Haven 6

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Haven 6 Page 4

by Aubrie Dionne


  Phoenix perched on the up­per branch, giv­ing Striver space. His voice was pa­tient, kind. “Thrift gave his life to pro­tect us. To­night, we gather to honor him.”

  Striver clenched his fist. “I should des­troy the ship, Phoenix. Then we’d all have peace.”

  “And erase our two people’s his­tor­ies?” Phoenix cooed softly like a par­ent warn­ing a child against play­ing with fire. “How can we ever hope to live a bet­ter life on Refuge without learn­ing from our mis­takes of the past?”

  “Some­times I think it’s bet­ter to start with a clean slate.”

  “Is it? Or will we fall prey to the same demons that led your an­cest­ors to Old Earth’s end?”

  “Some­times I think it’s in­ev­it­able. The rise and fall of civil­iz­a­tions. Man’s never-end­ing search for know­ledge and power.”

  Phoenix shif­ted on the branch, his feathered wings rust­ling. “Such is the weight car­ried by the leader. Al­ways think­ing about the best in­terests for his people, al­ways striv­ing for the bet­ter course. You are true to your name.”

  Striver sighed, ex­pect­a­tions bur­den­ing his shoulders.

  “Some­times you have to let your wor­ries go. Only then will you see the right path.” Phoenix dropped be­side him and placed long fin­gers like twigs on his shoulder. His eyes shone the un­chan­ging color of twi­light. He squeezed lightly and fluttered off, join­ing the other Guard­i­ans in the sky. They flew in form­a­tion, uni­form in ap­pear­ance, at­ti­tude, and pur­pose.

  Striver shook his head and tried to empty the riddles from his mind. The Guard­i­ans had no in­terest in lead­ing them­selves, but boy did they have a load of com­plic­ated ad­vice. Still, he had to be thank­ful for their co­hab­it­a­tion. Without them, the en­tire colony may have fallen to Law­less­ness, or used the know­ledge on the S.P. Nautilus for their own ends. The Guard­i­ans were a con­stant voice of reason that echoed through­out cen­tur­ies, provid­ing their colony with a single vis­ion in an oth­er­wise wild land. Thank good­ness Ar­ies and Striker had hatched the eggs on the S.P. Nautilus, giv­ing this re­mark­able spe­cies an­other chance at life. The videos on the Guard­i­ans’ ship had shown their planet’s sun was dy­ing. It was pos­sible the Guard­i­ans on Refuge were all that were left of their kind.

  The mu­sic lulled and people con­greg­ated around the roast­ing boar as Carven began to cut a piece. “As per cus­tom, the first serving of this feast is given to the hunter who felled the beast.”

  Ap­plause and hoots erup­ted as Striver jogged to greet them. He’d rather someone else take the credit, but he also didn’t want to seem un­grate­ful for their of­fer­ing. Carven handed him a plate with steam­ing boar meat.

  “A meal for a true hero, and our fear­less leader!”

  A chorus of ap­proval rang out. Chil­dren chanted his name.

  Striver took the wooden plate and bowed to them. A pang of re­morse shot through him. He wondered if it were these mo­ments where he shined that had caused Weaver to leave. If so, he’d rather have his brother back and be a nobody than lead a colony without him. Stifling his feel­ings, he pushed through the crowd, want­ing to be left alone.

  A young boy pulled on his sleeve. “Is it true the boar al­most ran you over?”

  Striver sighed, re­mind­ing him­self that he had once been young. “You could say that.”

  “I heard you cut a rope with only two ar­rows.” An­other boy, this one with fuzz grow­ing on his chin, gave Striver a hard look of re­spect.

  “Luck, noth­ing more, my friend.”

  “Can you prom­ise me the next dance?” The alto voice sang over the crowd. Striver whirled around, fa­cing a young wo­man with hair, black as night and thick as the dense forest, trail­ing to her ankles.

  “No, Riptide. Not to­night.”

  She traced her fin­ger­tip down his arm, stone rings glit­ter­ing in the fire­light. “Some other time, then?”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Though a true hero de­serves more than just a dance.”

  He looked away. “To­night, I’ll settle for boar.”

  It took him sev­eral minutes to work his way through the crowd to the rope lad­ders. He climbed, bal­an­cing the wood plate, hop­ing the meat hadn’t gone cold in the chilled twi­lit air. Circ­ling the tree hut, he pushed through thick vines, re­veal­ing a woven fern door. He opened the door to a small room, lit by the em­bers of a flick­er­ing torch.

  “Mother, how are you feel­ing?”

  A wispy-haired wo­man moved un­der the cov­ers of a thatch bed. “I ap­pre­ci­ate the visit, but you should be with your people.” Her dark eyes sparkled as she took in the sight of him. “They need a strong leader like you in a time like this.”

  He handed her the plate. “Here, have some boar meat.”

  His mother pulled off a slender piece and chewed. She placed the plate aside. “It is good.”

  “Then why don’t you try some more?”

  Her thin fin­gers pulled the blanket up to her chin. “Maybe later. Tell me about the battle.”

  He sighed un­til his lungs emp­tied, summoned cour­age, and then took in an­other breath. “I saw him.”

  His mother shot up­right, and her thin fin­gers grasped his arm so hard his skin turned white un­der­neath her grip. The eager­ness in the twitch of her mouth hurt him more than the sight of his brother had. He wanted to tell her Weaver was com­ing back, that he’d had enough of life in the Law­less lands. But that was a dream for an­other day. “He led the at­tack.”

  Either his mother didn’t care or didn’t hear him. “Is he all right?”

  “As far as I could see. He didn’t look very happy.”

  She shrugged. “He was never happy.”

  “Yes, but he looked down­right miser­able.”

  “Then maybe he’ll come back to us.”

  “Let’s keep hop­ing.” He spread his hands, think­ing of Phoenix’s earlier speech. “We can’t make him. If there’s one thing our founders be­lieved in, it was free will.”

  The shout­ing out­side es­cal­ated, turn­ing from cel­eb­rat­ory hollers to screams of alarm. Striver stood, ap­pre­hen­sion bub­bling in his veins. Not an­other at­tack. He couldn’t take see­ing Weaver’s miser­able ex­pres­sion again.

  “I have to go.”

  His mother squeezed his hand. “Don’t try to save the world all by your­self.”

  Out­side, the holler­ing died down. Every­one stood still as trees, all heads turned to a clear­ing in the cen­ter of the vil­lage. Striver slid down the rope lad­der and ran to join them. As the clear­ing came into view, an ob­ject ec­lipsed half the second moon, cast­ing a shadow over the gath­er­ing.

  His heart stopped and his stom­ach sank to the ground. A ship. Not just any ship, but a mother boar of a ship, a hun­dred times lar­ger than the S.P. Nautilus, hovered in the sky. An ob­ject shot from its belly, trail­ing flames as it cut through the at­mo­sphere.

  Oh, no. A bomb.

  A thou­sand im­ages flashed through his mind. His mother on her bed. Catch­ing a trot­ter in the river with Weaver. His dad say­ing good-bye be­fore his last mis­sion. Was this the end? A cur­rent of an­ger and in­justice flowed through him. So many things were still un­re­solved.

  The pro­jectile hurled through the air, leav­ing a streak of or­ange and gray be­hind it. As it neared, wings spread from the hull, steer­ing from right to left. Its des­cent slowed.

  That’s not a bomb. It’s a scout ship.

  Striver ran his hands through his hair. Holy Refuge.

  The scout ship dove straight into the Law­less lands.

  Chapter Five

  Plunge

  Every mo­lecule in Eri’s body vi­brated like she sat in a gi­ant food con­geal­izer turn­ing into ve­get­able sludge. Anxi­ety rode through her in tidal waves as she grasped her seat re­straints and held on un­til her fin­gers numbe
d.

  How did I ever go from be­ing an archival lin­guist to an in­ter­preter and a spy on an ex­plor­at­ory team?

  She wondered if she was more of a tick­ing time bomb than a friendly dip­lo­mat. The more she stewed over the train­ing ses­sion, the more she sus­pec­ted Litus had or­ders to elim­in­ate these creatures on Haven at any sign of threat.

  She stud­ied him from across the cir­cu­lar drop cham­ber. What did the com­mander tell you that she didn’t tell me?

  He sa­luted her in re­sponse as if she’d just given him the next mis­sion co­ordin­ates. Eri shook her head and sighed, clos­ing her eyes.

  Aquaria had said this was her des­tiny, but she felt more like a case of mis­taken iden­tity than any star-crossed heroine. Lathos, the Greeks would say. Ma­jor, me­ga­los lathos.

  The pi­lot’s voice came on the speak­ers. “Pre­pare for land­ing.”

  Eri opened her eyes, the screech­ing sound of the land­ing gear scar­ier in the com­plete dark­ness. She’d rather fo­cus on her boots.

  Mars hollered a primal scream from deep within her throat. Her beady eyes teased Eri as she grinned be­side her. Eri looked away, avoid­ing fur­ther eye con­tact. Why Litus situ­ated her between the two hulk­ing bod­ies of Mars and Tank, she had no idea.

  Mars threw her head back, and her slender brown braid whipped in the breeze of the vent­il­at­ors. “Bring it on!”

  Tank snored on Eri’s other side. Was the en­tire trip too bor­ing for him to pay at­ten­tion? Eri swal­lowed down bile, try­ing not to lose the rem­nants of her din­ner all over his boots. She’d already got­ten on Mars’s bad side, and she didn’t need any more en­emies.

  The other five mem­bers of the ex­plor­at­ory team checked weapons, slept, or typed mes­sages on their wrist loc­at­ors. Eri wondered what their mes­sages said.

  Send my love to…

  Land­ing right now…

  It was good know­ing you…

  She sup­pressed the urge to send a good-bye mes­sage to Aquaria. It would just heighten her sis­ter’s nerves. Later, when they’d landed and es­tab­lished base camp, she’d send her a re­as­sur­ing note. If we made it.

  Roar­ing wind turned into a screech­ing as the land­ing gear en­gaged, slow­ing their des­cent. The ship pitched side­ways, and her stom­ach flipped. Real grav­ity pulled on her arms and legs, not the weak force sim­u­lated by the grav­ity rings. She thought her muscles would rip apart.

  Real grav­ity meant a hard land­ing.

  “Wish­ing you hadn’t eaten that ex­tra serving, heh?” Mars laughed.

  Eri winced and looked away. “I feel fine.” Just be­cause she was small, with less than op­timal genes, didn’t mean she wasn’t tough. Now do some­thing to prove it, macho wo­man.

  “Sure, you’re just green as a cu­cum­ber every day.”

  “Green or not, at least no one mis­takes me for a man.”

  Mars’s face tightened and her arm muscles bunched in her re­straints. Good thing the re­straints held.

  “Enough, you two. Can’t a man get some shut-eye?” Tank shif­ted in his seat and pulled his newly cam­ou­flaged hat over his bristly face.

  Eri closed her eyes, still smelling the reek of laser paint on her uni­form. No one had thought they’d need cam­ou­flaged clothes for Haven 6. They had to scramble to dye their pristine white cloth­ing with blotches of dif­fer­ent shades of browns and greens. She felt like she wore one of those ab­stract paint­ings from Old Earth.

  Bet­ter to be un­fash­ion­able than dead. She pushed away the thought of the gray hu­manoids and those ar­rows that had im­paled the scout droid. High-pitched wheez­ing roared in her ears as the drop ship slowed. Her seat vi­brated un­der­neath her, chat­ter­ing her teeth. Alarms soun­ded, and smoke choked her throat.

  “Emer­gency fire in sup­ply bay,” a com­pu­ter­ized voice warned on the in­ter­com.

  “Every­one stay in your seats. I’ll tend to it.” Litus un­did his seat re­straints and stood. He stumbled side­ways as the ship pitched but re­gained bal­ance and pulled the fire ex­tin­guisher from the wall. He pressed the portal panel and slipped into the cor­ridor, fol­low­ing the trail of smoke.

  “What’s wrong?” Eri shouted over the din to Tank, whose hat fell and rolled across the floor.

  “It’s an old ship, been sit­ting in bay twenty-one for a long time,” Tank ex­plained. “Com­mander Grier didn’t think we’d have to use it.”

  Eri quieted and held tight. The com­mander hadn’t thought about a lot of things. Eri wondered if liv­ing in a tub of em­bryonic fluid drove a wo­man crazy. But she’d never voice her doubts out loud. Two of the com­mander’s body­guards sat across from them, and Eri didn’t want the team to la­bel her a rebel. She’d fought that pre­ju­dice her whole life.

  Alarms beeped as the roar­ing of wind in­creased. Eri ex­pec­ted Litus to walk through the portal, but the particles had re­ma­ter­i­al­ized. He’d left her alone with the grunts. If any­thing happened to him, she’d be the one in charge.

  Like they’d ever listen to me. Eri stared at the portal as if her mind alone would bring him back. Please don’t die.

  The ship shuddered, and oxy­gen masks popped from the ceil­ing. Mars hollered as she slapped hers on. Eri’s fin­gers shook as she fumbled with the plastic ties. Big hands pulled the elast­ics around her head and she whirled around. Tank had already se­cured his straps, and he tightened the sides of her mask.

  The lights went out as they hit the tree line. The shak­ing turned into gi­ant bumps, like they rode the back of an angry bull, as the ship skid­ded across the ground. Eri held her breath and squeezed her eyes shut. Someone screamed like they were all go­ing to die.

  Branches scraped against the hull un­til Eri thought the ter­rain would rip the ship to pieces and they’d have noth­ing to fly back on.

  Her throat tightened. Go­ing back wasn’t the point. Soon, they’d all aban­don the Her­it­age for a new life on this jungle world. She’d looked for­ward to their ar­rival for so long, and now she dreaded the mo­ment they opened the hatch.

  The ship screeched to a halt and her re­straints pulled against her chest as she flung for­ward with the mo­mentum. Curls from her head fell in her face.

  The alarms trailed off and si­lence fell. Eri blew back her hair to see the dam­age. The smoke cleared to re­veal a wary-eyed team. No one was hurt. The pi­lot’s voice came on the in­ter­com. “Land­ing se­quence suc­cess­ful. Pre­par­ing for de­board­ing pro­ced­ures.”

  A wave of re­lief flooded through Eri, and then she re­membered Litus and the fire. Anxi­ety zapped her heart.

  Tank pulled off his mask. “That was one hell of a ride.”

  “That was noth­ing.” Mars slipped off her mask. “Ever sat on the flux in­ject­ors dur­ing cent­ral ig­ni­tion?”

  Ig­nor­ing the fact that it was against the rules to go any­where near the flux in­ject­ors, Eri tugged off her mask, the elastic straps pulling her hair. The air reeked of burned cir­cuits and smoke. “Where’s Litus?”

  “Haven’t seen him since the fire.” Tank shrugged, shed­ding his seat re­straints.

  “What if some­thing happened to him?”

  Mars jumped to her feet, her thick boots pound­ing into the floor. “Non­sense. Litus is in­des­truct­ible.”

  As if to prove her point, the portal de­ma­ter­i­al­ized and Litus stepped through, a smudge of soot across his fore­head. “The fire’s out. Pre­pare to de­board and set up base camp.”

  He stooped and picked up Tank’s hat, dust­ing off the top.

  Tank raised his hand. “That’s mine, sir.”

  “Quite the ride, huh?” Litus threw the hat over to him and nod­ded to Eri. He scanned the team. “No one leaves the peri­meter for any reason. If you see any­thing that can talk, you let me and Ms. Smith know.”

  Eri slipped out of her seat re­straints, eager to st
and on solid ground. She fol­lowed the team to­ward the back of the ship. This was it. She’d walk on a real planet, an alien world, for the first time in her life.

  Mars cuffed Tank’s shoulder and whispered un­der her breath. “Let’s kick some alien ass.”

  Tank laughed and pat­ted his gun. “Any day. Any time.”

  Their boasts fell si­lent as Litus pressed the panel for the back hatch. Eri held her breath, hid­ing in Mars’s shadow but stand­ing back enough to peer around her tree trunk of an arm.

  The hatch opened slowly, hu­mid air waft­ing in. A sliver of green peeked through, turn­ing into a prim­or­dial sprawl of wild, tangled growth as the hatch lif­ted. Eri re­leased her breath and took an­other, soak­ing in the dank reek of moss and stag­nant wa­ter, re­mind­ing her of the com­post heap in the biod­ome. The vel­vety air choked her, and she sucked in each breath like breath­ing through a tube filled with mold. How would she ever ad­apt to the higher oxy­gen levels? Litus ges­tured over his shoulder for them to fol­low and stepped down the ramp. The com­mander’s body­guards flanked him, point­ing lasers into the sav­age wil­der­ness.

  A furry black an­imal shrieked and fluttered off, leaves fall­ing in its wake. The guards poin­ted their lasers to­ward the com­mo­tion, and Litus held up his fin­ger to stall them. Noth­ing else moved. Eri thought back to pic­tures of jungles from her his­tory stud­ies, but this chaotic, cor­nu­copian para­dise looked more ag­gress­ive than any­thing she’d ima­gined.

  Litus whispered over his shoulder. “Press on. Tank, set up the peri­meter fence.”

  “Yes, sir.” Tank dis­ap­peared back into the ship.

  The grav­ity pulled on Eri’s feet and her boots stuck to the metal ramp. She strained to lift each leg, won­der­ing how she’d ever get used to a force that made her feel twenty pounds heav­ier. A speck of black moved be­side her cheek and she leaned back, watch­ing a fuzzy ball the size of a pin­head with a slender tail land on her arm. The tail twitched, feel­ing the smooth tex­ture of her uni­form be­fore it flew off into the forest.

  Not like the flies in the biod­ome. Haven 6 was an en­tirely dif­fer­ent world than the one they’d left. The ori­ginal scout ships had dis­covered three hun­dred dis­tinct spe­cies while re­search­ing the planet. None of them in­tel­li­gent. But after see­ing those thatched huts, Eri real­ized they could have over­looked any num­ber of strange spe­cies. Spe­cies she had to es­tab­lish con­tact with and pre­tend to be­friend.

 

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