Undazzled

by Chance Maree

  “Rafiki! He's stopped moving! Please, let him out!”

  “You know that carbon dioxide will kill this animal. I know the natives are a danger to our people. Here, you’re asking me to intervene, to go against my desire for non-action, yet, when I ask the same of you, I find you've done nothing.”

  “I tried, but nothing I said made our people afraid of the natives. I don't know why women are giving away their babies—they just seem happy to do it. We’re trying hypnosis and it has worked in some cases.”

  “I saw a show at the community center last night.”

  Dr. Byrd groaned.

  “Celine was singing in a strange language with three native women as her backup chorus.”

  “Yes, I admit, I've failed.”

  Gunner shook the bag a little, which caused the monkey to move. “Losing your pet will be a shame, but losing our existence on Ostara would be a tragedy. And you could have saved both.”

  “I can still help.” Byrd was hopping on one foot, then the other. “I have information that may be critical for your success.”

  “You're proposing a barter?”

  Dr. Byrd squirmed, clearly wrestling with his moral perspective. “I've been getting close to Pilot Pots, close enough that she's taken me into her confidence about a matter.”

  Gunner shook the bag again. “Point?”

  With as mournful a face as possible on an avian, Dr. Byrd whispered, “She knows about Tyr and means to return to Earth for the express purpose of exposing you as a traitor.”

  The time had come to make a decision about the monkey's fate. Gunner handed the bag to Dr. Byrd, who immediately released his pet.

  “Stay useful, Dr. Byrd.” Gunner walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 24

  Doctor Jacob Reynolds

  Thrust. Lift. Zephyr detected. Olfactometer engaged. Time mark. Time mark. Time mark. Time....

  Kairomone detected. Power up. Lock. Land. Epidermal test. Positive. Implant. DNA match. Commence replication. Scouts launched. Time mark. Time mark.

  Signal incoming. Oocytes detected. Homing. Homing. Homing. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. Engaged. All clear. Power off. Power off. Power off. Power off.

  Instruction specs cycled through Jacob's mind-time, aloft, repeating for hours like a bad song. The panel of blinking lights spoke to him of stars at the end of eternity. Their numbers, decreasing, vanishing, until the final white spark was swallowed by a dark, dead screen. Jacob closed the silver cased lid and flipped the locks closed in one final, harsh movement.

  The project was finished. Jacob handed his case to a soldier, who then retreated inside the dirigible, leaving the doctor alone on deck. From aboard the airship, Jacob overlooked a native tribe intent on the business of moving their camp. Hundreds of those people, exposed to nature—and recently, nanobots—their homes packed onto carts, too busy to notice small skin pricks as dismissible as insect bites.

  The airship had caused a stir at first. A gift from Earth, it had been stored aboard Alpha Horizon along with the most recent wave of immigrants. Now, after repeated flights, the bloated silver bird seemed innocuous, so the natives waved or ignored the vessel, unaware of the war they were losing.

  ‘A gentle and compassionate war’—Jacob chewed the words while remembering his father, one of the last men on earth to pass on a strand of pure American Indian DNA. While Jacob's Japanese mother had raised her son to live in the modern world, his father had passed down deep scars from a history of disappointment and resentment. Given the circumstances…Papa would have done the same.

  Ease as soothing as ointment was found in pursuit of rational, practical thought. Because of him, Ostara’s natives will never suffer massacres or enslavement. No trail of tears will scar this land. No warriors like Ostarian Hinmaton-Yalaklit—whose pride had been broken when the Nez Perce tribe was forced onto a reservation. Chief Joseph's words would produce tears for generations, “Hear me, my chiefs, I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.”

  No Wounded Knees. No apologies or reparations. No loss of pride, dignity, or faith in humanity. This tribe of Ostarian natives will live long, peaceful lives, until their race vanishes and their existence, all but forgotten. As horrific as it was, Jacob considered the greater good and accepted dehumanization a burden of sacrifice.

  Only five saurian soldiers—all handpicked by the commander—were aboard the ship; they served without question. Together, they covered Jacob's tracks and collaborated lies around his scientific endeavors, something around environmental sampling for medicinal advancement. A cold and heavy deadness filled Jacob's chest. He welcomed the feeling.

  CHAPTER 25

  Tyr Dovmont

  “Problem with Old Barth, Prince Harry?” Mori waved spindly brown arms, drawing wide-eyed attention from the cud chewing bull.

  Tyr threw his weight and the force of every muscle he owned against the rope. Even using the laws of physics to maximize his force, the animal merely braced itself with a slight lean in the opposite direction. “Isn't there another beast we can use? This one seems reluctant to get hitched.”

  Tarq peered around a cart that had been piled high with wood beams, rolls of wool felt, and animal hides—all materials from the family's disassembled ger. Maintaining a face stern as stone, Tarq challenged, “Kortu was a boy when he handled Barth. Henry Five is strong, nearly a man. I expect Henry Five will work it out.”

  Tyr could have used his third-sight on Old Barth and created an itch or some other discomfort that would have compelled the bull to move, but if Kortu had found a way to motivate the beast, then Tyr could solve the puzzle, too.

  Tyr leaned against the bull's broad shoulder and in English, he whispered, “Fair Old Barth, and most fair, will you vouch safe to teach a soldier terms such as will enter at a bull's ear and plead his master-suit to its beastly gentle heart?”

  Blasting a snort, Barth shook his great head, sending Tyr flailing backward to avoid the long reach of pointed horns. Out of the corner of his eye, Tyr saw the sisters, Kara and Kena, riding past on a cart, giggling with hand-covered mouths. Last week, Tyr thought Kena the fairer one, but yesterday, Kara had smiled in his direction—smiled with her eyes meeting his, a smile just for him—and since that moment, Tyr felt enamored by Kara's disarming dimples, long slender waist, and breasts like buds beneath a beaded, buckskin dress.

  Tarq gruffed, “If Henry Five paid as much attention to the bull as to the fillies, we'd have been on our way heretofore.”

  Tyr straightened his mask. Of the natives he had tutored in Victorian English, Tarq was the most consistent and well-spoken. “I admit, I am well vexed! I can rightly handle horses, but this bull—whichever way I push, he leans the opposite.”

  “Different beasts, different lessons.” Tarq plopped a thick bundle of hides on the back of a second, smaller cart.

  Calestanta approached. Strapped on her back was Cass, the name given to Casey Wu's daughter, and on one hip, Daus balanced in mortal peril. “Why aren't the carts ready? I have nowhere to put these babies. What is this? The borts haven't been loaded? Where's the cheese? It needs to be near the front! Without Ata's help, I am overwrought.” Her voice pitch rose with each statement.

  “The People in the Canyon will return Ata by and by.” Tarq hadn't stopped working. He glanced at his wife out of the corner of one eye.

  “By and by.” Calestanta's temper perked, and continued to rise. “Everything with you, my husband, is by and by.”

  “Mind your tongue!” Tarq bellowed. “I have hope you'll leave behind this sour mood of late!”

  Tyr rushed to help Calestanta deposit Cass into a basket. He set the basket on the cushioned floor of the small cart. As Calestanta turned to lift Daus, she grimaced and clutched her lower abdomen.

  Tyr hastened again to help. “What's wrong?”

  “I’m fine.” Calestanta waved Tyr away. “Attend to Barth. The old bull must be yoked forthwith.” She glanced side
long at Tarq, who stopped loading the cart and walked away.

  Calestanta frowned and a deep furrow divided the usual smoothness of her brow. She whispered to Tyr, “Old Barth is just like that man—prod him in one direction if you want him to go the other.”

  Making use of Calestanta's advice, Tyr maneuvered the bull in position and lowered the tongue of the wagon shaft between Barth and Stew, a younger bull and less dangerous once Tyr had learned to avoid its lateral kick. By the end of the morning of loading and yoking, Tyr was dirty, sweaty, and bruised.

  With the carts packed and ready, Tarq motioned to Tyr to board the driving bench of the big wagon. Mori whooped and scrambled beside Tyr, but grew silent as Tyr was handed the lines to the bulls' halters. To Mori, Tarq passed a large stick, and then left the boys on their own while he took the driving seat on the smaller cart carrying Calestanta, supplies, and the babies.

  “Ho yup!” Tarq bellowed. Mori prodded Stew with his stick. They joined the slow stream of rolling wagons. The wooded seat was narrow and hard. Dust stung Tyr's eyes and coated his nose, bringing him to wonder how Mori could talk nonstop without choking. A herd of goats passed, filling the air with stench enough to cause his stomach to churn. Tyr shouted, “Now sits the wind fair, and we will aboard!” Never had his life felt more Shakespearean.

  ⁂

  The following days were spent rolling over the plains with rest only at night. Eventually, the tribe drew within sight of the canyon, where they annually took shelter through months of winter cold and snow. During the journey, Tyr stole brief moments alone initially with Kara and then Kena. Kara was the first to invite a kiss. The next day, Kena, the elder sister by one year, brought a cowhide under which she and Tyr explored one another with fingertips. Tyr stroked the soft skin of Kena's belly, and found himself drawn to a feverish heat he could feel concentrated near her hips. He held his hand over the sensation, focusing on the girl’s fleshy interior. He scanned her lower body, keeping his mind without intention, a recently learned strategy that negated the defensive energy which had thwarted his attempts at third-sight with Ata.

  The impressions Tyr gained from Kena's groin were those of swelling, dead tissue, and trauma. “How did you get hurt?”

  Kena lifted her head from beneath the hide. “I don’t know. One day I felt pain down there, and then my skin looked bruised.” Using the hide to preserve modesty, the girl pulled up the side of her dress and showed Tyr a purple patch, medial to her hips.

  The sight of Kena's exposed body caused Tyr to inhale loudly through his nose. He fumbled for words to express how beautiful she was, but lost confidence when Kena pulled the hide over herself and furiously adjusted her dress.

  “You don't have to stare. It looks ugly, I know. Well, Kara has bruises, too.” Kena snatched away the hide. Emotions contorted her features into a dizzying array of expressions. With a huff, she clasped the hide to her chest and ran. Tyr flopped onto his back, wrecked by disappointment and helpless confusion.

  ⁂

  The next morning, Tyr orbited Calestanta, waiting for a moment to speak to her in private. Once everyone was occupied with travel preparations and with only the babies nearby, he asked if her stomach pain was a frequent or normal occurrence.

  “I am fine,” Calestanta insisted. “I will drive the cart today.” She gathered the two infants and abandoned Tyr to finish repacking the wagon.

  So be it! If Tyr could have achieved his goal by his wits, he certainly would have tried. Kortu may have manipulated Old Barth, but Tyr would wager the boy had ever managed to pry a secret from a woman.

  Desperate and emboldened, Tyr reached out to view the internal structure of Calestanta's body. Tyr probed deep into groin tissue, cautious as a thief, and just as foiled when a defensive push sent him reeling away, leaving him more confused than ever, for despite his studies of anatomy, the female reproductive system had been omitted and the boy had not a clue whether the condition he viewed would be considered as normal.

  That one, quick view of a glob of flesh had appeared scrambled, and Tyr detected that Calestanta's body was responding with antibodies and ongoing cellular repair. Still, her condition puzzled, nagged, and caused such fret, the boy wished he had never looked. How could he tell Tarq or Calestanta about what he'd seen? As he climbed aboard the wagon, Tyr felt every ache from the many days on its hard bench. Such was the price of a heavy heart. Mori hopped up beside him and began a long stream of praise for the night's rest he enjoyed, the food on which he broke his fast, the virtues of farting, and the weather.

  Mori's prattle grew increasingly shrill until Tyr desired nothing more than to toss the younger boy off the wagon. Instead, Tyr willed away his own physical discomfort. He straightened the vertebra along his back and boomed, “What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect, that private men enjoy!”

  Mori shrugged. “What is that you say, brother?”

  “Brother?”

  Mori gave a nod and grunted, sounding every bit like Tarq. Tyr volleyed a grunt of his own and both boys fell into a fit of laughter. Tarq rode by on his stallion, and with one hand signaled the silent greeting that warriors use among themselves during long rides on the plains. The boys signaled a reply—all was well.

  ⁂

  After another week of traveling at a crawl, the end of the caravan rolled through a pass that opened onto a wide flat of land surrounded by mountains. Tyr arrived to see that most of the caravan had already started unpacking. Parked wagons, some loaded only with gers, filled a cove on the left. All other corners of the canyon bustled with activity as families drove the smallest of their carts up narrow paths to what appeared to be hundreds of cave entrances dotting the mountainsides.

  “What is this place?” Tyr hopped off the wagon. The towering canyon walls capped by a dazzling blue sky caused his head to spin.

  Tarq dismounted and tied his horse to the cart. He unyoked Old Barth and Stew from the larger wagon and motioned for Mori to drive them towards the communal herd of animals that had been set to graze in the far end of the flatland. “Meet us at our cave directly, son. There's work to be done before nightfall.”

  Tarq and Tyr joined Calestanta on the family's cart and turned to the eastern wall. Tyr clenched the side panels as Tarq drove at a fast clip up a path barely wide enough for the wheels. They passed a dozen entrances before Tarq pulled off onto a flat landing off one of the caves.

  Tyr jumped off the wagon and peered inside. The entrance was not ragged, rocky, or natural. He ran his hands over cool, smooth edges. “What is this?”

  He tapped on the hard surface that continued on into the interior walls. “It isn't rock.” Tyr whirled to find Tarq. “Who made this?”

  A cry from inside the cave drew every eye. Ata—Ata!—with arms stretched forward, mouth wide, and tears, rushed toward them.

  “Papa! Mama!”

  Other sounds joined the chorus: cries, from Calestanta, and bellowed mirth, from Tarq.

  The family reunited in a tangle of arms within the cave. Tyr stepped forward to join them, and stopped. His skin tingled and his heart pounded as alarm squeezed it in a grip of ice and sweat. He spun and looked outward, towards the surrounding cliffs uniformly banded with tan paths and dotted with gaping…traps. Focusing far, Tyr saw passages from far corners where wagons continued to enter, bringing other tribes to share these enclosures.

  The People in the Canyon. Were they trappers or zookeepers? Tyr had befriended mistrust long ago, and now he opened his com for help. “Pots!” he called, but to no answer; the communication link was dead. Tyr closed the com. Am I cut off, or are the mountains interfering with the signal?

  “I'll be back soon,” Tyr yelled. “I'm borrowing the horse!”

  Before he could leave, Ata sprinted from the cave. She was dressed in a short white gown, and silver sandals were laced over her feet. Shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she watched Tyr mount the horse.

  “Henry Five! Don't you want to hear about my adventure with the Peopl
e in the Canyon?”

  “Tarq assured us you would be well,” Tyr said, keeping his face hard like stone. “I'm riding outside the pass to see if I can contact Pots. Your story, though grand, will have to wait.”

  Calestanta, with Cass cradled in her arms, stood behind her daughter. “Ata doesn't have the blue marks.” She looked up at Tyr. “All of us have them—all of us who are female, even our baby girls.” Cass began to fuss, but Calestanta ignored her. “Cass and the babies born of your people don't have them.” Calestanta looked at Tyr, and her eyes held unspoken meaning.

  “Ata might not be infected. If she is, she'll show signs soon enough.”

  Calestanta snapped, “Your people's babies don't have the blue marks. If your people can protect Ata, then you must take her to them!”

  “I'm just riding outside the mountain pass. I have no intention of going to Galileo.”

  “When your people asked us to care for their babies, we accepted them as our own. Now, I'm asking you to take my baby girl to safety!”

  Tarq exited the cave. He handed Tyr a water bladder and a knapsack, then lifted Ata onto the saddle.

  “I don't want to go,” Ata complained. “I missed you, Father, and I only just returned!”

  Tarq stroked his daughter's cheek and looked up at Tyr. “I will take Calestanta into the Canyon. The People will tell us the meaning of these blue marks. Until then, keep Ata safe.”

  Tarq stepped back, and, giving the horse a slap on the rump, yelled, “Henry Five, this is my favorite horse. Make certain he is returned to me.”

  “By your will, I shall take Ata to Galileo.” Tyr added over his shoulder, “I'll bring your horse back shortly thereafter.”

  At the base of the mountain, Ata squirmed against Tyr's chest. “Stop at the corral. I want to ride my own horse!”