Chapter 12 #2
I felt, more than saw, Vikkat’s gaze shift from Torven to me, and when I stepped to the side of Torven, I saw curiosity light in Vikkat’s shifting eyes. “You are not of same people. Different origins.”
My scientific excitement overrode my caution. This was a first-contact situation, possibly with a lost branch of Destran evolution, and I was not going to miss the opportunity to learn everything I could.
“I’m human,” I said. “My name is Zara, a female from the planet Earth. We’re here on a mission to see if this planet is the original home world of the Destran people.
” I gestured to Torven, almost like showing off a new transport vehicle at a show.
It wasn’t the effect I was going for, but I barreled on.
“I can’t help but notice the linguistic similarities, the physiological markers that make it very likely that your two species are at least distantly related—this is incredible! ”
Vikkat blinked. His expression shifted to something that might have been amusement. “Female speaks with much energy. You know of us, the D’tran people?”
“That’s what your species is called?” Oh, now we were getting somewhere.
“I’m not a phylogenist, rather my specialty is in atmospheric science, but I’m aware of theories about divergent evolution among Destran populations,” I said, my words tumbling over each other in my excitement.
“But I never imagined we’d encounter evidence of—”
“Rivers,” Torven said. “Stop.”
But Vikkat seemed more interested than offended, though he shook his head. Holding up a hand, he said, “Too fast. Many words.” But then he stepped closer and studied both of us with clear fascination. When his gaze fell on Torven’s neck, something changed in his expression.
“You bear sarak-ta markings,” he said, pointing to the mating marks. “Traveler signs. One who changes path. Journeys long before coming home to nest with mate.”
My mouth fell open. “You can read them? The marks?”
In response, he pulled up one long sleeve. Intricate markings covered his inner forearm with patterns similar to Torven’s mating marks, but far more extensive. “All D’tran read the old language. Yours is clear.” His brow furrowed. “Looks new.”
“It is new,” Torven said with a rough voice. “For a Destran, these marks only appear when we come in contact with our true mate.”
Vikkat nodded in my direction. “This female yours?”
Torven nodded. “Mine.”
I rolled my eyes, having no patience for posturing when there was a far more important thing happening. “Do you know where these marks came from?” I asked. “What is their origin?”
Vikkat gave a deep sigh and crossed his arms. “Marked into our blood by oppressors. Long, many suns ago. Used to sort us. Control us. We learned to read what they wrote in us.”
I felt like my brain was about to explode with the implications.
The mating marks weren’t just biological phenomena—they were some kind of ancient technological language embedded in the genetics of both of these peoples.
This was bigger than evolutionary divergence.
This was evidence of outside interference in the development of an entire species.
“Who were the oppressors?” I asked, barely able to contain my excitement. “What did they want? How long ago did this happen?”
Vikkat shrugged one shoulder. “Generations. Thousands. No memory. Just story.”
Before I could ask another question, Torven slowly bent down and placed the metal piece on the floor. “Thank you, Vikkat,” he said, standing up and showing his empty hands. “We mean no harm here. We would like to find our people and go home. Do you know where our crew is located?”
Vikkat shook his head. “No. Other regions. Other D’tran territory.”
“The tower we’re in,” I said, ignoring Torven’s warning growl. “What do you know about it?”
“Weather control station. One of many. All connected.” Vikkat’s expression darkened. “Sky-stealers built towers. Made weather weapons. Turned our world into death place.”
“The Kythrans,” Torven said grimly. “You know about them?”
“Know? We hunt them. Search everywhere. Most dead now. But towers still work. Still poison sky. Still kill land.” Vikkat’s frustration was evident in the harsh edge to his voice. “We try everything. Cannot stop machines. Make worse when we try.”
“Why do you think that is?” I asked, though I suspected I already knew the answer.
“Need Kythran blood markers. Genetic keys. We have none. Machines ignore D’tran commands.”
That confirmed what we’d already suspected from Explorer Thex-Nol’s data, but also told us that the weather control system was biometrically locked to prevent tampering by anyone without Kythran DNA.
“We found records about the towers,” Torven said. “The Kythrans—the sky-stealers—lost control of their own system. It’s been malfunctioning for decades, maybe centuries.”
Vikkat’s eyes flashed. “You have information about sky-stealer machines?”
“Yes,” I said. “But even with this knowledge, we haven’t been able to shut down the storms. Everything is locked.”
The other D’tran had remained silent during our conversation, but I could see them listening intently. There were two who appeared slightly smaller than the rest, but were still formidably built. The swell of what could be breasts made me wonder if they were females.
“What are you doing here?” Torven asked. “Besides hunting Kythrans?”
“Survival. Same as you.” Vikkat gestured to his companions. “We live in fortress. Safe from poison air. Safe from weather storms. When we detected ship crash, hoped to find sky-stealers. Instead find…” He cocked his head and paused, as if searching for words. “Find lost family.”
The way he said it sent chills down my spine. Family. These people saw Destrans as family, separated by time and distance and the catastrophic manipulation of their genetics by an alien species.
“Your people,” I said slowly. “How many of you are there?”
“Few thousand in fortress. More scattered in other places. Most died when sky-stealers made world poison.” His expression was grim. “We endure. We survive. We wait for chance to stop towers and clean sky.”
I looked at Torven, seeing my own thoughts reflected in his expression. We were talking about the remnants of an entire civilization, survivors of what amounted to planetary genocide. And they’d been fighting alone against impossible odds for longer than either of us could imagine.
Vikkat’s expression turned speculative. “You said you have information. What kind?”
Torven and I exchanged glances. We were about to reveal everything we’d learned to people we’d known for less than an hour. But what choice did we have? If the D’tran were really our best hope of understanding and possibly stopping the weather control system, we needed to establish trust.
“We found the personal logs of another crash survivor,” Torven said. “Someone who translated some of the archived data. We know about the original purpose of the towers, the loss of control, the attempts to shut down the system.”
“We also know that our crew—our people—are scattered in three groups across this planet,” I added. “We can’t reach them safely while the weather patterns are unstable.”
Vikkat nodded slowly. “Dangerous to travel. Storms kill quickly. Acid rain burns.”
“You mentioned a fortress,” I said. “Is it safe there?”
“Safe. Protected. Air clean.” He studied both of us for a long moment, then came to some kind of decision. “You come with us. Share information. Work together to find solution.”
“And if we can’t find a solution?” Torven asked.
“Then we survive together.” He waved a large hand. “Stay here, you die.”
I felt a true spark of hope for the first time since we’d crashed. These people had been fighting the same battle we were facing, but they had resources, knowledge, and most importantly, they had a safe place where we could regroup and plan. And eat. Sweet fuck, I was hungry.
“What about our people?” I asked. “The scattered crew members?”
“If they live, we find them. D’tran know this world. Know safe paths, dangerous areas. Better to search from fortress than from broken tower.”
It was a logical argument, and honestly, it wasn’t like we had better options. We were down to the end of our food and we had no way to contact the Destra city for rescue. Going with the D’tran was our only chance of survival.
But there was something else, too. The scientist in me was absolutely fascinated by these people and their history.
The opportunity to study a lost branch of Destran evolution, to learn about the genetic manipulation that had created the mating marks, to understand the technology behind the weather control system—it was the discovery of a lifetime.
If we lived long enough to make use of it, I was going to write a very thorough report on this. Maybe I’d go for another Ph.D.
“How far is your fortress?” Torven asked.
“Two ticks travel. Have transport.” Vikkat gestured to his team. “We have breathing apparatus. Protection gear. Can get you there safely.”
I looked at Torven, seeing the same calculation in his eyes that I was running in my head. Risk versus reward, known dangers versus unknown opportunities. It wasn’t really much of a choice.
“We’ll come with you,” I said. “But we need to gather our equipment first. I have scientific instruments that might be useful.”
Vikkat nodded. “Reasonable. But be quick. Storm building. Need to leave soon or wait many sun cycles.”
As Torven and I began collecting our supplies, I couldn’t shake the feeling that our lives had just taken another dramatic turn. We’d gone from stranded survivors to participants in what might be the most important first-contact situation in galactic history.
The D’tran represented a lost piece of Destran heritage, survivors of genetic manipulation and environmental catastrophe who had somehow managed to endure against impossible odds.
If we could work together to stop the weather control system, we might not only save ourselves and our scattered crew, but also help heal a world that had been wounded for far too long.
And if we failed, at least we wouldn’t be dying alone in an abandoned tower.
As I packed my scientific equipment, I caught Vikkat watching me with curious eyes.
“You study sky-stealer machines?” he asked.
“I study atmospheric systems,” I replied. “Weather patterns, climate dynamics, the interaction between planetary atmospheres and artificial control systems.”
“You might help us understand towers?”
“I might,” I admitted. “If I can access the right data, understand the underlying technology… It’s possible.”
Something that might have been hope flickered in his weathered features. “Good. We show you everything. All records we have. All attempts we made. Maybe together we succeed where alone we failed.”
Maybe we would. For the first time since this nightmare began, I felt like we might actually have a fighting chance.
But first, we had to survive the journey to the D’tran fortress. And given our luck so far, that was far from guaranteed.