Danielle Ackley-McPhail
Two hours before dawn Sala’s pillow shook violently, accompanied by a faint buzzing sound barely loud enough to rouse just her. In truth, she had lain awake most of the night, waiting with anticipation for the time just before the guards changed shifts. In slow, sliding motions she’d practiced for weeks, she reached beneath the pillow to shut off the alarm before it could disturb her parents. As she drew her hand out she snagged the pouch she had hidden in her bed the previous night. It held a flask of water, nutrient bars, a med kit, and a collapsible bowl, along with its more precious cargo of specimen bags, graphite pencils, and parchment. Scraps and cast-offs mostly, but she cherished them. The scientists at Artistos, Fremont’s one city, would have used tablets to record data, which was all well and good, but her grandpa had taught her the joy of documenting specimens with careful strokes on paper she held in her own hands. Besides, she never would have been able to sneak off with the tech unnoticed.
Sliding from her cot to the floor with utmost care, she held her breath lest she draw the next one sharp and loud and disturb those she wished to leave sleeping. As she crept from the wagon she trembled, still awed by the uncommon ease with which she now moved.
She had been born with legs twisted and barely controlled, muscles and tendons drawn too short and tight. At Artistos, the colony doctors had corrected them the best they could, but certain things had been beyond them by the time she had been born. While she had grown able to walk, her gait proved awkward and rolling, not to mention painful.
Now, thanks to them—the altered that came to Fremont less than a year ago claiming the planet as their own, supposedly all legal and binding and not meaning squat, or so her Papa said—Sala’s legs were as straight and smooth and able to move as if they’d never been twisted up, even if it had taken her six months to learn how to use them proper. Long, long months, but nothing compared to the almost twelve years she’d spent hobbled, watching others move freely, playing and exploring, discovering new things while she stayed at camp helping to catalog those things she longed to see first-hand.
Now…now she would explore the world she loved for herself. Not in the bits and pieces brought back to camp. Not from the safe conveyance of a wagon or lofted by a harness on her older brother’s back as he hiked the wilds. As much as she appreciated Joram’s willingness to do that for her, it just wasn’t enough to observe. This…this was her chance to live…to discover new things first hand. For that alone she reveled in the transformation of her body. And yet it would be a lie to say all was now well for her. Sala had grown used to being stared at with pity, but the looks most other Roamers gave her had begun to change, ranging from uncomfortable to awed to cold and mistrustful.
Sala hardly cared what any of them thought, or so she told herself. There had already been looks before she was changed, so what if there were looks after? Her freedom was worth tolerating the attention, however uncomfortable. Determination firmed her features as she wended her way through the camp with quiet practiced motions, scrunching down small and pausing absolutely still wherever she hid as those ending their watch handed off their duties to those just coming on. Once they settled she resumed her slow, careful trek, keeping to the deep shadows of the wagons or terrain until she reached the brush surrounding the camp.
Excitement tingled across every nerve like the current that built in the air before an electrical storm as she stood at the edge of the hebra pens, murmuring soft, soothing noises to calm them before they betrayed her. Faint tremors went through her and anticipation clenched her belly as she stared out at the brush.
She had never been beyond the camp on her own.
Clutching her pouch, her gaze darted all around her in the faint pre-dawn light. A smile warmed her face and tears pressed against her eyes as she stepped away from the enclosure into the trees mentally cataloging things as she passed them. Pongaberries, just ripe and ready for picking, if only she could climb that high. Twintrees. Redberry bushes—also heavy with fruit. Ferns and sawgrass, creepers and nettles. So many species of plants she had never seen up close, only in sketches or as loose leaves or berries or twigs.
There wasn’t much in the way of wildlife about. Likely a good thing, as her movements weren’t that swift, but there were plenty of insects, with which she was already familiar. Still…to see them in the wild… Almost, she lost herself as she watched a fire wasp industriously gather tiny globes of dew to take back to its nest. Shaking herself from the wonder of her observation, Sala strove to remember how near she stood by the camp. To stay here was to risk discovery and the end of her first unsupervised excursion.
Continuing on her way through the brush, she headed for the perimeter, inside the sensors—if only just—but enough outside of camp that the landscape and wildlife remained mostly undisturbed. For a while she just wandered, taking care to avoid tripvines and sawgrass as she scanned for any plant or beastie she didn’t recognize from her cataloging efforts. Mostly, though, she just enjoyed her new freedom of movement. Not just the ease of taking a step, but doing so without pain or fear she would overbalance and fall. And without others hovering nearby, trying to appear they weren’t, just in case she tumbled.
All too soon she grew winded and her legs began to ache. She found a somewhat comfortable spot beneath a twintree and carefully lowered herself to the ground. For a time she just sat there, enjoying the song of Fremont as the night insects wound down to their rest and the birds began to stir and sing their morning song. Sighing with contentment, Sala drank from her flask and nibbled an energy bar, then took out her parchment and pencil nub. With a care and attention to detail learned at Grandpa’s side she drew and documented the area surrounding her. Sawgrass and ferns and flowers, mostly, with the occasional insect clinging to a blade of grass. All familiar, common elements that had surrounded her all her life, or recent finds she had helped catalog after someone else’s discovery, but she cherished her first opportunity to observe them closely in their natural environ. While she longed to discover something new, for now she contented herself with studying nature and practicing the observation skills she would need when she did find that unique discovery, which she would find one day.
Sala focused so completely on her work that she barely realized how bright the morning grew or how long she had been out, until a rustling in the brush nearby startled her. She jerked her head up as her pencil point veered across her drawing, cutting a sharp line over a flower she had been delicately shading. A few yards beyond the perimeter sensors a cluster of ferns swayed where before they had been still. Sala peered closely but could not see what had disturbed them.
The birds around her had fallen silent.
A shiver skated across her shoulders. She remained within the perimeter, but as far as she could be from the encampment—and any help the others could offer. It had been unwise to lose track of herself like this. The morning grew late. If she strained she could make out the sounds of the camp waking. She gathered her things and pushed herself up from where she sat, bracing against the tree. As she hurried back as best she could she heard more rustling behind her and could not help but look behind her, fearing to see a pawcat or demon dog tracking her. She frowned. She saw no sign of those predators, but…but she would almost swear she saw a person disappear into the brush.
~*~
Sala did not bother with silence as she returned to camp. Instead she reached into her satchel for the collapsible bowl, stopping beside the redberry bush to harvest the ripe fruit. Surely Mama would not protest the treat, or think to question what else Sala may have been up to so early once she presented it to her.
“Good morning. Look what I brought,” she said as she approached her mother, who appeared to be packing.
“Hurry, we’re breaking camp. Akashi wants to be out of here within the hour.”
Sala didn’t dare frown, but her good cheer drained away. This was a settled camp, meant for a prolonged stay. That gave her more range of freedom. If they resumed roaming she would have a better chance at finding something new, but less likelihood of being able to sneak away to do so. She couldn’t help it. Her lips turned down and her breath hitched just a little. Mother looked up sharply but said nothing.
“Come, Sala,” she heard Papa call from the door of their wagon. “Eat this, then go help the catalogers secure the specimens.”
His expression tightened as she drew near, his eyes shadowed, but then he smiled as she reached him and tousled her hair. Her papa loved her, but he was not happy it had taken the altered to help her. Only Mama’s pleading and a long conversation with Akashi convinced him it was the only choice. Still, there were times he seemed guarded, as if he suspected more than her legs had been changed.
That was silly. Wasn’t it? She would know. Wouldn’t she?
Not liking those thoughts, Sala smiled an anxious smile up at Papa and hugged herself close to him. She didn’t relax until his arms came around her and hugged back. The moment was fleeting, though. After just a few seconds he patted her shoulder and gently pushed her away.
“Here, now. We don’t have much time.”
Sala nodded and took the nutrient bar from him. She obediently nibbled at the edges. It sat heavy in her gut, along with the one she’d eaten earlier, as she headed for the research wagon.
~*~
No one told Sala the reason they had left their camp. Ultimately, they didn’t have to. Even among the Roamers, idle gossip was a thing, and what tongue wouldn’t waggle over the rumor of altered prowling around the wilds? The little Sala overheard made no sense. The kindest merely called the newcomers unnatural; those who spoke with more anger swore they were monsters and that they meant the settlers harm. More than one claimed they intended to steal the planet. That made no sense to Sala. How did one steal a planet? Fremont had more than enough room for them all. Besides, the altered had been kind to her and made her better. Why do that if they only meant to hurt everyone?
And yet, Sala felt doubt darken her thoughts. She could tell her parents worried, and even Akashi—the most calm and accepting of anyone she knew—had ordered them to break camp. Reportedly, the guards had found tracks just outside the perimeter. Human tracks, or mostly.
Sala thought of the rustling she’d heard in the underbrush the day they had broken camp and shivered.
“Everything okay, sweetie?”
She looked up at her mother, her eyes wide, certain worry bled through her expression.
“Sala?”
“Sorry, Mama. I was just…do you think they’re following us?” She said ‘us’, but she thought ‘me’.
Mama frowned and her gaze darted toward the edges of their current camp, where Fremont’s wild loomed, more than sufficient to hide both man and beast. “Don’t be silly. Why would they?”
Sala had no answer for her. She didn’t know. But even if she had, what could she say that wouldn’t sound preposterous?
She rested her head against her mother briefly, then went back to sketching the latest batch of specimens, new variations of old finds. The subtle differences both fascinated and frustrated her. Oh, how she wanted to discover something new…
~*~
The next morning the Roamers resumed roaming. Sala sat beside her father on the driver’s bench of their wagon and tried not to think about the altered. Instead she watched the hebras straining to pull the wagons up the tail end of the Eastern Trail, breaking off to follow what Sala called the Crooked Back Path, for the bumpy way it followed the edge of the mountain. She pictured it like the spine of a giant lying on his side and told herself tales about his long journey as she clutched tight to the bench in an effort to stay put. The hebras found this route difficult and even the camp dogs struggled to keep up, but Mama explained the need to break their routine in case they were being followed. And so they continued for about a week until they reached a new camp between the river and the cliffs, one they had not used before, having only discovered it at the end of the last season on their way back to Artistos.
Sala twitched with excitement as they drew up to the not-quite cavern. She could picture the nearby river overflowing its bounds each rainy season for millennia, rolling and raging against the cliff that towered over it, never managing more than to carve away at its toes. Or so she imagined.
Whatever the cause, something had worn away the cliff face until it formed a deep, scooped-out pocket, the opening twelve feet high at the mouth and angling down toward the back until even Sala could reach up and touch the worn rock without stretching. All the wagons nestled nicely, if a bit closely, in the space, which offered protection on all but one facing. At the back a proper cave, small and dark, led deep into the cliff. The children—particularly Sala—were forbidden to explore it, but she knew some of the others already had.
Let them. She couldn’t care less about a dank, dark hole.
She turned and faced the thriving wilderness, her gaze intent. The plants and bugs and beasties…They waited for her, along with all manner of opportunities to find something new and wondrous. Her eager grin twisted into a grimace. All of it out there…and there was next to no hope of her exploring. The tension had only grown as signs of trespass had been discovered within the perimeter sensors at the last nightly camp, with no alarm sounded. The guards continued to amplify security, to say the least.
Sala jumped as a hand came to rest on her shoulder, her thoughts still firmly on intruders.
“Whoa…”
Her muscles loosened as she looked up at Joram. He was ten years older than her and towered overhead as much as Papa did, if not more. Of course, she was tiny—just over four feet tall, thanks to how she had been born—so even those her own age stood over her, when they bothered to be near her at all.
As if privy to her thoughts, Joram knelt down. His arm settled around her waist. She leaned into his comforting presence. “I have to go report in,” he said softly, “but we could go exploring after...”
Oh how Sala wanted to say yes, but Joram was a scout. She knew reporting would not be quick. She turned her head to look at him. Weariness had etched faint creases around his eyes and drew down on the corners of his mouth, despite his ready smile. How she loved her brother, more inclined than anyone else in her life to figure out how to make her wishes happen rather than point out why they weren’t possible. He never dwelled on her differences, had never counted them against her, not even out of concern, like their parents had in their efforts to protect her. For that reason she would not impose on him now. She leaned her forehead against his. Playfully, she wrinkled her nose. “Maybe a swim would be better...you’re kind of stinky.”
Her brother retaliated with tickles until their laughter echoed through the camp.
~*~
The draw to explore, however, proved too much for Sala to resist once Joram put the idea in her head. It had been impossible of late to sneak off pre-dawn, as she had been. But what if she had permission to search in the daylight? When her brother went off to report, Sala gave in to temptation and headed for the far side of the camp, where Mama helped catalog. With the outward semblance of patience, she waited for her mother to acknowledge her.
Her mother finished the entry she was working on before looking up. “Yes, Sala?”
With only a moment’s hesitation, Sala ducked her head, then spoke, “Jory is back in camp. May I go exploring?”
Guilt fluttered in her belly. She had not lied with her words, but her mother would assume her brother would be accompanying her. She held still against the impulse to fidget as she waited.
Mama nodded. “Don’t be long, though. You’re to help prepare for dinner tonight.”
“Yes’m,” Sala called back, already heading for her treasured supplies, as eager to avoid any questions as she was to explore. She would return well before time to get ready for the evening meal. She had to be back before Akashi cut Joram loose...
With her pouch clutched in hand, she made her way past the wagons to the edge of camp. She glared as several of the other Roamer girls went by, tittering at her progress. Her steps grew increasingly awkward the more she hurried. Let them laugh; she couldn’t afford to slow down. What she truly wanted was to run, but the skill was beyond her still-developing coordination. She finally reached the underbrush, glad of the gentle breeze to cool her. Probing through the flora, she discovered a small game trail, likely worn by djuri. Anyone else would have struggled through, but for once Sala was glad of her small stature. The path was perfect for her. Her gaze scoured the brush surrounding the trail, noting the familiar before swiftly moving on. Occasionally, she saw an unusual variant on a specimen she had catalogued before, but she wasn’t here to find mutations or subphyla. Nothing short of a new discovery would satisfy her. Something of value. Something of sufficient note to outweigh her transgression, at the very least...
Sala didn’t venture far at first. The sounds of camp remained a steady murmur in the background. Briefly, she stopped to sketch an unusual track, but with no other sign of what may have made it she moved on. Soon she got caught up in the hunt for her discovery, peering under rocks and bushes, stirring up the dirt. At one point she tried to climb up the trunk of an umbrella tree in pursuit of an insect she was certain she had never seen, even as a specimen or sketch, only to slide down and bark her shin, left ground-bound to watch as the insect disappeared into the foliage. And still she persisted until the murmur of the camp became a whisper. And then a memory, all but forgotten.
The fading light betrayed her, bringing Sala back from the tight focus of her hunt. As she finally noticed the onset of twilight her belly turned, fear and hunger warring in her gut. Distant birdsong filled her ears, nothing more. Whatever trail she’d followed had petered out. Her legs ached and every patch of bare skin bore at least one itching bite or burning scratch. She shivered and clutched the strap of her pouch. She turned in a slow, stumbling circle trying to see some sign of a path, or at the very least a break in the foliage showing the way she had come. But the gentle breeze had grown more forceful erasing any sign of her passage.
Sala could not silence her first whimper, but she ruthlessly strangled the rest. Though she desperately wanted to call out she knew she must not. Pawcats and demon dogs were drawn by sounds of distress. So were other predators. Maybe ones they didn’t even know about yet. That she wouldn’t know how to defend herself from. Becoming something’s dinner was not how she wanted to make her new discovery.
Drawing a deep breath, she straightened her spine and calmed herself. If she hadn’t been missed already, she would be soon. Someone would come looking for her. Yes, she had been foolish, but Joram had taught her how to survive as no one else had thought to. He believed in her. She would not disappoint him. The two things he taught her as most important were defense and shelter. If we get separated arm yourself, then find a place you will be safe and stay there, he’d said every time they’d gone exploring. Let me come to you. I will find you.
With the memory of his words firmly in her thoughts, she returned to searching the ground, this time for a long, stout branch, something she could use for both support and defense. As she searched she also looked for any source of shelter...an outcrop of rocks, the high roots of a glúin tree, a cave or overhang, anything she could put her back against. The best she could find was a stout twintree. If not for her small size it would have provided no shelter at all. If she could have climbed the tree, she would have, but that remained beyond her skill. As the sky grew darker, she huddled at the base of the trunks, her back pressed against the smooth bark.
In her pouch she had several nutrition bars and water still half-filled her flask, but fear gripped her tight at both belly and throat. The thought of eating or drinking made her feel sick. While the light remained, she watched the surrounding wilderness for movement, her ears straining for any sound that might be danger or deliverance. Please, Joram, Sala thought, please find me soon.
She struggled not to cry.
~*~
Sala woke to a pair of glowing eyes staring out of the darkness.
She shrieked and fumbled for her stick. The eyes crouched lower, as if to pounce. They were joined by a second set. A low, barely heard rumbling came to her ears. By the height and the sound, Sala knew two juvenile pawcats stalked her. The twintree trunks pressed hard against her back as she tried to push herself to her feet. Her long trek and the chill from the ground had tightened her muscles, though, and she ended up tumbling back down. The glowing eyes leapt.
“Joram!” she cried out.
Seemingly out of nowhere—but more likely from the brush behind her—someone snatched Sala’s branch from her hands. It wasn’t her brother. In the dark, Sala could not make out who it was, but she would have known Joram in utter darkness, let alone starlight. This person stood shorter, slighter, but not by much. Sala’s gaze followed the swing of the branch. With precision and force it connected with the leaping predator. She heard a thud, followed by the muffled crack of breaking bones. The creature’s cry cut short, followed by brief thrashing that faltered, then stopped all together. Sala’s savior raised the branch again, but the shadowy hulk of the second predator already skulked away, its grumbling whine fading with the growing distance.
The predators dealt with, the stranger turned. Something in those movements reminded Sala very much of the pawcat before it lay broken on the ground. The motions were fluid and powerful, dangerous and completely unfamiliar. Swallowing a whimper, Sala shrank back against the tree, her arms hugged around herself more for comfort than any sort of protection.
The form before her went still, then slowly crouched down where it stood, lowering to the ground until its legs were crossed and its hands laid down where a person’s knees would be.
“It’s okay, little one.” The voice belonged to a woman. The words did nothing to reassure. Sala knew all the Roamers, from both bands; the woman was not one of them. She could have been from Artistos, but none of them would venture past their barrier, let along this far into Fremont’s wilds.
The woman could only be one of the altereds.
Sala shrank more into herself, pressed harder into the tree, remembering the recent murmurings about camp. Silently, she begged Joram…or someone she knew to hurry.
There was a click and a soft, warm glow lit the woman’s face.
Drawing a sharp breath, Sala straightened.
If anyone had asked her if she’d memories of the altered who fixed her, Sala would have said no, with full confidence. Until this moment, that would have been true, but those eyes…those electric green eyes staring back at her… Startling, but kind. Reassuring, and not for the first time. Sala found it did not matter to her that they were not natural in color.
“Why do you follow us?”
The eyes slowly blinked. The woman remained silent, her expression considering, the way Akashi looked when he carefully chose what words to say.
“To make sure you are well,” the altered answered in a soft, calm tone. “To make sure what we have done still functions properly for you.”
“How do you follow me?” Sala asked, now certain her earlier worry was founded.
The woman blinked again, only faster, as if Sala had startled her, then her eyes lowered slightly. “I am a Wind Reader…one engineered to read the data streams. The tech in your blood, that which repaired you, it speaks to me.”
Sala thought on that, not certain how she felt about their ‘tech’ still being inside her. Surely Papa did not know. He would have been angry. Much more than angry. She prayed he never found out. She couldn’t bear if his look toward her changed any more.
“Does that…” Sala’s voice broke. “Does that make me…altered?”
Compassion softened the woman’s eyes, but hurt shadowed them. “No, little one. No. Still your worries. We only repaired you, like setting a broken bone, or removing a tumor. We did not change you as we have been changed.”
Sala did not know what to say. Or to believe. There was so much she didn’t understand. And so many questions she wanted to ask... Before she could decide on the next, distant cries drew her attention away from the woman, her brother’s voice among them.
Joram! He came, as he promised!
Even as joy and relief bubbled up from her heart, Sala’s muscles knotted with worry. Not for herself, but for her rescuer. She was startled to discover she no longer feared the altered sitting before her. While Sala did not know the woman’s name, she remembered her. Knew at some point the woman had comforted her and cared for her when they had remade her body. When she ventured out this day, she had not realized her new discovery would be a rediscovery. A faint recollection surfaced from the time of her surgery, something the woman had once said, which Sala’s heart had held to fiercely, if not her memory. Different is just different, not wrong. Words that applied as much to Sala herself as to the altered.
Again, Sala heard her name called out, distracting her.
Her expression now wary, the woman rose with an ease Sala envied. Without another word, the altered stooped and picked up the carcass she had made.
“Wait,” Sala called to her, almost whispering, though clearly the searchers were not close enough to hear her. The woman paused, turning to meet her gaze.
“Why…why did you come here?”
“To live free…without conflict.”
Sala was old enough to recognize the wry twist to the woman’s lips, but not old enough yet to know how to respond.
The woman gave Sala a sad smile, then she turned and left, parting the brush as if it were tissue, the pawcat casually draped over her shoulder. Her departure left no sign and made no sound as Joram’s cries drew closer.
It was as if the woman had never been there. It was as if she never would be again.
In seemingly an instant, Sala grew up, and with sadness, she murmured, “I’m sorry.”
For whatever little difference it made, in her heart, Sala knew the woman heard her.