by Chance Maree
⁂
Well before the morning sun would illuminate the horizon, Tyr, hurrying—behind schedule—barely reached his first hideout. Over the course of the past week, he had identified nooks, dug and disguised burrows, and created tree lofts where he could hide from search parties, and of course, drones. Not that his studies had stalled, for he gobbled up courses on survival in wilderness, first aid, and topics related to military surveillance. Tyr could absorb information like nobody's business.
Tyr settled deep under a rocky ledge out past the fringe of the camp. To keep his stomach from grumbling, he devoured a meal bar and some water. The northern sector drone would pass overhead soon, so Tyr calmed his breathing and lowered his body temperature to avoid the drone's thermal detector. The boy expected increased drone traffic once the commander discovered he was missing. Over the past weeks, Tyr had varied his daily schedule to a point that Gunner might not notice his absence for several days. More likely, the air board and other stolen items would be missed before he was.
Over the top of the ledge, Tyr heard sounds of clopping and snorting. Unintelligible words were being whispered in low tones. He resisted the urge to peek. The drone would be by in seven minutes.
Go away! Tyr reached out, searching for the living body somewhere on the ground above him. He reached for a heartbeat, one to make beat faster, cause anxiety, fear, anything to make them move away. He sensed two blood-filled muscles beating, and chose the larger one to increase the rate and force of its rhythm.
An animal screamed. Tyr heard a scuffle, and then a human cry. The beast thundered off, leaving only muffled sobbing. What have I done? Tyr's throat lumped and parched as though his tongue had been replaced with a bag of sand.
The drone was due in two minutes. Try rushed outside of his hideout. A small girl entangled in a patch of briers lifted her head and shouted something Tyr didn't understand, but then again, her plight was not difficult to figure out. Pulling the girl from the bushes, thorns and all, he grabbed and lifted her in one motion and rushed back under the cover of the ledge.
Tyr pulled from his backpack a device—liberated from the outpost tent—used to track downed drones and which could be used to verify the presence of perfectly functional drones as well. He flipped on the monitor and noted a drone was passing overhead. If they'd been spotted, it would lock on their position and circle the area. The drone remained on course.
The native girl stared at Tyr. Her face was pale and her eyes were wide, the pupils completely dilated. Tyr turned his back for a moment and slipped on his mask. When Tyr pivoted to face her again, the girl tilted her head and blinked.
She was bleeding and covered with thorns. They spent nearly two hours pulling them out with tweezers from Tyr's first aid kit. For only having four fingers on each hand, the girl was surprisingly dexterous. Most worrisome, though, was that the girl's face was beginning to swell, and Tyr could tell she was having trouble breathing. He hesitated to give her medication from the kit which had been specifically concocted for soldiers, and would likely kill a child.
Gently, he used his third-sight to probe the girl's anatomy. The heart was in the usual place, as were her lungs and every other organ. Before he could go any further, his third-sight was repelled by an energetic shove. Tyr gasped.
The girl looked puzzled for a moment. She broke the silence between them by introducing herself as Ata.
“Henry Five,” Tyr said, pointing to himself. “But you can call me Prince Harry.”
Ata motioned for Tyr to remove the mask, which he did.
“I'm ugly,” Tyr said.
Ata shrugged, but did not look away. Instead, she pointed to her arms and legs, which were becoming increasingly red and swollen. She mimed a story—a plant springing forth from the ground. Picking the leaves. Mashing them into a paste and spreading the paste over her wounds.
Of course, Tyr thought, the natives would have herbal medicines.
With the next drone not due for another 24 minutes, they crawled out beneath the ledge hideout. Ata pointed towards Galileo. She stumbled two steps, and then stopped and motioned for Tyr to follow.
“No,” Tyr said, shaking his head. “It's not safe for us there.”
Ata mimed looking for someone. She spoke a word over and over, “Kortu, Kortu.”
Tyr understood what she wanted and who she was looking for, but he acted as though he didn't. “I'm taking you back to your camp.”
Ata shook her head and stomped her foot. Her strength was ebbing. Tyr pointed to her swollen fingers and toes. Ata sighed, which he interpreted as a sign of agreement.
The air board could carry them both once Tyr abandoned his provisions. Water was the heaviest load. He had brought enough to last until he reached the canyon. Altering this plan, one that had been meticulously well formulated, was unwise, yet Tyr felt he could improvise equally well. He sensed a more exciting adventure ahead. First, I must save Ata's life, he thought. However, anticipation of meeting Ata's parents brought with it a certain amount of apprehension.
⁂
Tyr had memorized the drones' flight schedule, so he and Ata zigzagged a course across the plains to avoid crossing their paths. His drone-tracking device verified they'd not been sighted, yet Tyr worried that Ata's journey to Galileo from the steppe had not gone unnoticed.
After miles and miles of grass, gullies, and rocky patches, Tyr and Ata neared the Ostarians' camp. Tyr slowed the air board as two men on horseback approached. They halted. One of the men, a large warrior with long dark braids, lifted Ata onto his horse, leaving Tyr to follow them, or not.
The camp was in a state of chaos. A river of people coursed to the left, while the two men carrying Ata cut to the right. Tyr covered his face with his mask and followed the crowd.
A woman, heavy with child, was kneeling beside the body of a boy. She stroked the boy's face while she sobbed. Two women crouched next to her with their hands on her shoulders, rubbing her back. They were crying, too.
Tyr remembered Shakespeare's words—“Whiles the mad mothers with their howls confused do break the clouds”—Oh, he thought, to be loved like that!
Someone off to the side caught his attention. Staring at Tyr with alarm and disbelief in her huge brown eyes was Pilot Pots! Her cream-colored white buffalo head mounted on a woman's body appeared surreal, a buffoonery among solemn human tragedy.
Pots handed the reins of a horse to an old man and hurried along the fringe of the crowd toward Tyr. “What are you doing here?”
“That's the boy who died on the air board?”
The pilot nodded. “His death was my fault.”
Pots didn't know the dead boy, yet she cries for him too. Tyr wondered how far women's empathy would stretch. “A girl's horse dumped her on a thorn bush because of me. Her name is Ata. She might die.”
“Why did you bring her here? Jacob could have helped her.”
Pots didn’t seem too concerned for the girl. The pilot kept her eyes on the boy’s mother, who continued weeping, but was now surrounded by a larger circle of women, most with tears in their eyes. Pilot’s eyes were dry and Tyr sensed her impatience with this public display of mourning. “Ata is better off with her own people.”
Pots sighed as though she agreed. “As are we.” She glanced at the air board Tyr had tucked under his arm. “Would you give me a lift back?”
“The commander must know we're here by now. I'm certain he'll send someone for you soon. ”
The corners of Pots's lips curled upward. “Gunner's going to kill me. I liberated the boy's body without permission.”
Tyr shook his head. “These natives—they are the ones in trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
Tyr shrugged. “I don't know. They just are.”
A dozen men on horseback arrived. Dust stirred and shouts fill the air. The crowd's mood shifted from one of mourning to one of tension and anger.
Pots whispered in Tyr's ear, “I think we should go.”
&n
bsp; “No,” Tyr replied. “I’m staying.” He handed Pots the air board. Nothing she could say would change his mind.
CHAPTER 15
Pilot Pots Kahn-Anderson
One standard week after returning the native boy's body to his tribe, the natives hadn't approached Galileo, and Pots hadn't received the expected reprisal from the commander. She kept her head down, creeping under his radar. Although her apprehension had decreased, Pots did not believe in good fortune, especially her own. Gunner was supposed to make some sort of an announcement that evening.
Pots and Josh sat with about a hundred residents of Galileo in newly constructed benches and chairs that had been arranged to form an outdoor lecture hall near Galileo's community center, one of several semi-up-and-running centers scattered throughout the city. A white tarp served as a background screen. The night air was cool and the projected holo of a plant leaf was fuzzy, but no one complained—the consensus was to bask in the normalcy of attending meetings and lectures under any condition and on any topic.
The presenter, a botanist, had introduced herself as Dr. Emily Golden. She was a petite, feline woman with a timid manner of speaking. Everyone remained still and quiet so as not to startle her.
“The common name for this beauty is Prairie Go-Round.” A slight smile quivered her whiskers. “Although it appears similar to Earth's wild strawberry plant, the fruit from this plant will loosen one's stool.”
Dr. Golden enlarged the holo of the plant's red berries. “Take a good look at these. They're not strawberries, so don't eat them. Fortunately, we have determined the plant to be non-toxic, so we have categorized its fruit and leaves as medicinal.”
There he is. Gunner appeared along the sideline with Lieutenant Thomas in tow. The commander stood next to the Prairie Go-Round, and then stooped to eyeball the plant more closely.
A woman spoke from a seat in the inside aisle. “Why, I'd rather take E-Z-Lax than chew on a plant.”
All heads turned. Celine—singer, dancer, actress, pop idol, adored by men on two planets—sashayed to the front of the stage, next to Gunner, and bent over the plant. To view and be viewed, Pots thought.
Dr. Golden slumped; the shy smile had been abandoned. “We must learn to be self-sufficient. Supplies from Earth will be depleted, and we won't have pharmaceutical manufacturing capabilities anytime soon. It makes sense to—”
Celine moved across the front of the stage like a benevolent goddess. “Excuse me, Dr. Golden. Just yesterday, Barbara Percy told me that Alpha Horizon is about to deliver top business and manufacturing executives. With their expertise, we won't have to live like refugees. Isn't that right, Barbara?”
The commander's head whip-snapped from the plant to Agent Percy—Pots could almost hear his neck pop. Celine's announcement must have been news to him. Pots leaned forward to watch Gunner's next move.
Barbara Percy sat cringing in the front row. The government agent squirmed under Gunner's stare.
“This is getting good,” Pots whispered to Josh.
Celine took command of center stage. “Enough of all this serious talk. I have a surprise for everyone. I mean, if the lecture is over, of course.”
The crowd bubbled with excitement, prompting Dr. Golden to collect her notes and plant and leave with only a brief sputtering of applause.
“Since everyone is here…and we have a new big screen…I thought it'd be fun to watch a movie together!”
The crowd agreed. Enthusiastically.
“Cripes,” Pots mumbled.
Josh, not taking his eyes off of Celine, said, “I dunno. A movie might be fun.”
Celine purred, “Darlings, I knew you'd be pleased. Be patient. It'll take a couple minutes to set up.”
“I have other things to do.” Pots stood to leave, but found Dr. Reynolds blocking her way.
“Haven't seen you around much, Pots.”
Pots sat back in her seat. Josh moved a little closer, his arm pressed against hers.
“I've been working.” Pots glared straight at Jacob's crocodile head, willing herself not to blink.
“At what? Body removal services?” Jacob voice was razor edged.
I can do this.
“Commander Dovmont really chewed my ass for not performing the autopsy.”
It's a crocodile mask, nothing more.
“So you can stand the sight of me now, can you? What I really want to know is why you did it? Was it your plan when you came to the hospital that night? To lure me away just so you could steal the corpse?”
“The boy's body belonged to his people!” Pots's face burned and the itching—which had subsided since riding the horse—suddenly spread to every part of her body.
Up front, Gunner and Barbara were shouting at one another. Barbara's hands chopped up the air, nearly hitting Gunner's nose. Gunner appeared calm, given that his voice was so loud. However, Lieutenant Thomas's lizard face and ear membranes were red while he paced beside the commander, holding his hand over his ear and barking into his com, as usual.
Celine's voice rose above the din of the crowd. “Take your seats, please. The show is about to begin. From my own personal movie collection, a classic, and one of my very own favorites, I'm delighted to present the original Planet of the Apes!”
Pots scoffed, “Of all the movies in the memory bank, she chose that one?”
Jacob's transparent eyelid blinked. “That boy's body was my responsibility, Pots. How did you do it, anyway? You didn't just lug 80 pounds through the camp and hop on the back of a horse by yourself. You had help, didn't you?”
“Guilty,” Josh said, raising his hand. “I'm Pots's partner in crime. Aiding and abetting. All that and more, old chap.”
“And who in the hell are you?” Jacob's shoulders and biceps bulged. “Oh, wait. I remember. You were the stock boy on the ship.”
Pots put her hand on Jacob's forearm. “Don't get cocky. Josh was a grad student at Yale. The world ending kind of toasted his career.”
“So rich daddy bought his ticket on the first ship out?”
On the screen, Charlton Heston looked out into space from the cockpit of his craft. He puffed on a cigar and shot himself up with a wicked looking syringe.
“Hardly,” Josh said, “My father is a founding member of the Storm Riders. He would never have approved of my leaving.”
Up front, Barbara was poking her finger at Gunner's chest. Celine was between them, attempting to usher the two toward their seats.
Jacob would not be deterred. “Only essential, skilled people were supposed to be on board.” Did Jacob just hiss? “What do we need with stowaway water boys?”
On screen, a spacecraft plummeted towards blue-black water. Pots scratched her neck on the border between fur and skin. “I'm glad we didn't watch this before we landed.”
“Excuse me?”
Pots purposely yawned. “Josh has extraordinary DNA. The scientists at Yale discovered it when he was working in a lab and was exposed to a live vial of Frankenstein Flu.”
“Yep. Everyone thought I was a goner.” Josh beamed.
He's just too cute! “When Josh didn't die, his Profs became interested in his DNA.”
“Seems I'm immune to just about everything.”
On screen, the spaceship's portholes were beneath water.
Pots continued, “They were using his blood to create a serum.”
“My professor convinced my mother and me that I should stay alive and contribute to the gene pool.” Josh smiled at Pots. “So I'm here to spread the good seed.”
Lieutenant Thomas and Agent Percy had knocked over a couple of the plant samples. Dr. Golden rushed from her seat to scoop plants and dirt back in the pots. Celine appeared to be sweet-talking the commander, who was glancing intermittently between her and the movie. Thomas abruptly stepped back from Barbara's flailing hand and fell over Dr. Golden.
Jacob snorted. “So Pots prefers bovine sex. But just so you know, Josh, you're wasting your superman seed on a crone.”
The astronauts on the big screen abandoned their rapidly sinking craft. Pots stood and leveled her gaze at Jacob. She drew her fist back and punched him in the nose.
Josh, leaning back, replied, “Technically, dude, Pots and I are cervid.”
⁂
The next morning, Pots stood in the field adjacent to the shuttle landing pad. She, and about a hundred others had gathered there, expecting friends or family members. Dr. Byrd hopped up on the landing platform and called for everyone's attention.
“The first shuttle will arrive in fourteen minutes. Remember, the newcomers are having a difficult time adjusting to their appearances. If any one of them begin to panic, hyperventilate, or pass out, you should immediately shout for either myself or one of the other doctors.”
Pots scratched the inside of one ankle with her other foot. “I hope Captain Montalbam stops by Galileo.”
Josh squeezed her hand. “He will. And your brother will be here soon.”
“Spade is on one of the shuttles.” I kept my part of the deal. Gunner better have kept his.
“No doubt.”
“You know, it wasn't my fault Tyr ran away. Gunner could have sent a platoon to bring him home. But when I told him Tyr was with the natives, he just nodded, as though he couldn't be bothered.”
“If the commander is content, then I wouldn't worry about it.”
“If Gunner is content, then something is seriously wrong. Tyr was worried about the natives. Gunner is planning something. Why would he want Tyr to live with the natives? I don't trust that croc of—”
“Be calm. Let's see if the old guy delivered on your brother. Then you can decide how evil he is.”
Pots scratched.
Voices erupted.
“Look!”
“There it is!”
“Where?”