Chapter Seven: Point of Impact — Part 2

As it grew quieter behind him, Devon finished his story, closing with his opinions. “And I wouldn’t trust this Baron Grison guy either. He wants a new order with himself at the top. I’ve seen that happen once already, and it’s always the same game twice.”

“You know, I think I like this guy.” Laura said, sniffing the air. “He smells like a virgin.” She nudged Susan in the ribs.

Devon remained quiet for a moment, trying to ignore the sudden silence from within the chamber. “Goodness let them be done already.”

“Tell me about yourselves, then, since I’ve told you my life story.” Devon said.

Susan told her story telepathically. Her staff touched his forehead, linking her mind directly to his, blocking her thoughts from even her closest friends. Oh, same old sorry tale as yours, I guess. We’re the survivors of the first two colonies. This planet has a symbiont on it that adapts all alien life to survive within the confines of its clouds. The current population for human life is around three thousand, and growing slowly. There’s other life here that’s sentient like we are. It’s our duty to protect this world and them from outside hostility.

Devon looked dreamily at Susan. “Was it good for you?” Devon’s eyes locked with the strange young woman, unable to hide his allure.

“You, sir, are a strange little man.” Laura said quietly.

Susan shushed her, but Drake chuckled. Devon decided almost immediately to trust and like all of them.

Julia crawled up the pod hatch, looking out into the dim light, and found herself staring straight into Laura’s eyes. Since it was all she had been wearing, she made a point of buttoning up her lab coat. Her eyes opened wider as she realized that Laura wasn’t an illusion created by the mist.

“I guess you weren’t joking when you said we had company. Hope you all take well to uninvited guests.”

“Please step away from the ship.” Julia and Stanley followed Devon away from the pod, and it sunk noisily below the surface.

Devon stared at the bubbles rising slowly from the sludge that had at one moment held up his ship. “You impounded the pod, didn’t you? Was I parked in a red zone or something?”

“Now you know why nothing ever leaves here.” Susan said.

“So we’re prisoners?” Julia asked.

“That word would imply our desire to keep you here, when in truth we don’t have a way — right now — to let you leave.” Laura replied.

“You did come here in spite of the beacon and everything.” Drake added quickly, almost defensively.

“You’ll all be getting sick soon. In the mean time, we’d like for you to follow us to our boat. We have at least a week’s journey ahead of us, and it’s safer for all of us if we keep moving.”

“When should this fever hit us?” Devon asked. “And what’s the survival ratio?”

“Within a few hours. Of roughly eight thousand human beings that were exposed to the symbiont, three thousand have survived. Generally speaking, people above the age of twenty-two rarely if ever survive the symbiosis, Blue Ranked Citizens seem to die in extreme frequency, and while Greens and reds generally survive in greater frequency, especially if they are of a younger age. Race and gender have little or no bearing on survival. I can assure you that there are exceptions to every rule. I was in my late thirties when the symbiont infected me. Laura and I both are Blue Ranks, so your situation isn’t entirely hopeless.”

Once all six people were settled on the boat and made comfortable, Susan dropped her staff into the water, sped off toward where her mind said her tribe would be. Better than any map, her internal sense of direction would never lead her astray. The land they traveled through stank of predators and menace, the mist thick with mold and chill even by Antansi standards. Despite the stench, Susan tried to keep her new colleagues comfortable and light-hearted, all the while keeping her senses tuned outward, toward the source of the hostility. The scent of the sick would draw scavengers of the marsh, so effort was made to keep their scent trail minimal. Susan sat down, her knees to her chest, one arm locked across her shins, the other guiding the staff. The scientists, Devon especially, showed little concern for the danger, stretching out casually. Devon set his head on Susan’s feet, staring past her knees and into the clouds.

“So.” Julia spoke over the rush of the wind, “What form of propulsion is it that you use anyway?”

“Focused psychokinesis.” Drake answered. “Susan’s the best at that particular talent.”

“Cool.” Stanley mumbled, the fever of infection building within him.

“Go to sleep.” Drake shushed them all, worrying that noise might draw in the bigger predators, or something worse.

Devon closed his eyes and let the sound of the water and grasses skimming across the bottom of the boat lull him into semi-consciousness. The sickness hit him hard and fast, seeping in through his nose, burning as it worked its way into his lungs. He didn’t come fully awake until the end of the journey. He would sense absolute dark, then twilight, in a consistent cycle. Someone had put something over his eyes at one point, a cool rag that seemed to sizzle in response to the heat of his body. He was at least halfway certain, however, that the egg sizzling sound was more a hallucination, considering the temperature at which water gave rise to steam.

He drifted in and out of dream and fever, his body sometimes aching, sometimes not. At one point the boat must have upturned, because he was brought to his senses momentarily by icy cold wetness that seemed to creep deeply into his lungs in an attempt to kill him. He could see Susan and her friends fighting a hideous water demon, though the details seemed oddly coherent, inadvertently clear in the dim light. They were doing so with such impossible grace that he felt certain he was dreaming. The other creature in that fight seemed to be fighting to kill, rather than eat. He sensed a dark, totally alien intelligence from it, and also an idea that he might be trespassing on its lands.

Whether the battle was real or imagined, whether the creature sentient or simply predatory, it was wonderful. Every one of them flew like angels, and fought like demons. Sometime during the battle, the darkness stole his thoughts. He remembered being fished from the water, stripped of his clothes and wrapped in something warm. He remembered coughing up vast quantities of water, and remembered even more clearly the pain in his lungs, which never quite seemed to go away. Then he forgot things again, falling back into something almost related to consciousness. His eyes fluttered open some hours later. It was absolutely dark, but his vision betrayed things in his environment. Somebody sat over him, crying gentle tears; a girl named Susan. Not a really girl, but a creature as timeless and ageless as the trees, and yet childish in some ways, as if the agelessness gave a youthful sense to her expression. The wind was gone, and the boat felt remarkably like land. Something wasn’t right; his blood was flowing from wounds he had no right to have. Most of them were vital, and yet he felt no pain.

Why should she cry for me?

She cries for all her kind. A voice filled his mind with pictures and thoughts, seeming to rise from the planet itself. It wasn’t Susan’s, and it wasn’t human.

Am I dying? Devon asked, suddenly worried.

Only if you wish to.

Devon felt a shiver pass through his body, a darkness creep around as he considered the option and freedom death might bring. If not for Susan, he might well have let everything go away.

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