“We’ve got a minor problem here…” Alan said.
“Okay…” Jane replied.
“It seems we’ve got visitors,” Alan said wryly.
Jane adjusted her seat on the slippery branch and grimaced. It was getting painful. The tone of Alan’s thoughts did not suggest he was bearing good news. She hoped they hadn’t somehow offended the atellans already. “Oh? Atellans found the shuttle?” she asked hopefully. Perhaps there was a chance at rescue, if they could communicate their position to the atellans…
Alan sounded pained. “Not exactly. It’s our old pals. The nepatrox.”
Her attention on her own problems lapsed for just a second as she refocused on Alan. In that moment a large animal lunged at the tree trunk, clambering up a few feet before falling back upon the mass of its companions. Its weight caused the top of the tree to plunge toward the ground.
Jane yelped and wrapped both arms around the trunk in a desperate hug. Her face slid along the surface of it, coating one nostril and the edge of her mouth in slippery slime. She snorted and spit as the top of the tree bobbed.
The mass of animals below leapt every time she swung close to the ground, and more of them attempted trips up the trunk, sensing that they might dislodge their prey. All Jane and Ron could do was hold on for dear life as the small tree flopped erratically.
“Jane? You there?” Alan asked. He sounded irritated.
Jane managed to wrap her legs around the trunk to brace herself so she could get one arm free to fire. She sighted along the trunk and blasted whenever a scarlet beast came into the viewfinder. To Alan, she quickly spared a thought. “Okay. Well, just sit tight. You should be safe in there.”
“Oh, sure.” His voice was edgy. “We’re just cozy in here while they push the entire goddamn shuttle around and slam themselves into the windscreen every few seconds.”
“Alan. I’m sorry I can’t help you. I’ve got my own problems right now.” She let the connection between them widen, so he could see, for just a moment, what she was seeing, hearing, feeling.
She sneezed violently and broke off the connection with Alan. She suddenly plummeted to within a few feet of the ground. The barb of a nepatrox’s tail caught Jane in the side, hooking itself in her clothing and flesh, tearing it.
Jane screamed in pain and terror as her skin was sliced. She was wrenched around the circumference of the trunk under the pendulous weight of the animal as the barb caught fast in the waistband of her pants. The branch scraped her cheek raw. Time slowed down. As the tree bounced back into the air, the animal went with it. The extra weight slowed the motion considerably.
They hung there for a moment, precariously suspended about seven feet above the gnashing jaws of the enraged throng of animals. Barbed tails whipped around them. She felt the hot breath of one as it snapped its jaws inches from her face. The reek of decay made her squirm.
The barb ripped free. The nepatrox fell. The tree sprung back violently and slowly returned to a gentle sway. The animals shifted their focus from climbing the lower trunk to leaping for the low-bobbing branches.
She fleetingly wondered if they were smart enough to combine the two strategies. She hoped not.
Ron worked his way closer to Jane.
She grit her teeth and inhaled sharply. The jagged gash burned and now she was bleeding freely. Drops fell with the rain onto the beasts beneath them. That seemed to whip them up into an even higher state of frenzy. She looked down into a sea of hideous upturned faces framed in flapping fans of sunset colors. When her eyes went unfocused from the pain, it almost seemed pretty. Like a field of flowers swaying in the breeze. Nasty, vicious flowers…
“How bad is it?” Ron asked her softly.
“Bad,” she whispered back and squeezed her eyes shut. The prickling and burning sensation seemed to ripple through her entire torso. When she wiggled her toes, she realized with dismay that they were already starting to feel stiff. She’d gotten a bigger dose of the neurotoxin the nepatrox used to paralyze their prey this time. It was acting more quickly. She hooked one foot around the other, hoping she could keep them in place even after her legs were immobilized.
Ron settled his body into a secure configuration, wrapped over and around several branches, and worked fast. He ripped open her shirt to the armpit. He opened his pack and punctured a tube of sterile sectilian healing gel and quickly spread it over her wound.
She was starting to feel weak and sweaty despite being soaked through with cold rain. She stopped watching the animals below and closed her eyes, leaning her uninjured cheek against the bark of the tree to conserve her strength. She wondered how long she could hold on. The skin on her arms prickled with goosebumps. She couldn’t move the muscles in her feet or calves anymore.
Ron continued to work on her, carefully closing and covering the wound with large adhesive bandages which stuck despite her skin being wet and clammy. A small miracle. Then he wrapped himself around her to protect her with his body.
She protested weakly. She didn’t want him to be put at more risk when her chances of survival grew slimmer every moment.
The tree vibrated. She could hear the creatures scrabbling around at the bottom, jockeying for a spot around the base of the tree.
“Hold on, QD,” Ron said.
She felt his body tense. She felt the tree lurch and sway dizzyingly. She kept her eyes clamped shut and focused on holding on with her arms, because below the waist she could no longer tell what was happening to her body.
Scratching sounds. Sickening movement. Thuds. Cracks. Booms.
She shivered.
In her head she heard her father crooning as he held her—no longer a baby, but a sturdy child who liked to play “baby.” Her father would make up new lyrics to time-worn lullabies, and sometimes he would swing her around while she screamed with laughter. She found herself humming softly to herself. She felt unhinged. “Rock-a-bye Janey, in the treetop. When monsters stalk, the treetop will rock. When the bough breaks, young Janey will fall. And down will fall Janey…”
Her body trembled so hard she seemed to rattle. She held back a sob.
Ei’Brai blanketed her mind with calm reassurance. She let herself swim in that feeling, and what was happening to her body receded. She let him take control. He could segment the pain away. He could continue to hold on as long as her body was able. He would not leave her as long as she needed him.
He met her in the cool, dark place where they often spent the twilight moments before dreaming, relaxed, reviewing the day’s work, enjoying each other’s quiet company.
“Quasador Dux Jane Holloway, I find your dearth of appendages appalling,” he stated in his driest tone.
A laugh bubbled up out of her. “I could do with a few like yours. You’d have no trouble holding onto that tree.”
And he wouldn’t. He’d just twine a few of his sinuous arms around the branches and have several more free to do other things.
Except he couldn’t. Because he couldn’t breathe air. They were forever separated by that barrier.
His mood turned more somber. “I would be glad to sacrifice a few arms, cede them to you, if I could, to keep you safe.”
“I know you would,” she said softly.
“You must never stop. You must never lose hope,” his mental voice growled in a sort of challenge.
She heard the pulse of his distress call, focused in a cone, directed on the nearest settlement to Jane’s location on Atielle’s surface. So unlikely to be heard. But he would never give up while there was a chance.
He grew quiet for a moment. He was using all of his powers of concentration and could spare none for her. Something had caught his attention. She instinctively moved back toward herself.
She felt the warm feathery touch of his mental presence brushing against hers right before he relinquished her body to her. The pain came screaming back. Her fingertips tingled as though they were falling asleep. Her lips felt numb and there was a sharp, acid taste on her t
ongue. Her body was wooden and cold. As she centered into the space behind her own heavy-lidded eyes, she saw what Ei’Brai had been looking at.
A dilapidated all-terrain vehicle was pulling up next to the tree.
12
“Not a minute too soon,” Ron whispered.
Jane’s head wobbled. Her eyes slowly refocused on Ron.
Water beaded on his tightly curled hair. There were multiple abrasions from his forehead to his cheekbone. Bloody drops of water trailed down that side of his face. The muscles of his jaw visibly bulged with tension. His eyes narrowed as he watched what was happening below.
The creatures immediately turned toward the new potential prey, swarming over and around the battered vehicle as soon as it came to a stop. A panel on the side of the vehicle lifted up, obscuring Jane’s view of whoever had arrived. She heard concussive blasts. The creatures began to explode in an ever-widening arc that had its origin beneath this open panel.
Jane labored to take a deep breath. It was harder than it should have been. She tried not to let that scare her. Help hopefully had arrived. Ei’Brai remained close, a reassuring presence.
Two people emerged from under the vehicle’s open panel, holding the small palm blasters that Jane recognized. Other panels lifted from the sides of the vehicle and soon six individuals were in full view, a mixture of both the willowy atellan type and the stockier sectilian body type. Three of them used palm blasters. The other three carried makeshift weapons—crude spears and clubs which served the same purpose—systematically killing nepatrox.
Tears of relief streaked down Jane’s cheeks.
Ron’s voice was thick and rough. “You okay, QD?”
She tried to form words but her mouth wouldn’t work. She sent a thought instead. “As long as I keep breathing, I believe I will be.”
“Don’t you worry a bit. I’ll make sure you keep breathing.”
When it seemed that most of the creatures had been dealt with, one of the individuals swept his or her arm, palm out, in an arc from thigh to over his or her head, calling out, “Scaluuti!”
Ron returned the greeting and the gesture. “Scaluuti!” he shouted. “Casgrata!” He looked at Jane as though he needed confirmation that he’d pronounced the words with the right inflection.
She couldn’t muster anything more than a weak thought of affectionate approval.
Ron’s brows pulled together in concern.
Her vision was becoming blurry. She closed her eyes. She was virtually locked in. She could hear what was going on around her. She could feel people handling her body, but she couldn’t help herself. She was at their mercy.
She gathered that one of the atellans stayed at the base of the tree on guard and the remaining five climbed the tree to help hand her down. Ron was speaking to them in his broken Mensententia. He was doing fine, but this was not how she’d wanted this to go. She’d wanted to arrive as a strong leader, fluent in their language, a broker of peace. Instead, they’d found her broken, unable to even beg for assistance.
Jane wished that the rest of her crew had been able to unlock Mensententia as easily as she had. They found it a slow, difficult process. It was overwhelming when each potent connection was made. As a result, the others tended to prefer to skim the surface of the language—to memorize the translations of individual words, rather than go through the mental struggle of truly unlocking the language from their genetic code to integrate it fully into their cognition.
The hands on her were gentle, and the voices of the atellans seemed to awaken some of Rageth’s latent memories of home. The atellans were confused by the humans’ appearance. Because of the quarantine of both Sectilia and Atielle, no aliens had ventured into this solar system in decades. They kept asking where she and Ron were from and then being confused by the answer. Ron was using the word Earth.
When Ron began to use the word Terra instead, their consternation only increased. But they could see the gravity of Jane’s situation and didn’t belabor the point. They settled her into the vehicle next to Ron and were soon underway.
Jane had been set at a semireclined angle. Ron had his hand encircling her wrist, presumably to check her pulse periodically, and she was sure he was keeping a close eye on her. She could hear the atellans discussing their strange, sudden appearance. They spoke freely. Maybe they felt sure Ron couldn’t understand them, or their culture dictated that it didn’t matter and it was perfectly normal to speak of another this way in their presence. Jane was pretty sure it was both.
All of them seemed to think it exceedingly strange that Ron couldn’t speak fluent Mensententia. One thought they were mentally handicapped sectilian mutants—refugees from the squillae plague. Another thought she and Ron were shipwrecked and touched in the head because of the post-traumatic stress of a crash landing. Someone else piped up that a crash landing could have given them both brain injuries. One noted that Ron had been trying to indicate that Jane was his leader.
She was able to open her eyes from time to time but she couldn’t see much. Her vision swam in and out of clarity. When she could see clearly, she mostly saw the worn, dirty ceiling of the vehicle and the back of three atellan heads. Despite the uneven terrain, the ride was smooth.
She focused on breathing and that seemed to help. They were safe. She hoped Alan and Ajaya were safe too. Ron had tried to communicate about the shuttle. He would continue to do so. There was nothing more she could possibly do. She gave in to exhaustion.
13
“Well now, well now, well now…aren’t you an interesting creature?” said a voice with a deep timbre.
Jane didn’t want to open her eyes. She could sense bright light behind them, but her lids were so heavy. She lay there, listening as the owner of the voice walked around her, chattering about her appearance, the deep voice booming.
“So…round…and such exaggerated…femininity. The lines of her body are positively spheroidal in places. She is quite diminutive compared to the male, but clearly shares the same genetic base. Be sure to record the gender dimorphism in your notes.”
A smaller, higher voice piped up. “Can we draw that conclusion, Medical Master Schlewan? We only have two specimens to observe. Don’t we need a larger data set?”
There was a long pause before the masculine voice replied. “Eh? Oh, quite so, quite so, quite so. It is but a hypothesis, yet not so very unusual. There may be more individuals spread across the continent that we don’t know about yet. Let us hope for such a discovery to study them further. Poor souls. I hope someone gives them succor. It is quite dangerous outside of the compounds these days. She and her companion were well armed, too.” The voice sounded weary and tinged with sadness.
The younger voice sounded shy. “My friend Chiba has spoken with the male. They’ve taken him and gone off to search for two more aliens trapped inside a shuttle in water.”
Jane tried to stir then, but her limbs felt so heavy.
“In the ocean, you say? Quite some distance.” The voice clucked. “Well, it is unlikely they will survive then. Unlikely, unlikely, unlikely.”
Someone lifted Jane’s wrist, and a cold instrument pressed against her forearm. The older voice said, “Tinor? Come closer. Do note the interesting variation in skin tone between the two specimens. This one clearly evolved on a world or part of a world with less exposure to solar radiation and the other with more. This is a permanent coloration, though certainly it may range a bit seasonally. I suspect they make cholecalciferol upon exposure to sunlight in their skin, as we do. See?”
“Yes, Medical Master Schlewan. So, they do not make melanin on demand like us?”
There was a huffing sound from the older voice. “I suspect not. It must be a different metabolic pathway. Perhaps a different configuration of the chemical structure. We must, must, must take a skin sample from each and preserve them carefully. Small. Painless, of course. We have not the resources to elucidate these structures now, but one day we will again. You will find that these ki
nds of things are important to document. Remember this, young Tinor. One day, when you are as old as I, you may be a great scientist of the new republic we are building. It may become valuable to know how to introduce a gene that will permanently darken or lighten the skin of an individual for reasons we cannot predict now. For all we know it could cure a skin affliction or prevent a disease. Mark my words. Knowledge is everything and genes are powerful. These strangers are not so different from us—but they are different enough. There is much to learn from them, wherever they may be from. Much, much, much to learn.”
“Chiba said the male claims they are terran, Master. Could that be true? If they are, shouldn’t we…”
“Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense!” the older voice erupted. “A terran—if they exist—would speak properly, eh? Now! Did you get a good look at her reproductive anatomy? We must do a full study…”
Jane felt a waft of air on her face as a blanket lifted from her body, and there seemed to be a warm hand at her hip, tugging at her clothing. Suddenly Jane’s eyelids didn’t feel quite so heavy. She inhaled sharply and her eyes flew open. She struggled valiantly to move her limbs and managed to flail around a little bit.
“Oh!” the high voice exclaimed. It belonged to a reedy individual in a green, flowing tunic who had a narrow face and high, angular cheekbones. Tinor sported curly medium-brown hair and tawny skin. Jane had been thinking Tinor was an adolescent female, based purely on the voice she’d heard. Now she wasn’t sure. Tinor was much younger than Jane had thought. Children were considered genderless until puberty in sectilian culture. If she spent any time with this child or any other, she’d have to remember to use the third set of pronouns, the gender-neutral set, or risk making a fool of herself.
Jane’s gaze flew to the third person in the room. Her gender expectations were confounded again. This person seemed to be older, but despite the heavy frame and densely muscled physique of the shorter individual at the foot of her bed, something about the face, the softness of the eye, and the posture made her second-guess herself.
Confluence 2: Remanence Page 8
