I woke to the feeling of something pecking at my face. I brushed it away, opening my eyes to find a newborn baby bird, just under half a meter tall, nuzzling my face. Definitely the weirdest thing I’ve ever woken up to. I took in the crosshatch pattern of light through the tree branches that made up the giant nest where I sat. Yeah, I was actually in a giant nest, and more than a little freaked out.
The baby bird bleated at me, opening and closing its beak. I got the uncomfortable feeling that it was hungry, and that I had been brought back here to feed it.
Turning, I saw several eggs around me, all starting to crack open. More baby birds pecked their way out and unfurled their slicked-back wings.
As I backed away, I saw the massive mama condor that had knocked me out of the sky. The longer I looked at her, the more terrifying she got. She stood two meters tall, her beak razor-sharp, her wings when she opened them spanning over four meters.
Scanning the nest, I saw my torn backpack lying in the corner, my cutlass still attached. I snuck toward it as the other newborn creatures began climbing out of their eggs. Just as I reached my gear, I looked down and noticed a dark shape creeping up the tree trunk. I couldn’t tell what it was.
One of the baby birds toddled toward me, and I nudged it aside with my foot, focused on the approaching dark form. Another dark creature dropped from above, landing on the huge branch that supported the nest. My hands shook as I grabbed my cutlass and tapped in a pattern. It extended to its full two meters in length, a sharp spear point at one end, a flat blade at the other.
I raised my cutlass just as the branch began to shake. I saw the condor fighting a lion-like beast, which left me clear to escape. But then I saw more lions scaling the nest, and glanced back to the squawking newborns in the corner. I realized that I couldn’t stand to leave them, not so soon after watching them be born, not while they were under attack by a swarm of beasts. So I stood in front of them, cutlass at the ready. A lion reached its huge foreleg through the branches, its claws just missing me, but slicing through my naviband. Suddenly, paws were breaking through all over the nest. I saw claws connect with a baby bird. Under the force of the attack, the nest began to tear apart. I stabbed through the branches at a lion and the point of my spear pierced its fur.
Suddenly a large piece of the nest broke off, taking a howling lion with it. Other pieces fell too, leaving the interior of the nest open to the invaders. A lion crawled in and sank its claws into a newborn condor. I stabbed the creature’s arm and it recoiled, climbing back down. As more lions tried to crawl in, I spun my cutlass, slicing one’s paw and scaring off others. “Leave them alone!” I shouted.
The mama condor clutched a lion by its hind leg, flapping her broad wings as she dragged the squirming beast off the branch and into the air. Then she dropped it, and I watched as the lion plummeted to the earth far below. She did the same with another, but there were so many of them. One grabbed another newborn in its claws, and I rushed forward to stab the beast. It fell back over the edge, but it took the baby bird crashing down with it.
Now the condor and I were fighting off the last of the creeping lions. When the final one fell, I whirled, triumphant—and saw that not one baby bird remained. Only their shattered shells were left behind. The mama condor dove off the empty nest, and I thought she must want to escape the scene of the massacre. I couldn’t unclench my hands from the cutlass, still scanning the nest, searching for another attacker, hoping for some sign of life in the ruins. But there was nothing.
Finally, I shouldered my gear and climbed down the massive tree trunk. When I reached the ground, I saw the mama condor hovering over a few of the lifeless chicks. She raised her head and shrieked up to the sky, the sound ripping through the forest. I knew she was just an animal, but I heard the grief in her scream—it was the sound I would have made, if I could have, when I watched Senshi die. Before I slipped into the jungle, I watched the condor touch her head to her chicks, then lift her head and scream again.
I’d felt her pain. As I made my way along the dense jungle floor, I thought about the hatchlings that neither of us was able to save. I knew they were just birds, and I knew their mom tried to kill me first, and I knew it was the circle of life. But it wasn’t really about the condors. It was about creatures with big claws and deadly intent creeping into your home and killing those who are too small and weak to fight back. How could I help reacting to the predators as though they were Ursa, and to the birds as though they were tiny and terrified eight-year-old me? So I had stayed, and I had fought, and still, I couldn’t save them. The attackers were still too powerful, and I was still too small. Sure, this time I had helped beat back the attackers—but it still wasn’t enough.
With my naviband damaged in the attack, I had even more reason to book it to the ship. It was my only chance of communicating with my dad, or anyone, again. Right then, I was more alone than ever. I ran through the jungle, hacking plants aside with my cutlass. All I could do was keep moving forward, and hope I was going in the right direction. I was sure I didn’t have much time left. I had no idea how long I’d been knocked out in that nest. And fighting hadn’t exactly been the best way to conserve my oxygen supply. I scrambled over rocks and fallen branches, crashed through underbrush, watched the sun dip dangerously low in the sky. I had to find a hot spot before I lost the light, or I’d freeze and no one would ever find me.
When I reached a plateau, I skidded to a stop and took in the ruins of what was maybe once a dam across a river.
A shadow passed over me and I looked up to see the mama condor flying recklessly, clipping treetops, dipping and weaving. As I watched, she rocketed straight up toward the sun. I watched her, and recognized grief that matched my own, and saw how pointless my behavior had been for so long. It finally struck me that the best way to honor my sister was to live as best I could—not to constantly risk my life just to prove I can. I saw the bird’s suffering, how isolated she was by her grief, and it hit me how much harder it is to hurt alone. I had built up walls around myself to keep from ever again hurting as badly as I did when Senshi died. But it hadn’t helped. I wanted to try a different path now. I wanted to change my story. I just hoped it wasn’t too late.
I could see my breath, and I shivered as the temperature plummeted. Tired and lost, all I could do was run after the grief-stricken giant bird. Maybe she would lead me to a hot spot. But I didn’t know how much longer I could keep going. I scanned the horizon for shelter, but saw none. The sun was dipping out of sight. I could see the plants curling in on themselves to protect against the night frost. Desperate, I turned left, then right, but there was nothing. So that was it, then. Not how I expected things to go.
But then I saw a small hoglike creature running along, with three smaller hogs following it. It seemed to know exactly where it was going, so I followed it. The hog moved surprisingly fast, and it took all my agility to dodge under bushes, over rocks, and around tree trunks while keeping the small creature in sight. Finally I saw it burrow into a hole in the ground, and its babies scurried after it.
Without hesitation, I followed them. Except I didn’t fit through the same small space. I found a flat stone and frantically dug at the hole until it was big enough for me to slide inside. I kept right on sliding, nine meters down till I had landed on a soft, grassy surface. It was pitch black, so I pressed my left shoulder to activate my lifesuit’s light.
Looking around, I realized that the hog hole was actually a cave, its walls smooth stone. I crept between the narrow walls. I heard something slithering and watched a snake emerge from a seam in the wall. It spread its skin on either side of its body to form wings. As it floated through the cavern, I backed up against the wall, hoping it wouldn’t notice me. I wasn’t usually scared of snakes, but a flying one? That, I couldn’t handle. I saw it swoop down on a rodent that was scurrying through the darkness and then lift its prey into the air.
My lifesuit’s light revealed beautiful, multicolored cave paintings. I saw herds of bison on one wall, flocks of birds on another, a figure of a man sleeping, surrounded by a variety of animals. The paintings were crude, but majestic too. I knew they must be prehistoric, and wondered how long it had been since the last human saw them. They reminded me of the things I’d seen since I landed on Earth. They made me want to create a record like that of my own. Maybe that’s what this recording is—and these sketches. Someday, someone might hear my words and see what I drew. Someday, someone might wonder who I am and how I survived.
At the bottom of the cave, I saw a tiny rivulet of lava winding through the darkness. I tried to quiet my mind, but it was racing. I settled in near the rivulet of lava to warm myself. But gradually, I began to feel confident that nothing was coming for me. I thought about the flying snake and the rodent—the circle of life, predator and prey.
But that’s not the relationship between the Ursa and us. They were bioengineered specifically to hunt and kill us, by aliens we’ve never even seen. They are not our natural predators—they are killing machines designed to exploit our greatest weakness. It just seems so unfair—and yes, I know life isn’t fair, but nature, in a way, is. Or should be anyway. Nature doesn’t give the snake an unbeatable advantage over the rodent—it’s just that that particular rodent didn’t scurry quite fast enough.
But the Ursa were created for the sole purpose of eliminating humans, and when they weren’t quite good enough at it, the Skrel redesigned them. I think we’re on version six now, and they’ve got it pretty much right this time. Except that they never counted on my dad in all of their plans. He really is an anomaly. Okay, he didn’t save Senshi, he wasn’t around much for me—but he did, in a very real way, save humanity. He singlehandedly canceled out a major chunk of that unfair advantage the Skrel gave themselves, yanking our battles with the Ursa back toward the natural order of things. Not all the way, not yet, but at least we have a fighting chance again. Maybe ghosting is how humans are evolving to combat the Ursa. Which makes me hope even harder that his skills have been passed on to me.
I found a piece of rock to make marks on the wall. Hearing my dad’s voice in my head, I began trying to re-create the map he had showed me. I started with the ship, which I simply labeled Dad. Next, the forest where I battled the baboons. I remembered Dad’s advice there, and how I didn’t follow it. How I wish I had. Then the river that I crossed, the waterfall I leapt off of, the condor’s nest. Of course that last leg was guesswork since I was unconscious for the flight from the waterfall to the nest, but I doubted the mama condor carried me very far. From there, I thought I knew the route I took through the jungle, though I may have been remembering it wrong. I drew the cave and marked it I am here, I think. Finally, I marked a large area on the left side of the map Tail somewhere here. I remembered how my dad entrusted me with this mission, and his belief in me gave me strength. Even though he wasn’t with me, I was not alone. Maybe I never was.
Looking at the map made me feel like I had some sort of plan for getting to the tail. In the midst of my drawing, I gave in and took some more breathing fluid. I was struggling too hard to breathe, and anyway, I had a feeling that I was close to the tail now. I thought I might actually be able to complete this mission. Maybe leaping off the waterfall helped me make up enough time to make a difference. There was no point in making myself suffer when the breathing fluid might turn out to be enough.
I noticed the hog family leaving the cave, so I gathered my things and followed them again. When I reached the surface, the mother hog looked back at me, and I could swear she gave me a nod, as if to say, “You’re welcome.” I nodded back, grateful. As she and her piglets ran off, a huge shadow fell over me.
Looking up, I saw the mama condor circling above. Why was she following me? Did she blame me for the loss of her babies? Didn’t she realize I fought as hard as she did to save them? I hoped she wouldn’t swoop down on me again as I started walking south.
I was dead tired. I had barely slept since the night before I boarded the Hesper, back home in my own bed. That seemed so long ago. Sure, I’d grabbed a few minutes of sleep here and there, and I’d blacked out a few times, but none of that had been exactly restful. Maybe I should have tried to get a full night of sleep in the cave, but mapping out my path seemed more important, especially since I was out of breathing fluid.