Trapped on Predator Planet, page 11
I took measurements of the eye sockets of a spiny warted rock-climber and made notations in my field book. Natheka sat behind me, braiding my hair.
“May I sit?” Raxthezana said and dropped his bulk beside me.
“Please sit beside me, Raxthezana, and I will braid your hair as well,” Natheka said, his grin in his words.
Raxthezana grunted, ignoring Natheka’s playfulness.
“I would ask you a question, Amity Diaz,” he said.
“What’s up?” I said, raising a brow and studying his stern features. He was the unhappiest man I’d ever had occasion to meet, but he’d been polite and kind to us, if aloof.
“What do you know of diseases of the body? How they might pass from one organism to another, or why a disease might choose one person over another?”
My breathing hitched at the note of vulnerability I heard in his question, and I prayed Natheka would keep his joking manner at bay for the time being. I felt if I reacted the slightest bit off, this narrow opening in Raxthezana’s demeanor would slam shut.
“Those are questions I have come across in some of my studies,” I said, holding the skull closer under my scrutiny. I sensed if I appeared too curious or emotional, he might dart away like a startled bird. “While epidemiology isn’t my field of expertise, I could probably provide limited understanding in some cases.”
I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye, his gaze lost in the flames when I knew for a fact the hunters never stared into a fire, for fear of hindering their vision should predators sneak up on us in the night.
Clearing my throat, I rotated the skull in my hands. “I would need a list of symptoms, the duration of time the patient had been sick, any health factors the patient had before falling ill, and a list of trace contacts—where the patient had gone, who the patient had been in contact with and in what way. Some viruses transmit through physical contact, some airborne, some from body fluids. It just depends.” Sneaking another look at his face, I saw him tap one of his armor panels and slide out a thin volume.
“Perhaps you will have time to look through these accounts,” he said, his voice thicker than usual. “No doubt VELMA can translate the writing for you.”
He stood without preamble and stalked off into the dark ikfal, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. Even Natheka’s hands had stilled in my hair.
“Did that just happen?” I asked.
“Ik,” Natheka said, resuming his work. Thrills coursed across my entire body when he gently tugged on strands and manipulated them into the elaborate braids. “It seems Raxthezana holds you in high regard, indeed,” he said with a pretentious sniff. “I am not surprised he has seen the tremendous intelligence you are possessed of for who could miss it?”
Blushing, my grin spread from ear to ear.
“Oh Natheka, stop,” I said gently. “I was remarking more on the fact he obviously has been thinking about whatever this disease is for a long time. I can’t wait to look at this and try to make heads or tails of it,” I said, patting the cover of the book.
“Ik, the heads and tails are indeed effective means of identifying creatures,” Natheka said, his voice sage.
Chuckling, I flipped open the volume and carefully turned to the first page. As expected, I couldn’t read the symbols and shapes written on the paper; I would need my helmet on. But I turned more pages and saw little sketches and doodles drawn in the margins, some so delicate and artful that I wondered if another’s hand besides Raxthezana’s had done it. But when I turned another page, I saw a map, and I knew.
The gruff and dour Raxthezana who denied the existence of goddesses or any deity, the male of the rare smile or laugh, the black cloud of our hunting party … was a sensitive artist. And he had a broken heart.
Chapter 27
Joan
Determined not to ping Raxkarax no matter how terrified I might be, I stared down the leggy reptile cat while holding my machete straight out in front of me. The end of it shook wildly, oscillating with my muscle tremors.
“The shegoshe-taxl usually travel in groups of three or more,” VELMA narrated in my helmet. “However, this one is alone. It is likely it was separated from its family group during the earthquake.”
“Are you trying to elicit my sympathy for it, VELMA?” I asked with a wobbly voice. “Because its teeth and claws look like she can handle being alone just fine.”
The cat sniffed the air and sneezed twice, then crouched and leaped—away from me—and deeper into the bog. I heard a splash and a crunch, and then silence.
“I do not want to know what just happened,” I said, shaking my head and taking a cautious step forward. “This place is living hell, and no one can tell me it gets better out there—” I gestured with the machete in a northerly direction—” because I’ve seen the footage. It’s all horrible.”
VELMA didn’t try to talk me out of my bad mood, for which I was grateful. My route toward Raxkarax skirted the destruction caused by the insects. I had a clear view of their devastation as well as the experience of hacking my way through a marshland so soupy that I knew I would have no choice but to wade in it. I was not looking forward to that.
For now, I’d found a raised ridge of solid-packed dirt, but its sides sloped into murky waters. Unlike where my pod landed, this area’s water didn’t boast a skim coat of alien duckweed. Abounding in water plants however, each “pond” hosted its own little world of towering plants, trickles of streams fed from meandering thick brown branches, islands of moss, and darting insects and amphibians above and below its surface. As far as I could see, a honeycomb of ponds dappled the marsh, each one separated by the tree trunk network that might more accurately be called roots.
When I stopped to investigate, I could track the huge brown root system as it tangled among itself, interconnected and overlapping over a vast area. I couldn’t see where it began or ended, and I stared into the dank distance, searching for the mother tree. There! Some twenty-five meters away I spied an enormous trunk from which emerged countless brown tentacles.
She’d created a huge habitat, sending out her roots to crisscross and weave and honeycomb, until there existed a world of microcosms.
Enchanted, I crouched and looked down into the nearest pool. None were wider than maybe a foot in diameter, but each one hosted a busy ecosystem. I saw a blue fish jump and eat a white-winged insect. The water plant presented waxy jeweled leaves onto which the white-winged insects landed, and as I watched and waited, a green pistil snaked its way from deep in the plant to snatch up the insects and pull them down.
Not to be outdone, the white-winged bugs with long bodies like dragonflies dove into the ponds and escaped, dragging slender black fish with them in feats of super strength.
“I’ve taken extensive video footage and several spectrometer scans of the area, Joan,” VELMA said, bursting my hypnotized bubble.
Standing, I resumed my trek along the path, sipping from my water straw absently until it ran out. Alarmed, I looked up where my route led through more shadowy paths weaving among the marsh pools. There was no end in sight, and I was officially out of water until I could remove my helmet.
“What is the air toxicity here?” I asked, walking faster and darting looks from the marsh on my right side to the stagnant and bare decimation on my left. The contrast sobered me.
“The air maintains a high concentration of toxins,” VELMA said. “However, remote scans indicate a change in atmospheric quality in four and a half kilometers. If you maintain your current speed, you should reach relative air safety in one hour and fifteen minutes.”
“Okay, I can do this,” I said. I was thirsty but not hungry. The bugs cured me of my appetite. I just needed to walk. Walking was easy.
Of course, walking meant thinking. Thinking lead to thoughts of Raxkarax, not David, and I didn’t want that. Focusing on memories of David instead, I settled on the time we’d taken a picnic lunch to the abandoned iron field on Jeppsit 5’s backwater moon. We’d done it on a lark; the iron field was as desolate and ugly as a place could be with its massive scars spoiling the natural rock formations with piles of rusted mining equipment. Spreading the blanket out on the smoothest spot we could find, which wasn’t smooth at all, we’d cracked open a bottle of Stardust from the year of our wedding.
David poured into our metal tumblers, and we clinked them together.
“To another fifteen years, Joan Wu,” he’d said.
“At least,” I agreed, and we drank.
“What’s a girl like you doing in a dump like this?” he’d asked in his sultry voice.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” I said and leaned in for a kiss. We’d pulled apart and he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear.
“We’ve been together a long time,” he said. “What do you think about changing your last name to match mine?”
Stunned, my mouth had opened and closed like an asphyxiating fish. He took that as encouragement.
“I know it’s stupid of me,” he said, that dimple deepening with his sheepish green. “But I want to introduce you with my last name. Try it on: Joan Johnson. See?” He spread his hand out as if displaying a marquee sign.
I’d taken a long swallow and then placed my tumbler on the blanket. It tipped, and I watched the red stain bloom on the white cloth.
“I’m kind of chilly,” I’d said. “Should we pack up?”
And just like that, I’d squashed the subject. He never brought it up again.
Dammit.
Why was that the memory that came to mind?
David was kind. Tolerant. Open-minded. He would have listened if I’d explained what “Wu” meant to me. How it traced countless generations back to a brave and proud people. How it represented not only my family heritage but that of a notable Chinese physicist—who was also a woman—and one of my childhood heroes. How keeping my name helped me maintain my identity in a corporation that used numbers to represent people.
But instead of making space for a discussion, an exchange of ideas, listening to his reasons for making the request, I’d shut him down.
As the shadows of the day lengthened, more memories in the same vein pummeled me.
David asking if we might consider adoption three years after the lost pregnancy.
David asking if we should try an exotic vacation far away from IGMC’s reach.
David asking me to come to bed earlier so we could sip tea and talk about each other’s day.
Goddamn it.
I had pushed him away at almost every turn.
I hadn’t built myself a shrine to honor his memory. I’d built a prison around it. I refused to see it when he was alive, and I’d refused to see it after he was gone, but I hadn’t deserved David Johnson, PhD and part-time mech-drill operator. He’d been begging me for closeness for almost two decades. And I must have given him enough to stay, but had he known of my love for him? Or had I kept him guessing the entire time?
Guilt overrode my thirst, and I plowed ahead, cutting back growth with a vengeance. I missed CeCe. She’d tell it to me straight. But I knew it in my gut. Feeling close to someone, really close, meant being weak when you wanted to be perceived as strong. It meant opening yourself up to being seen as you really were, and that meant someone you loved would see your scars, your failures, your losses. And if you couldn’t trust them, you assumed they would abandon you at the first sign of your imperfection.
I’d been a coward almost the entire time I’d been with David. Leading him on with crumbs of affection, but never completely offering myself up to him because I was afraid of the scrutiny. I couldn’t abide my own company. How could anyone else?
When another spiny warted rock-climber darted out from thick foliage, it didn’t stand a chance against my self-directed fury.
After butchering it and tethering the second spiked tail to the first one, I resumed my hike.
Why? Why did it require being marooned on a deadly alien planet for me to finally see what I’d missed all those years?
“Reptile detected within two meters,” VELMA announced with a flurry of IntraVisor alarms.
The adrenaline dump erased my thirst and emotional pain; I stood with bent legs, one in front of the other, machete gripped in one hand and double spiked weapon in the other.
Breaths coming in short pants, I scanned the area in front of me.
“Where is it?” Pivoting on one foot, I tried to see behind me, and I swung my machete over my head for good measure. It whistled in the air but hit nothing. That left the tall grasses ahead of me, the logical choice, and I licked my lips.
Was it waiting to strike? Nursing a wound?
“The reptile’s signature indicates it is the agothe-talaza, a biological cousin to the serpent talathel,” VELMA said. “Three meters in length, it is thirty centimeters in diameter, has four short limbs, and like a constrictor, squeezes its victim to death. Esra Weaver used both the machete and a multi-tool to fight off the agothe-talaza attack, but Theraxl blades are more efficient.”
The grasses moved slightly but it hadn’t shown itself yet.
“Considering I don’t have a Theraxl blade,” I said.
“Joan, how fare you?” Raxkarax’s voice cut into my focused terror.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “There’s an agothe-talaza hiding in the grass.”
“Ik, that is unfortunate, but I beseech you to try,” he said.
“Try what?” I asked, confused. I kept squeezing the machete handle and scanning the ground ahead of me.
“Whatever you feel to do, Joan,” he said, his voice deep and calm. “If you think you can outrun it, run. If you think you can battle it, fight.”
He made it sound simple. Like trying was enough. My mind scanned the hours of vids I’d studied those first couple weeks in the pod. What resources did I have available to me? A machete that’s blade was already dull from overuse and a double-spiked club on a stick. I was dehydrated and emotionally spent.
“VELMA, is there an SLO nosecone nearby?” I asked.
“Affirmative,” she said. “Would you like me to neutralize the threat with the LASER scatter shot?”
“Please,” I said, licking my lips.
“Standby,” she said. “Deploying LASER scatter shot capability in thirty seconds. Target locked; stand behind the area marked in your IntraVisor.”
“Okay,” I said, my voice shaky. I dropped the dark filter in my visor so the LASER wouldn’t hurt my eyes and before I could say ‘I’m ready’, two bright shards of blue-green light appeared out of nowhere, blasting the invisible-to-me serpent. Smoke hissed up through the grass, and in other places, ripples drifted away from the target, suggesting smaller fauna fleeing the scene.
“Can I look at it?” I asked VELMA, stepping closer.
“Of course,” she said.
“Joan?” Raxkarax’s voice called to me again.
“VELMA killed it for me,” I said, waiting for censure. He’d told me to try, and I took the easy way out. He trekked toward me in vain; he wouldn’t want a pathetic coward. Not that I wanted to be formally bound to him. The past hour or two had taught me I was best served alone.
“Thank the Goddesses,” he breathed into my ear. “I’m coming to you, Joan. I’m only zatiks away. Keep trying to live; I’m proud of you.”
Eyes wide and jaw slack, I cocked my head and stared at nothing, his words shocking me. How could he be proud of me taking the easy way out? Shaking my head in confusion, I walked the handful of steps into the grass and parted it with my machete to see the giant snake lying dead, harmless now. A smoking black hole the size of a dime sat dead center between its eyes: a flawless kill-shot.
Walking its length, I studied its size and musculature. Could I have fought it and survived? Maybe, if my fright and adrenal system worked together coupled with desperation and desire. But honestly? I didn’t know.
I released the parted grass, noticing hundreds of tiny barbs trying to catch on my gloves but falling harmless to the ground. Peering closer, I saw the grass edges produced the burrs ensuring any animal that passed by would pick up the weaponized seed pods and scatter them.
Swallowing again and feeling the effects of early dehydration, I oriented myself to the path leading to Raxkarax and didn’t look back.
I wasn’t proud of enlisting VELMA’s help. But at least I was still alive. Time would tell if I regretted that.
“Thank you, VELMA,” I said, my voice subdued.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
There was nothing else to say.
Chapter 28
Raxkarax
My anxiety dampened by Joan’s announcement, I eased my run to a stop and leaned against a thick trunk, deactivating my cloaking to reserve energy and taking in gulps of fetid air. The acid pools and steam funnels shot putrid fumes into the air all around me. But for the occasional sturdy tower tree, this region of the Agothe-Fatheza resembled an infected wound upon Ikthe’s bosom.
Would that I could fly to Joan, for the dangers only mounted between here and her location. But thank the Holy Goddesses of Shegoshel and the humans’ technology, VELMA.
“VELMA, can you identify other predators that stand between Joan and her escape?” Could it be as simple as utilizing the human technology?
“Unfortunately, my scans are limited to the drone’s radio frequency range as it navigates between your helmets,” she said. “I have not yet identified the reason for certain lapses in communication channels, but I suspect the atmospheric conditions found in the Agothe-Fatheza are to blame.”
“But however you managed to slay the agothe-talaza, will you continue to do so for Joan? I quake for her safety,” I admitted to VELMA. Truly, the heart transition had transformed me into a fearful hunter; I feared not for myself, but for the daughter of the sky whose voice relayed dread and despair in greater volume each time we spoke.
“Of course, Raxkarax,” she said. “It is in my programming. May I ask you a question?”
