The Fifth Civilization: A Novel

by Peter Bingham-Pankratz

  “One of you kill it,” Grinek whispered. “Then we’ll take it back to the Hanyek. It will be the dinner for the four of us, the first hunters of Somoresh.” The soldier who spotted the creature raised his rifle, which was long and bulky, and rested it on his forearm.

  Shortly, there was a green blast that struck the beast in the kill zone near the heart. With a cry, it collapsed into the brush. The burst itself thundered throughout the stillness of the forest.

  “Excellent work,” Grinek congratulated, the name of this particular soldier unknown to him. That didn’t quite matter, since the soldier who had made the shot raised his chin in triumph. He would surely remember that he had killed the first beast on this planet. “You three, fetch that animal. We will consider it a trophy of the hunt.” They obliged him immediately. While they were busy with that, Grinek took in a 360-degree view of his surroundings. No one was rushing to them. No one had noticed the shot. He faced the direction where the Hanyek sat and waited for his men to gather their bounty.

  Daylight, and the fog, rolled through the forest. Two Mountains and his followers were cautiously working their way through the woods, knowing that the shroud of the mist was the ideal cover for an ambush, either by the Gohorma or by kegars. Since it was daytime as well, they knew they should almost be in the Sun Valley. Whatever they’d seen glowing in the trees was certain to be close by.

  A flash of green. Brighter than any leaf or shrub, almost as bright as the sun. It was far ahead of them—accompanied by a sound of a crash and something falling to the ground.

  Two Mountains held up his hands. All halted. Everyone had seen the flash and heard the sound. If one of the party was still skeptical about the lights in the night sky, and perhaps was not swayed by the loud roar overhead or the glowing light in the forest, they now knew that something ethereal was in their midst. Some warriors drew their weapons. Two Mountains gripped his bow, pulling the string taut and aiming it at the woods ahead of them. There were faint noises ahead of them. Leaves crashing. Some growls.

  Was there some beast afoot that could shine a green light?

  “I’m advancing!” Two Mountains whispered. Out of curiosity, and also because of the honor of not running away from the fight, the others followed Two Mountains. Their spears were extensions of their bodies, their bows the vanguards of their being. Finally, as daylight came upon them, they had come across what they sought. Every footstep brought them into the mist, closer to the sounds. They moved slowly, as if stalking.

  Soon outlines became visible in the fog.

  ***

  “Commander!” one of the soldiers shouted. Grinek had heard the noises for about a minute, thinking it was his men in the leaves, but then realized the sounds signaled something much more numerous. He turned to his men and the fallen ungulate. Shapes moved through the woods.

  ***

  One creature was recognizable, the dead grassa on the ground. The other four were not: they were very tall, about the same height as a grassa but standing on two bent legs, almost like normal people. They also had tails, though ones thicker than Two Mountains and his warriors. What Two Mountains presumed were their heads were angular, with long noses and upright, feathery ears. They held huge branches or spears in their hands, possibly clubs. On their bodies were what looked like cloth.

  They certainly weren’t people. And they certainly weren’t animals.

  Two Mountains had never been so mystified in his twenty-odd years. He kept his arrow trained on the figures. He saw the whites of their round eyes dart around as the creatures reacted to the hunting party moving toward them. Two Mountains maintained his position at the head of his party, his warriors forming a half-circle around the beings. He could feel his own tail throbbing with anxiety.

  Were these messengers from God? Or demons?

  ***

  Roughly two-dozen warriors stood before them in a half circle. They were inching closer, forming a noose around the four commandos. These were not any alien known to science: they were vaguely canine, with thin bodies and short tails with furry bulbs at the end. Silky brown hair covered much of their bodies. Their eyes were small and narrow, like many of the Earthmen Grinek encountered when he was last in Tokyo.

  Natives, Grinek instantly realized. He aimed his pistol at his foes. They probably wouldn’t recognize that as a hostile act, so he had no fear of a reaction. But what was the intention of these beings? Were they hostile or curious? Something seemed especially primitive about them, with their use of animal skins as clothing and the bows and arrows they held in their hands. Evidently, they were a warrior culture, much like Grinek’s own. So there was at least one thing redeeming about them.

  But even the most fearsome primitive warrior was no match for a Kotaran. Each Kotaran stood side-by-side with each other, covering an end of the half-circle in front of them.

  ***

  The creatures had no apparent weapons. This being the case, Two Mountains wondered how they had felled the grassa. Clearly, there was no way he could find out who they were and what they were doing unless he studied them more—or unless he tried communicating directly.

  He relaxed his bow and moved out of his fighting stance. This move got the attention of the creatures, as they all directed their attention at him, pointing their clubs in his direction. Still hesitant about getting too close, Two Mountains stepped briefly ahead of his alert comrades. He bowed slightly, his arms outstretched.

  “Welcome,” he said. There was no reply, and the creatures looked almost blank in their reaction. If they were from God, would they not speak the language of the divine one’s people?

  “We are tribesmen from Hedda,” Two Mountains said. “I am Two Mountains. Please, tell me who you are.” Still there was nothing from these strangers. Two Mountains sensed that not even a spear could cut the tension between the warriors and these creatures. A decision must be made about what to do, and quickly.

  ***

  The native who stepped out said something. Complete gibberish, of course, but this action was useful to Grinek because it indicated who the leader was. All the better. Grinek kept his pistol pointed, and noticed how the leader was not advancing beyond a few paces ahead of his line. Obviously, he kept his distance because he expected an attack. An attack from his own side, with a hail of spears and arrows.

  How primitive and foolish these natives were. They were obviously not the relatives of Kotarans, or at least not the ones waiting for their children to return. Looking at their thin bodies and meager weapons, Grinek could only conclude yet again that Kotarans were on the final end of the evolutionary scale. These natives had possibly been around for millions of years, and yet they were so simple as to make their intentions transparent! That was always an advantage for the more superior culture. Grinek reasoned he could pass himself off as a god, but he thought that might require too much effort. He could always be a deity with another tribe.

  “Men, when I holster my weapon, fire on these natives.”

  “Yes, Commander!”

  ***

  Two Mountains reasoned that the tall creature holding a shiny rock toward him was their leader, because his actions were independent of all the others. Their movements were much like those of people, and Two Mountains believed that they must have been some kind of people themselves. If they were messengers from Heaven, or even from across the vast lake said to be on the other side of the valley, he still wanted to know.

  “Why have you come to us?” Two Mountains asked. “Are you from God?” The tall creature said something Two Mountains did not understand. Again, it sounded like growling, as if from a temulen or grassa or kegar. There were sounds and syllables and probably words, but it was not a language Two Mountains understood, and he knew the languages of some neighboring nations.

  Part of Two Mountains wanted to walk up to the creatures and gauge their reaction that way. Perhaps physical contact might spur some better communication. His other half won out, however—it said to back away quickl
y. The memory of the thunderous bird earlier, and the green flash and the dead grassa, came quickly to him, and when the lead creature placed the shiny rock to his side Two Mountains froze. Then he dropped to the ground. As he did, he saw the three other creatures twitch and move their clubs.

  ***

  Rapid-fire bursts shot in every direction. On Grinek’s orders, the soldiers fired into the natives with bolt after neon bolt.

  Many fell immediately, and there was much panic among the ranks of warriors that faced them. A few arrows and spears were let off, but most natives seemed to have collapsed into the brush, burned along with the leaves and tree trunks they stood amid. None comprehended what felled them.

  Grinek saw the lead native fall to the ground and roll, disappearing into the vanishing mist before Grinek could aim.

  Something fell beside Grinek. The Commander crouched low, seeing no remaining natives, and twisted his body to see what the thump was. One of his soldiers, the one who shot the ungulate, had been felled with an arrow to the eye. Both remaining soldiers crouched to inspect the body, ogling more than mourning. The soldier was unmoving; the arrow was deep in his eye, probably having reached the brain.

  “What was his name?” Grinek asked. One soldier appeared shocked by the question, but quickly regained his composure.

  “Miyel, Commander,” he answered in a hushed tone, if the natives could hear.

  “Remember Miyel, then,” Grinek replied. He stood and holstered his pistol. “Miyel was the first Kotaran to both die and be murdered on this planet. Once we have conquered this area we will rename this forest in his honor.” The soldiers seemed satisfied at that, and Grinek checked off another propaganda coup for the people back home. He peered into the forest, where the fog was clearing. There were no sign of any more natives.

  Grinek flicked out his com and dialed Roh. “Specialist, follow the coordinates of this transmission and come find me. There has been a stunning development on this planet.”

  “What is it, Commander?”

  “There is most definitely life here. And it is hostile.” He moved his head to the sound of a crow, catching only a glimpse of it as it moved from the treetops. “We have one provision to return to the ship, as well as several corpses.”

  “Corpses, Commander?”

  “Yes. One of them Kotaran, and the rest will serve as specimens.”

  ***

  In the calm of the forest, the disruptive firefight was easily heard for miles. Roan and Sundar Kher, the forward scouts for the last remnants of the Colobus, had followed the noises and managed to set up a recon position hidden by bushes and shrubbery. They were aided in finding the source of the shooting when a Kotaran shuttle landed in a clearing in the woods. Through the binoculars, Sundar reported making out the figures of several Kotarans milling around near the landed vessel. They were loading it with sacks of an undetermined nature.

  “Let me see,” Roan said. He traded the rifle for the binoculars, putting them to his eyes as Sundar leaned the weapon against the bush. The tiny lenses made out the Kotarans, including the relatively short one that Roan had now burned into his memory, Commander Grinek.

  The one who had killed Aaron.

  The one that had blown up Kel.

  Grinek was observing some objects being loaded onto the shuttle. At first, Roan thought they were sacks. Then he noticed they had the distinct shape of a being, with arms, legs, and long, thin bodies. Their skin, dark brown, made their exact features hard to distinguish, blending in with the trees that surrounded them. A lot of killing had just taken place.

  “Sundar, I think the Kotarans already made first contact with the natives.”

  Chapter 38

  “Demons! Warriors of the darkness!”

  All Roar thrashed about as the doctor dressed his wounds. Two Mountains hushed him, praying his second would shut up. Anyone could be listening, worst of all…those creatures. On the warrior’s leg was a burn larger than a fist, caused by the lightning club of the things they’d encountered. Each time the doctor touched the wound, All Roar cried out through gritted teeth. He and Two Mountains were some of the lucky ones. Only six others survived the ordeal, with two of those wounded—the rest had fallen to the men from the mist.

  “We shouldn’t make assumptions,” Two Mountains said. “Yes, they could be demons, or they could be something else. Angels from God, even.”

  “Would a god do this?” All Roar gestured to his leg, now being cared to by his female addresser with a handful of gigelin leaf. The doctor tightened a string around the leg, holding the leaf in place. All Roar grunted but seemed resigned to the remedy.

  “Perhaps you should search your heart and ask if you’ve done anything wrong,” Two Mountains said in jest. That only made All Roar angrier, but there was nothing the second could do through all the pain. To suggest you had angered God was a great insult. You might as well have called someone worthless. But while that ordinarily might have led to a fight, All Roar and the others let the comment slide. Their party was devastated enough. Most of the warriors sat on rocks, with heads buried in their hands or looking distantly off in the trees. Silent prayer was their custom, because God, after all, paid attention to thoughts. Two Mountains hoped God was listening to his thoughts, and perhaps sent some inspiration his way.

  “Caves,” Two Mountains said aloud. The warriors looked at him.

  While the area they were in was far beyond their tribe’s territory, it had been explored before. The rocky, cream-white cliffs in the distance were familiar from the stories Two Mountains had heard. They gave the Sun Valley its name, and were said to contain caves to shelter in while hunting. Their distant ancestors were also said to have once dwelled in them. Getting there would take some effort, but since it was getting late, the cliffs the only logical place to spend the sunlight period.

  “We have an hour’s hike.” Two Mountains said this as if it was an observation, and began gathering his scattered weapons. The other warriors, still in shock, moved lethargically. “Come, all of you! We will dress your wounds in the caves! Don’t you think sleep is important, too? Otherwise we won’t be able to fight against these creatures!” As they were told, the surviving party members began marching with alacrity, muscles and joints burning. Spears and bows were gathered and harnessed, and soon all were standing, even the wounded ones, save for All Roar.

  “Please, Two Mountains,” All Roar begged. “If they wanted to kill us they could’ve done so by now. We have to rest here.”

  “I do not know their tactics. At this moment, they might be hunting us, or have lost us for the moment but are still looking. To sit still is to invite death.” Two Mountains gestured toward the second. “Lift him. Since he can’t walk, we’ll carry him to the caves.” Two healthy warriors did so, hoisting All Roar up by his head and legs. They struggled a bit, and Two Mountains rushed to help them out, putting the weight of the warrior’s torso on his shoulders. It was only then he realized how his own feet burned.

  “Not long, only an hour’s walk.” He repeated his estimate of distance to inject an air of confidence into the group. Two Mountains and the warriors moved to the front of the party, the injured All Roar above them whacking away branches and leaves. “I pray we find some shelter where we’re going,” Two Mountains said aloud, and there were murmurs of agreement. Those were the last words he spoke for an hour, as he struggled to conserve energy. Instead, he focused on where he placed his feet and repeated in his mind the image of their attackers.

  ***

  Morning sunlight streamed into the cave. The white of the rock walls helped the light illuminate the cave quite well, revealing the six Colobus survivors huddled inside. They owed their survival to David, who’d spotted the cliffs and believed they’d find shelter somewhere in them. Many cliffs pockmarked the limestone walls, but one with a four-meter-wide entrance was the best fit for the six.

  The light also illuminated something interesting that had been hidden in the darkness. The walls w
ere covered with paintings of creatures—warriors hunting, a bolt of lightning, a rough outline of a dog-shaped man. Everyone in the cave looked upon these images with awe. To those among them who might have doubted the Kotaran-carrying-bodies story, this was the proof there was life on this planet. To Roan, though, it was primitive life.

  “Perhaps not the best word to use,” David said, correcting Roan’s use of the term. The Nyden was intently fixated on the images, even running his talons over them. Some of the red ink the artist used stained David’s fingertips, and he eyed the stuff with fascination. “What you call ‘primitive’ simply indicates a society does not utilize technology the way you do. It carries a value judgment. It’s not wise to judge a culture you know nothing about.”

  “I didn’t have a value judgment,” Roan said.

  “Maybe not, but attitudes like that have led to very evil things.” Brushing his fingertips together, David wiped off the chalk. “These people are at a pre-industrial stage. This will be the first time a galactic civilization has come across such a planet, and we must be careful not to repeat the mistakes of past explorers. Going about first contact in the wrong manner may lead to catastrophe for the natives.”

  “We’ll deal with first contact once we deal with the Kotarans,” Roan said. He eyed the door, brightly filled with sunlight, expecting the silhouette of a Kotaran. Only a mile and a half separated the crashed shuttle from the caves. They were going to get found out one way or the other.

  Moira, Sundar, Duvurn, and his bodyguard were all sitting around, eating the morning meal. No one had gotten any sort of restful sleep, except for maybe Duvurn, who had been drunk and was now devouring an entire ration of pastry, cream caking his mouth. After the shuttle crashed, they were lucky to discover a few packs of rations in its storage compartment, but they were not enough for six people or even for one meal.