by Stuart Clark
Wyatt heard the first drops of rain spatter on the leaves above him and picked himself up to make his way towards the shuttle and the shelter it represented. He saw Kit look skyward and then do the same. The drops of rain quickly became a shower and then a deluge. What had begun as a leisurely stroll out of the weather became a race for the shuttle door.
Once inside, Wyatt turned to see Kate emerge from the trees. She covered her head with her arms in a vain attempt to keep dry. “Come on!” he yelled at her, waving with his arm. She ran for the door, Furball bounding along at her heels. He helped her inside and turned his attention outside again. They had all been soaked in a matter of seconds and as they shook the water from their hair and rubbed it from their faces, he hoped that his friends had made it to the cover of the mining ship. He would not like to be caught out in weather like this.
As puddles began to form on the ground outside he watched the warm and colorful day turn into a gray and miserable night.
* * * * *
Something smacked into Par’s forehead. He felt it and he heard it. Rather like a dull slap. He guessed whatever it was must have been doing it for ages, because his head hurt. He moaned and tried to move, and that was when the pain in his head was superseded by the pain in his leg. The agony froze him. It set him rigid until he felt it die slightly and then he relaxed again.
He was cold. Freezing cold. He knew this because as much as he tried to hold his leg still to stop the pain, he couldn’t. He was shivering.
The rain fell in drops the size of peas and it was this, Par realized now, that had been smacking into his face and forehead like a hundred tiny hammers. He ran a hand across his jacket and felt that it was wet to the touch. He was soaked through. He opened his eyes and saw a figure standing over him, a silhouette against the night sky. The figure’s eyes twinkled, two stars in a humanoid night.
“Byron,” Par managed, relieved. “You made it. You’re all right.” But even as he said it, dazed as he was, something nagged at him. In the back of his mind he knew this couldn’t be. If everything had been a nightmare or a horrific hallucination he would not be lying on his back in the rain and the darkness with pain shooting up his leg.
He tried to open his eyes wider to identify the figure that stood over him but a drop of rain fell into one eye, causing both to close reflexively. The water blurred his vision when he opened them again and he hurriedly wiped the moisture away. His hand shook from cold and fear.
For a moment Par thought that he’d found a survivor, or rather, that a survivor had found him. If so, then it truly was a miracle that the other man had not only survived the crash but that he’d also found Par in his desperate time of need.
“Help me,” Par said, stretching out with a hand to reach the dark and silent figure. Apart from a slight turn of the head, there was no response. “I’m hurt, god dammit! I can’t walk.”
Suddenly the figure dropped to a crouch and half-walked, half-crawled to where Par lay. It brought its face up close to his and it was then that he knew that this definitely was not a survivor, nor was it Byron or any of his other colleagues for that matter. A pair of bulbous green-gold fish-like eyes looked at him with curiosity. They glittered in the darkness like gems.
Par recoiled in shock and tried to push himself away from the creature. The white-hot pain shot through his leg again, and he screamed in agony.
When he opened his eyes again the creature was no longer peering at him. It had gone and he pushed himself up onto his elbows to take a look around, wincing with the effort. It was about fifteen feet away from him, a dark form in the night, sniffing the air and checking the area with quick, jerky movements of its head.
Par wondered what it was that had made the creature so nervous. He couldn’t see or smell anything and it was only when the thing began to make its way stealthily back towards him that he knew that there was no other threat. It was him. He always did forget that the sounds that humans made meant nothing to the creatures they encountered. Similarly, they could mean anything. This thing had no idea that he had just cried out in pain. His scream could have been a call to others to attack.
Satisfied that it was in no immediate danger, the creature made its way back to where Par lay. It drew itself up close for another look at its peculiar find. As it looked at him, Par had a chance to take a good look back.
Its eyes were its most striking feature. They were circular, huge and bulbous and set far apart so they seemed to be placed more to the side of the head than on the front of the face. The irises were rings of golden-green which shone with a luminescence in the darkness. The pupils, dilated in the dark, were slicks of alien black.
The mouth was wide and very pronounced. It projected forward from the rest of the face, forcing the skin below eye level to slope forward to meet it. The top lip covered what was clearly only bone where the palate met the front of the skull and the bottom lip came up to meet it, turning the sides of the mouth down to give the thing a permanent look of sadness. Above the mouth were two tiny nostrils. A grooved elastic gullet formed the throat and Par guessed that whatever it ate, it ate large meals and swallowed them whole. The throat pulsed rapidly as the thing breathed.
It was humanoid in its basic structure but its features gave it a distinctly amphibian look.
It brought its face even closer to his and Par, slightly repulsed by the features, brought his hands up to stop it coming any closer. “No,” he said, trying to pull his head away. To his surprise the creature did exactly the same, mimicking his action. He caught a glimpse of its hands. They had six fingers, five quite clearly well developed while the sixth was hardly more than a short stub aligned with the fifth. Each was crowned with a single tiny black claw. Between each of the five well-formed digits was a thin membrane of skin which stretched from the palm of the hand to about the first joint on the finger. The hands showed signs of webbing.
Par brought his hands back down again. The creature did the same. “No,” he said again, bringing his hands back up. Maybe he could teach this thing some simple gestures. The creature put its hands back up and then in a bassy, throaty tone, barked “Ro!”
It was a start, but Par could hardly get excited about it. He needed to get out of the rain before the effects of exposure and hypothermia set in. Then, unexpectedly, the thing spoke to him.
“Ee-choo-mo-na-doch-ra.”
Par looked at it in surprise, the cold forgotten for the moment.
“Ee-choo-mo-na-doch-ra,” it said again in its deep tone.
The thing was actually trying to communicate with him. He couldn’t believe it. For a second the idea completely blew him away.
“Gon-Thok,” the creature said.
“Gon-Thok,” Par repeated. What was that? Its name? Regardless, it got a response. The creature was clearly excited about something. “Gon-Thok,” he said again to himself. He was actually talking in an alien tongue. This was a whole new language!
“Gon-Thok,” the creature said again, bobbing its head erratically.
“Par,” the Swede replied, attempting, hoping that he was returning the gesture. The thing just looked at him vacantly. “Par,” he said again, patting his chest to indicate he meant himself.
“Bar,” it croaked back at him.
“Well, at least we know what to call each other,” Par muttered. The creature seemed to nod, as if it too acknowledged that it understood that much at least, and then it began picking off the few stones that had landed on top of him. When they were cleared it attempted to pick him up. Par yelled in pain again.
This time Gon-Thok did not run. It looked at Par quizzically. The noise, it knew, was not a call to others, the creature made this noise every time it tried to move.
When Par felt able to talk again, he turned to the alien. “Broken,” he managed through gritted teeth, pointing to his leg. It looked down at his leg, then back at him, no comprehension evident on its features. “Bro-ken,” Par said again, accentuating each syllable and snapping an imaginar
y object in the air in front of him. With that, the creature stood, turned its back on him and disappeared into the night. “No, wait!” Par shouted after it. “Gon-Thok! Come back!” But Gon-Thok had gone.
The cold, forgotten until now, seemed to attack him again with venom and he shivered uncontrollably. He let his head fall back on the rocks behind him and closed his eyes, feeling the large cold drops of rain slap into his face. He, like Byron, was going to die here.
* * * * *
He had no idea how much time passed, he just knew that his head hurt, his leg hurt and now, oddly enough, his gums hurt from the wild chattering of his teeth. The world around him sounded tinny in his ears and he felt himself drifting towards unconsciousness. The tide of blackness came in waves, creeping up on him like a sea creeping further and further up a beach. Each wave reaching further. Each wave claiming more of him than its predecessor. He fought against it, knowing that if he succumbed then he would dream the dream of death.
“Bar.” The deep voice sounded hollow and distant. “Bar,” it came again. It was another voice in the darkness and he wondered what had made him think of it. His semi-conscious mind had taken him on a roller-coaster ride of imagination and fantasy, piecing together a collage of images, sounds, ideas and memories in the most haphazard fashion.
Memories. The key was there somewhere.
“Bar.” The inhuman croak came at him through the blackness.
He forced his mind to function. He remembered only one thing calling him by that name. The alien he had met once on a doomed mission. Gon-Thok. The name struck his mind like flint on flint, the spark of hope banishing the darkness, leaving only a brilliant image of the amphibious humanoid. Was he really still here? Still fighting for his life?
“Gon-Thok,” he murmured.
“Bar!” The voice sounded excited in his ears.
Par struggled to open his eyes and found the alien peering over him again. Looking down he could see that it carried a gnarled but reasonably straight length of wood in its hand. Had it not been raining then, the tears of relief would have shown on his face.
He looked at the piece of wood again. Had this creature really understood him? Did the alien mean for him to use the wood as a splint, or did it think that his mime had been indicative of his wishes and it had brought it for him to snap in two? The answer was irrelevant. It was exactly what he needed. With some effort Par managed to sit up and remove the small, tatty pack from his back. He rummaged around inside it with a hand. There must be something inside that he could use. His hand closed around a small coil of rope buried deep in the bag. He pulled it out with effort and looked at it in relief. He might just make it out of here alive after all.
He took the length of wood out of Gon-Thok’s hands, being careful not to snatch it in his eagerness or make any sudden movements. The creature gave it up easily as if that was what it had expected.
Par laid the stick against his leg and bound the two together hastily. With a grimace he pulled the rope tight and then, with effort, he struggled to his feet. The splint helped. It stopped his cracked bone from moving and causing pain in that respect, but he still could not stand on the leg. He gingerly tested the injured limb and winced in pain every time he put weight on it. He realized that his leg was still as good as useless to him. He looked to the black sky as if wondering why God had cursed him so. He was so close to being able to literally walk away from this chapter of the nightmare, but yet still so far. How quickly fortunes changed.
Without warning, Gon-Thok stepped forward and swept Par up into his arms as if he were nothing more than a child. The human just managing to snatch up his pack before he was carried away.
* * * * *
Pain shot up Par’s side every time the alien took a step, and he gritted his teeth to stop himself crying out and alarming the creature. Gon-Thok had walked away from the DSM in the opposite direction from which Par and Byron had approached. It was taking him further away from the others, but he did not care. He did not fear this creature, nor was he concerned about where it was taking him. All he knew was that this animal was his best chance of survival and he presumed it was carrying him somewhere out of the rain. The fire in his leg was now a permanent pain. It felt like someone had inserted a red-hot lance under the skin near his ankle and was now pushing it further and further up his side. The combination of pain and cold, of fire and ice, mixed with the exposure and exhaustion was overwhelming. He passed out in the creature’s arms.
When Par came around he was warm again. It was a comforting warmth in which he wanted to stay. Mumbling in his slumber he ran a hand over the surface he was lying on. It was soft and yielding, but at the same time rock-hard beneath him. He bunched some of it up into a fist and immediately recognized the texture. It was sand.
He opened his eyes and rolled over onto his back. The pain from last night, so quickly forgotten, surged through his leg again as if to remind him that he was going nowhere in a hurry. His head fell back to the floor in resignation. For the briefest of moments he wondered whether being rescued, if that’s what it was, had really been a good thing. Why couldn’t he have just been left to die? Even if the others did mount a rescue party or volunteer another couple of people to find the DSM, they would not find him. Not now.
It was then that he saw them. Drawings. They were everywhere. On the ceiling. On the walls. They covered almost every inch of the cave that he was lying in. They were crude and of things that he did not and could never have recognized, but they were drawings all the same, and Par realized that here was more potential for him and the alien to communicate. He gazed at them in wonder, letting his eyes wander over the alien images, as foreign to him as Egyptian hieroglyphs.
He tried to get up but first had to remove what was covering him, which, on closer examination, seemed to be fronds or leaves from a tree or large plant, the fine numerous hairs on their surfaces giving them a soft, velvety texture. He pushed them away and noticed he was stripped to the waist. Looking around he spied the rest of his clothes, his small pack and his gun on the other side of the cave. He hauled himself to his feet, using the craggy wall for handholds and support and then half-limped, half-hopped to the far wall, falling up against it in relief when he reached it. The effort used in just covering that short distance had brought a flush to his cheeks. Picking up his clothes, Par discovered they were dry. He couldn’t believe it. Only last night they had been sodden. He checked the date on his watch to confirm to himself that he had only been here one night. He felt his pants. They were dry, too. Intrigued, Par carefully lowered himself, clinging onto the rocky wall until he could stoop and touch the ground. He hadn’t noticed it before but it was warm. Very warm.
He pulled himself back up to standing and headed for the cave entrance some ten yards away from him. Beyond the shadowed cave floor the fine sand was colored silver-gray where the morning sun could reach it with a warming touch. Beyond that was water.
When Par reached the mouth of the cave he stopped to catch his breath and had it immediately taken away from him again. The lake outside the cave was a spectacular sight. The gray sand that lined the cave floor and formed the beach tinged the lake with its color. The silver water, flat calm, formed a liquid mirror. It was like a lake of mercury and Par looked at it dumbstruck. It was the most beautiful natural phenomenon that he had ever seen. A shroud of mist hung over the water and the slightest of breezes, not even enough to cause a ripple in the silver surface, would send wisps skating away like lost souls in some graceful ice dance.
So stunned was Par by the panorama before him that it took him a while to put two and two together. It was not mist that hovered above the surface but steam. The cool air of the morning had exposed the lake’s secret to him. This place was a hot spring. Somewhere far below him the water table came close to this planet’s still-cooling crust and was heated by it. Here, that same water broke through to the surface to form the lake, but Par suspected that the same water ran just underground for hundreds
of meters around here and the heat from that water permeated through the layers of rock above it. That would account for the warm sand in the cave. Sand which hadn’t seen the light of day for years.
As Par stood gazing in awestruck wonder, something broke the surface in front of him. Through the steam it was difficult to make out but he knew it was there; the ripples on the otherwise still water gave it away. Through the white wisps, moving swiftly above the surface, appeared Gon-Thok’s head, a large tail hanging out of its mouth. With a swift toss of its head and a gulp, the tail, and whatever owned it, were gone. Gon-Thok slowed in the water and then stood, its shoulders and upper torso lifting clear out of the water. With slow, laboring steps it waded its way to the beach.
For Par, it was the first time he had seen his savior in daylight. Its pronounced facial features he remembered from the night before, but that was all he had seen except for the hands. Yes, he remembered the webbed hands as well.
Gon-Thok had not seen him yet and he took the opportunity to scrutinize the alien further. The creature’s skin reminded him of wet chamois leather and had the same dark tan coloration that Par associated with it. In most places its skin was taut, like that of a human’s, but on the torso, back and thighs it hung in small folds. The arms and legs looked like they were composed of the same muscle groups as a human—biceps, triceps, quadriceps—but the actual limbs themselves were adapted for the long periods of time the alien obviously spent in water. Whether it was the muscles or something else Par couldn’t tell, but the arms and legs seemed to bulge at the front and back, giving them a curiously thin appearance from the front and a flatter, broader look when seen in profile. There were no external genitalia, at least not as far as Par could see, but he assumed that Gon-Thok was male. If not, then…then he might have been rescued for completely different reasons, which Par didn’t want to contemplate. He shuddered and put the thought to the back of his mind. Gon-Thok was male, Par decided, if only due to the fact that its voice was at least six octaves deeper than his.