4. Micah

CHAPTER 4

MICAH

S parks in the software, the message flashes, something’s out there. Computer consoles erupting in a shower of flame, suppression systems malfunctioning, it’s as if the ship is tearing itself apart on a fundamental level.

I race for the escape pods, along with a half dozen survivors from the commissary. A flash of heat behind, and screams. I look over my shoulder and see the charred remains of my fellow survivors. I’m the only one who makes it to the pods.

The artificial gravity goes haywire, suddenly launching me to the ceiling. I cling to the open door of the pod, desperately clawing my way in. Please, please, please let me make it in time. I don’t want to die like this. Not alone, so far away from home…

At last I make it inside, and jam my palm on the huge launch button. It’s designed to be used in a panic, and this qualifies. The door spins shut, and I feel a lurch as the pod ejects from the dying ship.

The pod scorches through the atmosphere of the strange planet, glowing so bright I can’t bear to look out of the viewport. Is it going to hold? What if this planet has especially high gravity, or dangerous storms in the atmosphere? I might not make it to the ground at all--

I come awake with a gasp, and find myself staring up at a golden red sky, dotted with a few impatient stars. Where the fuck am I?

Oh, I remember now. The crash, being chased by those things, then saved by Gro. Gro, I wonder where he found this pillow? It’s kind of hard, but not that uncomfortable.

Oh shit. Am I laying with my head in his lap? I sure as hell am. This is awkward. Did I put myself here, or did he? Does it even matter?

I look up at Gro’s face. His eyes are closed, his nostrils gently flaring from slow, even breaths. Is he asleep? Sitting up? Or maybe that’s just how his kind sleep. Maybe he thinks I’m weird for laying down. As an anthropologist these are important questions.

But I find the main query floating up into my scattered thoughts is whether or not Gog has a girlfriend. I kind of get the impression he doesn’t. He wouldn’t be so sad all the time otherwise.

Then it hits me, what if that’s why he’s sad? Did he have someone special and then something happened to her?

Without really thinking about it, I reach up and touch the lines of his face. He’s so damn good looking, really. I’ve never been attracted to aliens, but I”ve never been not attracted to them, either. It was just something I didn’t really think about. I dated members of my own sapient species, when I dated at all.

But there’s just something about Gog that I find hopelessly compelling. Who knows? Maybe if I find a way off this rock, I can take him on a tour to different universities as a representative of his people. That would make one hell of a paper, maybe even a full book.

“That feels nice.”

Startled, I pull my hand away. I hadn't known that he was awake. Gog’s purple eyes open and meet my gaze.

“Sorry,” I whisper, not sure what else to say. His hand strokes my hair softly, almost like a lover.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I like it when you touch me.”

Oh fuck me! Is this guy trying to seduce me? Or is it just wishful thinking on my part? It’s official, I’ve read too many of those tawdry books you can find cheap on the holonet.

“It feels nice when you touch me, too.”

Oh god that was lame! I want to cringe so hard I become a singularity and pop out of existence. But Gog doesn’t seem to mind. His big fingers are gentle as they caress my cheek.

“You are lovelier than the grandest sunset, Micah.”

Now I’m sure he’s trying to seduce me. Or maybe not. He looks and sounds so sincere. So many of the men I’ve met try to hide what they’re thinking and feeling behind a thousand veils. Gog doesn’t talk about his feelings all the time, but they’re written all over his face.

“Careful, Gog. Say things like that to a girl and she might expect you to kiss her.”

He cocks an eyebrow.

“And what would be wrong with that?”

He starts, head lifting and gaze darting all about the oasis. I can feel his thigh muscle stiffen to rock hardness under my head.

“What’s wrong/” I ask.

He runs his finger along his lower lip, which I take to be a ‘shush’ gesture. I clam up real quick, worried more of those monsters might be coming for us. We disengage from each other and he picks up his bow.

The bow creaks as he strings it. Nocking an arrow, Gog steps protectively in front of me and faces the entrance to the oasis.

Something comes into view. My heart thunders and fear threatens to consume me. But when Gog sees the figure enter the oasis, he relaxes, loosening the tension on his bowstring.

Another member of Gog’s species stands a dozen paces away. The stranger has reddish skin, and a similar build to Gog but not nearly as large. He does not look overly happy to see Gog.

“Oh, it is you, Gog. We had thought perhaps you’d fallen to misfortune during your hunt.”

The stranger’s voice carries a note of contempt as thick as London fog. He comes closer, and reveals he is not alone. Two more of the horned humanoids enter the Oasis. Both of them look just as contemptuous of Gog as their leader.

“Talfa, well met,” Gog says with a resigned patience that tells me he’s quite used to being treated like this. “Have you come out in search of me?”

“Unlikely,” says one of Talfa’s companions. The higher pitch to the voice and the slighter build tell me it’s a female of the species.

“No, Gog, the Chieftain has sent us to investigate the fallen star. He fears it could be a threat to our village.”

“I assure you that is not the case,” Gog says.

Meanwhile, the third new Drokan, a man with one horn broken off and bluish skin, notices me for the first time. He quickly draws back on his bow, pointing the deadly arrow right at me.

“Gog, beware! A strange being is behind you.”

Gog steps to the side, putting himself between me and the arrow.

“She is no stranger. This is Micah. She…came from the falling star.”

“Impossible,” Talfa snaps. “If that is what she told you, she lies.”

Gog bristles, seeming to grow larger.

“Micah does not lie. I will show you the ‘shooting star’ so that you might see for yourself.”

“Perhaps that will be most enlightening,” Talfa says. “The sun has nearly set. We should leave immediately.”

The female Drokan still eyes me with suspicion.

“I do not like this. She is neither Drokan nor Skuyr. What is she?”

“I can speak for myself.”

I step out from behind Gog, placing a restraining palm on his forearm before he can object.

“I’m a member of a sapient species from planet earth. We call ourselves humans.”

She sniffs.

“Humans? Are you all hornless and…small?”

“Yes. Compared to you I suppose we are small.”

She grunts.

“I see. What is Planet Earth?”

I open my mouth, and then close it.

“That would take some time to explain. I’d rather do it to your village as a whole so I only have to go over it once.”

Her brows arch over her eyes.

“That is both wise and logical. I can be patient as stone. I am called Reor.”

“Nice to meet you, Reor. I’m Micah, in case you don't remember.”

“My memory is not so short,” she replies.

“Yes, we Drokan have very long memories,” Talfa says, staring right at Gog. What the Hell did he do? He seems like such a nice guy.

The worst part of it all is, he just stands there and takes their bad attitude. He only got uppity when they threatened me. It’s like he thinks he deserves their abuse and suspicion. What if he does?

No, I can't believe that. No matter what he may or may not have done, it can’t be that terrible.

The other Drokan fill up their canteens at the oasis before we depart. They walk fast, stretching out their long legs. It’s a struggle to keep up. I repeatedly fall behind and they have to wait for me.

“Your shooting star woman is slowing us down greatly,” Talfa says. “The moons are already high in the sky.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, but nobody seems to hear me.

Gog shrugs.

“Then I will carry her.”

“You will what?” The last word becomes a shriek as he lifts me up onto his shoulders. I grab onto his horns out of reflex, because now I’m like ten feet in the air.

The other Drokan snigger, and I feel Gog’s body stiffen up beneath me.

“Micah,” he says softly. “Perhaps you could let go of my horns now?”

I release them immediately, and grab onto the harness for his bow and arrows instead. Shit, touching horns must be some kind of cultural taboo for their people. This is the kind of thing that gets people killed on first contact missions.

“Sorry,” I say. The other Drokan cease their laughter, and Gog leads the way once more, this time with me on his shoulders.

Hopefully, I can go the rest of the night without making things worse for him.

We reach the escape pod after an hour or so of bouncing along on Gog’s shoulders. He sets me down gently onto the sand and gestures at the crater.

“There is your shooting star, though it may not be what you expected it to be.”

“What is this? It is not stone.”

We venture down into the crater. The escape pod represents trauma for me, but also familiarity. I don’t want to get too close, but I don’t want to leave it, either.

Talfa moves in cautiously, his spear leading the way. He peers inside of the yawning maw of the escape pod hatch. A moment later he shouts and rips himself away as a myriad dark winged shapes buzz about him.

Reor laughs as the flying critters buzz off into the sky. Talfa spits in the sand and shakes his spear at them.

“Tell me, Tayfla,” Reor says snidely .”How many centuries will they sing the ballad of your great battle against the waterflies?”

“Your tongue is sharp as ever,” Tafla says to her, but he has a grin on his face. They give each other a look. Oh yeah, they’re banging. I guess Reor gives everyone a hard time. I don’t know why, but the display relaxes me a little.

These aliens are strange, and their ways unfamiliar, and yet they seem just like me in the really important ways. For all of their seeming primitiveness, they have a remarkably sophisticated culture.

I should know better than to judge on technology. When the Alliance did their great survey of Earth cultures, they declared the low technology Kung tribe to have the most ‘perfect’ human society of us all. Bad anthropologist. Bad!

“As you can see, it’s more like a ship than a falling star,” Gog said. “It came off of an ever bigger ship. One that sails through the sky.”

“Preposterous,” Talfa sputters, but Reor and the as yet unnamed blue Drokan look thoughtful.

“Talfa, my jalshagar,” Reor says “do you not remember the great smudge of light in the sky, from which the smaller meteor broke off from? Perhaps the story has merit.”

Talfa opens his mouth to argue, then closes it and shrugs.

“Very well. I agree that it is at least a possibility she is telling the truth.”

“I believe her,” Reor says.

“You have affection for her because the two of you are so much alike,” Talfa grumbles under his breath.

She sticks her tongue out at him. I guess some gestures cross over to different cultures.

“We should make for the village. The Elders will know what to make of her story,” the blue one says.

“Agreed. There is still some night left. We should move on and find a good camping spot to wait out the heat of the day.”

“I know of a place. A larger oasis than the one you found us at,” Gog says.

Talfa snorts.

“It seems we are fated to follow your lead, Gog. Hopefully, it will end better for us than it did for Der.”

The mention of the name Der hits Gog like a slap. His shoulders slump and his gaze drops.

Gog puts me on his shoulders again. This time I’m careful not to touch his horns. We walk for many h ours, until the sun peeks over the horizon and splashes golden light over the landscape. Harsh as this world is…at least this part of it…I do find it quite beautiful.

The sky is a particularly fine shade of blue, and the air has the crisp, fresh feeling that only a non-industrialized world has to offer.

We reach the oasis when the sun is just fully visible in the sky. The cool shade provided by the trees is a welcome respite. Gog and the blue Drokan excuse themselves, and return shortly after with several dog sized, furry mammal creatures tucked under their arms. Dead mammals. I guess they went to hunt.

The blue Drokan uses a crystal similar to the one Gog shoved into my ear to start a fire. He just points it at the kindling and it starts to smoke and smolder. I wonder what kind of tech that is? It seems like magic, but that can’t be right. There are many different ways to store and release energy in the galaxy. The crystals might have some natural property, or they could have been developed by the Drokan themselves.

It doesn’t matter what planet you’re from, grilled meat is grilled meat. My tummy growls as they roast the skinned carcasses over the fire. The blue skinned Drokan puts some kind of spices on the meat as it cooks, whistling softly to himself as he does so.

“Who is that?” I ask Gog in a whisper.

“That is Kul. He is skilled at meal preparation.”

“Actually,” Kul says, glancing up from the fire. “I’m more than just skilled. I’m an expert.”

“And he’s modest,” Reor says with a snort. “Don’t worry, when you find your jalshagaar, Kul, I’m sure she’ll smack that arrogance right out of your ass.”

“It’s not arrogance if you really are great,” Kul says while Talfa looks on in amusement. Except for their hostility toward Gog, I find these Drokan to be really easy to like. There’s an affection between them that their constant snarkiness belies.

When I taste the meat, I groan in satisfaction and look over at Kul.

“Kul, you’re not an expert. You’re a freaking artist. This is amazing.”

“Thank you,” he says, bowing his head. Despite his bluster, I can tell the praise means something to him. “Tell me, golden hair, do your people have a jalshagar tradition?”

I shake my head.

“Fated mates? Someone you were literally born to know and love? I’m afraid it’s mostly treated as superstition where I come from, though there are literally billions of people who would disagree.”

“Many, many, many?” Kul asks, tilting his head to the side. The translator has its limits. Apparently it can’t translate something the Drokan have no concept of. I wonder what kind of numerical system they have? As they have ten digits, much like a human, it’s probably a decagon system..

“Never mind, it’s not that important,” I say.

“It’s getting on toward midday,” Talfa says, looking up at the sky. “If we are to get any rest at all, I suggest we begin now.”

“I will take the first watch,” Kul says. “I need to tend the fire anyway, and make sure it goes out and does not damage this pristine example of Kro’s good works.”

Kro. Must be the name of their god, or one of them, at least. For some reason, that name sounds familiar.

Once the sun sets, we all rouse from our slumber. Or in my case, half slumber. I don’t know how they can sleep on the hard ground, much less in this heat. It doesn’t seem to bother them in the slightest.

Again we travel at night, the stars overhead lighting the way. I have not been to a world with no artificial lighting at night. The stars are amazing in their detail. I recognize none of them, of course, but that’s not terribly significant. Just hopping from one end of a galactic arm to the other can completely disrupt familiar constellations.

The sand dunes give way to a flat, dry plain dotted with occasionally scrubby growth. Some type of large herd animal moves in a line far to the north. One of them seems to stop and look our way before continuing along with the herd.

My Drokan escort grow restless. A succession of low, round hills rears up from the landscape. They lead me down a road cutting a meandering path through the mounds.

One of the hills bears a stone tower of remarkable symmetry. I gape at how the stones have been fit together neatly, without use of mortar. Like the Incans on ancient Earth, the Drokan have learned how to manage in a harsh, arid environment.

I start when I realize there’s a Drokan mounted on top of the tower, bearing an unstrung bow. Talfa raises a fist toward him, and the sentry raises one back.

“It won’t be much longer now,” Gog says. Because his fellow Drokan seem to shun him, we wound up walking about ten paces behind them, in our own little group.

“Until what?”

“Until we reach Redcliffe Village.” He points his thick arm over the hills. “Look, you can see the top of the LIfe Tree already.”

“Life tree?”

I strain my eyes. I think Drokan have better vision than humans, because at first I don’t see anything. Slowly, the tufty branches of a truly massive tree come into focus. I estimate that it’s easily as high as a Sequoia from Earth. Probably taller than that, even.

They call it the LIfe Tree, so it must have some great cultural significance. I could hear the reverend in Gog’s voice when he spoke its name. Maybe that’s why they’ve strung some kind of lights over its reddish gray bark.

A wall comes into view above the hills, built of the same materials and method as the tower. I get the feeling this is much older, however. Sentries walk the top of the wall, which must be more than thirty feet high.

I soon see that the wall only has to encircle the front curving edge of the village. That’s because a sheer red cliff rears up and frames the village as a backdrop. An expert mountain climber might be able to attain that steep and jagged peak, but no one’s getting an armed and equipped military force over it.

At least I know how Redcliffe got its name. As impressive as both the cliff and the wall are, however, the tree is what truly takes my breath away. I now understand that it does not have lighting strung over it like a tree at a Mexican restaurant. Rather, it’s glowing from inside with a myriad of soft hues of green, blue, and violet.

The tree’s incredible aspects go beyond its appearance. There’s almost a presence emanating from it. I swear it’s looking at me as a person would. When the wind blows through its crystalline leaves, it makes an eerie tinkling sound, almost like the tree’s talking.

We pass through the wall through an arched gate. It turns out to be thicker than I thought. No one builds something like this without a damn good reason. It sends shivers up my spine to think of what would scare Drokan bad enough to build something like this.

On the other side of the wall, there are stone dwellings of various sizes. It looks like most of them are family dwellings. I don’t see structures dedicated to military pursuits. I think it’s more like a militia situation. Everyone is a warrior once they’re old enough to hold a weapon.

It looks like my appearance is garnering notice. Throngs of Drokan give up their tasks to come and gather around our party instead.

“Please make way,” Talfa says in a loud bellow. “We must take the stranger to meet Chief Ral.”

The Drokan part, but fall in behind us. Gog whispers out of the corner of his mouth.

“I would not walk so close to me, Micah.”

“Why not?”

“It is important that no one knows we are friends. It is for your own good.”

“What the hell did you do?” I whisper back.

He grows tight lipped. I sigh and continue to walk right beside him. I can’t believe he ever did anything bad enough to deserve this treatment. Gog has a good soul, damn it. I don’t know why I know that, but I do.

Just like i know that damn tree is watching me.

We come upon a hut larger than the others. At first I think it’s the Chief’s house, but on the inside it turns out to be a large audience chamber. Lit by glowing crystals, it’s surprisingly bright and cheery. Paintings on the wall depict Drokan dancing around the life Tree.

The Chief enters from a beaded doorway on the rear wall of the chamber. His skin has a grayish cast. Even though he’s built like a pro wrestler, I get the impression he’s downright venerable in age.

His eyes fall on me and widen.

“Summon the Elders,” he says, his eyes never wavering from my face.

Talfa slaps a hand to his chest and then rushes out the door. The Chief approaches me, his fear giving way to fascination.

“Not Skuyr, nor Drokan. Yet not dissimilar from either,” he muses. His eyes fell on my flight suit. “Clad in fabrics that are neither leather nor flax. Either you have come from a very distant land, or you are the creation of evil spirits.”

My eyes widen.

“Evil spirits? I assure you, Mr. Ral, I’m not an evil spirit.”

Ral is taken aback.

“You use a Loq crystal? Where did you acquire one?”

“I gave it to her, my Chief.”

We both turn toward Gog as he strides forward and bows his horned head.

“You gave one of our most precious gifts to this stranger?”

“I needed to understand her, my Chief. I had to know if she or her kind presented a threat to our village.”

Chief Ral frowns. I sense a deep, long held hostility emanating from Ral toward Gog.

“And what did you decide? Is she a threat to us?”

“No, my Chief. I do not believe she is a threat to anyone. I have not met her people, but they are explorers.”

He licks his lips and clears his throat before he continues.

“Chief Ral, they came in a ship that sails across the sky rather than the water. They hail from a different Sun.”

Chief Ral stares at him for a long time. Then he looks at me.

“You will tell your story to the Elder Council.”

“Um, okay,” I reply. “Sure.”

Ral strokes his chin, then retreats to the back wall. He pulls a cord and a curtain draws back to reveal seven seats. He takes the one in the center. Soon he’s joined by other Drokan, most of them with the same ash gray cast to their skin. Is that their version of gray hair and wrinkles? I have so many questions about their culture as a professional. But on a personal level, I’m scared shitless.

I tell the story to the council, with Gog adding in bits here and there. It soon becomes obvious that eerie time he speaks, they grow impatient.

When I finish my story, the council breaks down into an argument. Most of them don’t believe a word I said. No one’s calling for my execution yet. Yet. But I’m quite concerned.

“Enough,” Chief Ral says. “It is clear we will not reach a consensus. We must put her to the test of the Tree.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say that, Chief,” snaps one of the Elders. “Considering we all know you disagreed with the results of the last test the Tree made.”

His eyes roll over to Gog, who looks deeply ashamed.

“See? Even he knows that the Tree’s judgment was lax.”

Chief Ral crosses the floor and towers over the other elder.

“The Life Tree is connected to the very essence of Kro. It does not lie. It is never wrong when judging what is in a man or woman’s heart. We will put her to the test, and the Tree will decide…and we will all abide by that decision.”

Just as Ral begins to relax, Gog steps forward.

“My Chief, we cannot let her take the test. It might be dangerous for one of her kind.”

Chief Ral glares at him.

“I have spoken, Gog.”

“It is not right. She is no danger, I swear it. It might kill her to be tested.”

“If so, it is a tragedy, but the safety of this village must come first,” Ral says.

Gog’s jaw sets hard.

“I will not permit this.”

“Will you fight the entire village?” Ral asks softly.

“Yes. Every single one of you, and you know that I quite possibly will win.”

“You will die regardless.”

“But Micah will live.”

Oh god, he means it. He really will take on his entire people by himself to protect me. It’s sweet, and it might melt my heart if I weren’t so terrified.

He saved my life several times already. I can’t let him sacrifice himself over something that might not happen.

“Gog, it’s all right. I’ll do the test.”

He gasps.

“Michah, no.”

“I have to do this. No one will trust me if I don’t. If I can’t get your people’s trust, then we won’t be able to even find my people, let alone help them.”

I turn to the Chief.

“Tell me what I have to do.”