Her eyes were smiling when he glared back to her.
She lowered her staff, and pointed it at him.
“Your Temple is built so high up in the clouds,” she said. “You can’t see the ground that supports you.”
***
It was light again when they climbed out of the cave.
Kestrel didn’t think the sky ever looked so blue. Or the air smell so fresh.
The journey back down to the settlement was easier than the climb up. Neither of them spoke, except when Kestrel prayed to the Ophan to bring the ship back down.
They stood in the shadow of it, just inside the shelter of the settlement’s ridge. Cold wind blasted their faces and sand bit at their skin. Kestrel squinted to protect his eyes when he looked at her.
Passi looked back at him, equally defiant.
“I suppose you’ll be going now,” she said, and didn’t sound disappointed.
“I suppose I will.” Kestrel fidgeted for a smoke. “I’ll have to report on everything that happened here.”
“Of course you will.”
“Everything.”
The woman’s look verged on a glare. She gripped her staff tight.
“Do you expect me to try and stop you?”
Kestrel bit down hard on his teeth. Maybe he did.
“I expect you to be prepared for the consequences.”
Her glare turned to dark amusement.
“And I expect you to be prepared, as well, for what your superiors will do once they realize they’re not the sole power in the universe.” She tilted her head. “Fear makes people foolish, no matter what their race.”
“There’s still one thing you can explain,” he said, clipping off her last word.
Passi looked expectant.
“Reports of the other victims described their bodies as being set up on piles of stones around the base of the mountain in a systematic fashion, left there to rot. Why would a mindless creature like that do such a thing?”
“It didn’t,” she said promptly. “I did.”
Kestrel narrowed his eyes.
“It wasn’t a ritualistic killing. It was cleansing. Ridding the bodies of their taint once the creature had them so their energy might return to the planet.”
It was too much. Kestrel allowed himself a small, jagged laugh.
It didn’t have as much energy behind it as he would have hoped.
“You really are a bunch of blasphemous heathens.”
Passi nodded.
“If that’s what you want to call us.”
Kestrel turned his back, digging out a fresh smoke from his belt.
He desperately needed it.
“If this thing was killing your people,” he said around it, “and you had the power, why wait? Why not kill it on your own?”
The woman leaned against her staff, clutching the top with both hands.
“Perhaps it wasn’t about me,” she answered, her voice soft. “It was about you.”
Kestrel glared over his shoulder.
Passi smiled.
He bit down hard on his smoke.
“I have the unfortunate feeling we’ll be seeing each other again.”
“As do I.”
Kestrel ignited the smoke and drew in the first breath, savoring its calming taste.
He maintained his glare at the woman, straining to think of something to say. Some final insult. When nothing came, he turned and stomped up the boarding ramp to the ship.
He could feel her eyes on his back. The warm prickle of power on his senses.
“We’ll be waiting,” she said.
Kestrel didn’t answer.
He didn’t think she meant her village.
***
He stood in the cockpit of the ship with the Ophan, watching the planet grow small through the viewscreens.
“It was nothing,” the Ophan said, petting the cat on the console. “Fancy tricks made with powders. They can do that, you know. Make explosions.”
Kestrel grunted a noncommittal response.
“You’ll see. Don’t worry. A few days’ worth of investigation, and the Seraphs will find out how she did it. Everything will be fine.”
Kestrel leaned against the side of the copilot’s seat. He switched his half-finished smoke from one side of his mouth to the other.
His voice, when it came, came low.
“I’m not so sure.”
Datorvita
by Ashley Horn
27th October 2424
We have run out of time. To date, sixteen viable planets have been found as suitable surrogate Earths, though none of them have yet been tested. Our experts estimated that we as a species had another four decades before we depleted our resources, time enough that we could thoroughly vet our candidates to see which would best sustain us. They were wrong. We had less than half that time.
At the time of this writing, I am leaving Earth with my team of twenty to test the viability of one of our possible new homes. Fifteen similar teams are departing from around the world with the same mission: save our people. The remaining population has been placed in a state of stasis awaiting our return, be it in triumph or failure.
For our pilots Jairus, Icarus and Hiero, the journey will take ten years, eight months, and twenty-two days. For myself and the rest of the crew, we will arrive tomorrow. We call our temporary home Datorvita: giver of life. All we can do is hope that the name fits.
2nd December 2436
My attempts at keeping the exact date have failed, but this is a close approximation. Time is relative in this new system and means less in the deeps of space. It took longer than expected for us to reach Datorvita, and our return-trip supplies have been severely depleted as a result of our delay. Jairus was lost to us shortly before we entered the new solar system. Persephodora insisted that our first act upon this new soil be to bury him, but the rest scoffed at her superstitions and protested the wanton waste of what time we still had.
For those of us who remain, survival is never far from our thoughts. Our pilots had been forced to plant some of our starter seed to feed themselves on the extended journey. We can afford no more missteps, no more delays. Eventually, Persephodora saw our logic, and we jettisoned Jairus's body before we entered the atmosphere.
Our first steps onto Datorvita lacked the thrill of novelty that I'd expected. Even feelings of accomplishment among the crew were hollow at best. In the wake of Jairus's death, we have lost most of our levity. There is only the mission now, lest the rest of us follow.
A quick exploratory outing confirmed much of what our initial scans had shown: the planet's atmosphere and soil mineral content are nearly identical to Earth's. The trace remaining elements and unidentified compounds are neutral to the sustaining of human life. The air is heavy with moisture, suggesting a reliable water cycle and Earth-like weather system. Likewise, the river we have situated ourselves upon is clear and clean. Hydrea found that it seems to pour directly from the mountainside, as though it came out through a natural subterranean filter. Around us, the native vegetation is lush and healthy, though much of it is closer to blue in color than green.
Perhaps it was a good thing that our pilots started some of our crops en-route in their native soil; come tomorrow, we can begin to transplant them onto the new world and see how they adapt to the red-orange sun that Datorvita orbits. With everything that I've seen today, I'm confident that we can have a habitable community established within the week.
3rd December 2436
Today's planting efforts went well, and we now have a stable crop ready to test the native soil. So far, all readings are positive. Time will tell, but indications are good that this may be a tenable planet for us.
We have also begun to better explore our immediate area, yielding a number of fruits and seeds that may be edible. Persephodora, Ione, and Arius are, at the time of this writing, widening our known radius and looking for resources.
Thus far, we've seen no native animals of any kind. The
air is still and unnaturally quiet. All signs indicate that there should be at the least some sort of insect presence, but there's just nothing.
5th December 2436
Our crops have failed. We've begun a test round to see if the problem is with the native soil, water, or sunlight. If we cannot get this round of seeds to germinate soon, we may be out of familiar food within the week. While we could probably survive on the native foods we found — which have proven safe for consumption — none of us are excited about the prospect.
Persephodora has been silent on the radio today. At her last report, sundown yesterday, they had made it to the top of the mountain from which our river originates. She said that there was no break in the vegetation out to the horizon, an unbroken field of blue-green leaves. They had camped there and planned to press on this morning, but we haven't heard since. Hydrea is pushing for a search mission, but our focus has to be on the success of our planting at the moment. If there isn't any word by tomorrow evening, I will send a group.
14th December 2436
Still no word from Persephodora. Even our search party returned with nothing, just a report from their last known camp that they had obviously moved on. They had left no trail markers or any indication of their direction down from the summit. It hurts us all to do, but we will have to press on as though they are indeed lost to us. It may seem heartless of me, but I have to believe that their disappearance is for the best. Our food continues to dwindle and, with their extra appetites to support, would likely have given out in a few short weeks.
Our attempts to cultivate familiar crops on this planet are likewise fruitless. While they rooted fine in Earth soil under the Datorvita sun and with the water from here, everything we've moved to the native ground has shriveled and failed within hours. Even local seeds will not sprout for us here, and we can't forage enough to sustain us.
Similarly, any wildlife that we may have been able to hunt has avoided us. We do hear animals on occasion now, shuffling through the trees just out of the range of our spotlights, but we've yet to lay eyes on them. We can't, at this point, even be sure that the sounds we hear are from game animals and not from predators. We've established an armed watch just in case of attack.
We have, at the best, a few more days to figure out the secret. At this point, I confess that this mission will probably end with all of our deaths. Unless we can successfully raise enough crops to replenish our seed supplies soon, there won't even be enough left to make a return trip to Earth in failure. I am not hopeful.
18th December 2436
The hunger and frustrations among us have finally exploded. Though Hiero and myself managed to quell the fighting before it came to bloodshed, I fear the fissure may be too deep to mend. I just don't know what more to do.
22nd December 2436
Persephodora walked back into camp today, alone and without her gear. Her hair is wild and hangs in a long tangle down her back. She has abandoned her uniform in favor of a strange lightweight tunic, and she now carries only a small stone figure.
She said that “they” had finally allowed her to come back to us, that maybe we would listen to “them” now that we had nowhere else to turn. In the privacy of my bunk on the shuttle, she held out the little carving to me, begging me to see reason. If I only invited them in, asked for help, everything would be fine.
I'd demanded to know the whereabouts of her teammates before I listened to any more of her inane babble, and she promised that they were safe with “them.” I asked that they send me an envoy, some authority figure that I might be able to treat with. If we can be assured of the cooperation of the natives here on Datorvita, there may be hope even at this late stage.
After Persephodora left, I explained to the crew what was going to happen the next day. I was careful to emphasize that this was all contingent on the natives' desire to engage in a fair exchange. Still, the spark has been lit; we are going to make it yet.
23rd December 2436
The envoy from the natives arrived today. As a show of our receptivity, I ordered the armed watches to stand down and put their weapons away. The pair of representatives — a humanoid man and woman each with deep brown skin and bright green eyes — came without escort and unarmed. Though my men protested, I offered them some of our scant food; they refused.
We got straight to business, and I showed them our pitiful garden and dwindling resources. They were more than willing to help us, but they said that it would take a show of good faith on our part. When I pressed to see what this would entail, they answered that they only wanted to be invited to our meals and our celebrations, to be present at our births, to be with us as we mourn our dead.
Instinctively, I recoiled; I wished for our societies to be collaborative but separate. I had studied Earth history intensively, preparing for the event that I should encounter some sort of native population. This sort of symbiosis had only, in all the exploits of man, ended poorly for the settlers and often much worse for the indigenous peoples.
When I explained my objections, the woman laughed. She told me that such a thing could not happen here. Earth, she said as she picked up a seed, had failed because we had exiled our Gods. Datorvita would thrive because they were one and the same.
And then, before my very eyes, the seed in her hands sprouted.
The Lament of the Last Goddess
by Jolene Dawe
In time past reckoning, our people came from the stars, traveling impossible distances in sky-boats across the heavens. They came in large numbers, seeking companionship, for they were alone and desired to know kinship. They crossed vast distances and, finding the hospitable world of the Benevolent Hosts, they banked their sky-boats upon the ground and approached our Hosts with humility. The gracious hearts of our Benevolent Hosts were moved by the desires of our ancestors, but they, too, were cautious. Our Hosts were concerned our numbers would prove too great for the resources they had to offer. They saw that our ancestors were weary from their long travels, that they were heartsick in their loneliness, and our Benevolent Hosts saw fit to grant us leave to stay. So the sages tell us, reading from the tattered objects they call ibria. Only the sages are allowed to touch the ibria, kept locked in the remains of the sky-boat that brought our people here. Once a season, after the Festival of Emigatan, after the waters of the Deluge recede, but before we build our homes anew, we venture to the sky-boat and listen to the tale of our ancestors and remember the blessings of our Benevolent Hosts.
Our ancestors created their homes on land our Hosts set aside for them, a stretch of near-barren land on the edges of their fertile, wild forests. Under the bleaching lights of Triple Suns, our ancestors tried to live as they had lived before, but the planet proved to be different enough from their lost world that their survival was difficult.
The sages remind us, our Benevolent Hosts were not the sole occupants of this world. There were also the Malicious Ones, and they did not approve of our ancestors’ arrival.
Barriers were erected for our protection. Our home is made in a vast expanse of land, caught between the lands of our Benevolent Hosts and the Malicious Ones. For our own protection, we are kept inside, unable to cross the barriers. We do not mind this – our Benevolent Hosts visit as they are moved to do so, and the barrier keeps the Malicious Ones out. It has been this way since time out of mind. We live under the lights of the Triple Suns, we build our homes and gather our food and live our lives, knowing we are not alone in the world, and that we have a place to belong.
***
Our custom for marking one’s arrival into adulthood was to send them to the barrier with a gift. The barrier held, allowing one to live long enough to reach adulthood, and the sages instilled upon us a sense of gratitude. This was our home only so long as our Benevolent Hosts allowed us to remain. Our knowledge of sky-boat crafting was gone with our ancestors, with all the knowledge of our home world. If they sent us on our way, where would we go? How often I would look, on the rare nights when all
three suns would set, staring up at the stars and wondering which one was our long lost blue world? They all looked the same. Would we find our way back?
The arrival of my womanhood came during the season of the Deluge. An auspicious time, the sages insisted. While my people packed up the items they couldn’t live without and headed for the floating shelters our Hosts provided for our survival, I was busy making the gift for the barrier. It was simple, as all our gifts were simple: a hardened container of sweetwater gathered from the underground springs mixed with an sampling of my blood, that the barrier guardian might know me; a collection of berries dried and sweetened with honey; and roasted mege-nuts. I left my family on the dawn of the Deluge, hoping to make it to higher ground before the waters came to sweep away our homes. The Triple Suns burned in concert, rising together and setting together as they do at no other time, a sure sign that the Deluge was on its way.
I pushed myself hard, barely daring to pause to drink despite my fast pace and the heat of the day. My skin was blistering when I reached the first bit of incline and even then I dared not slow. When the westing wind began to roll down the hills, I knew the water was already washing over our homes and the waves would either reach up to seize me or would pass me by, unmolested. I walked until I began to stagger, and only then did I stop to rest.
Tradition maintained that we could not tarry until we reached the edges of the barrier. Not even the sages spoke of what happened to those who dared to linger too long so close to the barrier. I ate sparingly of my supplies, knowing that my family would be rationing their food until the waters receded and the Deluge was over. What I carried back with me could feed my younger kin. I was an adult now; it was my responsibility to see to the younger ones.
The land grew harder as I climbed, as if the searing suns burned away all chance of growth, this high up. Rocky, sandy ground was replace with a material that was smooth and hard, offering few footholds. I slipped and slid, moving to hands and knees, and the rock under me burned my skin no matter how quickly I moved. Heat danced back from the surface in waves, making me dizzy. I climbed and crawled as quickly as I could, and when I reached the top I nearly fainted with relief . . . and fear.
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