by Chance Maree
“The crones and crew are kangered?”
“Just standard tranqs. Nothing to worry about.”
“I want names, Doctor. If our situation gets hairy, I need to know our weakest links.”
Byrd struck a thoughtful pose. The doctor shook his head and his eyes glistened. He wasn't looking at Gunner, but was staring off, somewhere far away. In a low voice, Byrd added, “Everyone is under a great deal of stress. We've all suffered great losses.”
The nursemaid needs a nursemaid. “You okay, Doc?”
“Me?” Byrd smiled. “Yes, oh, yes. I'm enjoying the hallucinations, myself. You see, I've always been more comfortable around animals than people. They're honest. You always know where you stand with an animal. After years in behavioral study labs, I've grown accustomed to the quiet wisdom of their company…” The doctor wiped a tear from his eye. “We all do what we need to cope.”
Gunner released the chair belt. Byrd is quacked up, and he is definitely hiding something.
Commander Dovmont resumed course to the command center. The corridors were empty, meaning time had come for some routine event—a meal, or standard night hours, perhaps—Gunner wouldn't bother to check the time. Soldiers guarding the center's doorway snapped to attention. Gunner returned their salutes.
Captain Montalbam waved cheerfully for the Commander to join him at the communication station. Ever since the privatization of NASA, leadership positions had been transferred from men with military backgrounds to corporate types with business leadership training. As a result, discipline and a sense of duty and honor had been replaced with motivational psychology. Gunner neither waved nor saluted. He approached the Captain, who returned to a discussion over the com.
Pilot Pots was saying, “…Alpha Horizon is munching and crunching. If she continues at this rate, we will be orbiting Ostara ahead of schedule.”
Gunner noted a new quality in Pots's voice. He knew that quality well—a deep fear had been mastered. Discovering one's own courage in the face of mortality was life changing. Only those who have successfully accomplished it could begin to comprehend its strength. Not everyone had courage. Most die without knowing whether they possess it or not. Those who find it lacking are most often left broken.
After Pilot McDonald's death, Abraham should have taken the pilot's chair. Gunner had thought Abraham was more courageous than Pots. From Abraham's file, Gunner knew she had killed her husband in a full-fledged physical brawl, using only a kitchen knife. The file stated that Abraham's husband had been convicted of abusing two previous wives, and had been implicated in the murder of one of them. Abraham could have simply run away from her roach-scum of a mate. She stated that she had killed her husband so he could never hurt another woman. Yet, when Abraham refused to take the pilot's chair. Her focus was on her own survival. The difference was subtle, but important.
Gunner barked, “We still don't know how McDonald died. Has Pilot Pots noted any unusual behavior or threat from Alpha Horizon?”
Captain Montalbam's head jerked and he stepped backward, away from the com, as if by doing so he could prevent Pots from hearing the commander's concern.
“Negative, Commander,” Pilot Pots's voice was steady and matter-of-fact. “Both our systems are well and functioning normally.”
“Who's taking the next shift?” Gunner asked.
Captain Montalbam answered, “None of the other pilots are willing to fly until we know what happened to McDonald.”
“Prob non. I'm fine here, Commander.” Pots's voice was confident. “I can drive for as long as necessary.”
The commander hid his anger for the moment. “Thank you, Pilot Pots. Carry on.” Gunner turned towards Montalbam. “Captain, I want to speak with you in private.”
Alone in the officer's quarters, Gunner saw no need for tact. He and the captain strapped themselves on small, uncomfortable plastic chairs, facing one another across a round table.
Gunner folded his hand and leveled a stern gaze at the captain. “Your pilots should know that they are only on board because we need them to fly. Otherwise, they'd be back on Earth waiting for their number to be called. And, as middle-aged crones, they have lower priority than fertile females.”
“They are well aware of that,” Montalbam said evenly. Gunner sensed that the captain was angry, too. He gave the man credit for hiding it.
“Unless two other pilots resume their rotation, you will inform the Crone Squad that only Pilot Pots will be allowed to disembark from Alpha Horizon.”
The captain looked down at his hands. A moment passed in which he may have been counting to ten. Finally, Montalbam said, “I understand your irritation over the situation, but we've already agreed on a rotation plan: four pilots remain on Ostara, and four return aboard to fly the second round. We'll pick up another four on Earth. McDonald had been designated to remain on Ostara, and so she shall. Pots was slotted for the return trip, but I intend to switch her with Lopez, who, I believe, has regained some of her confidence.”
Gunner used his own displays of anger strategically. He snapped, “The ship is yours, Captain. But the landing and colonies on Ostara are my jurisdiction.”
“That's right, Commander!” Montalbam's voice rose to match Gunner's. “The ship and her pilots are my responsibility. My pilots have been traumatized. They are understandably afraid. I've directed each of them to therapy sessions. All this is none of your concern. I will do my job. Believe me, the Crone Squad will fly.”
Gunner peered coldly at Montalbam. In a low voice, he snarled, “Crones too cowardly to perform their duty will not be allowed to step foot on Ostara.”
Montalbam waved his hand, shooing away Gunner's threat. “I intend to follow my original plan.”
“I've already transmitted my decision to headquarters, Captain Montalbam. They stand by my decision.”
“And if I somehow manage to leave two or three of my pilots on Ostara?”
Gunner stood. “We are under martial law, Captain. My soldiers have orders to squash rebellions.”
CHAPTER 6
Ata
“Chuh!” Ata huffed as she kicked the sides of her pony. The mare snorted and tossed her head, flashing Ata the whites of her eyes—all warning signs that the girl was about to be thrown.
Ata's eldest brother gave her the same stubborn red pony every day. “You two belong together,” Kortu had said, laughing, despite having made the same crack every day for Ata's entire life. Mori, the second oldest, often joked about the historic antics of the stubborn, willful pony, but Ata never thought his stories were funny.
Ata held on tight, squeezing her knees and grabbing bigger handfuls of the mare's long red mane. She was waiting for the pony to buck when a loud roaring overhead caught both her and the mare's attention. The young girl looked up, searching the sky, and saw a gigantic gray beetle flying above her, heading for the plains. Ata urged the pony toward the nearest ridge and watched as the strange insect landed in the grass, not far from the riverbank.
The insect was larger than any animal Ata had ever seen. It wasn't a bird—its flight pattern was more like a wasp, yet it had a hard shell and spindly legs. An impossibly massive beetle, maybe, but the sound it emitted was like a monstrous bee. Ata considered returning to camp, but first, she wanted a closer look.
Instinctive caution dampened the young girl's curiosity. Ata could hardly sneak up on the beetle with her pony in tow. The mare would likely spook and spoil Ata's cover, so the girl hobbled her mount and the pony took to grazing. Ata checked the hobbles several times; returning to camp on foot would bring unbearable humiliation.
Once Ata was confident the pony was secure, she made her way toward the beetle, now resting motionless on the plain. Slowly, crouching through the tall golden grass, Ata had achieved a third of the distance when she heard, “Kai, kai.”
The voice was familiar—Kortu, Ata's brother. She answered. “Kai, kai.”
Patiently, Ata waited. Patient, yet annoyed. Her adventure would be
more troublesome with a bossy brother lurking around.
Soon, the tall grasses parted and Kortu and Mori crouched by her side. “Have you ever seen anything like that before?” Ata blurted, unable to hide her excitement.
Mori's eyes, too, were bright and his grin, wide. “It was so big and loud, I bet everyone at the camp ran for cover!”
Kortu deepened his voice, as he often did when assuming the position of eldest son. “We were sent to scout the area where it landed.”
“You were not,” Ata insisted. “Only men are sent scouting.”
“The other scouts went around the hill to approach from the back. We took the shortcut so we could sneak up on it in the grass.”
Ata noticed Kortu hadn't contradicted her. “That is a good plan. Let's go.”
Still crouching, Kortu put his hand on her shoulder. “Little sister, you will go to your pony and ride straight back to camp.”
Ata cried out, “No!” She stood upright. The top of her head was barely higher than the grass. “I have to pick chamchu. Mother's making rubicham! She told me to get her some.”
Mori piped in, “I saw chamchu growing back by the rocks, near the goji trees.” Mori was only two winters younger than Kortu, but he was ten summers nicer.
Ata crossed her arms. “I saw those. The plants that grow there are dry and sour. Father likes the sweet kind that grow by the river.”
“I'll get some for you,” Kortu said.
“No! Mother told me to do it. You don't know anything about plants. I pick the best ones.” Ata knew her brother would not deny their father his favorite dish.
Mori voice took on a mocking tone. “Ata, you might get hurt. What if that giant insect reaches out, grabs you, and then gobbles you up? Kortu and I will get in big trouble with Father if that happens.”
Kortu nodded with all seriousness. “Good plan, Mori. I like it. If that thing swallows Ata, it will get a monstrous stomachache. I'm sure it'll fly away then and never come back.”
“I'm staying!” Ata picked up a stone and threw it as hard as she could at Kortu, who easily dodged out of its path. The girl showed her brother her most sour, angry look. Kortu flashed an equally fierce face back at her, and the matter was settled between them.
The three children crouched behind a small rise near the riverbank where they could view the huge beetle, which had yet to move for so long now that they wondered if it were dead.
“I'm going to cut chamchu,” Ata whispered.
A pained expression darkened Kortu's face, but he nodded. Ata moved stealthily, crouching through the grass, hiding behind thickets whenever possible. She dashed across a small clearing, exposing herself enough to make her heart drum loudly in her chest.
Dropping next to a patch of chamchu, Ata unwrapped the cloth tied around her waist and from the pouch on her belt she removed the blade she carried for cutting plants. The chamchu stalks were fresh green and supple. She chose those with bright red flowers and slight bulges on the stem, evidence that berries would soon be sprouting.
As Ata began to clip the second stalk, a rumbling from the beetle startled her and she nearly dropped her blade. Ata looked up and saw the giant creature's mouth opening so wide the bottom jaw did not stop until it rested on the ground. A gray tongue grew and extended from inside the gaping mouth until its tip, too, touched the ground.
“If you want to gobble me,” Ata whispered, “you'll have to catch me first!” She quickly cut one more stalk and rolled the bunch into the cloth, replaced her blade, and then wrapped the cloth around her waist—all the while eying the awakened beetle. Tucking in the end of the cloth, she scurried over the clearing and into the grassy cover. Savoring the advantage of being small, Ata hardly moved the blades more than would a gentle breeze. When she plopped next to her brothers, the two boys let out breaths they must have been holding since her departure.
Ata settled behind the rise, huddled deep behind the grassy plain and watched as strangers emerged from the mouth of the beetle. The strangers brought out wagons that floated over the ground and stacked vessels of varied shapes and sizes in piles near the river. Ata must not have blinked at all, because her eyes began to hurt. Then the beetle closed its mouth, and once the strangers moved away, it took flight.
Kortu grabbed Ata and Mori by their arms and pulled. “We have to get out of here!”
⁂
Kortu was right, although Ata would not admit to it out loud—they had to stay hidden from possible sightings by the beetle's tribe. However, the path Kortu chose for their return to camp was steep and treacherous, especially while riding a pony as mean-spirited as hers. Ata was sweating and her hands shook as she looked over the mare's withers to a straight decline of sharp, loose rocks and thorned plants. Ata would never have chosen this path—the pony had pitched her too many times. A fall here would be painful and would likely result in Ata riding double in Kortu's lap like a child.
Determined that she would not suffer that humiliation, Ata attended closely to her pony, sensing when the mare would refuse a path, then allowing the animal to choose her own way. Both she and the pony were sweating, and Ata had to squeeze hard with her knees to keep from sliding over the mare's neck. All the while, Kortu and Mori pushed their snorting horses in a race to the bottom of the plateau. The boys waited at the bottom, impatient, glancing at Ata with flashing eyes as she cautiously urged her rebellious pony over boulders and through brush that scratched both their faces.
The moment Ata's pony reached level ground, Kortu and Mori pounded their heels against the sides of their mounts and flew over the grassland toward camp. The taller horses easily outran the pony, but the mare's herd instinct was strong and she ran as fast as her short legs allowed. Ata had never before seen the ground pass so rapidly beneath her or felt the strain of her pony's heaving sides as they raced to keep up.
Unable to stop her hands from shaking, Ata wanted to lean forward and grab onto the pony's mane. Even more, she wanted to pull back on the reins and slow the mare to a canter. Ata raised her eyes from the blurry ground and watched Kortu ride. After a couple deep breaths, she, too, straightened her back, held the reins in one hand, and tried to relax her body. The pony's short-legged gallop was choppy, but Ata hid her discomfort. Kortu glanced over his shoulder at his sister several times before the boys sped away and Ata was alone.
Once her brothers were out of view, Ata hunched over the pony's neck and held onto the mane until she saw the outskirts of the camp. Ata slowed the mare and rode in like a warrior—upright, relaxed—right into the corral. She slipped off the winded pony. Both of them were caked with dust and sweat.
More guards than usual were attending the horses. One of them took the reins from Ata's hands. “Greetings, little sister. I was told that Ata should go to the council's ger immediately.”
“I will,” Ata said. But she ran to her family's ger first and handed her mother the crushed stalks of chamchu.
Ata's mother approved of the plants her daughter had chosen. She wiped the dirt off of her daughter's face before combing and re-braiding the girl's long black hair. Ata tickled the top of her youngest brother's head. Daus fell on his bottom and screeched.
With a pat on her mother's protruding belly, Ata said, “I hope you give us a sister this time.”
“Go now! Join your brothers,” Calestanta replied.
The ger of the council was larger than most. Ata nodded at the two guards standing outside the entrance who stood aside and allowed her to pass through. She could hardly keep still from excitement, but entered quietly, head high, eyes straight ahead, searching for her father. All she could see were backsides—the ger was filled not only with the council, but with other important adults—guards, hunters, warriors and scouts. Ata felt terribly small. She used her hands to push her way through the forest of legs until she finally emerged in front of the crowd and moved to an open space next to Kortu. Ata felt Kortu's forearm tense against her shoulder. She glanced up and noticed that his nostrils were flar
ed. Let him be angry—he was the one who'd given her the pony.
The council sat in a row on thick mats placed along the curved wall of the ger. Some of adults Ata found quite fearsome. She kept her gaze steady on her father, searching for any signal, some hint of guidance, from his eyes or gestures. Tarq's face was stone, so Ata made hers the same.
“We will hear Tarq's children now,” Manu, the oldest council member, said to his fellows. Manu was an ancient, wiry man, baked by the sun and hair white from many winters. He gestured for the three siblings to move closer. “I was told you hid very close to the sky wagon. Tell us what you saw.”
The boys were silent. Ata waited, and yet Kortu did not speak. Rather than endure the embarrassment, Ata blurted out, “A giant beetle dropped from the sky and sat a long time by the river. We thought it was dead, but then it opened up its mouth and belched and its babies came out.”
Tarq asked, “Ata, why do you think they were babies?”
“Their legs were wobbly when they walked. And they were crying. A few of them fell on their faces and hugged the ground.”
“Not all of them acted weak,” Kortu interrupted. “I watched some of them jump up and down and whoop like warriors.”
“What do they look like?” another council member asked.
Ata and her brothers were silent.
Mori voiced their general opinion. “The strangers are ugly.”
“Ugly?”
Kortu nodded. “Their noses are long, their ears are either big or they don't have any at all. They have hair, all different colors, all over their faces. Some have long teeth that stick out. Their bodies are like ours—two arms and they walk on two legs.”
A scout burst into the tent and all attention turned to him.
“What have you to report?” Manu asked the breathless young man.
“Two more sky wagons landed north along the river,” he panted.
“We didn't hear them!” exclaimed one of the council members, a broad-faced woman who had born many warrior sons. She had The Farsight, so she could predict the best camp location for each coming season.