Undazzled

by Chance Maree

  “We’ll just have to cross our fingers and move fast,” Pots said. She put a hand on the door. “Ready?”

  “There he is!” A high-pitched voice caused Pots and Tyr to freeze. From down the corridor, Ata waddled towards them like a frantic duck, in boots.

  Celine followed more slowly, and with a greater measure of composure. The pop star looked more than a bit frazzled, but had somehow managed to turn a disheveled tigress mien into glamor-ware.

  “Thank the stars, the com-locators work, even when they're off.” Celine looked quizzically at Tyr. Her eyes narrowed as they shifted to Pots. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” Pots inhaled deeply, trying to remain calm. “Keep Ata for a while longer, okay? We'll fill you in later.”

  Ata shook her head from side to side and spoke rapidly in her native language. Tyr was the only one who understood. He lifted the girl in his arms and said something that calmed her. Once Ata quieted, he turned to Celine. “We just can’t sit on our hands while people down there might need help. So, Pots and I are taking the space raft to Ostara. It’s dangerous, so we’re not asking for volunteers or permission. Please don't tell anyone.”

  All was lost. Tyr should have lied. Pots tried to think of something she could use to leverage Celine’s silence, when Celine agreed, without objection. With nothing further to do but take advantage of the opportunity, Pots flung open the door to the space raft canister.

  “Leave Ata here,” Pots said with as much authority as she could muster. Of course, her command was ignored.

  “Be careful.” Celine closed the door behind them.

  The walls of the space raft were so thin they seemed too fragile to withstand entry into a planet's atmosphere. Pots wondered if the craft was a ruse, or perhaps it had been hastily constructed. She hid her nervousness by trying to devise a way to strap Ata into a passenger seat that was too long and wide for a child. Tyr sat in the pilot's chair, studying the control panel. He looked gawky, young, and unsure.

  We're going to die, Pots thought. Once she had strapped herself in the seat beside Tyr and secured her own belts, Pots felt the need to vent a bit of her nervousness and anger. “I thought your main goal was to keep Ata safe.”

  “It still is, but the situation has changed.” Tyr swept his hand over the panel and the ship sprung to life. “Anyway, don’t worry so much,” he added, “I have it covered.”

  After an initial adjustment, the ship lurched forward. The outside hatch opened in the nick of time. They banged against the edge of the dock and more or less drifted outside Alpha Horizon. What the boy lacked in experience, Pots found seriously scary.

  Tyr activated stabilizers, fired thrusters and, as they picked up speed, he angled the ship for entry into Ostara's atmosphere. Sweat dripped from under Tyr’s mask, down his neck.

  “Hold on.” Tyr looked back to Ata and spoke to her briefly. The girl was pale, with dark circles under her eyes, but she put on a brave face and nodded.

  The ship shook and bucked, and the pounding noise was so terrifying that Pots’s bloodless limbs ran cold while heat flushed her face and chest. And then came separation, disassociation with from sensations of breathing, of heartbeats, keen only on impending death, inescapable oblivion. Time was at once a moment, an eternity. In an instant, the flimsy, untested, caroming ship seemed to bow. Pots strained to open her eyes, but her face was in such a blur, she couldn’t find them. Her body parts seemed already nonexistent, the final echo of one long scream.

  The roar lessened and the space raft glided into an easy breath of clouds and blue sky. Tyr pulled his hands from the darkened panel. The raft nosed downward and plunged toward the ground. A light flickered on and off before shining steadily. Tyr breathed deeply and tapped it. The ship slowed, and the nose pulled upward.

  A voice sprang loud and crisp over the ship's com. “Hello? Anyone there?”

  “Pots reporting. Entry to Ostara was successful.” She repeated her announcement once sounds of Alpha Horizon's cheering crew subsided. After closing the com, Pots patted Tyr on the shoulder. “You're a hero! Now let's drive this puppy to Galileo.”

  Tyr turned to check the navigational chart. “We're going to take Ata to her father first.”

  Pots bit the side of her cheek and took a deep breath. “People need our help in Galileo.” Her voice sounded too whiny, but she couldn't help it. “Come on, Tyr. Ata's father isn't in danger, but our people need us right now.” The boy seemed unmoved.

  “Who, specifically, are you worried about?” he asked.

  As Pots took a moment to formulate an answer, Tyr added, “Don't lie.”

  Pots felt her face grow hot. “Survivors…Okay, Dr. Reynolds. We'll need a doctor on the ship.”

  “Birds of a feather.”

  Pots insisted several times that Tyr explain his meaning. “I just want to know all my friends are safe, that's it. Nothing more.”

  “You and Reynolds are both liars,” Tyr blurted. “Always hiding something.”

  “That's a strange accusation, coming from the boy behind a mask.” Tyr was silent, but Pots felt his rage. “White lies, Tyr. That's all they are. Socially acceptable, innocent lies.”

  Tyr turned towards Pots. His voice was icy and far older than his years. “Reynolds is a liar. He only pretended not to know about the blue marks on the natives. Your friend, the good doctor, is quite possibly a murderer, and most certainly, an enemy of the Ostarian people.”

  Pots stammered and clenched her fists. During the following moments, words escaped her, which was probably for the best.

  They fought until neither one of them had anything else to say. Pots sat in the back seat beside Ata sat by, watching the Ostarian landscape. They flew over flatlands with a scattering of forests whose canopies were unilayered and lacked any sign of growth. As yet, they had seen no signs of lava, or any catastrophe for that matter. When they reached the canyon foothills, Pots noticed that the hills were sharp edged, not worn down by rain or flood. The soil was rich, the grass was lush—the entire area should have been thick with trees. How old is this planet?

  “The caves are just ahead,” Tyr announced. He leaned forward, and then grew unnaturally still. “That can't be.” The craft circled in a downward spiral.

  Trying not to show her apprehension, Pots asked, “Why are we descending into a crater?”

  “The caves should be right here.”

  The raft was flying low, and they could see the crater walls were smooth. “It looks like we're inside some sort of silo,” Pots said. She released Ata from the seat straps and lifted the girl onto her lap.

  Tyr checked the instruments once more. He dropped his hand from the panel and whispered, “This is the right place, but all the caves, and the structure around them are gone.”

  “Would they have fit around the neck of a worm-mole?”

  “That’s the only plausible explanation.” Tyr began a surprisingly calm conversation with Ata. When they finished, he looked at Pots. She could tell he was still angry, but he appeared ready to get past it. “Ata said the People in the Canyon have always protected her people. We were perceived to be dangerous, so they could have used those worm-moles to transport the natives off the planet.”

  Tyr’s words stirred a despair within Pots that she’d been fighting since the death of the native boy. She remembered Kortu’s face as he rode his horse, challenging her to race. Pots choked, “If so, I hope they're somewhere safe.”

  “Ata said something disturbing. When she was with the People in the Canyon, they told her that the Earth was infested with beetles, so we had to leave. She called the beetles, ‘Scarab People.’”

  Pots stroked Ata's hair. I don't like the sound of that. “It sounds like a muddled up story told by a child. Ata was traumatized by the fall, no doubt, then taken in by aliens. I'm sure she saw quite a lot she could not understand.” Cautiously, Pots added, “There’s nothing else we can do here, and the sun will set soon. If possible, I'd
like to spend the night in Galileo.”

  This time, Tyr made no objection.

  ⁂

  Galileo was a dark sketch of a city, an abandoned town without ghosts, a garden whose seedlings have shriveled and died. Wind blew, and bits of trash stirred. Heaps of useless contraptions littered the streets. In the rush to set down roots, we neglected beauty, Pots thought.

  Tyr grumbled, “Go look for your boyfriend. I'll stay here with Ata.”

  Pots shivered. “The power is out, but I didn’t see a single campfire. I'll walk around a bit, though. Just in case.”

  “Then what?”

  “I'll grab some food and water. We'll lock up and sleep in the raft.”

  Yips and howls sounded from the direction of the plains. Tyr lifted Ata back inside the ship. They all froze when they heard a terrible screech. Tyr spoke to Ata and closed the hatch. “I'll check the military tents,” he said. “We might need weapons.”

  Pots and Tyr set off in separate directions. As was always the case when Pots walked alone under a darkening sky, she felt a settling in of peace. She found an air board, but it was inoperable. Some of the doors she tried were open, but the buildings were deserted. Street lamps—all powered by solar batteries—were unlit. A drone lay on its back in the street like an abandoned toy. Pots felt as though she were playing a role in a zombie apocalypse movie.

  Jacob's lab was locked. Pots continued searching. She had hoped some people would have hunkered down in Galileo, but now she was beginning to think it more and more unlikely. In any case, people would return as soon as the dust had cleared.

  Pots continued to feel that she would find Jacob around the next corner. He might not have boarded a shuttle. Jacob may have stayed near Galileo or gotten on a boat to Franklin with the rest of the hospital staff. Such thoughts seemed hollow. Who am I trying to convince? Optimism was never one of Pots’s strengths. She wished she had more practice.

  The crew on Alpha Horizon hadn't yet established contact with any of the cities. Pots could see why—all electronics were dead. Panic had driven everyone away. If any were to return, they would have to do so on foot, or by boat.

  Pots hurried towards the docks. The dead and sinister kingdom of Galileo seemed under a spell which could be broken by the return of a single boat, or person. But, the docks were empty and the dark waters of the river shimmered like oiled glass, unbroken by waves or the happy splash of oars.

  Pots lingered on the shore, near the spot where she and Jacob had reconciled. They had made love there, on flattened reeds and moist ground. She knelt at the water’s edge. Sounds of coyote yipping made her pause. And then, the roar of a lion reverberated from somewhere nearby. Pots stood and crossed her arms. The air was cool, but not enough to explain why her teeth were chattering.

  The predatory animals she heard must have come recently from the canyon. Perhaps they were stalking a migratory herd, or the quake might have driven them out of the mountains. In any case, I should be going back to the shuttle.

  Feeling tired and alone, Pots placed her toes on the edge of the riverbank. She still had to find food for Tyr and Ata. Just as she was about to move away, a monstrous creature shot up, out of the water, barreling straight at her.

  Pots tripped, fell, and scrambled too slow—the monster was on top of her. Gnashing teeth. A slash of claws found purchase on Pots’s legs, pinning her so she floundered like a land-bound fish. While in full panic, she was enveloped by the calm that comes with submission to impending death.

  “Pots,” the monster hissed.

  Hearing her name was jarring, icily surreal. The monster, on closer inspection, was actually an alligator and it was staring at her. Pots's throat was too constricted to speak. Her chest and ears were pounding, nearly exploding from beneath the heavy weight of bones and skin; she burned hot and icy all over her face, scalp and arms. Pots stopped trying to scream—she hadn't noticed her mouth opening and closing. Part of her still braced for a violent death.

  The alligator's long body and heavy tail relaxed. “You escaped them.” The animal spoke with difficulty, but Pots recognized the voice.

  “Jacob?”

  “I still can't resist that mouffle,” the alligator snickered.

  Pots, stunned and terrified, began to cry.

  “Listen, Pots.” Jacob's voice was deep and husky. He seemed more annoyed than distressed. “If you see bipeds in white with face shields and helmets, you have to run. Don't look at them. Don't try to communicate with them. Just run away as fast as you can.”

  “White outfits, like clean suits?”

  “Galileo was invaded by military robots. One pointed a weapon at me, and my body changed to…this. They swept through the city. You’re the only one I’ve seen who escaped.” Jacob's transparent eye closed and he turned his head slightly away.

  “There’s almost 2000 people safe on Alpha Horizon. Tyr and I came down on a space raft. Ata is with us. According to her, the People in the Canyon are some sort of protectors. Maybe she can convince them to help us.”

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “There's one problem. The Canyon People left. We saw their spaceships launch from Ostara.”

  Jacob whipped his tail. “That doesn't mean they've all left. I want you to go back to Alpha Horizon. It's not safe here.”

  “No,” Pots held back her tears. “I'm not leaving you again. We'll find a way to fix this.”

  Jacob returned to the water's edge, his short legs pumped in an awkward manner, as though inadequate to move such a long and wide body. “Better accept that some things aren't fixable, Pots.”

  “Don't give up! Not without a fight.”

  “What do you want me to do? I'm an alligator. No opposable thumbs here. And I'm still changing, Pots. Speaking is hard. I have an appetite, so ravenous, all I can think about is hunting. I ate a fox today. A woman who worked in the hospital. I know I should be ashamed, but I'm not. It tasted good.”

  Pots wiped her face with her hands. “Ata will know how to contact the Canyon People. We will find them.”

  “They won't help me, Pots.” Jacob moved into the water. His lower body sunk under the surface. “They had reason to attack us.”

  Pots squatted on the shore, trying to see Jacob's eyes. Tyr spoke the truth. “Tell me it was Gunner's idea. He made you do it. Please, tell me that.”

  Jacob sunk deeper into the gloom. “It was, but I agreed with his reasoning.” His voice ended in a deep gurgle. Pots heard him rise to the surface again, farther away this time.

  “Leave me be, Pots. Leave me be.” Waves lapped the shore. And then, all was quiet.

  Pots yelled, “Come back, Jacob. I'll find them. I'll do everything I can to help you look human again.”

  Jacob's voice carried with an eerie echo over the water. “This skin suits me,” he said. “I grew tired of my human disguise.”

  Fog had settled over the water. Pots ran along the shore. “Jacob, come back!”

  A voice floated in the air like cherry blossom petals. “I’ll love you, always.”

  Night amplified the screams of a jungle cat, paws padding down alleys, strange rustling that drew the dart of wary eyes, but revealed nothing—such were the sounds that shadowed Pots as she lumbered through Galileo. Animal cries—in turn mournful, angry, desperate—quickened Pots's heart and provoked spasms in her throat.

  A larger fear loomed, raising hairs on her neck and arms. With each glance down a street or alleyway, Pots imagined robotic soldiers determined to transform her into a four-legged beast. She shied away from a half-eaten carcass; a hoofed leg jutted into the air in protest. Pots shuddered and kept moving, slinking and wary as stalked prey. Grief for Jacob welled up and choked Pots's breath away. She stumbled, scraping her hands and knees.

  This is all Gunner's fault! Anger and bitterness stirred self-reservation far more than grief. Pots needed a tide to drown the ache of failure and loss. She needed anger to fuel physical strength. Gunner will pay for what he’s done. I’
ll track him down, and bag that crocodile.

  At last, Pots saw the lone space raft, the one source of light in a shadow city. She'd have to cross an open field to get there, aware how slow and vulnerable she’d be to predators that hunted at night. Pots rationalized that running would trigger the prey response. Instead, she crouched and approached the ship with caution, watching for sudden movements in the grass.

  With the ship nearly in reach, Pots kicked an object, sending it flying ahead. The white disk flew and landed next to the landing gear. Pots picked it up, and then flipped it over, revealing a familiar grin. Tyr’s mask appeared a deadly omen, scuffed with dark streaks and vacant eyes. Pots spun around. “Tyr! Where are you, Tyr?” Lacking an answer to her cries, Pots stood in the chilly air of the landing field, feet frozen in place, cursing the silence.

  CHAPTER 31

  Commander Gunner Dovmont

  On the morning of the attack, Deputy Lieutenant Thomas brought the commander’s attention to a map projection suspended in the center of the military communication headquarter tent. “Socrates and Baha have each reported what appears to be distinct areas with rising magma levels similar to those in the canyon near Galileo. Orbiting satellites have detected temperature increases in two additional locations, but those are too remote to threaten our population.”

  The commander squinted. A sour taste spilled over his palate. “First, no sign of volcanoes on the planet, and now we have five potential eruptions?” Something was up. The situation didn't feel natural. “What's Galileo's evacuation status?”

  First Lieutenant Krull rose from his chair and replied, “All shuttles are presently en route, but I've redirected those that had been bound for Socrates and Baha. Zones one and two have been vacated. The evacuation is 40% complete, perhaps more. Some citizens have moved into houses in the safe zones or have access to river transportation, which we've have not been able to accurately track.”