by CJ Birch
But does this tether us to our past? Or separate us further? If we are able to resume, how will the humans on the Posterus change over time? Not just our biology, but our culture. As we move further from our roots in the Union, will that reflect in how we relate to each other? It makes me wonder if the avians were always like this or if this is just a stage in their cultural evolution. There was a time when humans viewed women as inferior; will the avians outgrow their prejudices too?
They tug the line forward and we continue our march through the forest. The trees stretch up above, obscuring the sky from view in a hazy green. And it’s everywhere. That green. It clings to the trees in soft bundles of moss, so soft you want to reach out and pet it. Low bushes and plants cover the ground. All different shades of green, some are so bright they give off their own light. It would be intoxicating if I weren’t so damn scared.
Little pink bugs with giant feathery wings flit about our heads. One lands on the back of Sarka’s shoulder. I get a good look at giant green eyes and legs with pincers that resemble crab claws before he smashes it with his hand and flicks it off. The movement jerks the rope chain back and Foer stumbles and falls. There’s a loud thud and a cascade of dust. Foer coughs into the dirt and staggers a few more times before Sarka yanks him up.
“Is this what Earth looked like?” I ask Sarka. I have this strange feeling of the canopy, which hangs at least a kilometer above, protecting us.
Sarka grunts. “Not even close.”
“How so?”
“The trees for one. There aren’t many. And they’re not this tall on Earth.” He gazes up at the foliage above. “I’d say they’re twice as tall. And there’s a lot more green. Earth is more arid.”
From afar, it’s yellow.
“It’s the low gravity,” Mani says from the front of the line. “Water can reach higher because it doesn’t have to fight as much gravity. It’s called the cohesion-tension theory. At a certain point the water pressure isn’t strong enough to go any higher. So the trees can only grow as high as the water can reach.”
“Is that why the creatures are taller as well?” I ask.
Mani shrugs. “Don’t know, Captain.”
“Yes and no,” says Foer. He takes a moment, drawing his thoughts together. “The low gravity has an effect, but if a human were to be born on this planet we wouldn’t be as tall as them. We’d be a few inches taller for sure, but not a few feet. Their height is a combination of factors.”
“Is this what Earth smelled like?” I suck in a lungful, invigorated by all the scents that come with that one breath. Algae farms create most of the oxygen on the belt, interspersed with sugar cane fields and food crops, which have a low photosynthetic efficiency. These of course aren’t enough to supply all the oxygen for the fleet. Each ship contains banks of what’s known as silk leaves. They’re a synthetic leaf with the chloroplast from a plant dispersed throughout. The result is stale and odorless.
“No.” Sarka’s profile and jaw muscles tighten.
“Do you miss it?”
He ignores me, which is answer enough for me. I guess it would be an admission of weakness to say he missed something. But I know he must. When I was younger, he used to share stories of his childhood with me. The way he described Earth, the independence made my head spin to hear of his adventures on the bike trails near his home. The freedom of barreling down a mountain side on two wheels. The exhilaration of conquering your fears. It all sounded exciting.
“Where do you think they’re taking us? Do you think they’re going to,” Foer pauses for a moment, looking back at us, his eyes round with fear and uncertainty, “eat us?”
“I don’t think so.” I take a moment to put my impressions into words. If they were going to eat us, I don’t think they would have smashed our gear. They see us as a threat and definitely have something planned for us. It may be ritualistic. That doesn’t mean they won’t kill us anyway. But I don’t think they’ll eat us. “If they were going to eat us, they wouldn’t have brought the bird for food.” I don’t voice the rest of my thoughts. Foer already looks like he’s about to shit his pants. I don’t want to add to his anxiety.
“One thing’s for certain, they’re sexist as hell. This should get interesting,” Yakovich says.
“They’re going to find out real quick what happens when they piss me off,” I whisper low enough so my crew doesn’t hear.
But Sarka hears. “Shush.” He turns around, a warning in his eyes.
“Do not shush me.”
There’s a loud whooping noise ahead and I do hush as we’re brought into a large clearing.
“What the fuck is that thing?” Foer stops short, causing the rest of us to collide. We’re yanked forward. I falter and smack into Sarka’s broad back. Unable to keep up with the forward momentum, I fall to my knees.
Sarka turns to help me. “Get up.” It’s a low warning growl.
But before I can regain my footing, I’m kicked to the ground by the lead avian. There’s a rush of air as another swift kick finds my ribs. Instinctively, I curl into a ball. I lift my arms to protect my head. There are several more blows to my back and a club to the head. My vision goes blurry. One thought pounds through my mind: he is going to fucking regret this.
Chapter Fourteen
It’s late afternoon. By the time we finally stop our trek, we’re in the shadow of a monolithic pyramid. The surface, black and shiny and smooth, extends into the canopy. The top disappears in a blanket of green. It must be over a kilometer high and was constructed with precision. I lift my head, but see no other buildings surrounding it. Only wilderness reclaiming its domain. Around our feet are rough stone that might once have been a roadway, but no longer are. They’re made of a lighter material than the pyramid and snake all the way around in what looks like a full circle.
And with this discovery, a new mystery. I doubt these creatures have the technology to build such structures. Their clothing and social structure appear to be pre-civilization. What little they do wear is crude and only covers what I assume are their genitalia.
If not nomadic, they haven’t begun to cultivate the land in a more permanent way. Which means an earlier civilization evolved and may have gone extinct on this planet. It makes sense. On Earth, the vast majority of all species that ever lived have gone extinct. We should count ourselves lucky we didn’t join that statistic.
I groan again as someone lifts the hair at the back of my neck. “He got you pretty good. If it doesn’t hurt yet, it’s going to.”
I pull away from Sarka’s rough hands, rolling onto my side again. “Leave it.” I need everything to stop for a second so I can figure out our next course of action. I need to assess the situation. In one of those Choose Your Own Adventure books I read, you took on the identity of a spy. At one point you had a choice to sneak into a foreign castle immediately or wait until night. When I chose immediately, I was spotted and captured.
It’s best to wait for nightfall before we attempt an escape. Hopefully, their guard will be down and most will be sleeping.
Sarka grips my head, turning it to the side to examine the cut. “You don’t want it to get infected. Who knows what else that thing’s clubbed.”
“I said leave it.” It comes out a little louder than I intend and we catch the attention of the leader.
Shit.
He saunters over and kneels in front of Sarka and me. His eyes roam over the two of us. Then with the speed of an automaton, his hand snatches my hair and jerks my head back, studying me. He smiles. If you can call it that. His beak-like mouth opens and a long, thin tongue darts out while his cheeks bunch. The effect is a little terrifying. He calls out to the group surrounding us. Whatever he says makes them laugh. It’s more of a loud series of squawks from each, but the effect is unmistakable. He’s said something about me that amuses the rest.
Sarka shoves him. The avian loses his balance and Sarka stands, towering over him. Before he can strike, I yell for him to stand down.
“Enough.” I grab the material of his enviro-suit and pull him back. “I don’t want anyone to provoke him.” I look at Sarka, then Mani, Yakovich, and Foer to get my point across. “We keep our heads and lay low until we can get out of here.”
Sarka steps back and squats next to me. Too late, I realize my mistake. This interaction has left no doubt who’s in charge. Even though we don’t speak the same language, both our species are clever enough to read body language.
“Quick,” I tell Sarka. “Slap me. Make it believable.” Before I have time to even brace for it, Sarka backhands me across the cheek. My head whips to the side. My eyes water as the sting reverberates through my whole head. If I didn’t have a headache before, I sure as hell do now. “Christ. I said make it believable. I didn’t say take my head off with it.” He makes to slap me again and I instinctively cower. This appears to appease the Avian, who rises above us with a smug look on his face. He walks away, satisfied by my punishment.
Great. A giant leap forward for humankind and a screeching halt for women.
As the afternoon progresses, we sit in the shade and watch as they work. They’re constructing something with long, stripped branches. Yellow vine is wrapped around each, holding them in place. Another group builds a fire, plucks and spits the bird. The smell of roasting meat wafts over and my stomach growls. I realize I haven’t eaten anything except a ration bar since last night.
“What do you think the odds are that they’re going to feed us?” Foer asks.
“I’m not eating that shit,” Yakovich says, flicking stones into the bush. She’s been grumpy since they confiscated her weapon and I think she’s going through some sort of withdrawal.
We’re still tethered at the wrists and connected at the waist. They’ve wrapped the rope around a giant tree on the edge of the small clearing. From here, we have a good view of what’s happening.
Later, as the light changes to a deepening purple, one of the avians walks over and drops a slab of bark. Strips of bird meat flop onto dirt. Sarka immediately grabs a large chunk and rips into it.
“That’s disgusting.” Yakovich turns away.
“Sort of tastes like duck,” Sarka mumbles around a mouthful of bird. “Nice and fatty.”
I don’t hesitate much before grabbing a piece myself. I’m starving and, if that weren’t incentive enough, the smell of meat is intoxicating. I can’t even remember the last time I had it. I wipe the layer of dirt off with the sleeve of my enviro-suit. A layer of grease comes away with the dirt.
Foer joins me a moment later. “At least it’s us eating it. A few hours ago, I was kinda worried it was going to be the other way around.”
I smile and shove another piece in my mouth. Juice squirts out of the fatty bits.
With the waning light, we finally discover why they’ve brought us to this pyramid. We’re rounded up after we’ve eaten and brought to the base. Up close, it looks like obsidian. The stone is so smooth and shiny, it’s a mirror reflecting the surrounding vegetation. In this light, as the sun finally sets, it’s almost purple in color.
I’ve instructed everyone to cooperate with them, within reason. I don’t want to antagonize them before we have the chance to escape. My biggest worry right now is the rest of the crew. We’re four hours past our rendezvous time. I can only hope they didn’t decide to come after us. Especially with Ash leading. Or worse. What if the avians attacked the ship? Would they be smart enough to gain access? I watch as one of the avians picks bird meat out of its claws with the sharp tip of its spear. I decide to give my crew the benefit of the doubt.
We circle the pyramid until we reach an indentation in the ground. There are large steps cut out of the earth which lead below ground. The large guy isn’t in charge now. Instead, we’re lead down the steps by a much smaller avian. He looks older than the rest. His skin is looser and he walks with a slight limp.
When we reach the bottom of the steps, the air is cooler and I shrug into the top of my enviro-suit. They’ve lit torches and placed them in holders cut into the side of the earth on either side of the steps. The flicker casts eerie shadows against the ground and walls in this little alcove. The old avian beckons for Sarka. Foer looks over at me. There’s the same fear in his eyes from earlier.
I don’t think they’re going to kill us down here in the entrance. But when the old one pulls an ornate knife from the waistband of his coverings, I start to doubt myself.
He pulls Sarka’s hand, palm up, toward him and rakes the knife across. Sarka doesn’t even flinch. Sarka’s bulky body obscures most of my view, but from back here it doesn’t look like much is happening. The old shaman releases Sarka back to the group and eyes us for several seconds before pointing at me. I’m pushed forward. In his stooped state, his head is level with mine. He’s still intimidating with a sharp beak and hard eyes that glare, unblinking, into mine.
They untie my hands. I swallow my fear as he grips my left palm, facing it up. The knife still has blood on it from Sarka. He sprinkles something on my skin, rubbing it in with long taloned fingers. I pray it’s a disinfectant. With my jaws clenched tight, I brace myself for the moment when blade meets skin. When it does come, I keep steady, pursing my lips to keep from making any sound. I refuse to flinch. If Sarka can endure it, so can I.
The blood pools, dark crimson against my pale skin. The avian, still gripping tight, guides my hand to the archway of the pyramid. Nestled into a groove next to it is a small rectangular hole, large enough for my hand and little else. He motions for me to stick my hand into the opening. I hesitate for only a second. If Sarka survived, why shouldn’t I? He turns my hand so the palm is facing down as I slip it into the hole. And we wait. I have no idea what we’re waiting for, but the quiet surrounding us tells me it’s something important. The old avian stares up at the archway, expectant, holding my elbow. Finally, he shakes his head and pulls my hand out.
They must be trying to open the doors with our blood as the key. And we don’t have what they need. I try not to panic at that thought because if we’re not needed any more, then there’s nothing to stop them from killing us.
After trying everyone’s blood, we’re led back up the earth steps. I wonder why their blood won’t open the doors. Or is this a test? If our blood did open the doors would that mean we would get a reprieve? Or would we be ripe for sacrifice?
The ancient Aztecs used human sacrifice to repay the debt of life to their gods. They saw it as an honor. Judging by my crew, they won’t be too honored.
The sun has completely set, leaving the camp dark. There are a few torches placed at various locations to help us see. A large fire in the center throws off the most light. A group of avians sits around sharing bird meat and chatting. We’re brought to the edge of the camp again, and now I see what it was they were constructing earlier. Cages. We’re thrust inside, our hands tied tight to one of the branches, and left to wonder what tomorrow will bring.
I settle in, determined to wait them out, to bide my time until we can make our escape. But as my head settles against one of the skinny branches making up one side of the cage, my eyes begin to droop. I readjust, but it’s no use. Soon, my eyes close and I drift into dreams about pyramids and squawking birds.
Chapter Fifteen
I become aware of the scent first. A mixture of soap and sweet florals and something else that speaks of both comfort and fervency. A finger taps my nose. My eyes snap open as a hand clamps against my mouth, muffling a shocked cry.
Ash. She kneels on the outside of the cage. There’s an indescribable look on her face that, if I weren’t already seated, would bring me to my knees. She doesn’t say anything as she slices the rope binding my wrists and the vines knotting the cage door shut. She passes it to me, hilt first, so I can cut the ropes of those beside me.
I risk one sentence in the silence of the night. “You shouldn’t have come.”
She smirks and whispers, “Well, someone had to tell you, ‘I told you so.’”
&n
bsp; My only answer is a half hearted grunt. I turn to Foer and motion for him to put his hands out. Once he’s free, I hand him the knife and he turns to the next person.
We slip out of camp, eager to be on our way, free of the avians and headed toward our ship. There are nine of us now. Ash brought Hartley, Chloe, and Fossick, although God knows why. Chloe was a smart choice. She’s a good triage nurse. The only person with any injuries is me. I wave Chloe off the second I see her coming. They’re only a couple of scratches, but she makes me take an antibiotic to be sure. And true to form, Sarka brings reality to the forefront.
“Fat lot that’ll do. If she does get infected here, those antibiotics aren’t going to do shit for her.”
“Then what do you suggest we do?” Chloe hands me a bottle of water and I drink a third of it before I realize we should conserve. The avians destroyed our supplies, so all we have is what Ash and her team brought.
“Not get injured in the first place,” Sarka says.
Fossick cocks an eyebrow. “Brilliant plan there. Spend a while on it, did you?” And now I’m not all that upset Ash brought him along.
We plod through the dark forest. I’ve instructed those with flashlights to refrain from using them until we’re much further away. The campfire grows dimmer as we move further into the jungle. The moons—this planet has three—are now hidden by the canopy above. Soon, we’re plunged into darkness and we bring out the flashlights.
Unfortunately, visibility doesn’t equal stealth. Somewhere to my right, there’s a loud thud followed by a softer, “fuck.” I give it a few more moments to get us further from the camp before I halt the group.
“Is everyone okay?” I whisper. The crew crowds in. I see a lot of dirt, a few scrapes, but nothing too serious. The sooner we get out of here, the better. There’s a smattering of nods and grunts which I take for yeses. “We’ll rest up for a bit and figure out the fastest way to get back to the ship, then we’ll be on our way.”
