his exposed flesh.

  Emboldened by their new ally, Tanarac defenders rushed forward to join battle against a rapidly deteriorating Karth army.

  By nightfall, the Karth Horde was no more. The world-nation of Tanarac rose from the ashes of that battle.

  Whatever happened to the glowing chariot?

  In the final moments of battle, it vanished. Several days passed when a Tanarac woman said she saw the chariot roll back into the jungle. It was never seen again.

  Tanaracs named the boy-beast Vaal-al, meaning son of Vaal, the fire-mountain.

  Even in modern times, Tanarac people revere the mountain of Vaal and the hicays of the Central Jungle. Such is their reverence that they made permanent, ancient laws caring for that jungle. It would never be explored or exploited. Its hicays would forever be protected, as long as they remained within their sanctuary. It became a holy place, never to be defiled.

  The legend foretold that Tanarac will someday face a terrible crisis, and Vaal-al’s glowing chariot will rise again to save their race.

  General Tragge shook his head in contempt at his tracker’s comparison of Simon, a mere human, to Vaal-al was thoroughly repugnant. The general scolded his officer for the analogy before issuing a few quick orders about secrecy. They left Quarry 33 abruptly.

  “Mark my words, Jix,” Dr. Hadje said. “General Tragge will use this runner event to press his agenda with the Council of Governors. What can I say to counter him? I don’t know. Regardless of how I couch current events, the general needs only to tell the truth. Indeed, a human attacked one of our people. There is no way to diffuse this bitter reality.”

  Chapter 7

  “Ow!” Simon cried out. The backs of his hands burned as if scratched by toxic thorns of a pyxt bush.

  He pushed out from under the fern and peered into the twilight looking for water to relieve the stinging. The vague shadow of a short plant sitting on the jungle floor nearby held some promise. Cone-shaped leaves opened upwards, and the base of each leaf widened into a rounded bulge. The young human had seen pictures of such plants and hoped it would hold water. In desperation, he plunged both hands down the throat of one of the larger leaves.

  Water!

  Things floating on its surface bumped his fingers, but that did not matter. Pain alone drove his action. Relief came quickly while his hands remained immersed in the cool fluid, but each time he pulled them out of the plant, the burning returned. After rinsing repeatedly, burning finally subsided to a tolerable, dull ache.

  Simon sat on the ground next to the water-filled plant and looked around his new home. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw more shades of green than he ever imagined possible.

  A few small water drops clung to the back of Simon’s hand. He instinctively touched them to his lips. Taskers made sure humans had plenty of water, especially on hot days, so he had never experienced real thirst.

  Returning to the leaf cups that had soothed his burning hands, he pulled open a leaf to see the water inside. Dead insects floated on the surface of muddy brown fluid. A pungent odor, one he did not notice in the rush to find relief for his hands, caused him to hesitate, but growing thirst demanded action.

  The young man sipped some rancid water cupped in his hands. He gagged. Despite needing fluids, he had not yet reached a point where he could overcome natural defenses against such terrible taste and smell.

  Water became his obsession. Tiny drops of water sprinkled down on him from the jungle canopy far above. He tilted his face upward with his mouth open to catch a few of the random drips. As he did, he noticed a dense layer of fog suspended in upper tree limbs. Moisture fell from leaves and branches as water condensed from the mist.

  In a few places, trickles of dew from several leaves combined to form tiny streamlets of pure water, spilling onto the jungle floor. The thirsty young man looked for the largest such rivulet and waited patiently as his mouth filled and cherished each swallow of cool water. The jungle’s newest inhabitant had discovered one of the most important jungle survival secrets.

  After quenching his thirst, Simon leaned against a giant tree to gather his thoughts.

  “What was I thinking?” he chastised himself aloud. “I can’t believe I did this.”

  For a fleeting moment, the idea of finding his way back to the Tasker compound and its safety seemed reasonable, but, then, he cringed at the notion.

  He thought back to childhood classes. One was on the origin of civilizations. Basic essential
s drove early cultures, needs that made sense to him in this new world. A crude survival plan formed, one borrowed from those ancient people.

  “Water. Food. Shelter,” he said to himself and looked up at the fog-shrouded canopy. “I’ve got water covered. Food . . . I need food.”

  He tasked his memory for food ideas.

  There ought to be plenty to eat in this plant-rich environment, he thought.

  As diffused light from the second sun began penetrating depths of the jungle, Simon came across a well-worn game trail.

  Animals move between food sources.

  The strong, young boom operator crawled along the trail under a thick wall of vines hanging down from the decaying trunk of a long-dead hardwood tree. On the other side, he saw the unmistakable six-pedal flower of a parasitic, Sloh-dha plant growing from a crack in the back of an old tree. These plants were widespread on Tanarac and often farmed for their sweet stalks. Leathery skin itself was not edible, but tender pulp inside was almost pure sugar when ripe.

  Hungry drove him to rip a stalk off the plant, tear through its green-and-black striped, protective sheath and bite into the exposed pulp. He winced. Bitterness was nothing like the sweet food he sampled in school.

  Thinking water was readily available, and shelter not a major concern during this mild time of year, food became his obsession. Weakness was setting in.

  Despite being surrounded by plants, it was difficult to know which ones were edible. He saw vines with odd-looking pods, small bushes covered with brightly colored flowers and short-stalk plants with thick bulbs at their base. He thought back. Basic rules from botany class about identifying edible plants slowly came to him.

  Poison fruits have red coloring in their flowers or skin. He mentally reviewed the rules. Edible fruits tend to grow on tall bushes or small trees.

  As he pressed his memory, more information surfaced.

  Ground-based fruits are often toxic to ensure their survival. Plants with thorns are usually edible, as they rely on thorns for survival instead of toxins. Yes, it’s coming back.

  Simon continued his journey along the game trail, keeping close watch for anything that might satisfy his growing criterion for edible food.

  Morning fog burned off early. Every so often, a bright ray of sunshine miraculously found its way through thick layers of jungle canopy to appreciative plants below. Most of the larger trees leaned away from the direction of the morning sun as they grew toward the greater sunlight achieved during afternoons. Even when Simon could not see sunlight, leaning tree trunks helped him maintain a constant direction to the east, farther away from captivity.

  Hours passed, and the young man’s pace increased as hunger deepened.

  Familiar noises came from nearby. It was a family of tree-dwelling Chik Chiks. He enjoyed the antics of these little creatures many times in the quarry’s holo-image zoo. Common to most jungles on Tanarac, they thrived on a diet of fruit—fruit he knew was also edible by humans.

  He parted a veil of tangled vines, looking for the source of the noise. There, in a small clearing, a single Topi tree stood in the middle of a slim beam of sunlight. Its branches bowed nearly to the ground under the weight of ripe fruit.

  Agitated Chik Chiks scampered in circles on the upper branches as the hungry young man approached. One small brown creature charged down from the top of the tree to spit at the human intruder, before scurrying back to safety on higher reaches.

  Ignoring protests from the harmless animals, Simon plucked one of the nearest fruit. Its dark green skin easily tore open exposing dozens of pink and yellow seeds. Each seed, the size of his small fingernail, burst in his mouth, releasing their energy and juice. He swallowed both fluid and pulp, eating fistfuls of sweet seeds at a time.

  Driven by hunger, he tore down a branch with a dozen fruit pods and sat on the ground, eating as fast as he could peel back rinds. Gorging continued until he grew uncomfortably full. The natural sugar-based seeds quickly restored his energy.

  “That was good. Thanks for sharing,” he said and gave a mock salute to angry Chik Chiks.

  Simon felt more alive than ever before. He basked in the sounds, sights and smells of the jungle. Flush with confidence from finding a food supply, he turned his attention to his slowly evolving survival plan.

  “What do you fellas think?” he said to nearby Chik-Chik companions. “I’ve got food and water in this area. Maybe I should build a shelter here and get to know the area. You want me as your neighbor?”

  Simon looked around for the most suitable way to build a shelter when a distant howl, from deep in the jungle, shattered his train of thought.

  Hicay!

  Chapter 8

  During his search for food, Simon forgot about the master predators. New urgency gripped him. Hunting sounds had come from the west. He pulled two branches off the tree, each laden with a dozen ripe fruit pods, and slung them over his shoulder before heading directly opposite the hicay wail. While traveling, he looked for anything that might be used as a weapon—a rock, a heavy stick—anything to fight off a hicay.

  He used all his youthful strength to sustain a torrid pace. After he did not hear hicay cries for quite some time, he decided it was safe to take a break. His brutal pace consumed fluids and energy. Fortunately, his supply of Topi seeds provided both.

  “Food’s not my biggest problem,” he said to himself after seeing several more fruit trees, each loaded with ripe fruit.

  During his school years, a Tanarac biology teacher described how hicays hunt and explained the animal’s physiology. He prepared his students in case they ever ran into a hicay in a quarry.

  The teacher had said, “Safety is on top of a stripper plow. Heavy carnivores cannot jump that high or lift their body mass enough to climb ladders.”

  An idea formed. Simon would join the Chik-Chik tree dwellers off the ground. He began studying trees as he traveled, seeking those that would get him safely off the jungle floor. Most were little more than tall bushes, certainly unable to stand up to the fury of an angry hicay. He needed large, thicker trees that acted as pillars for the top canopy far above.

  That’s it. At the first sign of a hicay, I’ll climb the nearest hardwood tree.

  Simon penetrated deep into the Central Jungle, sustaining the fastest pace he could. Thirst became a persistent problem, and he realized he would not have another gulp of fresh water until the fog returned that night. Fresh fruit was his only source of liquids, so the young man adjusted his pace to match his limited fluid intake.

  At nightfall, he located a large hardwood tree and used its uneven bark and thick vines as handholds to scale its massive trunk. He stopped at the first major branching, a bit higher than the top of a stripper plow and settled in for the approaching night. The uncomfortable limb made his legs lose circulation, forcing him to stand on the branch periodically, until his legs felt better.

  What if I fall asleep?

  Vines wrapped the tree trunk from the ground to the canopy above. Each heavy vine split into thin shoots, traveling out along the big tree’s major branches.

  Several small vines tore free easily, and, stripped off the leaves, they braided into crude rope, tethers he used to tie himself into his lofty perch. As last light ebbed, Simon fumbled with empty seedpods he had saved throughout the day.

  Noises seemed louder at night. It surprised him how much animal activity there was after dark. His acute hearing detected the subtle snap of a twig below. Some heavy ground-dweller foraged in the dark directly beneath his sanctuary.

  The close howl of a hicay pierced the night. Deep grunts and sounds of a violent struggle followed as an unseen victim fought for its life. Three fierce predator calls later, the clash ended. Total silence set in.

  Simon shivered but was not cold. He tugged at his safety harness for reassurance before sleep overpowered his exhausted body.

  The life-giving fog reformed during the night, and he awoke to the splatter of water on his ear. He unconsciously cocke
d his head, mouth open, to capture some of the precious liquid. Buttocks tingled from being in one position on the hard limb all night. He made a mental note to figure out a better way to spend nights in the trees. Stretching as best he could, he waited for safe light to descend.

  As darkness began to lift, Simon reached into his utility pockets and withdrew several empty fruit skins. The previous day, he carefully extracted seeds using only a small round hole at the top of each pod. He positioned one of the empty fruit skins directly under the nearest rivulet of water. When it was full, he gently tightened a tiny vine around its opening to seal the water inside.

  After stowing the small, improvised water-pouch in one of his empty tool pockets, he repeated the process with some of his remaining seedpods. No single pod held much water, but he knew this collective supply would make a big difference in his travel. After tossing leftover skins into the clearing below, he looked down the tree’s trunk for handholds.

  Strange quiet filled the jungle. Simon hesitated, having experienced the same feeling before Adam was attacked. He scanned the clearing below and noticed subtle movement under a short bush at the far side. A long gray snout with stiff whiskers popped out near its base. The muzzle of a harmless chukka alternated between sniffing the air and nosing under moss for edibles.

  The pudgy creature followed its nose toward the base of Simon’s tree. When it found one of the discarded seedpods, it began eating noisily. The chukka suddenly froze, even its whiskers stopped moving. Nothing moved. The entire jungle seemed on alert.

  Silence-shattering screams exploded below him as a hicay lurched around the base of the hardwood tree and pounced on the frantic jungle pig. This was the second time he witnessed a hicay kill.

  The carnivore only needed two powerful slashes from its forearm claws to disembowel the Chukka. It circled the dying animal several times before seizing its throat and lifting the entire jungle pig off the ground. Carrying the heavy prey into the brush, the hicay made no effort at stealth as it headed north with its still moving fresh meat.