Chapter Thirty-Eight

CAPTAIN SANDERS’S LOG continued to detail the construction of the early version of the City among the trees. The settlers constructed a number of primitive shelters and stockpiled a great store of pine nuts for the winter.

After a while, the occasional appearance of Alcorn’s band ended. The crew again began to hope that their rebel compatriots had moved on to some other area, intent on making a settlement of their own.

There was also a note of personal good news for the captain when Dr. Singh and he learned they were expecting their first child.

All of these revelations were dwarfed by a series of entries near the start of the second winter.

Assault on the Genesis today. We took civilian casualties.

Alcorn’s band struck after sunset. They hit the ship. Looked like a goddamn bunch of skeletons, like Alcorn has them starving.

They must have been looking for supplies, but we’d shifted almost everything to the trees already. They found some of the crew, who hadn’t made the transition yet, and there was fighting. Some escaped; some were killed.

We managed to get most of our people into the trees, but those who were abed when Alcorn hit were killed. Fucking animal. He’s set up base in the ship. Can hear them ransacking it, looking for supplies.

We’re waiting for them to emerge. I’m going to try diplomacy a second time. They are starving and desperate. They’ve seen what Alcorn’s leadership has done to them. They may be willing to turn him over and surrender. I will reunite the crew, if I can.

But my primary focus is—must be—on preserving the mission. Warren wants to lead a counterattack. If they will not surrender, I will let him.

The next few days detailed their attempts to communicate with Alcorn’s crew and the lack of response from the ship.

It’s been three days now. I cannot believe the scraps of food they would have discovered were enough to sustain them. Still, they haven’t so much as poked their heads out yet. We hear them partying all night, hollering and laughing as if intoxicated, and see the light from fires through the windows. But they don’t come out.

I’m going with Warren to one of his lookouts later tonight. It’ll require getting across a number of trees, but it should position us near the nose of the ship—more or less directly over the bridge, which is where most of the light and noise is coming from.

Update

My God. What things I have seen tonight.

Cannibalism.

My hand trembles to write the word. But there it is. Alcorn, his crew: cannibals!

Warren led us through the trees, high overhead along the perimeter of the crater until we reached one of his lookouts. He had a platform from which he let down a ladder, and we climbed down until we had a more or less clear view of the bridge.

At first, I thought I saw meat of some sort—great chunks of meat roasting over fires, shared by Alcorn and his people.

But this was human flesh—slabs of human flesh, cut from human bodies. Arms and legs suspended over fire pits, roasting away. Human flesh being devoured.

And it was not only Alcorn who was eating. Men and women—men and women beside whom, a few short months ago, I had threshed wheat and planted crops—were devouring their fellow man.

I had seen enough at once, but Warren stayed some time longer, taking a measure of their arms, and their state of alertness, and so on.

Now we are back.

Warren is leading a counterattack tonight. I have cleared it. He thinks he will take them by surprise, while they are yet passed out and sleeping.

The next entry was undated but written in a shaky hand. It read:

Massacre. I have sanctioned a massacre.

Warren led a dozen men into the ship and killed…so many. Those who were not killed fled to the woods. Alcorn was with them. He has the devil’s own luck, I think.

Warren went after them. I have ordered everyone else to remain in the trees. This morning, we had a terrible downpour, and now it has frozen over. Already the weather is colder this year than it was last. It may be that all of Warren’s efforts were for naught after all.

Here, the tale broke off, and there were no further journal entries detailing the winter. The next note was dated as follows, and said:

Spring

We have survived the winter with few casualties. Dr. Bueller lost his footing and fell to his death; we lost Pachis and Star to ill health. Too, Sergeant Warren and his band never returned.

But it has not been only Death that has visited us this winter. Ivers delivered a healthy baby boy. Named Richard, after his father. Garrison and Eaton’s child is healthy as well, and Bedford delivered twins, a boy and a girl. Rose Trevers miscarried but will conceive again.

And soon, Dr. Harris tells us, Rupu and I will welcome our own child into this world. These children are the first real generation of Kepler-186f.

We have spotted the cannibals, now and again, skulking into and from the ship. But it seems to me that here, among the trees, we are safe. Alcorn cannot reach us without our knowledge, and we have little need to be below and none on a permanent basis.

Here, we are safe. And perhaps, in time, our children, these new Keplerites, will right the mistakes their parents have made.

Here the log ended, and the pages that followed were empty. As I understood it, there were other books that picked up the tale some years later—Captain Sanders had, apparently, resumed the practice of keeping a journal during his later life. But this gave us the general idea, and in combination with Gat’s histories, we understood that Alcorn’s band had been the predecessors to the cannibals we met earlier, just as Sanders’s people had become the Nation.

The revelation that men and women we had known, had trained beside and flown with through deep space, had descended into cannibalism and butchery was more than a little disconcerting.

But no one seemed to have time to linger on the surrealism of it as we were plunged forthwith into our new world.

The people of the Nation regarded us with a measure of respect bordering on awe. Our defense of the ship had won us that from the beginning, but as word spread that we were from the original crew of the Genesis, friends to their ancestors, their goodwill only multiplied. It didn’t even matter if, for all intents and purposes, we spoke distinct languages and could barely communicate. They were happy to make our acquaintances at all. Of particular interest were our pronunciations. It never failed to amuse when we’d say some shared word in the manner of our own time.

Caspersen occupied herself with understanding the layout of the City, learning all she could about the cannibals, and so on. Kayleigh, Michelle, Kim, and the rest of the scientists seemed in both high demand and perpetually busy. Their scientific knowledge made them useful to everyone, and the world was so full of wonders it kept them ever occupied. Kayleigh and Caspersen were intent on learning to speak the Keplerite version of English and teaching it to the rest of us.

The excitement of the first few days wore down, and I was left with less and less to occupy my time. I could have thrown myself into the business of discovery as Granges and some of the others did. But it occurred to me that, here, I was little more than a fish out of water. I’d trained in any number of skills. I could operate most weapons of my era with precision. But none of that was applicable here. With our ammo stores running as low as they were, it wouldn’t be long before we were completely out; and without ammo, it wouldn’t matter how accurate a shot I was.

I was joined in this manner of reflection by none other than the professor. Being a computer expert in a world without computers apparently had the same appeal as being a soldier in a world without soldiering. It certainly wasn’t the life he’d envisioned for himself.

So, in perhaps one of the strangest turn of events thus far, our mutual disappointment morphed into a sort of camaraderie. It was slow going at first. I’d spend my days wandering the midair realm, finding some secluded spot to observe the vast, sad planet that had become my new home. Somehow, the professor caught wind of these excursions and took it upon himself to join me.

It struck me he was a strange creature, solitary and cantankerous, but simultaneously desirous of human companionship. That need, in turn, irked him very much. So we spent more than a few days in near silence, sighing into the endless expanse of trees.

It didn’t prove weirder than finding out our crew picked eating one another over farming. But it definitely ranked up there on the weirdness scale. Especially when he started to take me into his confidences.

“Civilized people,” he opined one afternoon, interrupting a perfectly serviceable silence to strike up conversation. “You and I, despite your profession—we are civilized people. Granted, you’re a bit bloodier than myself. But you do not kill the way these Keplerites do. I imagine you’ve never eaten anyone?”

I couldn’t tell if he wanted an answer, but when he paused in an expectant way, I ventured, “None?”

“Exactly so. We’re civilized people—you a woman of war and me a man of learning. And now…now what are we become, eh? What good is my brain, all those years of learning, all this brilliance, now? Among such…” His face wrinkled and he gesticulated vainly. “Such…ignorant, primitive men as these.”

I chose to ignore the unabashed way in which he lavished praise on himself, saying instead, “It’s a different world.”

“I might have transformed it. We might have, people like you and me, working together. But that future is gone. Now, we who are educated, skilled…we are of no use… Now, we wait to die, among the embers of humanity.” He sighed and fell silent for a long moment. “I was made for the opportunity we had, you know. I was perfect for it. I didn’t waste my life building up the relationships and commitments that would have tied other men down. I spent my time learning, so I was free to leave when the call came. It felt like destiny, like what I’d been training for all my life, though I hadn’t even known it.

“And now it’s gone. My learning, my work…it means nothing here. We’re outdated tech. Obsolete hardware.”

When he wasn’t focused on his own sorry plight, the professor shared his thoughts on the rest of the crew. They were rarely pleasant. The engineers in particular seemed to have stirred a deep irritation in the professor’s breast.

I concluded after a few rants that his dislike sprang from the fact that they had achieved somewhat of a celebrated status among the Keplerites. Tales of the weapons they had created, weapons that could turn men to ice, spread far and wide among the Nation. Only adding to their fame, the other men’s penchant for improving systems had already been put to good use. Before we could communicate in more than monosyllables and grunts, they had rigged up an elevator in the center of the City, near Gat’s house. Beyond the practical advantages—speed of ascent and descent—the novelty thrilled our hosts.

All of this, in turn, disgusted the professor, who saw their rise in popularity as a mark of the Keplerites’ intellectual poverty.

“Well, we may be wasted people, but at least Ted has found his calling. Twining together twigs among the trees. And Rick and Don are equally happy swinging through the branches.” He added simian hooting by way of emphasizing his point.

When, after a few weeks, he got wind of a budding attraction between one of the Keplerite women and Dr. Lee, he was beside himself, as much from amusement as revulsion. “Well, that actually makes sense. Don’s an engineer, after all. His best chance of getting laid would be traveling through time and chancing on a woman who couldn’t understand a word he said.”

Unsurprisingly, chatting with the professor rarely improved my outlook. For those brief moments of reprieve, I looked rather to Kayleigh and, more by the boy’s choosing than mine, Quess.

As to the former, Kayleigh’s work kept her busy most of the time. But for some reason, she seemed to set her evenings aside for me. Thus, I kept abreast of her progress in mapping the language. Not only kept abreast, but quizzed regularly as she was determined the entire crew should master this new form of English.

It was hell to speak. My early impressions proved true: hard sounds had become a thing of the past. The exception to this regarded proper names, which, oddly enough, often began with some sort of hard consonant. The change was more fundamental than this, though; the entire way of speaking had shifted. Individual sounds were less distinct and more fluid. Minute variances in intonation and pitch transformed the meaning of a word or phrase. Guttural utterances made way for high, musical tones.

Kayleigh had plenty of ideas as to why the language might have evolved in this fashion. The difference in oxygen levels between Earth and our new world, she theorized, would have made every breath precious. Consequently, pronunciations that would have expelled more air than necessary would have been softened, to ease the oxygen burden. In time, the spoken language would have become what it was now.

I didn’t care as much about the whys as she did. I only knew I hated the strain on my vocal cords and hated the feeling of singing all day long. Still, she kept at teaching me, and in time, I understood it well enough to communicate with our hosts. No one ever would have accused me of being proficient, but at least they could understand me, and I could understand them.

Kayleigh found more than language to concern her though. She was particularly interested in the evolution of the human lungs. Unlike us, the Keplerites did not wear or need masks. Indeed, they had initially expressed some surprise and consternation at seeing us don them, this apparently being too like the skin walkers for their comfort. While Captain Sanders’s journals mentioned the struggles of his crew to adapt to the new environment, later generations of humanity had obviously overcome this difficulty.

“I tried to ask Marge if they do autopsies here,” Kayleigh explained rather dejectedly one evening after dinner. “I’d love to see what the lungs look like now. But she had no idea what I was talking about.”

I heard much of Marge too. Kayleigh was consistently in awe of how much medical knowledge the herbalists had retained from Earth days and how much they’d adapted their practice to Kepler-186f. In turn, her own learning seemed to have made quite the impression on our hosts. I didn’t realize how great until she showed up one night wearing the same type of purple-and-white tunic Marge wore.

It was downright disconcerting to see her dressed as one of them. Not because the clothes were ill-fitting or unpleasant on her. On the contrary, it was a good look, and she wore them well. It struck me though, with a measure almost of pain, to see how quickly, how easily, she had adapted.

Learning how she’d come to acquire those curious garments did little to improve matters. Marge had recommended her to Gat as an herbalist, which was, among the Keplerites, a high honor reserved only to a few and generally after many years of apprenticeship and study. The distinctive robes could be worn only by one who had been recognized by the Nation, on the recommendation of another herbalist. Kayleigh’s wealth of knowledge and eagerness to learn had earned her this.

I was happy for her, deeply happy, and yet profoundly sad for myself. My conversations with the professor returned to the forefront of my mind, and I thought once again of how obsolete we had become. Before, I’d had a role in our survival, in our crew’s well-being. Now, I was on the sidelines. Where before the crew had relied on me and the rest of the military, we were, at best, laborers now. I’d become what Matt had started out as. And I had never envisioned a life on Kepler-186f like that. Seeing Kayleigh look so settled, so happy, I saw my own listlessness reflected back at me.

Somehow, though, she didn’t seem to see it. I never had the impression I was useless or obsolete in her eyes, no matter how I looked to my own or the professor’s. She would solicit my opinion on matters far beyond my realm of expertise as if she trusted my advice in general. Since we’d been encouraged not to descend alone, she would bring me along as her bodyguard when she needed to make an excursion to the world below for some root or food-gathering exercise. Those were the moments when I felt most at home on our new planet—when my feet were planted on the earth with Kayleigh at my side, and I had purpose.

And in the absence of those moments, I anticipated my daily chats with her. They were my chief source of joy in those days.

The boy, Quess, brought a more persistent though less pronounced measure of happiness to my new life. He, like the professor, had picked up on my daily outings. Most of the rest of the crew were generally too busy, and the professor was far too unapproachable to be bothered.

But Quess had something of the instincts of a seasoned predator, honing in on vulnerability. And, seeing that I had neither the occupations of the others nor the ill temper of the professor, he went in for the kill.

Not that I minded, really. Day after day, week after week, he followed me, chattering away. It didn’t seem to bother him that I had no idea what he was saying.

As my comprehension of the language grew, he started expecting answers. More than once, I slipped into my familiar habit of ignoring him only to be prodded out of my thoughts by an impatient query. It annoyed me at first, but in a while, I came to appreciate his conversation, persistent though it was.

Earth fascinated the boy, and he pried out every detail of my life there. The technology, in particular, he regarded with a measure of awe bordering on worship. To him, the notion of cars and airplanes seemed a hair away from magic.

In time, I learned something about Quess as well. He’d been orphaned young after both parents fell in separate raids to the cannibals. Since then, he’d been a ward of the Nation, beholden like ourselves to Gat for his home and provender. It was the custom of the Nation to provide for those who found themselves destitute until such time as they could fend for themselves. It seemed to be a kind of tax, levied against goods and labor rather than currency.

In our own case, those of us without specific skills useful to the Nation were drafted now and again into the labor crews to build homes, repair infrastructure, etc. In the child’s case, his assignment was pursuing his education—an occupation from which I became rather a distraction. In time, he would choose either an apprenticeship or, like many others, join the general labor force. I feared if he kept neglecting his studies to trail the Earthlings, the choice of that path would be made for him.

Which did not reflect at all on his intelligence or aptitude. As far as I could tell, Quess had a sharp mind and a gift for numbers. He followed the work of the engineering team with rapt interest and seemed to understand a good deal of it. He could calculate the velocity of the elevator’s descent, what limits had to be put in place to prevent untimely demises, and so on—and all at the drop of a hat. Like many of his peers in the City, his knowledge of arithmetic seemed gleaned from practical application and lessons given with practical application in mind.

But, for all his natural ability, Quess preferred to listen to stories about old Earth rather than studying. Here, the professor’s particular brand of brutal bluntness did a good turn. I suspected the boy’s unscholarly habits had less to do with the lecture than the fact that he’d spoken rather too admiringly about the engineers in the professor’s presence.

“For the love of God, can’t I get a moment’s peace and quiet? You want to talk about rockets and airplanes. Well, who do you think built them? You think it was people like you, who sat around and talked all day? You think they’d ever have gotten off the ground if they did that? No. Mankind never would’ve left its caves if we acted like you.

“You talk about wanting to fly…well, at the rate you’re going, the closest you’re ever going to get to flight is falling out of a damned tree.”

Not exactly positive reinforcement, but it seemed to do the trick. Two tricks, in fact. I was thankful for the first; it convinced Quess to reapply himself to his studies. The second pleased the professor; it convinced the boy to give him a wide berth moving forward.