Firmament: In His Image

by J. Grace Pennington

  I thrust two little clumps of salt between his lips. His eyes were closed completely now. I felt his forehead, and cringed at the dryness and heat of his skin. He was progressing quickly towards the fatal stage, but could still be saved.

  I looked up at a couple of strong young men who had paused in their work to watch, and gestured to them to come help me. I had to get him in the shade, quickly.

  They only stared at me. To communicate what I wanted, I stood up and grabbed Basilius’s arm, pulling it, and pointed to the throne room.

  The men looked at each other, and hurried off.

  Dropping the man’s arm, I looked hopelessly at his unconscious face. Did his own people not care about him enough to want to save him? Or was this just the result of what he’d drilled into them—the need to work and not stop for anything?

  Just by pulling on him for those few seconds I had seen clearly that I could not drag him myself. It just would not be possible.

  Keeping my wits about me, I looked around for inspiration. I found it in the shape of a small collapsed tent a few feet away. Grabbing it by one post, I lugged it over to where the ruler lay. I could set it up over him. It was heavy, and I was already sweating profusely, but I pulled with all my might until I had draped the cloth over him. Then one by one I grabbed hold of the light wooden posts and erected them, driving them firmly into the ground. I made myself hurry, even though exhaustion was overtaking me. I needed to get him cooled off.

  Finally I got the tent set up. But I wasn’t done. I needed water, a cloth, and something to fan him with. Water was in barrels in the dining room, and I scooped out two buckets full and lugged them back to the tent. Cloths lay blown around all over the place, so it was easy to grab a couple. It only took a bit longer to find a stiff piece of woven grass to use as a fan, and I was ready.

  Retiring to the little tent with my gatherings, I immediately began fanning him with the woven square with one hand, while dipping a cloth in the water with another hand. Squeezing it out slightly, I rubbed the water over his face and arms. This seemed to revive him slightly, and he coughed. Putting the fan down, I picked up a bowl and dipped it into one of the water buckets, and then carefully poured some into his mouth.

  He spluttered at first, but after a second began drinking. When he had finished the whole bowl, I thrust some more salt into his mouth. He still hadn’t opened his eyes, but he was breathing hard, and lay still while I rubbed his arms and face with more water.

  I continued the monotonous routine—water, rubbing, fanning, over and over. When he at last opened his eyes and looked up at me, there was neither anger nor gratitude there, but mostly confusion. He seemed to be struggling to understand. I didn’t stop to study his expression; I just made myself focus on my work.

  After about an hour, I felt his skin again, and found to my relief that it was cooling, and had been slightly moistened. I gave him another bowl of water, which he drank without a word. Despite the noises outside the tent, there was a curious silence between us, a stillness of two enemies in a truce rather than two friends. Our eyes met, and his expression seemed to say that he accepted my help, but that it did not change things.

  I looked towards the tent flap nervously. He was better now. With a little rest and lots of hydration, he would be alright. Perhaps it was best now to leave, to get back to the shuttle.

  He continued drinking, his vision obscured by the large bowl he had raised to his lips. Silently, hardly daring to breathe, I crept backwards, crawling towards the exit of the tent.

  I paused for a moment in the doorway, watching him, and then stood up quickly and rushed out.

  I couldn’t have gone two meters when a strong hand grabbed my arm. I looked up to face Perekhon’s stern, dark eyes.

  I shuddered at the hatred on his face. And somehow I knew that whatever Basilius might think of me, he would not be able to protect me.

  Perekhon pulled me by the arms into the throne room, where two guards stood, armed with spears. He dropped me roughly on the ground between them, and spoke a few words to them before leaving.

  I lay where I had fallen, trying to catch my breath. There had been plenty of time for someone to come back for me from the shuttle. Where was everyone? For an instant my fevered brain concocted the notion of them having left without me, but I punched the sand with one fist and dismissed it. Even if the Captain and Crash wanted to, which they wouldn’t, the Doctor wouldn’t let them. He’d never go without me.

  What if I’d been wrong about the other exit all along, and he and Elasson were dying in the tunnels?

  What if everyone at the shuttle had been killed by some radiation leak?

  I dug my fingers into the sand and clenched my teeth, closing my eyes as tight as they would go. Stop. Stop thinking like this. Trust God, and focus on getting out of here.

  Crash’s blaster. I reached into the bag where I’d put it, and my fingers closed around the smooth metal. Looking at the two guards who stood on either side of the doorway, I slipped the blaster out of the pack and behind me, trembling all over.

  Crash said it was set on low intensity. I would fire it behind my back, into the sand, to check that before I used it to make my escape. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t afford to think. After a few tries, I settled my trembling finger on the trigger and pulled.

  Nothing.

  I pulled again. Still nothing. Twice more, breathing more quickly, and still no sound or impact.

  My heart turned cold. The same neutrinos that had affected the reactor weren’t allowing the blasters to work, either.

  I heard footsteps approaching, and a sudden impulse prompted me to drop the blaster in the sand and reach for the dictionary, to turn it on before they entered. I could let it transcribe everything and then look at the translation later. I should at least try to find out what was going on.

  Perekhon and Basilius entered, the ruler looking weak and hot, but walking upright. His face was softened slightly, but still unmoved. Perekhon’s was the same as ever.

  They appeared to be arguing, Basilius stating his position rather weakly. The argument lasted for only a few sentences, and then Basilius turned away in anger, barking out an order. Perekhon bowed slightly and left.

  Basilius looked down at me, and there was a very slight pain behind his eyes. His usual sternness was there as well, but I was surprised to see a predominating look of helplessness in his face. He said a few words in a low, firm voice. Then he turned and left.

  The guards were still stationed near the doorway, and I turned my back to them and subtly pulled out the book, my heart beating harder than ever. My fingers still trembling, I pushed the button that said, “translate.”

  It took me a few minutes to figure out who had been talking, but soon I was able to piece together the conversation.

  “You know the law as well as I do, my lord.”

  “And yet she saved me. She cannot have caused this catastrophe.”

  “But her people did. It had never happened before they came. The rest are gone. Lesser is gone, the tents are fallen—and the wall, my lord.”

  “Yes. The wall.”

  “My lord, it is the law.”

  “You are right. After you have dug out lesser and whoever else is down there, she will die.”

  The screen seemed to go blank, and my head reeled. Die? Die? Why must I die? Because the wall was broken? Because Elasson was lost? And Basilius could do nothing about it, even if he wanted to?

  Three words followed the word “die.” I read them with a pain tugging at my chest.

  “I am sorry.”

  Putting the book back in the bag, I looked out the door longingly. Oh, where was the Doctor?

  XXIII

  I just sat there, digging my fingers in the sand, pulling up handfuls of it, and letting it run through my fingers. My fingernails were full of sand, and sand clung to my skirt, my shirt, my hair. But I barely noticed. I kept digging, desperately straining my mind to think of a way to get out of this.
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  The guards’ spears looked terribly sharp. The Doctor, the Captain, Crash and August were out of reach, and had no idea what was going on here. Basilius couldn’t or wouldn’t help me. Elasson probably couldn’t even if he was here. Even if I could get past the guards, everyone would notice me—I was too conspicuous. There was nothing to do but sit and pray.

  The lump in my throat wouldn’t let me speak, but my heart didn’t stop praying. God, please get me out of here, if there’s any way. And if you can’t save me—at least please save the others. If the only way they can be safe is to leave me here—by now the lump nearly choked me—then take them away.

  One of the guards—a dark-bearded man who was rather on the short side—kept casting sideways glances at me. I wondered listlessly if it was because of my hair, or my clothes, or just because I was going to be executed soon.

  I was not particularly interested when he turned to the other guard and said a few commanding but kind words. I didn’t care what he was saying. Nor did I care that the other guard left when he spoke to him. One guard was the same as a million to me.

  But I became interested when the remaining guard looked around furtively, and then darted into the room towards me. He began jabbering in Greek and pulling off his cloak. “Idou touto peribalou,” he instructed, and demonstrated his meaning by thrusting the cloak over my head.

  Hope lighted in my heart. I didn’t know why, but he wanted to help me. I could never even remember seeing him before, but things couldn’t get much worse than they were now. So I wrapped the cloak around my shoulders, tucking my hair away inside it. It covered my clothes and I stood up ready to hurry out, but he pointed urgently to my boots. Sitting down again, I pulled them off and tossed them in a corner. The sand was hot under my bare feet, but I’d just have to endure it for now.

  Laying down his spear, he took my arm without a word and led me to the doorway.

  When we reached it, he looked out, waiting for a moment when the dozens of eyes were all turned away. At last he saw his moment and dove into the crowd, pulling me with him.

  I struggled to keep up as he skillfully rushed through the throng, blending into the pervading sense of grinding toil. Keeping my head down, I tucked back a strand of golden hair that had fallen over my shoulder and hoisted the cloak further over my head. I focused on watching my toes in the sand as I walked, and willed myself to be inconspicuous.

  We had almost reached what was left of the front wall, when he suddenly ducked into a medium-sized tent nearby and dragged me in after him. Gasping, I looked up and found a woman’s face looking into mine.

  Then I understood at last. The woman was Nama’s mother.

  Her husband spoke quickly, and she nodded and took the cloak from me. “Tautes men epimelesomai ego,” she said softly, laying a calloused hand on his arm. “Sy de tacheos epistrephe palin ekeise.”

  Without another look at me he hurried out again, and the woman bent down and took off her own soft shoes. She thrust them into my hands, and then moved a few steps away to the back of the tent to pick up something else.

  I sat down to put the shoes on, and then my eyes found Nama herself, huddled in one corner of the tent, watching me with wide eyes. I smiled at her, which seemed to give her permission to dart forward and put her little arms around my neck.

  “You be careful, Nama,” I whispered. “Don’t get sick again.” Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought of the life this girl had before her when she grew up. But it was the only way. I longed to take her with me, to wash the sand out of her long, black hair and brush out the tangles, to dress her in something pretty and light and cool, to show her what good food was, and teach her how to play. But I knew the Captain would never consent, and I understood why. This was her home; these were her people. We couldn’t take all of them, and it wasn’t right to take some without the others. So for now they must stay.

  The mother draped a different cape over me, which fell halfway between my knees and ankles. I pulled the crude hood over my head and again pushed my hair out of sight. Wrapping the cape tightly, I looked into the woman’s eyes. She was young, I realized. Probably not even ten years older than myself. But she looked so tired.Impulsively, I reached out to hug her. “Thank you, whoever you are. I owe you my life.”

  She pushed me away, not unkindly but urgently. “Phere,” she insisted, and I barely had time to kiss my little Nama on the forehead before her mother pushed me out and pointed to the gaping hole in the wall, then disappeared back into the tent.

  Pulling the cloak tighter around me, I started walking the few meters to the wall. I forced myself to walk more slowly than my instinct told me, trying to blend in. Just two or three meters more and I would be out at last, free to make my way towards the shuttle where the others were.

  I looked down, trying to hide my face, but I should have watched where I was going. I bumped into someone big and tall. The horror I felt in that moment almost paralyzed me. I cringed as I looked up into the face of the person I had run into.

  It was the last person I wanted to see just then. Basilius towered over me, his eyes boring into mine.

  I held my breath and didn’t move. I entreated him with my eyes, but my mouth didn’t move. Neither did his. He only looked at me seriously and deliberately.

  If he took me back, there would be no hope. I could not expect to escape again.

  I counted fifteen seconds before he wetted his lips, looked away, and walked off. Not a word. Not another look. Not even a gesture to me of any kind. But I understood it to mean that I could go—that I should go before he had to admit that he had recognized my face, and take me back to kill me. He would just ignore the fact that he had seen me and pretend to know nothing about it. It was as close as he could get to kindness.

  I watched after him for just a moment before moving out onto the open desert. But in my heart there was a pain for the people I left behind. I wasn’t sure I’d ever think of humanity the same way again.

  After I had trudged a good distance away from the broken wall, I lowered my hood and ate a bit of salt, to be safe. I washed it down with some of the water that I had brought with me. The sun was nearing the horizon, and already the air had cooled the tiniest bit. But I couldn’t stop here. I didn’t know if Perekhon would try to pursue me or not, but I wasn’t taking chances. I hurried on, my soft shoes not doing much to protect the soles of my feet from the heat of the sand. But if I walked quickly, it wasn’t as bad.

  It wasn’t until the walls appeared to be about ten centimeters long in the distance that I was able to make out three forms approaching from the opposite direction. My heart rose. Was it Crash? August? Whales? Or maybe even—the Doctor? I quickened my pace, weariness fading in the light of my hope. We just might make it yet.

  “Andi!”

  It was the Doctor. He was coming for me. Breaking into a run, I let my cape drop on the sand behind me and hurried towards him. I could see him now, and August and Elasson. They were alright.

  The Doctor held out his arms and I jumped into them, and he pulled me close and held me as if he’d never let me go again. And when he did let me go, he kept his eyes on me, not wanting to let me out of his sight.

  August had to be hugged next, and I took Elasson’s hand in mine with a glad look to tell him I was relieved that he was okay.

  “We would have come for you sooner,” the Doctor said, “but we got lost—”

  “Where’s Whales?” I interrupted. “Did he come back?”

  “Yes, he’s at the shuttle,” August said. “We didn’t know you were alone there until just now. Were you alright?”

  I laughed at this, feeling almost hysterical. “No. But I’m alright now, that’s what matters.”

  The Doctor took my hand, and his brow furrowed. “What do you mean by that?”

  As we walked back to the shuttle I told my story. The Doctor’s hold on my hand tightened as I told of my adventures, and although his face didn’t show it, I could sense how much it pained him
to know I’d had to go through all of that without him. “It’s okay, Dad,” I assured. “Everything’s fine now.”

  “Not quite,” August put in. “We won’t know if we can get away until—well, until we get away.”

  “You mean you don’t know if it will work?”

  “No. The Captain wanted to do more tests, but…” He looked at Elasson, who was walking quietly beside us, and I thought I knew what he meant.

  “We have to leave right away.”

  He nodded. “Crash was sure they’d be upset with us.”

  “And I guess we know for sure now,” the Doctor added, patting my hand.

  “I guess we do.”

  We could see the shuttle now, and with every step my heart went out more and more to Elasson. He would have to go back and face his brother, and work on in inferiority for years to come; if he didn’t die first. Couldn’t he come with us? He wouldn’t be missed—not just one person, and one that nobody cared about.

  I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He walked alongside us without speaking, and made no move to turn back. I wondered what he was thinking—did he have any thoughts of coming along? He couldn’t help seeing that our lives were different and better than his own. Our very clothes proved that. As his face had turned from curious to understanding in the past few days, I had seen him realizing that there was more to life, more that he didn’t fully understand. But he wanted to understand.

  After we left him, it would make his life even more miserable.

  “Come on!” the Captain called when we were in earshot. I could see smoky exhaust trickling from the thrusters, and knew that they were ready to take off.

  We moved a little quicker. The sun was dipping below the horizon now, and though the air was still hot, it was no longer sweltering. Letting go of the Doctor’s hand, I rushed up to the Captain.

  “Captain,” I begged, but he laid a finger on his lips.