“Corporal Grey, what… ehm… I mean… these beasts, they are safe, yes?” he stuttered, snatching his datapad from the muddy ground and holding it aloft as if it were some form of shield.
“Yes, it’s quite safe,” Marcus told him, fighting desperately to keep a straight face. “Come, I’ll introduce you to Jakunu.”
Marcus could see that the frail man still had his reservations, so he reached out and took him by the arm, leading him towards the chieftain. Serena stood by the hulking giant, her hand covering her mouth to conceal her grin.
“MAX,” Marcus pronounced clearly, gesturing to Dr. Gehringer.
The baffled chieftain stared at the cadaverous figure before him. Finally he bent down on one knee, looking the scientist straight in the eye before repeating the name in his thunderous voice.
Dr. Gehringer stumbled backwards in shock upon hearing Jakunu’s thundering voice, paling even further.
“It’s alright Doctor, I assure you they’re quite friendly,” Serena proclaimed. “Curious, but friendly.”
“Ije livo tompo?” rumbled Jakunu, turning to the others with a questioning gaze.
“No, no. Uhm… Ije livo… nosuli muta. Huno tompo,” Serena corrected him.
“He thought that Dr. Gehringer was our leader,” she explained to them.
“Remarkable,” the scientist gasped. “Do you think it would be possible to borrow one for experimentation?”
This wasn't the first time Marcus had heard the scientist say something so inappropriate. As ridiculous as he was sometimes, Gehringer seemed to suffer a lack of empathy with any living thing that borded on the chilling.
“Most certainly not!” Serena retorted. “These aren’t lab animals, they’re sentient beings! They are to be treated with respect!” she bellowed, her voice getting louder and louder, clearly infuriated by the thought of what the scientist might have in store. “And just because-”
“I think he gets the point Serena,” Marcus interjected, stopping her before things took a violent turn. Given Gehringer’s frail physique, Marcus feared a simple slap might leave him bedridden for days.
On the other side of the clearing, Taylor had decided the introductions would hold little interest for him and had wandered off a short distance away from the gathering.
He’d never had much time for military discipline, and his mud-brown hair had grown much longer than the standard crop the other clones still wore. It almost reached the center of his neck, brushed haphazardly behind his ears to reveal his pale blue eyes and freckled cheeks. Despite his tousled hair and three-day stubble, however, he exuded a natural charm and lazy confidence that reassured – or infuriated – those around him.
He’d taken a particular interest in a set of small trees, with peculiar bright green elongated leaves with seven leaflets. Given the intense rain that Ga’ouna had experienced for the past weeks, he’d spent most of his time in orbit aboard the Tengri, and had had little opportunity to examine the planet’s flora and fauna. Now that he was free to indulge his curiosity, the young medic proceeded to pluck a few of the leaves, feeling their soft texture and sniffing their sharp scent.
“Huno masuko Je’eela, mahando!” bellowed the Golan chieftain, suddenly bursting into action and heading straight for the medic standing across the clearing.
With a startled glance at each other, Marcus and Serena followed him as fast as they could, with Gehringer stumbling along after them at the rear, panting heavily. Captain Mitchell quietly unlocked the safety on the sidearm hanging from his belt, and limped after them in a calm, determined manner.
The chieftain stopped a few meters shy of the startled Taylor, bellowing a series of unintelligible words, which, from the tone, Marcus could only surmise were insults.
“Nivalo livo vanjavi?” Serena pleaded, placing herself between Jakunu and Taylor.
The towering giant flexed his powerful muscles, almost quivering with anger.
“Je’eela livo junuluku! Nutu Golan livo vingani yulluku!” the chieftain proclaimed, thumping his chest with a clenched fist.
“Put the leaves down Taylor,” Serena instructed, without turning to look at the astonished clone, both of her arms raised to appease Jakunu.
Jakunu’s son Hanasi had come running up behind them and now loomed over Dr. Gehringer, who looked as if he was about to faint, though perhaps no more than usual.
“Friendly?” the gaunt Dr. Gehringer piped, backing away from the grim-faced Golan youth, his legs shaking with fear.
“What’s going on?” Taylor asked, slowly bending his knees to gently place the leaves on the ground.
“They’re ‘Je’eela’ leaves, sacred leaves, I think. Only the Golan are allowed to touch them,” Serena told him. “Nuvo nutu vave?” she continued, turning back to the chieftain who was now beginning to ease up.
“Ju’ungusi samo nutu Golan janu yulluku Je’eela. Ono vinganu hao vaki ya ju’ungusi. Navo ya ju’ungusi juko umo Ga’ouna, ono guo Je’eela umo ya ju’ungusi,” Jakunu explained, waving his hands around him whilst his son stood tensely beside the Terrans.
It took Serena a few moments to decipher the chieftain’s meaning, and even then she wasn’t sure that she had understood him correctly.
“I think what he’s saying is that the gods have declared that only the Golan are allowed to touch the sacred leaves. They collect them for the gods. When the gods come to Ga’ouna, they give the leaves to them… as a form of offering I suppose?”
Captain Mitchell, who had remained silent throughout the scene so far, now felt compelled to speak.
“Gods? They believe that their gods are coming here?”
“I believe so,” Serena replied. “And, well… remember how the Golan thought we were gods when we first landed? Could these ‘gods’ be an alien species of some sort? If they’re coming here, they may be able to assist us!”
“When are the gods coming?” Captain Mitchell inquired, genuinely intrigued by the implications of this newfound information.
“Jakunu, navo livo ya ju’ungusi juko?” she asked, her eyes on her datapad making sure that she had chosen her words correctly.
The chieftain’s reply was a single word. “Lo’Mock.”
“Lo’Mock?” Serena repeated, staring intently at the Golan chieftain, who repeated it yet again in response.
“They’re coming to the tribal gathering,” Serena informed them.
During the commotion, Doc Taylor had taken the liberty of pocketing one of the sacred leaves while no one was looking. He knew that if any of the Golan people would have seen him, it would have meant serious trouble, but the urge to discover why the ‘gods’ were so interested in the Je’eela leaves overcame his fear of the consequences. Nothing drove Taylor than being told he couldn’t – or shouldn’t – do something.
In an attempt to end the debate and draw attention away from his actions, he ostentatiously produced a packet of cigarettes and placed one in his mouth before offering another to the chieftain.
“Then I guess we’ll have to wait for Lo’Mock,” the captain concluded, releasing his grip on his sidearm. “I just hope it doesn’t start raining again. This place is starting to remind me of Nyramar.” The captain massaged his knee, the thought of the Nyari homeworld making his old war wound twinge.
“So how long will we have to wait?” Marcus asked, half hoping that the gods would be just that, not aliens at all. He was in no rush to leave Ga’ouna, the world which had brought him such serenity.
“The tribal gathering is supposed to take place at the end of the rainy season,” Serena replied, “which could be any day now.”
Even though the towering chieftain had knelt down on his knee, Taylor had to stretch up in order to light his cigarette. Jakunu took a couple of long puffs, and wafts of smoke appeared from the holes on the back of his neck. Hanasi looked on in amazement, as if his father were taking part in a magical ritual.
“I’ll be in orbit until then,” Captain Mitchell proclaimed. “I’ve had e
nough jungles to last me two lifetimes.” He turned and limped into the trees.
“I think… ehm… maybe it’s best if… I join you, eh Captain?” Dr. Gehringer stuttered, his short spindly legs scurrying as he followed the captain much more rapidly than on their arrival.
Chapter 5
The Golan tribe dismantling their huts and packing their tents in preparation for their journey to Lo’Mock made an impressive sight. As the tribe migrated between seasons, they would not be coming back this way after the gathering, but would find a new place to call home. Everything had to be taken with them, and everyone had a task to perform: the children, even the elders, all did their part to ease the passage to Lo’Mock.
Marcus was excited about the journey, although his excitement was mixed with a hint of sadness. If the gods were truly coming to Lo’Mock, perhaps their team might be departing Ga’ouna. He didn’t want to leave. He felt so at home here.
The long line of Golan marched through the thick undergrowth of the jungle. It had seemed so still during the excessive downpour, but now the jungle was teaming with life. A choir of squeaks, chirps and wails could be heard from every direction. Reid and Taz had been assigned to take point, walking with the foremost Golan, though their reservation for the task was apparent, as they had little knowledge of which of the jungle’s denizens could pose them any harm. Marcus strode along next to Serena just behind the front of the tribe, both of them sharing a moment of silent wonder as they took in all that the jungle had to offer, Taylor stopping periodically to examine particularly weird or interesting examples of local plant or insect life, every so often having to sprint to catch up to them.
Captain Mitchell had ordered the squad – with the exception of Raven and Jago – to join the march as observers, but of the support staff only Serena had elected to walk with them. The captain himself, between his crippled leg and constant edginess in the jungle, planned instead to return to the ship and follow the migration from orbit.
“I feel sorry for the others,” Serena confessed. “They’re missing out on all of this.”
Marcus didn’t reply, he simply smiled, completely at ease.
Taz deftly dodged a long, yellow insect with a segmented torso as it swooped down from the canopy on shimmering wings, narrowly missing the startled scout who gave a shout of alarm and hefted his carbine. Having witnessed the spectacle, Jakunu roared with laughter as the creature performed a sort of rhythmic dance as it hovered around the spooked clone, before skittering further off into the jungle.
“Careful Taz, I think it likes you,” Serena joked, shooting Marcus a quick grin and lowering her voice. “None of the creatures we’ve studied are dangerous to humans,” Serena whispered to Marcus. “I would tell him, but that would spoil the fun.”
Marcus chuckled. During the course of their stay on Ga’ouna he had come to enjoy Serena’s company. They hadn’t spoken much, but their mutual respect for the Golan people and their wondrous world meant more to him than he was willing to admit.
* * * * *
They spent the first night camping in a small clearing. The tents had been arranged in a circle with room in the center for the tribe to gather and eat a meal of an assortment of berries and fruits that had been gathered by the young during their journey. A small campfire provided enough light for them to enjoy the song and dance which quickly followed the evening meal.
A heavy-set Golan female propped herself upon a large rock near the center of the camp, and begun humming in a low droning tone, followed shortly by a chorus of the higher-pitched younglings. The rest of the tribe gathered around them and began a circular dance which lasted well into the late hours of the night. Marcus and the others enjoyed the spectacle for a while, but as the journey through the jungle in Ga’ouna’s high gravity had been particularly taxing for them, they quickly succumbed to sleep, not bothering to erect the tents they’d brought in the warmth of the fire.
* * * * *
Perhaps due to the threat of an abrupt departure from Ga’ouna, Marcus slept uneasily that the night. Visions of his oldest and closest friend Steven plagued his dreams.
Marcus had already come to terms with how things had unfolded. There was no other way, nothing he could have done to save him. His friend was already dead before their last encounter. Steven had no longer been the young idealist Marcus had come to know and grown to care for. That thing he had fought at the Strom sensor outpost was something else entirely. There had been so much anger burning inside him, fueling him to do unspeakable things. When they’d first met, Steven had aspired to freedom, not just for himself but for all clones. He’d wanted to offer them a better life, their own choices. How he had ended up on the path he’d eventually chosen was something that Marcus couldn’t understand. He probably never would.
A few strands of morning sunlight were already filtering through the canopy overhead when Jakunu nudged Marcus with his stumpy leg, almost sending him flying.
“Kamaso lanji muta,” the huge chieftain chuckled.
Marcus followed the Golan’s gaze to see Serena lying beside him. Her sleeping bag was only a hair’s breadth from his, her normally well-kept long hair now tousled. With a yawn, she sat up.
“Morning, Marcus,” she smiled. “Sleep well?”
“…yeah. Not bad,” he lied, reluctant to answer the questions he would have to endure if he admitted otherwise.
The tribe had already packed most of their tents and they were getting ready to leave the clearing, so Marcus and the others hastily stuffed their sleeping bags back into their rucksacks and forced their stiff limbs through a quick series of awkward stretches. As they finished, a Golan youngling brought them each a pair of bright orange berries, each the size of a small apple. Their sweet, succulent flesh had a hint of bitterness that Marcus found refreshing. An aroma of honey clung to the air as a misty spray of juices spewed forth with every bite.
“I love these,” Serena muttered around a mouthful of the fruit. “We should take some with us when we leave.”
Marcus feigned a smile. He didn’t want to think about leaving unless it became inevitable. For all they knew the ‘gods’ might not even exist. Perhaps they were simply some creature native to Ga’ouna, and the Golan had made up all the superstitious rules and laws that governed their religion. As far as he was concerned, there was no need to worry until they knew for sure… or so he tried to convince himself.
* * * * *
After several days of hiking, the tribe breached the densest part of the jungle and emerged on a small rocky outcropping overlooking the coastline, still half a day’s walk away. A short distance to their left, a huge waterfall tumbled from a towering cliff above them, roaring like a savage thunderstorm. Rays of sunlight crested the only cloud visible in the pale blue sky, producing a colorful rainbow, whose bow touched the shoreline of a distant pensinsula.
Marcus was dumbfounded by the breathtaking beauty of the scene that unfolded before him. He stood at the edge of the outcropping, his mouth agape and his eyes wide open, unable to utter a single word. Beside him, Serena started to reach out her hand, wanting to share this moment by connecting with him, but she hesitated, unsure how he’d react.
“Are you guys coming?” Doc Taylor yelled, shattering the peace of the moment, turning to follow the tribe as they made their way down a narrow ledge leading down to the coast.
Shaken from his coma, Marcus reluctantly followed at a slow pace, unwilling to surrender the moment. The procession wound its way onwards along the cliff face for several hours, reaching the sandy shores below around midday, just as the sun was lazily beginning its slow decent.
A stretch of short grass separated the rocky cliffs from the inviting beach before them. Jakunu decided that this would be an ideal spot to take a short break before continuing onwards, and the younglings began distributing fruits and waterskins to the elders who had grown weary from the long travels. Marcus wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t stop staring at the ocean. The sound of waves beating on
the rocks was the most spectacularly soothing sound he had ever heard, and distracted him completely from the shooting pain in his calves. So much water!, he thought. He had never seen so much water before. He felt like running down to the shore, tearing off his clothes and diving into it.
Just then, a youngling came rushing by, chasing another one of the plump purple flies. The small Golan leapt comically into the air in bounding strides, reaching out to try to catch the poor creature with its bare hands. Luck struck on the fourth bound as the Golan boy caught hold of one of the insect’s wings, tearing the buzzing fly from the sky. The boy marveled at his luck, his wide mouth agape in silent wonder before bouncing off in search of his father. Marcus watched as he proudly presented his catch, and his father patted him on the head in a weirdly human gesture, before fetching a small ceramic jar and squeezing the fly between his stubby fingers until it burst, catching its gooey juices into the jar.
“They use it as an adhesive,” Serena told him, following his gaze. “It’s remarkably strong. They use it to build their huts.”
Marcus smiled at her in reply and focused his attention back on the breaking waves of the magnificent ocean.
Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin) Page 3