by Rob Rowntree
Chapter Twenty One
Escape and Sign Language
Stunned by the earlier butchery Alan drifted into a malaise that steered him towards depression, something he must combat. Lives were at stake – his own and the team. These beings, though outwardly similar to humans with their bilateral symmetry and their live births were so far removed from his experience that he felt unable to understand them; and because of that, unable to deal with them.
What horrors did imaginations conjure? Glancing at his companions it appeared Kiki and Pickering had withdrawn completely; Kiki sat knees to chin in a corner slowly rocking back and forth, gaze fixed on some point only she could see; Pickering looked deep in thought, barred from the outside world by his musings.
Stowe, Conway and Woodland, sat around the still form of Gibson, quietly discussing Gibson’s condition and studiously avoiding talk of the events they’d so recently witnessed.
Alan asked, “Any change in his condition?”
Woodland shrugged, “Not that we can really tell. Perhaps his heart rate has slowed a little. Maybe... Truth is we don’t really know. He’s probably better off out of it.”
Stowe voiced the unspoken, the one question on all their minds: “What do you think they’ll do to us?”
At this Pickering roused and interjected, “They probably won’t do anything. I’ve been giving the events we saw much thought. Many cultures on earth, both past and present mutilate their young. We just don’t get to see it so vividly portrayed.”
“But those poor things were born with wings and they—” Stowe stifled a sob.
“Yes, but they didn’t mutilate all of their offspring. Something else is happening here. There must be clear definitions for these people, some newborns are right and for reasons not yet understood, others are wrong. Those natives acted with purpose. There appeared to be no equivocation, they knew which children to alter on sight.”
“It’s a ghastly practise.” Stowe shot back. “We wouldn’t do such things.”
Pickering smiled, “We wouldn’t? I think you find that we, that is, the human race have been mutilating our young for millennia; hidden behind religious euphemisms and racial prejudice. Not nice to admit, but true nevertheless.”
Alan said, “You are right, of course, but I’m betting we will never understand these creatures. There are too many obstacles to overcome; lack of communication for one, add to that understanding, and world-view. We have a mountain to climb so I don’t think we will get the opportunity.”
“How so?” Woodland sat up eager for a response.
“We might be ignoring the fact,” Alan said, “but these creatures have already interacted with members of our culture and they probably have preconceived notions regarding handling us. And need I remind you that our colleagues from the Peterson survived here for a while before whatever befell them occurred? There’s a history here that we might be able to use. Especially if we can’t escape.”
“No,” Woodland bristled. “I’m all for escaping as soon as we can. What we need to do is find out if they’ve brought any of our stuff along, but either way we need to run. These guys outside killed the Peterson’s crew and I want to make sure we give them a hell of a fight if they have the same fate in store for us.”
Alan sighed. “Woodland, I see your point, but to be fair even if we do manage to escape, with or without our equipment, what are we going to do? How will we eat? Survive the ecosystem? Call me Devil’s Advocate if you must, we need to discuss this.”
Woodland bristled, “Look, if the bastard natives have any of our equipment, it’s not in this wagon. So the point’s moot. The only thing we have to decide is when to run and I say sooner rather than later, because we have no information on how long this journey’s going to last. We could be entering the Alien’s capital right now. Get my point?”
Alan, not about to enter into an argument, hadn’t there been enough, glanced nervously outside. The guards ignored his action: it allowed Alan to take in the view. Behind the second wagon, high desert sloped gently away towards a low valley system. They’d risen onto a desert plateau and in his mind’s eye Alan recalled their descent and the mountains they’d observed west of the settlement.
The sky drifted towards indigo as night approached. Already the gas-giant gazed heavily down upon them as the large planet’s ring enveloped the sky, sparkling as it interacted with the small world’s atmosphere. Billions of cubic meters of the gas-torus must be mingling with the upper atmosphere; dumping cold gas right into the air. A cause for concern; Alan wondered what that might do to the weather. His thought fled as a guard rapidly approached the rear of the wagon.
Uh oh, this could be the moment when trouble really began. Ducking his head back inside, he heard Stowe say: “What?” She was on edge and who could blame her.
Alan shushed her with a hand wave. “Quiet, there’s a native approaching the back of the wagon.”
Seconds later the heavy curtains moved aside and the native scrambled into the tall wagon. The two guards responded by turning to face the wagon’s sides. Amazed at the response, Alan waited to see if they’d turn back, but they remained where they were. Perhaps they didn’t like the newcomer and this was a way of showing disrespect.
The individual certainly held a different bearing to natives seen before. Something noble perhaps, or aloof. Also, this one wore clothes comprising a broad belt and shoulder strap which held a layer of material tight to its body.
As Alan watched the creature gesticulated, its small arms and clawed hands making repeated gestures.
Woodland, equally curious, said, “This is new. What’s it doing?”
“The native,” Conway interjected, “appears to be communicating, or at the very least attempting to do so.”
Pickering stepped forward, “Quiet everybody. I think I know what this is. The gestures.”
The alien continued to flap its arms about, stopping when Pickering approached. Once satisfied that it had Pickering’s attention it began again: arms out, what passed for index fingers, it pointed, the fingers swiftly brought back to the body. It hesitated and then changed the motion to form clenched fists brought together, followed by a one-handed point to its body.
Pickering laughed, “This is incredible, it’s using sign language, International sign language for the deaf. It’s... I’m amazed.”
A puzzled Woodland said, “That’s great, but what the hell is it saying?”
Annoyed at Woodland’s lack of surprise, Pickering said, “It’s saying, come with me, I’ll get it to repeat it.”
Woodland grumbled as Pickering signed back and Alan smiled at the sudden change of fortune Pickering had had. For all his faults Pickering had suddenly become indispensable.
The creature repeated the gestures and added more; a fist quickly brought up across its body, vestigial thumb pointing up, palm down flipping to palm up, followed swiftly by both palms up indicating what Alan assumed to be a gesture for here.
Impatience forced Alan to speak, “Well?”
Pickering turned from the creature; looking more ashen that before he said, “The alien says, Come with me, danger, death, here. It appears to be in earnest.”
“How?” asked Conway, “Can the creature vouch for itself? How do we know it’s on the level and not some sort of elaborate trick?”
Pickering dithered. Before he could ask Conway a question, Conway said, “Get on with it man. This is your moment.”
Pickering nodded, adding, “It’s been many years since I spoke via sign language so I might be a little rusty, but here goes.”
Facing the alien once more Pickering began a series of quick hand gestures to which the creature responded. While the silent conversation continued, Alan gathered Woodland, Stowe and Kiki and moved over to Conway. “Okay, look, whatever the creature says now is unverifiable. It may claim allegiance to some other native sect, or faction, it may even have information from the Peterson, but ultimately we have to make a decision on what it says
here and now. What’s more we’re flying blind. Thoughts?”
Stowe said, “This is difficult. At the moment we don’t know what our current status is, or what awaits us at journey’s end. That doesn’t seem too different from - if we escape and then, well, we haven’t a clue what’s out there either. Maybe there’ll be no shelter and we go hungry. But it seems to me that if we are going we should do it now, mainly because we are only a day or so away from our campsite. We could walk back and salvage what we need. The shuttle, although not flight-worthy, remains locked tight and will only open if one of us touches the keypad. Although we can’t move back into the shuttle, we can recover plenty more in the way of stores and possibly build a safer camp around the stricken craft. Communications will still be working, right?”
Alan agreed, “It’d work. Only problem is Gibson. How to get him back.”
Conway sounded adamant when he said, “I’m not going. There’s only one way to deal with difficult negotiations and that’s with the man, or creature, at the top. I feel relatively certain that once negotiations are open, I can and will find a way to ensure our continued survival. After all there are many things these creatures could use which I could supply. With my business acumen I can’t see any real problems. And if they have other translators like this guy—” Conway jerked his thumb at the gesticulating alien, “—then I don’t foresee any setbacks.”
Woodland gave Conway a belittling look. “Not everything can be bought or sold Conway. For all you know these creatures might have no need of the luxury products you can offer. Hell, they probably won’t even understand the concept.”
Kiki, who’d been silent for a long time said, “I’m not going either. I don’t want to go back and I don’t want rescuing. What future would I have in some reform institution? No, I’ll stay with Conway and Gibson, you guys go. It’ll be for the best.”
Surprised by his emotional reaction, Alan held Kiki’s shoulders and asked, “You can’t mean that? You yourself said you’d done all that you could for your cause. You don’t have to stay, ple—”
“For god’s sake Alan, leave her be. She tried to kill us all and the bottom line is her plan is working. Leave her behind.”
Alan lashed out, catching Woodland in the neck with the edge of his flattened palm. Woodland, grasped his neck as the blow sent him tumbling backward from his crouching position. Alan moved quickly wrenching Woodland’s arm up and twisting it straight, while at the same time placing his foot on Woodland’s neck. “Just because a person holds views which are opposed to you, doesn’t mean they should be treated worse than anybody else.”
Through gritted teeth Woodland spat, “You’ve lost it man. She tried to kill us and no matter how you cut it or how you feel about a person, there’s no coming back from that.”
Caught in an emotion-fuelled frenzy, Alan contemplated pushing down with his heel, feeling the crack of vertebrae, hearing the air wheeze out of Woodland’s throat as his neck squashed.
A gentle hand firmly held his shoulder. Stowe said, “Alan, it’s okay. Let it go.” Before he could respond Avram Stowe wrapped her arms about him. The fugue slowly clearing Alan wondered how he’d reached this point. How had he allowed a petty infatuation drive him to this? Letting go of Woodland’s arms he said, “I’m sorry. You are right of course.”
Stowe took him to one side and sat him against the wagon’s running board. Alan felt tears welling and before they came he saw Stowe approach Kiki. She said, “You back off. Alan has enough to deal with. Your adolescent flirting has caused enough trouble. Do I make myself clear?”
Adolescent flirt? Sure that’s all it was and he’d been a fool to pretend otherwise. He needed to make it up to Woodland. Looking over at the navy captain he saw the man rubbing his neck where Alan had placed his boot. Sucking up his tears and shame he made to stand, but before he managed it Pickering said, “We’re leaving, and we are leaving now.”
“What?” Still massaging his neck Woodland regained his feet.
Pickering nervously repeated his statement and Alan sensed real panic setting in the Doctor’s eyes. Standing he said, “Why the urgency?”
Pickering moved nearer the others, “It seems we’ve landed in the middle of a religious rebellion. In a couple of minutes my friend here,” he indicated the native, “has arranged for the wagons to be stopped by other members of his group. We can leave then.”
“But—”
“I’ll explain it all later once we are away. I for one believe him.”
Stowe asked, “What makes you trust him?”
“Two things. One is this. “Pickering gestured at the alien who delved into a pouch on his own belt. Withdrawing its hand slowly, it turned the hand upwards for all to see and opened its palm. Nestled in the folds of slick alien skin, lay an insignia pendant from the Peterson.
Woodland sneered and said, “The bugger could have found that anywhere.”
“That’s true,” Pickering said. “But the other reason I trust him is that he said the amputation of wings is abhorrent and only carried out at the behest of the Unbound, who, of course, all have wings. It kind of struck me as, well, honest I guess.”
Woodland shrugged, “Okay, seems we have little choice. Those that are going ashore should get themselves portside.”
Alan felt consumed by the revelation that the creature, and by definition, the society had a religion. He turned to Pickering, “Come again. Why do they mutilate their young?”
Pickering stiffened and said, “It’s all to do with their eyes. See here.” He pointed at the alien’s eye lids, full, heavy and wrinkled. “They aren’t all born the same, some have heavy eye-lids, others don’t. In flight, any native with heavy lids can’t see the sky above, ‘the home of the Free’. Those without, see fine. Many generations ago a religious schism erupted ending in the segregation of those with heavy lids. God saw fit to shutter them from his magnificence. If you can’t fly to meet god and it’s god’s doing, perhaps you weren’t meant to fly. You’re born with heavy lids, you don’t get the chance.”
Stowe pulled a face, “That’s barbaric.”
Pickering slumped against the wagon’s awning. “It’s no worse than circumcision or female circumcision, or a hundred other religiously imposed laws we have permitted over thousands of years. Not pleasant to see here and not at home. Yet it is the way of things here.”
The wagon jolted to a halt. Alan said, “Now or never then.”
Chapter Twenty Two
Freedom and Guilt
They ran fast and low, their alien rescuers waddling at a ferocious rate. Alan felt relatively comfortable as they all topped a low rise and through tough grass made for a rocky outcrop at its summit. Thank god he’d maintained his fitness programme. Beside him, Pickering struggled for air, breathed heavily.
Once behind the rocks, the small band stopped to regroup and assess their position. Woodland, Stowe and Pickering squatted down near the boulders and Alan joined them. In the sparkling glow of the night-sky faces took on a pale phantasmal-sheen which Alan found quite hypnotic.
Collecting his thoughts he said, “Woodland, I’d like to apologise for my outburst in there. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s twice you’ve got the better of me, Alan. I don’t normally allow anyone to do that, but on this occasion I’ll let it slide. She’s a pretty one and mean as hell, an easy trap to fall into.”
Alan thought Woodland’s comments patronising, but held his mouth in check, “Thanks. I don’t know what got into me. Stress—”
“It’s forgotten. We’ve got more important things to deal with.”
Alan couldn’t argue. “I’ll go take a look at the wagons, see what they’re doing. Pickering, while I check on that, could you ask our friend over there why he was ignored by the guards and allowed to stop the wagons without resistance?”
“Will do. To be honest, I’m finding the whole thing very interesting.”
Woodland grinned, “We’ll see how interesting you f
ind it when there’s no food in your stomach.”
Ignoring Pickering’s reply, Alan made his way to the edge of the rocky outcrop. Thrusting straight up from the top of the rise the rocks rose to around four meters, at their edges ancient rock slides provided a jumble of smaller stone to hide behind.
The cool night air stirred with breezes. In the night’s brightness, Alan saw the small wagon train clearly: the two large wagons stood proud, while smaller hand-drawn carts bled out to the front of the lead wagon.
Movement about the lead wagon alerted Alan. Conway, Gibson and Kiki were there. Too afraid perhaps, to leave the wagon, they awaited their fate with a subdued calm. Gibson didn’t have a choice, much like Jimmy, left behind by a world that largely doesn’t care. Conway’s weak justification hardly masked the obvious truth that he thought he would slow the others down. Funny how at the last, a man that you would never have thought of as being brave, goes and does something heroic. And Kiki, lost in her dream of earthly isolation, appeared not to care about her situation.
But was it right to leave them to such fate?
Pickering and their native benefactor arrived. Pickering smiled and said, “This is going to sound crazy but the society hereabouts has been given an edict from on high to ignore the rebels. Treat them as if they don’t exist. That’s why the guards turned their backs, they can’t see them. So our friends here pretty much roam at will, although during daylight they have to hide from the Unbound. The Bound just have to ignore them.”
“Bound? Unbound? You’re moving way too fast here.”
“It’s simple really.” Alan saw how pleased Pickering appeared. This new role of interpreter suited him. “Their society is split into three distinct levels. Naturally, the translations of the titles are difficult, especially since we are using sign language, but the names pretty much equate to the true meaning. Bound represents the natives, with wings that have been clipped, meaning bound to the land, unable to fly. Conversely Unbound signifies the airborne natives, free to fly and leave the ground etcetera. Then of course there’s this third cast, the Free. They however, are proving hard to get a handle on. If I’ve understood correctly, they visit infrequently and they live above the sky. Our host here has never seen them and doesn’t know of anyone that has. I think the Free are who these guys worship, and the cause of all the eyelid trouble.”