The Pioneer

by BRIDGET TYLER

  “But it didn’t kill me,” she says, choking on the words.

  Sometimes, surviving sucks.

  Leela’s willingness to take orders from Dr. Brown makes more sense now. She’s a cadet pilot. Chief Penny might have been the senior officer on board, but the Wagon and everyone on it were Leela’s responsibility. Now the Wagon is wrecked and, except for Miguel, everyone who was on board is dead. With all of that weighing on her, it must be a huge relief to not feel like our lives are in her hands too.

  “Thank you,” she says abruptly.

  “For what?”

  “For not trying to make me feel better.”

  “Oh,” I say. “You’re welcome.”

  This is the longest conversation Leela and I have had since the accident. I don’t know if it’s the darkness, or the exhaustion, or the emotional chaos that’s making it possible for us to talk to each other again. But I don’t want it to end.

  “Where do you think they’re taking us?” I say, hoping curiosity is a neutral topic.

  “Someplace with a little more light, preferably,” Leela says. “Just when you think you’re too old to be scared of the dark . . .”

  “No kidding,” I say.

  “I am sorry the lack of illumination causes you discomfort,” a harmonic voice says from somewhere to my right. A buttery yellow glow spills free as one of our Sorrow escorts pushes down their blackout hood. “May I share my light with you?”

  Unlike the other Sorrow we’ve seen so far, this one’s eyes are uncovered. They’re round and liquid black. Up close, I can see that their skin is transparent. The shadowy outlines of their bones and muscles are visible underneath, highlighted by branching trails of pale-yellow light. I think Sorrow blood must be bioluminescent, and the glowing fractal patterns are actually veins and arteries shining through their skin.

  “Oh, um, yes,” I stutter. “That would be very nice. I apologize—we didn’t mean to disrespect your home.”

  “It is I who must apologize for intruding on a private conversation,” the Sorrow says, falling into step with us. “The Sorrow can hear many things humans cannot. Lucille says it is a matter of the process she calls evolution.”

  “Oh,” I say cautiously. “That’s . . . interesting.” I’m not sure we should be engaging in casual conversation without Dr. Brown’s guidance, but this Sorrow seems to be totally at ease with us. They must have spent a lot of time with Dr. Brown.

  “We live in darkness, so we must see with our eyes and our ears,” the Sorrow continues. “Lucille calls this echolocation. She says that some of the lower beings on Earth have similar capabilities.”

  I wonder if that’s what we’ve been feeling when the Sorrow speak and sing. If they can echolocate, then they must have natural sonar, like bats and dolphins. Maybe that’s what gives their language its tactile qualities.

  “Thank you for sharing your light,” Leela says, before I can ask more about the Sorrow’s sonar. “It makes us much more comfortable.”

  “It is my pleasure,” the Sorrow says. “I find expressing myself in a language with only one dimension a pleasant challenge. My pouch mate and I have often commented that English is unexpectedly complex.”

  “Your pouch mate?” I say.

  “My apologies,” the Sorrow says. “I have not greeted you properly. Lucille calls me Tarn. I shared my father’s pouch with the one she calls Ord, who is Followed. To use a human word, I am his brother.”

  I have so many questions, if I wasn’t afraid of offending the Sorrow with the light from my flex, I’d start taking notes. If Sorrow carry babies in their exterior pouches like marsupials back on Earth, do they also give birth to them? Or do females do that? How many siblings share a pouch at once? Do they have lasting familial relationships, like humans do? They must, if Tarn is introducing himself as Ord’s brother.

  “When my pouch mate brought Lucille here to live with us, he asked me to help him learn your language so that we could communicate with her,” Tarn says. “I am glad he did. I find your people fascinating.”

  “So Dr. Brown has told you a lot about us, then?” I say.

  “Yes.” Tarn covers his face with his hands, palms out. It seems reflexive, like nodding or head shaking for us. “I have also learned much from the program Lucille used to teach us your language. Your educator is a wonderful tool.”

  “Dr. Brown used the educator to teach you English?” I clamp down on an inappropriate giggle at the thought of imperious Ord discussing verbs and nouns with that irritating panda avatar.

  “Yes,” Tarn says. “She used her three-dimensional printer to create several additional flex tablets for us.”

  “I guess she also used it to print your pouch mate’s gun, right?” Leela says. I suck in a breath. I’d almost forgotten that Ord was carrying a human weapon.

  “Yes,” Tarn says, covering his face with his outturned hands again. “Ord is fascinated by human technology, and Dr. Brown often obliges his interest. Your printers are astounding.”

  So is the idea of Dr. Brown printing technology and weapons for the Sorrow. She’s the one who created the ISA’s First Contact Protocol. I can understand why she chose to violate it, when the other option was total isolation. But what consequences will that choice have for us? Or for the Sorrow?

  “How long has Dr. Brown been with you?” I ask.

  “The ways in which we measure the passage of time do not translate well into your language,” Tarn says. “But Lucille has been with us since her crew was lost. I am glad you have arrived. I think she will be pleased to be among humans again, despite her expressions of desire that your people would never come.”

  “What?” Leela says. “Dr. Brown didn’t want us to come here?”

  Every new piece of information we get makes less sense than the last. The Vulcan’s satellites are still in orbit. If Dr. Brown didn’t want the Pioneer to follow her here, all she had to do was inform the International Space Agency that Tau was already occupied. The ISA would have sent a rescue mission instead of an E&P ship. Wouldn’t they?

  The report is accurate. However, it is not complete.

  Mom’s words rebound through my brain. The ISA classified parts of Dr. Brown’s survey report. Did they do that because she reported there was sentient life here and they decided to send us anyway? Even as the thought forms in my brain, I know I’m right. It’s the only answer that makes sense. But I can’t believe the ISA would do that. I can’t believe my mother would go along with it. I must be missing something.

  “Friend Lucille has expressed fear that your people and mine will not be able to cooperate adequately to share this world,” Tarn says. “And she does not wish to endanger the Sorrow with your presence here.”

  “We had, um, similar concerns,” Leela says. “We were surprised that Dr. Brown wanted us to come with you.”

  “So I observed,” Tarn says. “But Lucille follows Ord now, and he is confident that humans and the Sorrow can live together in harmony. She would never question his leadership. She trusts in Ord to show her the way.”

  Leela throws me a wide-eyed look. I’m as shocked as she is. Does that mean that Dr. Brown has sworn allegiance to Ord? Is that why she agreed to bring us here, even though it violates her own protocol? Acid twists through my stomach. We should never have followed her orders. We shouldn’t be here. We probably shouldn’t even be on this planet.

  A percussive buzzing sound patters over my skin like a thousand tapping fingers. It makes me want to walk faster, despite the pain in my leg.

  “If you will excuse me, juveniles. My pouch mate summons me,” Tarn says. The Sorrow flips his hood up again, but this time the black cloak doesn’t make him disappear. As Tarn walks ahead of us, I realize that the cave isn’t as dark as it was a few minutes ago. In fact, it seems to be getting brighter with every step.

  Smooth rock walls slip out of the fading darkness. We’re in a tunnel. Actually, we’re at the end of a tunnel. A few seconds later, we emerge into a sprawling un
derground city. It’s still dark in here, but it’s more like the two-moon darkness of a Tau night. There’s enough light that I can see my friends’ awestruck expressions.

  This cave is enormous. You could fit the entire Landing inside, and the Pioneer, and have room left over. Flecks of light sparkle in the soaring ceiling, getting brighter and denser as the cave narrows to its lowest point at the center of the city. The buildings are like honeycombs—towering scaffolding built in intricate geometric patterns and draped with some kind of fabric or paper. Some of it is see-through and some of it isn’t. They’re impressive, but strangely uneven. The shapes look like they should add up to something, but I can’t figure out what.

  Ord and his guards lead us up a wide avenue that wraps around the outer wall of the cave before spiraling into the city. As we walk, crowds of Sorrow emerge from buildings and fall in behind us. They wear the same long, hooded robes as Ord and his attendants, in a luminescent gray that mutes their natural light but does not hide it. No two are exactly the same color, so the crowd creates swirling rainbows as they move.

  “Aliens on parade,” Leela breathes, taking in the throngs. She’s right. Ord is showing us off. I wonder if this is meant to be welcoming or intimidating. If it’s the second one, it’s working. Even if we could find a way out of here, we’re totally hemmed in by Sorrow.

  “Look!” Miguel says, pointing up at the cavern wall. At first I see nothing but the shadows cast by the city, shifting over the stone. Then the shades of gray organize themselves in my mind and I see it. The intricate honeycomb buildings are designed to cast images on the cave walls. Jagged shadow figures with multijointed limbs that are clearly Sorrow stretch the full height of the cavern, fighting against creatures with exaggerated claws and teeth.

  “They paint in shadows,” Jay says, staring up at the grayscale battle that rages as we walk and our perspective shifts. He has the same awestruck expression on his face as he did when we watched the sunset in Jannah. He sees as much beauty in the shadows as the light. I don’t know why, but the look on Jay’s face makes all of the nuances of darkness and light in the shadow mural come alive.

  “Where’s that light coming from?” Chris says, peering at the glowing heart of the city.

  “That is our Solace,” Ord says. His sunglasses are gone, and his round black eyes shine in the violet light of his bioluminescence. “The place where the Sorrow began.” He holds out an imperious hand. “Come, walk beside me. Let me tell you our story.”

  Chris shoots us a wide-eyed look.

  “It’s okay, dude,” Miguel says. “We’re right behind you.”

  I don’t think that makes Chris feel much better, but he lets Dr. Brown lead him to Ord’s side.

  “Once, the Sorrow lived in the light,” Ord says. “A very long time ago.” His attention is focused on Chris, but his voice is pitched so that we can all hear him. I think maybe the whole crowd gathered behind us can hear him too, thanks to the acoustics in here. I think they’re meant to. This story isn’t just for us.

  “Our ancestors lived in the sun. They spent their days surrounded by the gracious beauty of these mountains,” Ord continues, “but their lives were brutal and short because of the Beasts. The Beasts preyed on the ancient Sorrow, attacking the weak and feasting on the young. They crave light, so the Sorrow learned to live at night and hide themselves during the day. But there is no true darkness on the surface. The moons and the stars pollute almost every hour of the night. So our ancestors lived in fear. They had no direction, no purpose beyond survival.

  “Everything changed when the First who was Followed discovered that the Beasts fear true darkness. They would not enter it for any reason. She explored these caves and she found this place, where there is enough light for the Sorrow but not enough for the Beasts to survive. She led our ancestors here, to the Solace. In the safety of this place, the Sorrow found possibility. Growth. Purpose.”

  “So those things, the Beasts, they don’t come down here?” Chris says.

  “No.” Ord briefly raises his hands to cover his face, palms in. “Sorrow’s Solace has protected us for many, many generations. But it also limits us. We do not leave this place, except to tend our gardens and gather food. And our Growers and Gatherers risk their lives every moment that they are on the surface. That means they can produce only the smallest amount necessary to feed our people.”

  “I find it unlikely that the Sorrow have no offensive capabilities,” Beth says quietly to Leela and me. “Given the weaponry and skill displayed in our interaction with their warrior class.”

  “You are correct, Bethany Watson,” Ord calls, turning to us and throwing his arms wide to indicate his black-robed guards. “My Takers are brave and dedicated fighters. They can and do protect us from the Beasts, but not without the giving of many Sorrow lives. Those lives are given gladly, but not lightly. We stay where it is safe, unless absolutely necessary.”

  “I wish humans were smart enough to do that,” Chris says. His voice is gruff and sticky, like he’s trying not to cry.

  Ord holds up an open palm, thumb to his cheekbone, fingers spread. Then he presses his hand forward to skim it across Chris’s eyes.

  “You have suffered a great loss, haven’t you?”

  Chris’s voice creaks from the strain of not crying as he whispers, “Yes, I, my mother . . .” He trails off, choking on the words.

  Beth finishes the sentence for him. “His mother was killed by the predators.”

  “I see,” Ord says without looking away from Chris. “There is no shame in sadness. Or pain, or anger. Just as wind and water hone rock, these turbulent emotions help us find our proper shape, making us stronger and wiser. But fear also has the power to shape us. We cannot allow that.”

  Ord pulls a knife from under his robe. It has a black handle and a long, narrow, black blade that is only visible because its edges are so sharp they catch at his bio-light.

  “This was my father’s knife. He was a good father. He nurtured me and my pouch mate and we grew strong. But my father was a Grower. He left the safety of Sorrow’s Solace each day to feed our people. On one of those days, the Beasts attacked and killed him.”

  Ord keens something in the Sorrow language that makes my stomach ache. The crowd responds in a soft hum that slides over my skin like freshly printed fleece. They’re comforting him.

  “My father died long before Tarn and I were ready to live beyond his pouch,” Ord continues in English. “I was so afraid. I did not know if my pouch mate and I would survive without his care. Fear could have consumed me. Paralyzed me. But instead, it made me angry. I used that anger, and this knife, to carve the fear out of myself. Tarn and I didn’t just survive. We thrived.” Ord presses the knife into Chris’s hands. “So can you.”

  Chris stares down at the blade. I can’t see his expression in the shifting dimness.

  “This is a gift beyond price,” Dr. Brown says, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Both the knife and the inspiration it will bring. Ord will help you find your way through this tragedy. As he helped me.”

  Ord holds a beckoning hand out to her. When she comes to him, he cups her cheek. She leans into his long, many-jointed fingers. The delicate, blue-violet light from the veins in his palm leaches her eyes to black as he strokes her neck. Her eyes stay locked on his as she adds, “No one understands sacrifice better than the Sorrow.”

  The moment is so intimate that I look away. My eyes land on the scarred Sorrow guard, Pel. Her hood is down and her huge ears are spread out on either side of her head like cupped horns.

  She’s watching them too.

  “Friends!” Ord calls, drawing my attention back to him. “Until now, the Sorrow have found only pain and fear in the light. But today it brings us something new. Humanity.

  “The friendship between our species will help the Sorrow grow in ways that our fathers and their fathers never dreamed of as they carried us in their pouches. You have much to teach us, but we have much to teach
you in return.”

  With that he spins, artfully twirling his glowing cloak around his body, and marches up the spiraling road toward the heart of the city.

  The crowd surges forward to follow him as Dr. Brown leads Chris back to us, parting the flow of robed extraterrestrials like a stone in a river.

  “What’s going to happen now?” I ask her.

  “Something sacred and extraordinary.” She looks past my shoulder, and a radiant smile spreads over her face. “Don’t struggle.”

  Don’t struggle? What’s that supposed to mean?

  “Whoa,” Miguel says, following Dr. Brown’s look. “What the what?”

  Before I can turn to see, my feet are off the ground and my body is being lifted into the air. Long, many-jointed fingers grip my head, shoulders, waist, and knees. I reflexively arch my back, trying to twist away from the grasping fingers. Pain ricochets from my wounds, exploding out of me in a scream.

  “Leave her alone!” Leela shouts, lunging for my hand.

  “I said don’t struggle!” Dr. Brown snaps, holding Leela back. “Do not show the Givers disrespect. This great gift is given not just to you, but to humanity.”

  In other words, if I keep freaking out and offend these Sorrow, our whole species will be held accountable for it. But what exactly does sacred mean? Will it hurt? Will I survive it?

  “Joanna!”

  I twist to find Jay. He’s holding his stun gun. He can’t possibly win a fight in this situation, but he’s willing to try. They all are. I can see it in their faces.

  There’s more at stake here than humanity’s future on Tau. If I don’t go along with this, my friends are going to get hurt trying to help me.

  “I’m okay,” I call back to them. “I’ll be okay.”

  I’ll be okay. I repeat the words to myself as the Givers carry me away.

  Eight

  I’ll be okay.

  The Givers glow almost as brightly as Ord. Their encircling light is blinding. I can’t see where we’re going, or if my friends are being allowed to follow. All I can do is stare up at the cave ceiling and keep trying not to panic.