Chapter 2
2
“Welp,” says Ben, unstrapping himself and standing. “We made it, gang. Let’s get this show on the road.”
No one says anything.
“You good?” Ben says, fixing each of us with a look of impatient concern.
Am I good? I find there are words trapped in my throat, but I can’t voice them. We made it. We’re on a new planet, light-years from Earth, and we’re supposed to take off our seatbelts and just get up and carry on? In a second, alien air will be touching my face. Alien grass will tickle my ankles. We’ll be only the second team of humans to come here. Ever.
Reality sinks in slowly.
“Kids, get your shit together,” Ben says, and at least his tone is gentle. “I said, you good?”
“Good,” says Julian, their voice faint. I glance over and see that their face has gone sickly pale.
“Good,” murmurs Darcie. She meets my gaze, her eyes shining with tears.
“I’m good,” I echo. I grab Darcie’s hands and squeeze them. We grin maniacally, shaking our hands together. We’re here , the action seems to say. We fucking made it .
“Good,” grunts Ben. He grins, too. “Let’s get the hell out there.”
Before we gather our gear, we all head outside to take in the Planet. To really absorb the fact that we’re living the dream we’ve had for years, the mission we gave up a year of our life training for. As we clamber after Ben into the morning light, I’m overwhelmed by a cascade of awe. I think all of us are.
No one says much beyond a soft “ Wow ,” or “ Fuck ,” murmuring quiet feelings aloud, each of us in a moment of solitude, of private wonder.
The plain stretches out on all sides, silver-green. The grass is tall, almost waist height for me and Julian, a bit lower on Darcie and Ben, and waving like a verdant sea. I want to hold it, study it, and understand how it works. Does the grass require photosynthesis, like Earth flora? My mother’s mission was never able to collect all the information it needed, beyond the basics. I can’t wait to know every flower here, every tree, every seedling. There is so much here to learn and cherish, it’s almost too much for me to contemplate.
While the other two wander in small circles, staring out at this wide new world, I notice Ben with a tinge of irritation at myself. I need to stop noticing him. He’s already snapped into leader mode, consulting his tablet, turning various dials, and adjusting its antenna. He peers out over the waving plain, its curves and dips, the black shadow of a forest in the distance, eyes narrowed. Does he see the beauty we do? Does he care?
Apparently reaching some unspoken deadline, Ben snaps his fingers. “All right, time to move. We landed a bit off course. It’s a three-hour hike to the camp instead of one.”
Darcie makes a face. “We just landed on an alien planet. Can’t we, I don’t know, take a second?”
Ben crosses his arms. “For what? You wanna write some poetry?”
“Surprised you know what that is,” Julian says. The wind picks up, buffeting their usually pristine curtains of black hair across their face.
“I contain multitudes.”
Julian gives Ben a slow once-over. “Your eye to bicep ratio says otherwise.”
Darcie turns to stare at Julian. “His what?”
“My what ?”
“He has small eyes and huge biceps. The mark of a meathead.”
I snort a laugh.
“No…” Darcie says, peering at Ben’s tall and fit body, short brown hair, broad shoulders, and trim waist. She tilts her head to one side. “No, I get it.”
Ben sighs, staring up at the sky. “Jesus Christ.”
“Also,” Julian adds, eyeing Ben’s sidearm, “the gun removes like, fifty points from intellect.”
“Right, okay, you’ve had your second,” Ben says. “Five minutes to load up your gear, and then we’re out.”
We’re all excited chatter as we heft our packs from the shuttle’s storage compartment, zip up our standard-issue utility jackets, and switch on our walkie-talkies. We’ll be heading east, and the sun is vivid and sharp, unobscured by clouds. When we’re all ready, spirits high, Ben lifts an arm to indicate we’re moving out.
He cuts a line through the undulating plain, his green cargoes and jacket almost gray against the Planet’s saturated colors. A steady wind flows eastward as if it means to help guide us. The tall grasses lean forward, eager and supplicant. Here and there, clusters of flowers splash the green like scattered paint from a brush, unexpected and vibrant.
The ground is easy to traverse. No hidden pebbles or stones push up from the soil to trip us. There are no animal burrows underfoot, ready to roll an unsuspecting ankle. The Planet, based on my mother’s limited information and the data sent back by probes, plays host to very few animals. There are no predators that might be a danger to us. Not even venomous snakes or poisonous frogs in the rain-drenched forests. Only a strange breed of deer, very shy; a rabbit-like mammal, seemingly nocturnal; and the birds, which keep to the skies and themselves, never seeking out human company. Why would they? We’re utterly strange to them.
Darcie and I walk side by side. Julian trails behind. Ben is far ahead of us now, but we make no attempt to hurry. It’s morning, and we’ll reach the camp well before sunset. There has never been a major weather event on this part of the continent; not since the ECE started monitoring it as a potential colony site.
It’s perfectly safe.
But we all know what happened last time. My mother came here with seven others, and one by one, they disappeared. All but my mother.
A relentless dread surfaces inside me, and I try to tamp it down. Because this place… I breathe her in, her clean air, and I feel the rustle of grass against my legs, and my chest fills with the most overwhelming sense of right . Whatever happens, we belong here. This planet is too perfect to pass up. As if she was made just for us.
“Look,” Darcie breathes. Her hand is outstretched, fingers drifting over the tops of bending grass. As she drags her fingers over the blades, they follow her. And for a few moments, the grass that touches her skin leans inward, turning perpendicular to the flow of the wind. It holds, motionless, reaching for her.
It takes me a minute to understand what I’m seeing. “Mimosa pudica,” I murmur.
“What?” Darcie says, turning.
“Mimosa pudica,” Julian echoes, joining us. “Duh. Does anyone else feel weird, though?”
“No,” says Darcie. “Why?”
“Weird how?” I ask.
Julian shrugs, frowning. “Like unsettled. I dunno.” They look out toward the horizon. “Doesn’t it feel different from Earth? Too quiet. Too pretty.”
“No way,” Darcie says. “Prettier and quieter than Earth ? The war-torn, over-populated hunk of rock with more hurricanes and droughts than naturally occurring trees? How fucking strange.”
“I’m trying to be honest about my feelings in the moment,” Julian says, raising their chin. “Guess someone didn’t take their psych training course seriously.”
Darcie rolls her eyes.
“I get what you mean,” I say, catching Julian’s eye. “Maybe it’s how Earth used to be, but it doesn’t feel real.”
“Exactly, thank you, Jill ,” Julian says pointedly while glaring at Darcie.
She rolls her eyes again. “You need to start making use of your standard-issue drug supply, Jules. Maybe a tranquilizer to shut you up.”
“Then you’d have to carry me to camp. Good idea.”
“No, I’d leave you here to rot.”
“Enjoy the beating from Ben.”
“Maybe I will .”
The good-natured bickering goes on, but I’m no longer listening. I’m running my fingers gently along each blade of grass. If I touch them one at a time, they sort of shiver. And then, as I crouch to run my finger up one stem to the tip, it curves toward me as if chasing the sensation. Reaching for me. Wanting me.
I can’t drag my eyes away. I can’t stop. The grass is beautiful. Each blade is emerald green on one side, velvety silver on the other, and soft-edged. Gentle. A vibrating excitement builds in my chest. An aching joy. I’ve never seen anything so—
“Jill, what the fuck are you doing down there?” Julian asks.
I glance up, squinting. “Like I said, Mimosa pudica. It must be the same evolutionary mechanism.”
Darcie joins Julian to stand over me curiously. “Speak English, plant nerd.”
I stand, brushing off my hands on my thighs. “You know those ferns,” I begin, stretching out a finger and then curling it inward, “the ones that do that when you touch them?”
“Yeah,” Darcie says.
Julian blinks. “Mimosa pudica, I know.”
“Well, Darcie doesn’t,” I say. “The grass. Touch it, watch.”
We all stretch out our hands. As our skin brushes the bending grass, it responds. We create three small gravity wells, pulling grasses inward as we spin slowly, running our palms over the foliage. It’s the strangest, most bizarre feeling in the world. Natural greenery, so much of it, a sea of it. And not only are we here among it, touching it, experiencing it, but it’s experiencing us back .
Darcie’s walkie-talkie crackles. Gang, come in.
Darcie presses on the walkie with her thumb. “Yeah?”
I stop spinning and stare eastward, at Ben’s small figure in a waving sea of green. He raises one arm.
Stop playing around, and move your asses.
We all laugh. I feel euphoric. Sick with excitement. This is only the start.
“Sorry, sir,” Darcie says into the walkie. “Coming.”
The grass caresses us the whole way to the base camp. Every once in a while, one of us puts out a hand to let it brush our skin. We pass through a spray of magenta flowers. None of us touches a petal, but the blooms face us as we pass and seem to watch us as we travel east.