CHAPTER ONE
She was panting heavily, and her muscles felt like they were on fire. Huge gulps of air could not seem to satisfy the huge depletion in her lungs, and the pain in her body, in her legs, in her arms, was almost intolerable, yet she knew that she could not stop, not unless she wanted to be caught by the astronauts and taken back to camp--an option she would not, under any circumstances, let herself consider.
She was in the North Forest; that meant that no one could have followed her unless they had done so on foot. But Earthmen were much more powerful physically than Novacadians--thanks in large part to their stronger gravitational pull, but also to biology.
Novacadians did not need to be strong to survive on their planet--or, at least, they didn't until the Earthmen began arriving.
The fauna was small and sparse, non-ferocious, and besides, Novacadians were vegetarians. It was the flora that was so much larger here than on Earth. A plant resembling a fern could be found to be as tall as a redwood tree here, and trees--strong, thin--were sometimes as tall as the skyscrapers found on Earth.
Humans--most humans, that is--needed their strength to build houses, kill animals, and become attractive to the opposite sex. Novacadians lived in thatched huts. They ate from the many prolific digestible plants growing in the dense forests scattering the continent. And sex--a distinctly human activity--had never been necessary for the Novacadians to reproduce.
Eve swallow the largest gulp of air she could. She had been running for hours. Looking down at her dress, she noticed that the hem was torn and stained with blood.
She closed her large, black, almond-shaped eyes, damning her luck. The last thing she needed was an injury to slow her down. She re-opened them and looked around carefully, and saw the thick mist curling upwards in the warm, damp air. The sounds were those of the tree-dwellers, the small, furry animals that inhabited the forest. Their sounds were like soft moans, interspersed with high-pitched squeals, that echoed within the spaces between the trees.
She examined her wound. She was relieved when she saw that it was no longer bleeding, even though the gash appeared to be somewhat deep. She winced as she touched it, feeling a stab of pain ripping through her long, thin leg.
She wanted to go further, but lack of oxygen to her brain and overworked muscles were making her dizzy. Still panting, she fell to her knees.
In the forests of Novacadia, since the trees were so tall, most of any of the daylight there was was obscured, leaving behind the effect of eternal moonlight, unless it was one of those times when all three suns--Jemiah, Arista, and Focal--were behind the planet. At those times, the forests would always be pitch-black. Eve wished for such a time right now. Her being a native, she knew her way around these parts, knew instinctively where to hide, which direction to run, but the Earthmen did not. In pitch darkness, she would be able to lose them more easily.
But no such luck right now. She had had enough of that when she had managed to escape their camp.
Closing her eyes once more, she focused her mind and called, Papa! Papa!
Her father had been one of those left behind, along with her sisters and brothers, in the hut they called their home. She could only imagine the horrible things the humans were doing to them right now. She prayed feverishly that they were alright, that the astronauts hadn't gotten to them yet.
They called themselves astronauts, and yet they were more like soldiers...savage, unrelenting. Their purpose in the beginning had been to commune with the Novacadians, but their purpose soon changed, when they realized that they could not communicate with these aliens in a way that satisfy them.
...Eve? she heard in her mind. Her heart leapt, speeding up with the knowledge that her father was still alive. A spark of hope filled her heart.
She closed her large eyes once more, centering her thoughts. In her mind she pictured her father's dear face, his kind, knowing eyes, his crinkled skin like creased parchment. Papa, Papa, what are they doing to you? Are you safe?
She heard, with only the clarity of a tin-can telephone connection, his thoughts. Run, Eve. Don't worry about us. You must get as far away as you can. Run.
But Papa, will you die? There was a pause.
I do not know, Eve. What's important is you right now. You are the key that will release us from millenia of imprisonment. You must protect yourself as readily as you can. You must get away.
She clung to his words like a child holding a precious doll. What is happening to you?
They are counting us. Soon they will discover that you are missing. You must cover as much ground as you can before they send out a search party for you and attempt to drag you back to camp. Again I say, don't worry about us. We will be alright. Save yourself. Save yourself from these horrible creatures.
Eve opened her eyes, and in a flash of understanding received a vision--her village, doused in flames, burning to the ground. It was not her own vision but that of her father's--weak and like static. The Earthmen in their suits carrying weapons herding the natives onto their ship, killing all who resisted.
Hold tight, Papa. Don't let go.
Before she had left, the Novacadians were confined to their houses. Powerful force fields were set in place, over the doors and windows so that they could not leave. They were prisoners in their own homes by night, slaves by day. Eve could not have stayed and let these monsters degrade her in this way any further, could not sit idly by and wait for them to lead her to slaughter.
They should not have been slaves to these physically superior beings. That would have been foolishness. But the Novacadians were far superior to Earthmen in a way that they passionately coveted--intellectually.
But to burn their village to the ground? What did these humans want with us? she wondered, speaking to no one in particular. They have our dignity, they have our intellect, what more could they ask for?
Anthony Harding peered at a reproduction of a Picasso painting which was hanging on his wall. It was chipped on the corners, and the paint was fading. Terrible reproduction.
Beside it hung the crucifix that his Catholic parents had left him before they had died. Anthony gingerly took it off the wall and laid it face-down on the table. He had never bought into their theology and now was certainly not a time to start.
He'd been up all night, worrying about the upcoming mission to Novacadia. They were supposed to leave tomorrow, provided the ship passed all its tests.
In all honesty, Anthony didn't know what to expect. He knew that ten years ago, when the astronauts first landed on Novacadia, the Novacadians were the first extra-terrestrial intelligent life ever to be discovered. Worldwide rejoicing ensued. He knew that, initially, the planet had been scoped out as a potential colony for humans--an alternate home for a planet that was rapidly heating up, rapidly becoming an unsuitable habitat for its living beings. The people of the world rejoiced, not only because the first discovery of intelligent life had been made, but also because they knew that in time, if need be, people could migrate to this new, temperate planet.
But if he were truthful with himself, he would admit that that wasn't the real reason he was up until insane hours of the morning, pacing in his apartment, rapidly going over notes.
It was Kate. For some reason, last night all he could think about was Kate, and their life together.
Five years ago she had been the shining presence in his life, the one happiness that seemed to bring meaning to his otherwise dull existence. She had been his wife, his lover, his friend, and one evening, without warning, she had been ripped away from him and from his life forever.
His car was old. Kate had been teasing him for months to break down and buy a new one--after all, he had the cash, didn't he?
It was an '08 Corolla and it served the basic purpose of transporting him to and from work. Besides, he loved that old thing. The new cars were faster and more fuel-efficient, but you couldn't gun the engine like you could the '08. And even though its safety features were behind the times, Anthony didn't see the risk in driving a vehicle that barely passed its inspection.
They were going out to dinner, going to meet her parents at a Japanese restaurant in downtown Chicago near where they lived. Kate was dressed in a lavender silk dress with spaghetti straps and rhinestones. She looked absolutely charming in it. He remembered eyeing her bare, shapely legs--all her pantyhose had been ripped or runned or potato'ed, and admiring them as they drove on the freeway towards the city at lightning speeds. Her earlobes were adorned with the diamond studs he'd gotten her for Christmas, and her golden-brown hair was waved, resting lightly on top of her shoulders.
Traffic was heavy, but moving swiftly. The speed limit was one-seventy, but most drivers were travelling at a swift two-hundred. Anthony chose to keep up with the pace, rather than snail it.
He looked over at her and she was touching up her makeup with a compact. He smiled, thinking in that moment how much he loved having someone ride next to him in his car. How much he loved having her in his life; how much he loved her.
It was late in Autumn, and the skies were already dark. Anthony glanced back at the traffic, not seeing anything unusual. The lights that dotted the highway zoomed by, and everything looked just right.
But a drunk driver appeared out of nowhere. Travelling at high speeds, the car in front of theirs swerved from side to side, in and out of their lane several times. Anthony picked up his phone to call this jerk in.
Kate placed a hand over his. "Don't," she said.
"But he'll cause an accident."
She sighed. "He'll be in jail for life, what with the regulations these days. Just let the poor man go. He's not swerving all that much."
Anthony couldn't believe what his wife was saying, but he decided not to call the authorities anyway. But he kept a hawk's eye on the man in front of him, just in case.
But this proved to be his downfall. Not looking to his left, where the oncoming traffic was, he was unable to swerve to the right to avoid the truck that had crossed over the median.
It was all over in a split second. The head-on collision had sent their car into a tailspin, making it perpendicular with the traffic coming west, passenger's side vulnerable. Another collision, this one side-on, threw the car straight with traffic again, but not before a fourth car rear-ended them. When it was all over, six cars had been involved in the crash, and only one lane out of five was clear.
Anthony struggled to regain consciousness. All the air had been knocked out of him when the airbag inflated, and his head pounded.
As he came into realization, he looked over at his right. Kate!
She was covered in blood. Her eyes were closed, looked like they were clamped shut. Anthony smoothed back her hair, shaking her. "Kate! Kate!" But she was lifeless.
He remembered screaming. He remembered scrambling for his phone. He remembered the ambulances coming, what seemed like years later, to pick up the body and transport the injured to the nearby hospital.
They admitted him to the trauma ward overnight to observe him.
But he had emerged from the crash essentially without a scratch on him. Like a dream, it was all over in an instant.
Now, in his bedroom, he remembered how much Kate had admired that Picasso painting, how she'd picked it up at a yard sale, cheap as it was.
A call came in. General Redding. He flipped up his console and peered at the man's face.
"Sir?"
"I hope you're ready for the mission tomorrow."
"Yes, sir."
"Get any sleep?"
"Actually, no. I was just going over some notes, and it took more time than I expected."
"Well, I advise you to try and sleep before reporting for duty at 0800 hours tomorrow."
"But I'm not tired," he protested.
"It's an order, not a suggestion," the general replied.
"Yes, sir," said Anthony. He closed the console, slipped out of his pants and crawled between the covers on his bed, then turned out the lights.