Chapter Forty-Five

HOPE, THOUGH, WAS the losing bet. And here, too, the professor played an unwitting role.

Part of his efforts to reshape Kepler-186f in his image involved the construction of a solar generator. Gat had advised, particularly with the cannibals on the move, that we stick to the trees until spring.

The professor insisted his work couldn’t wait at all, much less for spring. And when he could persuade no one else of the fact, he took matters into his own hands. More than a few times, this involved descending to the surface to scrounge electronics and solar panels from the Genesis. He would find what he needed and lug it bit by bit back to his workshop. Then, finding that he needed some new part or some supplementary piece, he would return.

It was dangerous, as it left him exposed, sometimes for hours at a time, as he hammered and pried and cursed at stubborn portions of the ship.

And, eventually, his luck ran out.

Kayleigh and I had the first hint of trouble when Quess burst into our home. We’d sat down to lunch, and though it wasn’t unusual for him to show up at this hour, the urgency in his manner and the fevered pitch of his words certainly were.

“Calm down, Quess,” Kayleigh urged. “Slowly.”

“Professor Carter,” he hissed breathlessly. “They’ve got Professor Carter.” The professor insisted on being addressed by the Keplerites either as Professor or Dr. Carter, and it was a token of the success of his campaign that even in a moment of such desperation, Quess stuck to formalities.

“Carter?” Kayleigh was on her feet. “Who has Professor Carter?”

“Lava Dwellers. And Matt. He tried to save him, but they got him too.”

Again, Kayleigh had to pry a coherent version of the tale from the boy. Carter, he told us, had been on one of his foraging missions to the Genesis. His assistant, Will—one of the Keplerites he tolerated well enough to enlist into personal service—had accompanied him to the edge of the forest but had refused to go down with him. This was not uncommon as the Keplerites were united in their terror of descending.

At any rate, while Will watched, a band of cannibals stumbled across the professor. The professor put up a fight—a valiant fight, if Will was to be believed—but the cannibals overpowered him.

The Keplerite, on seeing this, took to his heels to find aid. Matt had been on patrol in the vicinity and answered the call. Will watched terror-struck as the cannibals took him too. Then he fled to spread the bad news to everyone he encountered.

Quess, having picked up on this tale, brought it immediately to me. And Kayleigh and I, in turn, knew to seek out Caspersen.

Caspersen had already been apprised of the situation though. We learned this when we reached Gat’s residence because the pair of them were halfway through a heated exchange behind closed doors.

We waited outside the room, catching only snippets and phrases. The general gist we knew well enough: she wanted to take action, and he did not. Russell and Connor joined us in a minute, and shortly after, Granges and Cohen. The civilians from our crew streamed in, one at a time, until we had all gathered, waiting anxiously.

It seemed to me we were wasting precious time arguing over what to do. It had been one thing to leave the cannibals to their own devices when they were no real danger to us. But now, surely, matters had changed. The longer we debated the obvious, the greater the danger to the captives and the smaller our chances of reaching the kidnappers before they reunited with reinforcements.

The pause gave me time to consider the situation, and my conclusions were not good. The cannibals had gone to lengths to capture both Matt and the professor alive. That didn’t—couldn’t—bode well. If food had been their only objective, killing them would have simplified that. But according to Will’s account, both men had fought with the courage of ten and dealt serious damage to their attackers. Discounting the influence of the young man’s hero worship, I figured there still had to be a modicum of truth in there: the cannibals had taken damage in order to take the pair alive.

Then there was the business of transporting two uncooperative captives back to camp. Why go through that unnecessary trouble for a meal?

I could draw only one conclusion. The cannibals didn’t mean to eat them. Not right away anyway. My blood ran cold at the thought.

They’d lost their civilization, their homes, most of their friends and family. And now they’d gotten their hands on two of the people responsible. Of course they didn’t mean to kill them right away.

The door opened a few minutes later, and Caspersen and Gat emerged. We knew at a glance that neither had budged. Caspersen headed to her bunk, where she kept her gear.

“What are we doing?” I asked.

“I’m going after the cannibals,” she returned. “I’m not leaving my crew to be tortured and killed. Our best chance of getting them back is if we can hit the raiders before they get back to base.”

“Wait, alone?”

“Apparently.”

“It’s a suicide plan.” Gat shook his head. “They are already gone. No one comes back alive from the Lava Dwellers.”

Caspersen held his gaze evenly. “Nor will they ever, if fear paralyzes their friends into inaction.”

“If you’re going, I’ll go with you,” Connor volunteered.

“Me too,” Russell put in.

“You can’t be serious.” I frowned. “They’ve got the head start. We’ll never reach them in time. We don’t stand a chance by ourselves.”

Caspersen nodded. “Probably not. But I won’t leave them. I don’t ask anyone to come because we probably won’t make it out alive.” She clapped me on the shoulder, her eyes meeting mine. “But semper fi? They’re not just words to me, Nikkole. I can’t leave them.”

And with that, she turned. Connor and Russell followed her, and then Cohen, and finally Granges. I stood rooted in place. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to get my own gear and follow them. It was what I was here for; it was why they’d sent people like me in the first place. And I owed it to Caspersen and the rest of the crew. Hell, I even owed it to Matt and the professor.

But how could I tell Kayleigh I was going to leave her, now, for a doomed rescue mission? I was a soldier, yet the need for soldiering had passed, or so we’d thought. We’d built our castles in the sky together with that understanding. It would be one thing if we had a hope of success. It would be one thing if the warriors of the Nation meant to join us. But our band, alone?

I nearly jumped when I felt her squeeze my hand. Her gaze rested on my face, and there was a sheen of moisture in her eyes. She knew, or at least had some understanding, of what was going through my head.

“Kayleigh,” I said, “I need to…”

“I know, Nik.”

“You should not go, Captain,” Gat declared. “They are going to their deaths. You should not join them. You have much to live for and no reason to die for nothing.”

“They don’t have to go to their deaths,” Kayleigh piped up, responding before I had the opportunity. “If they weren’t going alone—”

Gat brushed this aside. “Believe me, Kayleigh, I have heard these arguments from your Captain Caspersen. She makes a passionate plea with her words of courage and honor and duty. But my duty is to protect my people. And they are safe here.”

“They are not safe, Gat. They are not free. Their illusory safety is bought by living in constant fear. They’re safe only as long as they are prisoners in these trees.”

He shook his head. “I know it is not the way of your people. But for three thousand years, we have been safe in the trees.”

“For three thousand years, you have been preyed on, slaughtered like livestock. But this is the moment your ancestor Captain Sanders wrote about. The moment he predicted, three thousand years ago, when his descendants would have the chance to right the wrongs of their predecessors.”

Gat still shook his head but with less vigor now. I had the impression the mention of his ancestor gave him pause.

Kayleigh went on. “For three thousand years, Gat, the Nation has waited. For three thousand years, you’ve been confined to the trees for fear of death and worse. And now, you have the power to change that. You have the power to ensure that your sons, and your sons’ sons, don’t live in that fear. David Sanders knew that day would come. But it means nothing if you can’t act.”

In the end, it was Kayleigh and David Sanders who persuaded Gat to act. He wouldn’t launch an offensive against the cannibals. On that score, he remained adamant. But he would help us recover our kidnapped friends.

It wasn’t what Caspersen had been pushing for, but it was a hell of a lot better than nothing.

So the call went out, and in half an hour, a few hundred warriors had assembled. Caspersen waited impatiently, but finally, we set off.

I had a rifle and sidearm—Death, of course. The others in our group had been similarly outfitted. Gat’s men carried spears, blades, bows, and slings. Together, we made quite the eclectic group.

Caspersen set the pace, and it was necessarily brutal. The cannibals had a head start of some hours on us already. Our only real hope of catching them was the Nation’s timid reputation. For many long years, captives had been abandoned to their fate. There had never been a reason for a raiding party to flee. We’d seen that ourselves in our own encounter with them en route to the Genesis.

But that was then. Since then, the cannibals had lost two successive encounters, first at the ship and then in the mountains. Their tactics might well have shifted in light of those events.

Caspersen wanted to travel along the forest floor, as we could make our way more directly without relying on treetop passes. The warriors of the Nation blanched at the suggestion until Gat reminded them we were headed for the ground anyway, whether we began here or at the ship.

Their fear as we descended hit me with a visceral force. I hated seeing my fellow human beings so terrified of the surface. Their eyes darted this way and that, and they walked as they might on a field of eggshells. But, to their credit, they walked anyway, and we only lost a few of our number in the process. Some, I guessed, couldn’t bring themselves to do it, so melted back into the trees while no one was watching.

We made good time, like Caspersen said we would, and found the tracks just as dusk started to set in. They were impossible to miss as they crisscrossed all around the end of the ship. I counted a good twenty distinct sets of prints and possibly more. I saw plenty of evidence of a scuffle, too, and a trail of blood that aligned with a pair of boot prints. The professor. A second set of boot marks also followed the row of prints.

Matt. The strides for that second set were long, as if he’d been running. We followed suit, racing along the forest floor. Eventually, Matt’s prints met with the soft markings of the cannibals’ leather wraps. We found evidence of a new fight, with prints crossing and recrossing one another, and a few spent shell casings. And more blood—a lot of blood.

“There’s no bodies,” Granges said. “Matt’s a pretty good shot—he should have got a few hits in anyway.”

“Here,” Caspersen said, pointing to a long patch of ground that ran with blood and scuff marks. “They dragged something this way. Probably whoever Matt shot.”

“Meat is meat.” Connor grimaced. “Fucking animals.”

Caspersen glanced up. “We can’t lose sight of the trail. We’re going to need to light lanterns.”

This we did and proceeded. We traveled all night. Once or twice, where the ground was too solid to capture imprints of passing feet, we had to double back and find our path anew. We stopped only for short pauses to catch our breath before pushing on again. Fatigue and activity were the constants of the night.

An hour or so before dawn, we found evidence of a makeshift camp, now abandoned. Their purpose seemed to have been taking a breather rather than sleeping. We found the imprints of only three bodies in the dirt. Next to these patches, we found marks of movement, scuffs in the dirt, and a half boot print. Boot prints led away from them, deeper into the forest. That meant Matt and the professor had left the encampment alive.

Not all that we gleaned was good though. We found a lot of blood—primarily in the third impression, where the presumably dead body had lain. But we found some where our crew had been thrown too.

We made a second grisly find as well, which further explained the cannibal’s rest: a pile of freshly cleaned and gnawed bones. They seemed to be mostly leg bones. I saw femurs, tibias, fibulas, and even a knobby patella, still covered in stringy tissue and bleeding strands of ligament. Where the other leg might be, or the person to whom it had once belonged, I neither knew, nor cared to discover.

Connor pointed to some of the deep gouges in the bone and grunted. “Knife marks. Hungry sons of bitches.”

The sight mortified our Keplerite companions even more than the rest of us, and it took a few minutes of persuasion to convince them to continue. Caspersen, I could tell, found this a difficult task. She was, as ever, tight-lipped about what she was feeling, but she was a Marine. If she ran when she got scared, it was straight into battle. Not back to safety.

Gat played an instrumental role here. He seemed either inspired or shamed by Caspersen’s unruffled determination, in turn demanding support from his own men and women. And they listened to him where they hadn’t listened to her. So before too long, we set out again.