Undazzled

by Chance Maree

  Lieutenant Thomas escorted the young girl into the tent. They were accompanied by Pilot Pots and Dr. Jacob Reynolds, both of whom remained by the entrance.

  “Commander Dovmont, sir, I'm honored to introduce you to Ata, daughter of Tarq.”

  Gunner remained seated at the head of the conference table. The native girl wore a simple tunic made from tanned animal skin with a short vest lined with fleece. Her feet were wrapped in skins up to her calves and her long black hair was neatly braided. The girl was pretty, with large brown eyes and rosy lips. How strange it is to see a human face again. Gunner tried to smile without scaring her. “Greetings, Ata. It is my pleasure to meet you.”

  The girl straightened and held her chin high. “We do salute you, Commander of Earth; and lieutenants and peers, health to you all!”

  Gunner covered the end of his snout with his hand. Tyr had taught the girl Shakespearean English! Gunner offered Ata a seat, which she declined. He pulled his chair from the table and sat so he could observe the girl more closely. Gunner made his mind very still.

  “Sure, we thank you,” the commander said. I remember that dialogue. Stevenson, his roommate at the academy, had made Gunner watch Henry V at least a dozen times. In it, a wayward youth becomes a king. The thought made Gunner laugh on the inside. On the outside, his face remained grim. “We pray you to proceed, and tell us your mind.” The archaic words felt awkward at first, but Gunner thought he had succeeded in mimicking the general tone.

  Ata nodded. “You must not dare infest the land, Commander. The People in the Canyon will see no harm between us.”

  “I would like to meet the People in the Canyon and discuss with them how we might share the land.”

  “They say you come from a world with a different sun. You fly among the stars, and to the stars you must return.”

  At this, the commander frowned. “Did they say anything else?”

  “You must not dare, for shame, to talk of mercy, for the People in the Canyon will squash you like skatins.”

  The commander leaned back in his chair. The girl is Tyr’s puppet. What does the boy hope to gain from this charade? Stevenson had suggested giving Tyr plenty of leeway during puberty, which would be finished before the boy reached full strength. Puberty was certain to be a troublesome blip—after which, Stevenson promised, the educational material will be fully assimilated and Gunner would be able to count on Tyr’s development into a perfectly compliant soldier. How Henry V fit into that picture was difficult to imagine.

  Gunner thanked Ata for her message and asked Pots to take the girl to the mess tent for something to eat.

  After the pilot ducked out of the tent, Gunner called, “Doctor Reynolds, with me.”

  “Yes, Commander?” Jacob approached the table where Gunner was sitting. The doctor appeared bleary eyed, and unusually calm.

  “Have you made progress on the project I requested?”

  The doctor cleared his throat. “Not much. I don't have enough information about their physiology.”

  “You have the native boy's DNA and tissue samples. Tell me, what more do you need?”

  “That's not enough to—”

  Gunner held up his hand. “Excuse me.” He walked away, cupping his hand over his ear to listen to Thomas through his personal com. “Perfect. Thank you, Lieutenant. The doctor will be right there.”

  The commander put his hand on Dr. Reynolds’s shoulder. “You are in luck. I've just been informed we have another native corpse. It's a female from a tribe outside Franklin.” Gunner withheld further details concerning the woman’s death, but he noted with some surprise that Jacob didn’t ask.

  CHAPTER 18

  Doctor Jacob Reynolds

  Jacob looked into the mirror. Revulsion like lava bubbled in his stomach, scorching his throat—smothering lava, fiery smoke curling up through that long, scaled, gray snout with nostrils so large he could put his thumb in them— he did that once already—and heating a face that was not, could not, possibly be his. I am a man, not a fiendish beast.

  Only a monster having such a face as this, with thick skin, tough as wood, would cut into the body lying on the table in the next room. The native woman's corpse had been flown to Galileo on the military shuttle from Franklin. The circumstance of her death was said to be unknown, but Jacob knew death had not come easy.

  To the face in the mirror, “Who are you?” he whispered. “I want my humanity back.”

  Jacob's human face had been handsome—women, children, and sometimes men would look at him with instant friendship and approval. Jacob tried on a swashbuckler smirk, hoping for a glimpse of the person he'd been, but the reflection showed hunger, viciousness and cold, cold blood that begged the mystery—with this face, can I have love in my heart?

  Tender emotions had withered ever since Pots bolted from his arms that night. Jacob had flashbacks of Pots's desperate flight from the clutches of an evil monster. He had thought to be of comfort to his lover, to show her that despite this horrible ordeal, they could find sanity in one another and that their hearts had not changed. Perhaps Pots saw what he did not. The beast had always been inside—only its chains had been broken.

  Jacob slumped, noticing that he felt old and tired. Working for the commander had murdered what little honor he had left. Pots deserted him—with her being a lonely crone, he thought she’d value him more. Not that Pots was the only woman in town. One of the lab biologists had been openly flirting with Jacob. Her face looked like a snake, but her upturned nose was cute. And what about the gecko nurse that had brought him lunch for the past three days? Hell, he was single and unattached. Maybe Celine wasn’t putting on an act. He could take her to Socrates for a seafood dinner—she’d like that. Why not? Jacob looked into the mirror once again. I may look like a croc, but a horny toad, I'll be. Fuck it all, and I'll fuck them all!

  He slammed down another Dynastimix.

  The native woman's body—call her Mary Sue—had to be autopsied. Gaining knowledge of the physiology of the natives was Jacob's sole—and secret—mission. The girl, Ata, had confirmed the commander's suspicions—there could be no peaceful coexistence with the natives.

  Brandishing the scalpel, Jacob observed the flexing of his forearm. Moist, smooth epidermis stretched over the brachloradialis. His were admirable extensors: carpi radialis longus, digitorum communis, and carpi ulnaris. He flexed and extended his wrist, watching the play of the muscles, the flesh, beneath creamy tan skin. He removed his shirt and then lifted the scalpel to his throat. If I cut off my head, I'd be a much prettier corpse.

  Laughter. Or close to it, a sound from that slim space between humor and pain. Jacob steeled himself to exploit the alien Mary Sue, who lay there with a human face that was pale and smooth skinned. Her height, weight, and other identifiable, individual details weren't important.

  Jacob clenched his thecodont dentition and drew the scalpel down the length of Mary Sue's linea alba. With each cut, and each organ exposed, he felt a very physical relief, a relaxing of his neck and shoulders, a lightness in his stomach, a pleasant buzz in his ears. He cut again, and cut and cut and hacked and hacked, exposing gore bound within this humanoid body and ugly, slack humanoid face. The surreal, exquisite gore, beautiful organs, healthy and gleaming tissue, sliced—Jacob was up to his elbows in human wash, and blood fed the darkness until he, too, was filled.

  The native's organs had been normal, each and every one. Nothing fascinating or distinctive to ponder or thrill. Jacob sloshed them in plastic bags and dumped them into cold storage. Gently, though, to a side table, Jacob carried the uterus with delicate ovaries sprouting from the fallopian tubes. He laid the alien-looking creature that could be found in every female body on a cool steel plate. The doctor had already devised a strategy, and from the uterus, he'd refine its parameters. Bio-nanos would easily incapacitate the organ, while leaving the host alive. Care must be given, though, because the commander desired a kinder, gentler conquering than those in Earth's history. The nativ
es' lives would be spared, but they would not beget future generational thorns.

  CHAPTER 19

  Tyr Dovmont

  The commander had to know that Tyr had entered the city. How else could Tyr have wandered around looking for Pots, then walked, unchallenged, back to Pots's tent with a bowl of fruit? Guards should have surrounded him by now, and Tyr was prepared to fight them—he carried a tribal sword under his cloak. If he must die, then his would be a noble death.

  Drones had seen them. The patrols paths were changed several times a week. Tyr knew he couldn't have avoided them. He'd ducked two drones on the way into Galileo, but the patrol guards alone should have spotted him. The lack of military presence in the camp was alarming and could only mean that Gunner hadn't thought it necessary to apprehend him. Regardless of the logic, Tyr didn’t feel safe.

  “Whatever happens, you can't let Gunner take me.”

  Pots stopped nibbling the still-green hydro-bananas. “Gunner would have sent soldiers to Ata's camp if he were intent on the matter.”

  “If his warriors come, I will not be captured alive.”

  An insect must have flown into Pots’s nose, because she snorted. That had happened to Tyr once, before he had started wearing his mask.

  Ata took Tyr seriously. “Don't worry, Henry Five. The commander listened to my warning. You are living with my family now, so the People in the Canyon will protect you.”

  “You did all you could, Ata, but Gunner does what he wants.” Pots placed one palm on the top of Ata's head and activated her com with the other. As the pilot listened to a message, a wrinkle formed on her brow. “Josh says some big secret project is in the works. Doctor Reynolds has been sequestered in the lab with a bunch of engineers, all reptilian.”

  “The commander should not anger the People in the Canyon,” Ata insisted. She shook her head and frowned. “I warned him.”

  Tyr turned to Pots. “If these People of the Canyon exist, then we should go talk to them.”

  Ata touched Tyr on the arm. “People in the Canyon, Henry Five.”

  Pots dropped the green banana peel into the trashcan. “Let's go,” she said, wiping her hands. “We can't just stand by and let Gunner start a war. But we have to act quickly. Captain Briggs said I could pilot Alpha Horizon's next trip.” The pilot smiled and scratched her forearm. “Until then, I'm a free agent.”

  Tyr sat next to Ata, who gave a tug on his mask. “Ata, can you tell us how to find the People in the Canyon?”

  “I can do better than that, Henry Five. I'll show you.”

  Tyr sensed a rise in Ata's blood pressure. She could be lying, he thought. That, or she's afraid.

  ⁂

  Tyr and Ata hid in Pots's tent, waiting for night to cover their departure from the camp. As the sun was beginning to set, Chief Engineer Wu appeared outside, begging for entrance. Pots opened the tent flap and ushered Wu in. Wu, wearing the ship's standard issue jumpsuit, looked lost as she clenched her swaddled newborn to her chest.

  “You have to help me, Pots. You have to protect this baby.” She pushed the bundle into Pots's arms.

  “Protect her from what, Casey?”

  “From me.” Wu held up her palms in a defensive position as she backed out of the tent. “I can't stand it. I just can't. Please, find someone else to take care of her.”

  Without another word, Wu disappeared as quickly as she had come. Ata and Tyr gathered to watch Pots examine the infant, who wiggled and cooed and seemed in every way perfect.

  “Casey is just having a bad night. The baby is adorable. She looks like you, Ata.” Pots rocked the infant in her arms. “The first Earth baby born on Ostara, and she looks as human as the ones back home. People here are trying to get used to seeing animal heads everywhere, so I can understand why a human face might bring up painful memories.” Pots carried the baby to the door of the tent. “Wu was dressed like she planned on returning to the ship.” The baby squawked and Pots began to rock it but the motion looked awkward. “The crew is leaving tonight. Casey wouldn’t abandon her kid, would she?”

  With more confidence than Tyr thought prudent, Ata stated, “My mother could take care of her.”

  Tyr stopped pacing. “Calestanta was pregnant, but her baby didn't live. She might still be lactating.”

  Pots scrunched up her buffalo nose face. “What would you know about lactation?”

  Tyr expected his education program wasn’t especially normal, so Pots’s question was best left unanswered. “Calestanta was shocked by Kortu's death. She went into labor prematurely. If we say this baby is an orphan, Calestanta might agree to help. Besides, do you know another wet nurse in the city, or do you suggest the baby be fed protein bars and green bananas?”

  “This is our baby. The first born in Galileo. She should grow up in Galileo.”

  Ata had been listening thoughtfully, but now she appeared to have made a decision. “My mother could keep Casey's baby until she is big enough to eat food. We do that when the real mother dies or doesn't have milk.”

  Tyr added that the baby would be safe with Ata's mother, and as he spoke, his voice slowed and he focused his third-sight inside Pots, reaching, reaching along the central nervous system until he found a trigger for an increase in the level of dopamine transmission in her brain.

  I shouldn't have done that, Tyr thought, but his guilt evaporated once Pots gazed down at the squirming newborn and voiced her consent.

  Tyr watched from the shadow of a newcomer's tent as Pots liberated the commander's WeeVil 2000 Light All-Terrain Vehicle. Pots and Tyr could have made the journey using air boards, but they decided a vehicle was necessary for Ata and the baby. Borrowing the commander's vehicle proved irresistible.

  As the WeeVil coasted neared the outskirts of the camp, they were intercepted by a light military transport.

  “We might as well pull over,” Pots said.

  “No!” Tyr was adamant.

  “They have weapons, okay? Let's just see what they want.”

  A solitary soldier hopped out of the passenger side of the transport and approached within the beam of the WeeVil's headlights. Ata ducked beneath a blanket with the sleeping baby.

  The soldier waved and handed Tyr a package wrapped in an orange cloth. “The commander wants you to have this.”

  “Thank you,” Pots said.

  “He said for you all to have a safe journey.” The soldier turned on his heels and walked away.

  “What is it?” Pots peered curiously at the bundle.

  Tyr unwrapped the cloth with trembling fingers. A trap? Some sort of mind control device? “Vitamins,” he replied. I suppose my death is not be in the commander's best interests.

  Although Tyr was relieved not to have to dodge military patrols, he suggested they keep the baby bundled and hidden from drones. Out in the plains, the overcast sky made for a dark night. Their headlights sliced through the black landscape, serving only to limit their range of vision within its beam. The artificial light prevented their eyes from adjusting to the dark.

  “I've been out here before at night,” Pots said, “and I was able to navigate by starlight. But it’s too cloudy now, so we should pull over and wait until dawn.”

  “Let me drive,” Tyr offered. “If we turn off the beams, I can see well enough.”

  Pots didn't believe him.

  “The commander taught me to drive,” Tyr lied. “Boys have always had to grow up fast on the frontiers.”

  “Go slow,” Pots said, looking skeptical.

  Tyr nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

  Both Ata and Pots smelled of sweat and fear as the vehicle careened through the terrain dark as pitch. After a hard jolt over rough ground, Pots screamed, clenching the sides of the vehicle, begging Tyr to slow down or stop.

  “Chikusho! Give me the wheel. You were supposed to drive slowly!”

  “Don't worry. We're safe. I see better in the dark than you.” Tyr pointed to his left. “There are six scrubby trees over there and three deer
are sleeping beneath them.”

  Pots turned her head. “I don't see any such thing.”

  “Night vision is reduced in the aging eye.”

  “Oh, shut up and drive.”

  Tyr laughed, feeling taller, stronger, and more confident. He'd run out of his medication two days ago, and was feeling better after having taken a couple of doses from the commander's package. Tyr could see contours and details of the landscape. He saw image outlines as flat shapes with inverse spectrum color. From Tyr's studies, he knew his sight was due to night goggle implants that were activated during low light emissions. This is supertastic! But of course he couldn't share his experience with Ata or Pots.

  When the cloud cover thickened, Tyr relied on echolocation. He responded to the engine's hum as it bounced off rocks and the roll of the land, sensing his way like a bat. Adrenalin rushed from his face down to his hands.

  Not wanting Pots to scream again, which had interrupted his focus, Tyr encouraged her brain's gamma-aminobutyric acid uptake, and soon the pilot slipped into a relaxed mood, swaying and humming some nonsensical nursery song to the baby. Tyr tried the stress reducing technique on Ata, but the girl's defensive energy pushed him out. He leaned over and whispered, “It's okay. I can see everything.” Ata bit the side of her lower lip and looked away.

  Hours later, Tyr slowed the vehicle well outside sight of Ata's tribe.

  Whereas he was excited over their adventure, Pots sounded annoyed and tired. “We just can't drive in, hand over the baby, then say, ‘Bye bye, we're going to visit the People in the Canyon now.’”

  Tyr handed Pots the geonavigator he kept in his satchel. “We'll be spotted by their scouts if we move in any closer. I see a place to hide the WeeVil. You can rest there while Ata and I go in on foot.” Instead of arguing, Tyr used his third-sight—this time without guilt. He was finding it useful not to have to explain or debate anything. Pots fell asleep immediately.