by Kaz Morran
“Gravel crunches underfoot now, and I lose the tracks. My foot hits something and sends it skittering. At first, I get excited thinking it’s driftwood—not that I’d be able to make a fire in this wind anyway. I go down on my knees to find it, and for a second I think it might be best to lie down and curl up, but by now I’m shivering too hard. I won’t make it until morning in the open. I get hold of the driftwood, only it’s not driftwood. It’s bone. Then I find another piece and another, and I know where I am. A minute later I almost trip over a mound of stones. I see a blue plastic sheet sticking out, and a caribou hide. Another mound has artificial flowers and a bent-over cross. Another one’s been pulled open, and the cross is in splinters alongside bone fragments.
“You can’t bury anything in permafrost, so we wrap up the dead and build a cairn to keep animals from eating the body. It doesn’t always work, though.
“I see a bear moving in and out of the blowing snow as it walks back and forth, pacing among the cairns. A male. He has a nice, healthy coat. Blood around his mouth and down the fur on his neck and chest. About an eight-footer. Twelve hundred pounds. Medium size. I don’t see any others with him, but that might just be the poor visibility.
“The bear stops pacing. He swings his head, lifts his nose, and sniffs. And then he starts moving toward me. Only one grave is between him and me, and we’re playing a kind of slow-motion cat-and-mouse around the opened cairn. Inside it, I see the torn mummy of someone from the community, but it’s too dark now to see more than the beads in her hair and the whites of her teeth behind the drawn-back lips of her leathered face.
“I duck down behind the broken cairn and my mitt lands in a bloody paw print. The tracks go off behind me. Big tracks. He’s not alone. I know I have to find a better place to hide. I can hear bears crunching in the gravel around me.
Tossing a splinter of wood distracts them a second, and I run to the next cairn, then the next. But they’re close behind. It’s really dark now. I know there’s a shed a few hundred yards away, somewhere out across the gravel flat, lost in the blizzard and darkness. What’s in the shed is— It’s not a place you’d ever want to enter. But I’m shivering like crazy, and I don’t want to freeze or get eaten.
“I pull the cross from the cairn and make a run for it. I hear a bear huffing behind me. I zigzag to throw him off, but that makes me get lost. I can’t see anything. My eyes are iced over. My face hurts. The breaths burn my lungs, and it feels like I’m already turning into mummified remains. But I just keep running, back and forth, hoping I hit the shed before I hit a bear. I trip, and I don’t know if it’s the wind, a bear, or an evil spirit nudging my legs, but it spooks me to jump back up.
“I do run into the shed—hard enough to rattle the padlock and hinges, so I know where the door is. Why the shed would need to be locked is anyone’s guess, but I have to stick the cross in the hinge and pry off the padlock, and I have to do it fast because I hear the bears already coming around the other side. The door busts open—swings outward—and I go in.
“I know the bodies are all frozen—stored there until spring thaws them enough that they can be prepared for proper funerals—but I swear I can smell the rot. The shed’s only the size of a bus shelter, so I feel their presence. I feel the deaths. Without feeling around, I know how many bodies. I know their names. I remember each of the days they didn’t show up for school. One was a skidoo accident—Mr. Conroy. He fell through the ice. The other two were girls were suicides.
“A bear slams against the door. I fly backward into the stack of bodies. My bloody mitt touches a frozen face. The door bangs and crashes as the bear hammers with his paws. With the lock broken, all he has to do is give the door the right push to make it bounced off the frame and swing open. I lunge for the handle, grab on tight, and brace my feet on each side of the frame then lean back while the bear throws his weight at the door. Twelve hundred pounds versus one-ten. Each time the bear strikes, the jolt runs up my arms, and I lose my grip for a second. He must be standing now because with every impact I feel the top of the door bend inward. Bam … Bam … Bam … He’s not going to give up until he gets in. Bam … The frame cracks. The door starts to splinter. A paw breaks through at the top and rips a gash down the middle right to my arm. I pull back, but he’s got me. His claws are hooked into my sleeve. I yank my arm away and feel the burn of my own skin shredding. His head smashes through the door, growling, roaring, chomping at air as he tries to find me. I let go of the door handle and hit his face with all I’ve got. I feel my fists strike hard, sharp teeth, but maybe I hit his nose because he backs off. Not for long, I’m sure. He knows I’m trapped. He’s just sitting in front of the door and waiting. He can afford to take a break.
“But he doesn’t rest long. He’s up and moving. First, he paces, then he circles the shed once, twice, and then I can feel his steamy breath coming in through the hole in the door. He claws at the splintered panels around the hole, tearing a wider opening until his head and shoulders push me back into the bodies, and he snarls and roars. There’s nowhere to go. He’s got me.
“I hear something over the growls. Engines. Then gunshots. The bear runs off, and I see the lights of a search party.”
***
Taiyo got out the hot sauce and cutlery, and he and Anton took over the cooking. Once everyone’s delicacy of choice was rehydrated and warm, they huddled together and swapped food and drinks in the tradition of on-orbit mealtimes.
They were sipping tea after dusk, long after Taiyo had finished his lingonberry jam and spaghetti when Ronin finally rejoined them. His sudden re-emergence made Taiyo recall his now-broken promise to himself to confront Ronin over the cassowary. Surely that incident, plus this latest transgression, was enough to revoke Ronin’s candidacy, but it wasn’t for Taiyo to make the call. He’d say something to Ronin if he really had to, but otherwise, he’d just keep his distance and let the body cameras observe the true nature of his rival candidate. At this rate, as long as Taiyo got out of Project Daintree alive, he’d be assured the lone opening on JAXA’s roster.
15
All six candidates sat on one log in front of the tents. Directly overhead, the jungle canopy opened like an eye; an aperture that let in the stars.
“Think about all this when things don’t go as planned,” said Anton, and he made a sweeping gesture across the sky.
Kristen agreed. “A common goal and a common origin.” Leaning back, she linked her fingers behind her head and outstretched her legs.
“Meh,” said Ronin. “I’ve seen better.”
Next to Taiyo, Nel tucked her knees to her chest but kept her gaze skyward. She spoke softly, perhaps intending for only Taiyo to hear. “In the North, night and day both fall for too long. In winter, people get complacent with the stars. In summer, the stars are outshone by the Sun.”
“That’s pretty fucked up,” said Ronin, his voice soft against the breeze of night. Evidently, Nel had not spoken softly enough.
Taiyo told her that in Japan they only got a hint of what the night sky had to offer. And yet at the moment, he felt very much at home. “I’ve only seen it like this at the planetarium,” he said. “I’d always kind of thought the planetarium was exaggerating.” That brought out a rare laugh from Nel. Just a little one, but it was beautiful and genuine. He’d only been half-joking. Until around fourth grade he really had assumed most imagery of space was enhanced. Even now, he felt guilty for thinking so, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.
He didn’t often feel guilty, probably because he hadn’t had much reason to. There were a couple occasions, however—holidays that forced him to quantify with gifts how he felt about his mother. He’d take the decision very seriously as a kid, and would agonize for weeks. In the end, he’d usually decide to get her nothing, but at the last minute Dad would prod him into scribbling out a quick card. She might force a smile and a “thank you” upon receiving it, but not before telling young Taiyo to correct a spelling mistake or rewrite a word mor
e neatly. And then she’d either go right back to her iPad or, more likely, lecture him about some unforgivable moral failing he’d committed, such as leaving out the calculator or hanging his towel wrong.
A psychiatrist might have suggested Taiyo’s love of science was a reaction to growing up under the tyranny of his mother’s irrationality. She’d do things like shovel down her dinner and then jump up to wash her plate and lecture Taiyo for not doing the dishes while he was still at the table eating.
Taiyo remembered one Mother’s Day in particular, when he was seven or eight. She’d stayed home, probably to make lists about things to be angry about, while Dad took Taiyo to the planetarium.
The black hole simulator was Taiyo’s favorite. He and Dad lost track of time while playing with it, though, so by the time they got upstairs the 3:15 viewing had already started. Luckily, the man at the door let them in anyway.
“It’s Kaori,” Taiyo pulled excitedly on Dad’s arm and whispered loudly as they tried to sneak in and join the tour without making a stir. Their favorite guide was in the middle, introducing the five-meter-tall mechatronic telescope to the encircling onlookers.
“Shhh …” said Dad.
“She didn’t open the dome yet. I bet nobody knows it can open.”
“Shhhh … She’s telling them now.”
But before Kaori got to the part about asking everyone how they thought they’d be able to see stars from inside a room with no windows, her face lit up. She dropped to one knee and held open her arms.
“Tai!” she yelled. “I missed you!”
She gave him a big squeeze, as she always did. It’d been, maybe, six weeks since Taiyo had last seen her. She took him by the hand and brought him inside the red rope where only staff usually got to go.
“Go ahead,” she told him after swinging out a metal arm from the big black base of the telescope. He looked up at her and grinned, and he double-checked that she meant it. She did. He pushed the ENTER key. Right away, the floor began to spin, though it moved so smoothly it almost felt like the dome was rotating around them instead. It was a good example of relativity, similar to when you’re waiting for the train to go and the train next to you starts moving, but for a second you’re not sure which train is actually moving. Einstein talked about that. The humming stopped. A second later the roof panels spread open, and daylight and fresh spring air rushed in.
Next, Kaori asked the crowd if they knew how they’d observe stars without it being nighttime. Taiyo raised his hand so fast he whacked his elbow on the keyboard. He tried really hard not to cry—his mother said boys weren’t allowed to—but it really hurt.
Dad did what he always did and rubbed the hurt area while he explained to Taiyo why it hurt so much. “You probably hit your funny bone. I know it doesn’t feel very funny, does it? The proper name is the humerus. That’s why …”
Sometimes when Taiyo got hurt, the things Dad said were intriguing enough to make him stop thinking about the pain. But not this time. It really, really hurt. Having such a sensitive nerve in a spot so easy to bang was good evidence there couldn’t be intelligent design, because even the dumbest engineer wouldn’t have designed it that way (same thing about testicles, too), but thinking about that little factoid didn’t stop Taiyo from crying either. His whole arm felt stabby and burning. And he couldn’t move his fingers! But Kaori swooped in to save him. She scooped him right up off his feet and into her arms. Taiyo’s mother never did that. Kaori squeezed him and spun him around in circles, and she rocked him back and forth until more laughs came out than tears.
When she finally put him down and wiped his cheeks with her thumb, he told her getting hurt like that was probably why only staff could go behind the red rope. That made a bunch of the people watching laugh, too.
They never did see any stars that day. As usual, there were too many clouds. Sendai was cloudy a lot like that.
“It’s okay,” he told Kaori. “Even if I can’t see them, I know the stars are there.”
After everyone else left, Kaori walked Taiyo and Dad back toward the elevator and held both their hands. That’s when Taiyo told her what he’d been thinking for a long time: “I want you to be my mother instead.”
She laughed pretty loudly, but she must have known he wasn’t joking because right away she stopped walking and crouched down and put her hands on Taiyo’s shoulders. “You don’t mean that, Tai,” she said. She smiled, but she didn’t look happy. Not even intrigued. “I’m sure your mother would miss you very much.”
“She wouldn’t.”
“Oh, of course she would.”
“No,” he insisted. “I have a whole notebook full of evidence.”
“Well, I know I would sure miss you if you were my son.”
“I know. That’s why I want you to be my mother and not her.”
Kaori looked up at Dad, and they both laughed really weirdly, but they didn’t really say anything except that the exhibition hall and gift shop were closing soon, so if Taiyo wanted to see the rest of the displays or buy something they’d better hurry.
Taiyo said he wanted to take the stairs, and before they said goodbye, he got one more hug. Kaori leaned over and whispered for a long time into Dad’s ear while she squeezed his hand behind her back. Dad nodded while she did it and said “okay” a bunch of times, and then Taiyo and Dad went downstairs and got a double-chocolate ice cream from the vending machine. And it wasn’t even summer!
After that, Dad and Taiyo didn’t go to the planetarium for a long time. When they did, they never went when Kaori was there. Come to think of it, that was the last time Taiyo ever saw her.
***
Clouds smudged the sky, like dirty fingerprints across a window, and masked what would’ve been a view out over the Daintree forest and Coral Sea. Approaching Taiyo, Nel leaned into the wind. The stubby trees and bare rock offered little shelter, and the wet air made it hard to read the screen of her phone. She’d come over to show him a message.
“From Mission Control,” she said.
He wiped the screen on the front of his jumpsuit and read the text. He read it and nodded.
They were to trace a path known only to wildlife and the GPS on their phones.
***
A hot, oppressive wind raked through the gully, slowing the candidates and dulling the clatter of birds and insects.
“I just saw another snake,” said Walter, and he pointed listlessly at the ground beneath a knot of bushes. “Thirty-six more until we’ve seen them all.” He gave the underbrush a weak kick and moved on.
All but paralyzed by the mugginess and tangled vegetation, the team clambered onward, guided by a river they could hear but not see. Taiyo waited for the others to catch up and double-checked his phone. The GPS insisted, somewhat optimistically, they were right on course. If there’d ever been a trail beneath their feet, it had long since fallen victim to nature’s hegemony, and if once the romanticism of adventure had overridden the hardships, the novelty had worn off.
In time, the river emerged, but only to plunge off a cliff. There, after a much-deserved break, the candidates donned their climbing gear and repelled through the clouds, down to the base of the cascade.
The descent would prove to be a good rehearsal for what awaited them at the end of the trek.
16
Ethan looked up from his laptop and gave Preston Machesney the thumbs up. The call had gone through. Machesney raised his can of Red Bull in salute and took a seat by Ethan at the counter along the bank of windows.
In the daytime, the extent of the view out the windows was the extent of the mudflat, and only when the fog cleared. But it was looking to be a beautiful evening out there. Not yet 17:00, and a band of stars had already appeared above the tops of the distant trees.
“Are you good to chat now, mate?” Ethan said to the shifting shadow on the screen.
“Keep it short,” Ronin Aro replied through the speakers of the laptop. They’re having dinner but might decide to come loo
king for me.”
“How ya going down there?”
“Same old. Still defending my honor as we roam through a post-apocalyptic wasteland. You know how it is.”
“Ay. … You got my text?”
“You got my reply?”
“Nah, yeah. The eggplant and turd emojis? Yeah.”
Ethan could hear him rustling through the bushes, but the body cam picked up little more than the blackness of night. Aro didn’t have his headlamp or flashlight on.
“So, then what?” said Aro, and it sounded like he’d unzipped and was having a wee.
Ethan waited for him to finish before getting to the point of why he’d called. He tried to sound professional and authoritative. “How about leaving the wildlife alone and focusing on the candidates, yeah?”
“Is that a command from JAXA?”
“It’s a request from T3 on behalf of all agencies involved in the Project, and from me on behalf of the community of Daintree conservationists.”
Ronin snorted laughter. “Is that right?”
“Just cool it a bit, will ya? Save it for the cave, mate.”
“A man’s got to defend his honor,” said Ronin.
Ethan looked over to gauge Machesney’s reaction. By now, half a dozen other people in the habitat had gathered round vicariously, so the pilot had an audience. “Nice work out there, bro,” Machesney called to the laptop. He affected a deeper-than-normal voice. “We’re all real impressed up here and looking forward to the rendezvous. Oh, and, just an idea, but—”
