Undazzled

by Chance Maree

  “No,” Tyr answered, firm yet gentle. Ata seemed younger than he remembered. She was light and frail as a twig. “I'm sorry, but we'll travel faster together on this one.”

  Ata turned to show Tyr her most sour expression. “You were nicer when you were small,” she mumbled, but her words were nearly lost in the pounding of their horse's hooves upon hardened ground.

  CHAPTER 26

  Pilot Pots Kahn-Anderson

  Pots stood among the crones Reed, Brockman, Abu-Adal, and Lopez as Captain Earl Briggs spoke over the grave of Pilot Sook Kim. The captain, head bowed and deep lines etched below his reptilian eyes, spoke of Kim's selflessness and courage aboard Alpha Horizon. He raised his voice in appreciation for the pilot's part in transporting humanity to Ostara, a safe haven that Pilot Kim herself had little opportunity to enjoy.

  Pots drew her shoulders back, keeping dry-eyed and grounded by anger. The graying crones surrounding her were emaciated fragments—shadows, parched animal head trophies dressed in formal whites. They'd piloted three round trips, straight, without relief. Yet, Pots envied them as she covertly scratched her forearms until she bled.

  As the mourners dispersed, Captain Briggs caught Pots's attention, motioning that he wished to speak with her. Pots remained standing with the crones, however, forcing the captain to approach them.

  “How did Sook die?” Such was Pots's greeting.

  The captain's eyes darted towards the thinning crowd, avoiding the stares of the crones as they stood, stony and as cold as Greek hags of justice. For a fleeting moment, the ground beneath them seemed to shake, and while each glanced to the others for reassurance, not one commented on the sensation. Life was complicated enough.

  “Alpha Horizon killed her.” The Captain’s voice was flat.

  At least he is being honest. Pots's throat constricted, forcing her to speak in a whisper. “Pushing Alphie too fast?”

  “Not by my orders.”

  The crones stirred from apathetic silence to indignation. Pilot Kim had grown agitated, they argued. She'd been denied time off, because the Caption had allowed them to launch while short-handed.

  Lopez snarled, baring leonine fangs. “You knew everyone was exhausted.”

  Murmurs of agreement pressed upon the captain until his shoulders slumped and he physically appeared to shrink.

  Pots forbade herself to feel pity. “Where are the new pilots?”

  Briggs hesitated, and then cleared his throat. “The training program has been abandoned. Pilot Ken Moor joined us this round. He was experienced, a U.S. Air Force veteran. We buried him yesterday in Baha.”

  Piloting has always been dangerous, but what good am I here? Pots put on an air of bravado. “I'm not afraid to fly Alpha Horizon.”

  No one acted surprised.

  “Take the shuttle tonight. We depart at 0600.” The captain added, “And Pilot Pots, keep it on the QT. I'll inform Commander Dovmont of your assignment once we leave orbit.”

  The itching stopped, willfully forgotten. Pots opened her com to tell Spade, Josh, and Victor her news. She owed them that. She'd have to cancel dinner with Jacob; best to tell him face to face. Then came an urgent message from Tyr: “Come to Dr. Reynold's lab!”

  Chikoshu! Whatever it was, the matter had to be important for Tyr to risk Gunner's attention by turning on his com, but Pots had little time to spare—the shuttle would leave for Alpha Horizon in less than three hours.

  Grumbling, the pilot trudged past house builders, street pavers, and a water pipe installation crew. With an additional influx of equipment and materials from Earth, Galileo looked more and more like home, and after three immigrations, it was already crowded. The ground shook again, briefly, increasing Pots's sense of foreboding. They must be using explosives somewhere.

  The construction crew appeared to ignore the tremor beneath their feet. Pots searched their faces, hoping to see Spade. Her brother had been assigned to one of the crews, but Pots didn’t see him anywhere. Josh was probably in the garden center, watering something. Victor was likely engineering some alternative manufacturing process or material. All three men were angry at Pots, she figured, because none of them had bothered to answer her page.

  Tyr needed someone's help, and clearly, Pots had to fit him in—at the cost of packing, if need be. She grabbed an air board and headed toward the lab. In the old days—say, three months ago—she'd have gotten away with an impromptu borrowing, but those times had passed, and Pots was subjected to angry shouts from the board's alleged owner.

  “Fuzakeruna!” Pots cursed at the canine chasing her. She tilted the board to high gear and left the slobbering fleabag in the dust.

  ⁂

  The assistants in Jacob's lab directed Pots to the masked boy hunched over the i-scroll in the corner. Tyr looked up and hastily waved. Ata peeked from behind the table.

  “They cut off my access, so I'm using Dr. Reynolds's ID to look up diseases of the female reproductive system. There's no mention of blue marks or causes for spontaneous destruction of the ovaries. Ata is unaffected, but all the other native females in her tribe may be infertile!”

  Pots folded her arms across her chest and glanced at the clock. “You need to discuss this with Jacob. I'm an astronomer, not a biologist, besides which, Captain Briggs asked me to report aboard Alpha Horizon tonight.”

  Tyr continued paging through the scroll. “Go then. I'll take care of this myself.”

  “Look,” Pots added, “If this condition is contagious, have you considered that Ata might be a carrier?” Hoping Ata hadn't learned English well enough to understand, Pots whispered quickly into Tyr's ear, “You need to put her in isolation.”

  “Only native females have been infected. However, our anatomies are not that different. It's puzzling.” Tyr wedged a finger behind his mask and scratched his chin. Through the eyeholes, Pots watched his eyes suddenly widen and excitement cracked his voice. “We need a DNA sample from Ata!”

  “That won't be necessary,” Jacob said, and then asked that they pardon him for the interruption.

  The doctor's appearance startled Pots. Never had he looked so predatory, so sinister and reptilian. They had taken to making love in the dark. Even then, Pots closed her eyes and imagined Jacob as he had been on Alpha Horizon. Here, under the artificial light, Jacob’s thick, gray scales, flared nostrils, and gleaming teeth caused Pots to shudder.

  Jacob continued, “I've already compared the natives' DNA to our own, and the variances are no screwking different than those between our five types. Here, let me show you...”

  “Language?” Pots mumbled.

  Jacob touched Pots's nose. “That mouffle is adorable when you're angry.” He smiled and motioned them to a transparent plate set upon a lab table. Five images of DNA strands appeared. Jacob's rapid speech and the intensity of his movements betrayed unfeigned, frayed nerves and excitement. He’s kangered, Pots thought.

  “We've discovered unique genetic markers for each of our types.” Jacob touched the image of a group of coded genes, illuminating them. “For example, this sequence appears only on the DNA of rudiments. Each type shares certain sequences that differ from the others.

  “Our team correlates these sequences to the effectiveness, or ineffectiveness, of common pharmaceuticals. The discovery is screwking amazing! Instead of having to match a prescription to an individual's DNA, bloody hell, all we have to do is match the drug to their type!

  “See? Holy crap! Now we can treat the entire bloody population on Ostara just as effectively as we could on Earth.”

  “That's great, Doctor,” Tyr interrupted, “but what about the natives?”

  Jacob evoked another DNA model that, to Pots's untrained eyes, was indistinguishable from the others. She glanced at the clock and began to fidget.

  “Look at the DNA. The natives are just another screwking type.”

  “What's with your language, Jacob?” Pots glanced at Ata, who sat in Jacob's chair, yawning.

  As Tyr studied the
DNA model, he looked as excited as Jacob. “That explains how a disease might affect only native women. Perhaps Ata wasn’t infected because she was in the canyon, away from the disease vector.”

  I’ll have to speed things up here. Pots turned off the projector. “We can conclude that Ata was lucky, or she's immune and possibly a carrier, but not a risk to the women here. I think Tyr and Ata should go back to the natives' camp before Gunner finds out you're here.”

  Tyr shook his head. “If the commander wanted me captured, his soldier would have arrived by now.”

  “I doubt he’d risk exposing you,” Pots blurted, and immediately regretted her words. I need a diversion. “Dr. Reynolds, is Ata in any danger?”

  The doctor shrugged. “Hard to say.”

  Tyr had been staring fixedly at Jacob. The mask didn't hide the boy's anger. He put his arm protectively around Ata. “I will do everything thing I can to protect her. If the disease goes pandemic, she may end up the only fertile native female on Ostara.”

  Not taking his eyes off of Jacob, Tyr added, “Pots, you have to take Ata away from here. Take her aboard Alpha Horizon. I'll get to the bottom of this by the time you return.”

  The boy had spoken with undisguised hatred—not the diversion Pots would have chosen, but it worked. Jacob said, “Wait! Pots, you're leaving? Don't tell me you're going to pilot Alphie again. Fuck it! That worm killed two pilots already!”

  “I have to go. They need me.” Pots looked at the clock. “I'll take Ata with me, and Tyr, I think you should come with us. Someone needs to watch Ata while I'm piloting. I'm certain Gunner won't mind.” She averted her eyes, lest they betray the motivation behind her request: Tyr, a product of the illegal abuse of military bioengineering, was the evidence she needed to bring down Gunner.

  Jacob glared at Pots. “Tyr, I agree with Pots. And don’t worry. I’ll see what I can do to help the natives.”

  Tyr's voice was especially cold coming from behind his mask. “They moved camp for the winter. You won't be able to find them.”

  Jacob put his hand on Tyr's shoulder. The gesture should have been friendly, but the motion was forced, even threatening. “We have satellites, drones, and an air ship if we need them. Finding a few natives shouldn't be a problem.”

  Tyr brushed Jacob's hand off his shoulder. “Doctor Reynolds, you, sir, are the problem!”

  Urgent messages from Victor, Josh, and Spade arrived simultaneously over Pots's com, giving her pause, and clarity—piloting a murderous worm-mole would be less exhausting than this. “Enough!” she yelled. “Tyr and Ata are coming with me. Jacob, your job is to cure the natives before we return.” To Pots’s surprise, both Jacob and Tyr concurred. Convincing Ata, however, turned out to be a bit of a problem.

  CHAPTER 27

  Commander Gunner Dovmont

  For meditation that morning, Gunner had chosen a quote from Lao Tzu: What the caterpillar calls the end, the rest of the world calls a butterfly. The commander experienced a calmness not often awarded him, and in that moment of stillness, he noticed a brief trembling of the ground.

  In a matter of hours, ignorable tremors escalated to real balance-tipping quakes. Drones transmitted images of ground rolling on the edge of the plains, originating from the canyon and heading in waves toward Galileo.

  “We don't have instruments to answer those questions.”

  Gunner had heard that excuse from more than one scientist. After three waves of immigration, he couldn't believe they had not a single seismologist.

  Hastily recalibrated military equipment registered increasing force and pressure in the nearby mountain range.

  A feline geologist suggested magma was erupting toward the surface, which was probably how the mountain canyon had formed in the first place. Her observation was met with silence from the group of scientists and technicians congregated in the spacious new military headquarters construct.

  “An underground volcano.” Gunner paced, forcing a path through the shifting crowd of experts. He threw the door and marched outside, up the rise to a vantage point overlooking the growing sea of tents swarming with new arrivals. Behind Gunner, the permanent structures of Galileo lined the ground north, along the river's bank.

  Lieutenant Thomas joined the commander. He cleared his throat. “Mercury confirmed temperature and pressure buildup in the mountain range area. Parameters were fed into a modeling program. Over 82% of the scenarios project lava flow will reach the plains. Given the topography, 45% project the flow will be stopped by the hills, potentially destroying 36% of Galileo, with concentration around the tent district.”

  “Or this could be one big fire drill.”

  “No way to tell.”

  Gunner grunted. “We've been caught with our drawers down.”

  “Potentially.”

  “Right.” Gunner squared his shoulders. “Order all shuttles from Alpha Horizon back to Galileo. Tell First Lieutenant Krull he is to evacuate residents in the most vulnerable sectors of Galileo using the shuttles, and all other available modes of transportation at his disposal. He can take them to Franklin, or on a camping trip upstream—just get them out of here.”

  Thomas nodded. “Hell of a plan for being caught with our pants down, sir.”

  “Let's hope it turns out to be a fire drill.”

  Thomas answered his com in mid-stride as he followed Gunner back to headquarters. After a moment's pause, he said, “Commander, all the native tribes appear to have disappeared off the planet.”

  “What the fracking goat piss does that mean?”

  “We were tracking the natives’ migration, but had to reroute the satellites after they entered the canyon. Our cameras were back on track this morning and so far, they have been unable to locate any of the tribes.”

  Gunner thought out loud, “That is interesting, actually. When we first arrived, Captain Montalbam's team hadn't detected natives either. According to him, the tribes appeared out of nowhere. Could be, they’ve gone back to where they came from.”

  “Could have something to do with the ground tremors.”

  Thomas was an effective deputy lieutenant, but he seldom drew conclusions or speculated on events, and generally not aloud, at least not to his commander. With so many events coming together, Gunner hadn’t had time to consider the possible connections. “Agreed,” Gunner said, but his mind raced to a few other factors that even Thomas didn’t know.

  CHAPTER 28

  Geoff Byrd

  Byrd clutched his bag against his chest. “Keep your hands off,” he yelled, hardly hearing himself over the buzzing frenzy of the crowd.

  The wolf soldier yelled back, “People go on board, bags go in the storage compartment. Luggage will be returned when we land in Franklin.” A bovine crewman made a grab for his bag, but Byrd bolted down the boat ramp, jostling past feline, avian, reptilian, canine, and rudiment. The air was damp with acrid sweat. Byrd felt trapped in a nightmarish boarding of Noah's Ark.

  He pushed against the flow of evacuees, avoiding military herdsmen and official citizen volunteers. Byrd did all he could to protect his bag. He wasn't a big man, but his elbows were sharp. Panic surrounded him, and the sound was maddening. Byrd turned to a narrow side street. In front of him, four people zigzagged like pinballs, pulling on doors and banging on windows. Their aberrant behavior drove Byrd to turn a corner and head to the outskirts of the city.

  What had been an open plain was packed with people swarming among rows of shuttles. The evacuation was on a larger scale than Byrd had anticipated. His heart pounded such that he felt it knocking his ribs, and his body began shaking so violently, he couldn't inhale. Someone tapped his arm.

  “Hello, Doctor,” Celine called into his ear. She draped her hand over his shoulder and surveyed the departures with a calmness that eluded him. “Come with me,” she said. “I didn't have time to pack any luggage, but I won't go without my shrink.”

  Byrd shadowed the actress, the strength of her purposeful trajectory was magnetic. Eve
r since Celine had discovered Rafiki by accident during her weekly therapy session, she had kept his secret and Byrd considered her his only friend.

  Celine stopped abruptly. “See that mask? That's the commander's son.” She hopped up and down, pointing, trying to peer over the crowd. Byrd saw lots of people, none of whom he knew. He rushed to follow Celine as she shouted what sounded like 'tear, tear,' but her voice was muffled by coats and feathers, scales and fur.

  The bulk of the crowd had not yet converged on the far row of shuttles. Celine darted beneath the nose of a craft. “There he is,” she said, pointing. Byrd craned his neck to see whom Celine had been following. Huddled around one of the smaller shuttles, a group of people surrounded a uniformed buck—probably the shuttle pilot. Byrd recognized Pilot Pots, but the three men with her looked unfamiliar. A tall youth in a gleaming white mask held the hand of a slip of a girl. Byrd blinked rapidly. He recognized Ata, the native child who had sketched a picture of him in the cave. Will she remember me? Will she remember Rafiki? The girl appeared out of place here—a human child among wild things.

  Celine tapped Byrd's arm and jutted her chin towards the shuttle entrance. “Let's go.”

  “There are plenty of other shuttles,” Byrd offered, but Celine had gone. I'll just pick another and go it alone. Byrd looked for a shuttle without crowds, but all of them were frightening. He didn't recognize any of the people jostling about. Everywhere, he saw pushing and shoving. Why can't people be more civilized? Byrd pulled at his beak. I'm being selfish. Celine said she needed my counsel. He craned his neck to watch as the actress hesitated, alone, nearly hidden behind the wings of the shuttle, looking for someone. Me! Byrd ran to her as fast as he was able.

  They raced up the passenger stairs. A crew was preparing the empty shuttle. No one challenged Byrd and Celine as they climbed to the second level compartment of the craft.