Chapter 4
4
Base camp is a cluster of tents against a hill, nestled in a dirt clearing at the edges of the forest. It was left here by my mother’s expedition; everything as it was, down to the lab tents and all their equipment. It’s been here for thirty-two years, and everything is intact. The camp is clean, organized. Like it’s sat here in stasis for decades, waiting.
A wide, shallow river meanders to the north of camp, which we already know is safe to drink and perfect for bathing.
Darcie, Julian, and I each claim a tent, side by side on the southern side of camp. The tents are barely tall enough to stand up in. Each is fitted with a cot, a hook for our lanterns, and a storage trunk. I’m strangely disappointed to find that mine has nothing interesting inside. A few socks, their owner unidentifiable. A blanket, some random tools, and a length of rope. What did I expect, a note from my mother?
It feels wrong, somehow, to be taking up residence where seven people used to live; six who never had a chance to say goodbye.
Ben chooses a tent on the north side of the camp. The centrally located main tent is spacious and outfitted with a long table, a massive freezer stocked with rotten food, and impersonal necessities. Everything else, we brought on our backs. I packed light, not planning to do much outside of work, but I know Darcie has a veritable library inside her pack. Julian brought sketchbooks, paints, and charcoal. None of us know what Ben brought.
“Probably porn mags, protein jerky, and guns,” Julian muses, joining me on the way to the main tent.
It’s evening, and Darcie has been cooking for the past hour. She and Ben managed to get the generator up and running, and Darcie, to her glee and everyone else’s dismay, found a stock of canned goods with no expiration date. She’d said it was a celebration, and since she’s the only one of us who can make a decent meal, she took it upon herself to cook.
“Guns plural?” I ask.
“He’s packing untold amounts of heat, I just know it,” Julian says. Their favorite hobby is razzing Ben, regardless of whether or not he’s present. “Guns hidden in every nook and crevice. Bet there’s one up his ass.”
“Something’s up his ass, gun or not.”
Julian guffaws. “Why do they send military on these missions anyway?”
“Because you’re an idiot.” Ben comes around the other side of the main tent, hands in his pockets. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”
“Oh no,” Julian says dramatically. “You heard that? I didn’t mean it, Papa.”
“You know, I can go back to the shuttle,” says Ben. “Back to Earth. Leave you three here to conduct your little tests all alone. But when something comes for you in the night…” he draws a finger across his throat, and his eyes are shining with an unspent smile.
Julian snorts, ducking into the main tent as Ben holds the flap door open for us. “What’s gonna come for me in the night,” they say, “a bunny rabbit?”
“Those are actually rodents,” Darcie snipes over her shoulder from where she’s finishing up dinner. There are steaming pots on the stove and several opened cans on a table nearby with labels like Dehydrated Cheese Product and Essence of Carrot . “The rabbits here,” she continues when no one immediately responds. “They’re not rabbits.”
“No shit,” says Julian.
“Rabbits are rodents,” Ben says with complete confidence, going over to Darcie and offering a hand. She shoves him away.
“They’re not,” all three scientists chime as one.
Ben frowns and settles himself at one of the long tables, giving up on trying to help Darcie. Julian is already seated and waiting. We both know Darcie better than to try to interfere with her projects.
“But their teeth,” Ben says, leaning forward on his elbows and catching my eye. “They have the… you know. Rodent teeth.”
“ The rodent teeth?” I bite back a laugh, unable to hold his gaze.
“They’re big in the front,” he clarifies, tapping one of his incisors.
“It’s like interacting with a toddler,” says Darcie.
Julian turns to Ben. “You stick to your myriad guns, and we’ll handle the rodents.”
“I have one gun.”
“So you say.”
I settle myself at the table next to Julian, across from Ben. “Darce,” I venture, “did you find the wine store?” It’s in all my mother’s interviews. Her expedition brought copious amounts of wine, one thing we were forbidden to do — no alcohol, no mind- altering drugs, no sex paraphernalia. But no one can prevent us from partaking in what’s already here.
Darcie scoffs. “Who do you think I am? Did I find the wine store .” She hefts a crate and slams it on the table. “Voila. Only the finest for humanity’s last hope.”
Julian makes a sound of disbelief, standing to open the crate. They pull out a bottle. “No,” they breathe.
I lean across the table and grab a bottle of my own, reading the label. I read it again. “Is this real?”
Ben yanks the bottle out of my hand, peering at the label, his brows drawn. “No way.”
“Yes way,” Darcie says brightly.
“Grape wine,” I breathe, stealing the bottle back from Ben. Our fingers brush for a fraction of a second. I swallow, distracted by the warm roughness of his fingers.
“Well?” Julian demands, waving a hand at me. “Read us the label, Queen Botanica.”
I clear my throat. “Chateau Pacifico, Genuine Terra Reserve. Red House Blend.”
“I’ve heard of this,” Ben declares proudly, like he’s always wanted to be the guy who recognizes a type of grape. It’s annoyingly charming. “The Napa greenhouses used to grow them. Grapes aren’t as good as they used to be, but they’re real, grown in the soil. No chemicals.”
“Not as many chemicals,” Darcie corrects, setting a steaming pot in the center of the table. “Eat up, babes. I call it Heroes of Humanity Stew. Why isn’t the wine open?”
“We’re studying it,” I say.
“It’s an archaeological discovery,” Julian adds. “I mean, this is old and expensive .”
“What’s in the stew?” Ben asks, eyeing the pot.
Darcie shrugs, producing a ladle and holding it out to him. “Bit of everything, plus some secret ingredients.”
“Is the secret ingredient Dehydrated Cheese Product?” Julian asks warily.
Darcie smiles. “I shall neither confirm nor deny. Listen, there’s protein in it. And what passes as vegetables. It’s nutritious . Eat.”
“Better than space food,” says Ben, and he begins serving us heaping bowls of stew.
I open the wine. It’s vacuum sealed, and the second I break the seal, I inhale the wine’s earthy, rich scent. I could really use a drink. I’m starting to feel fatigued, or maybe dehydrated — like everything’s too much and too real, all at once. I’m here. We’re here , but somehow it feels like I’m still in one of my dreams.
“Jones,” Ben says, “you gonna keep that wine for yourself?”
“Sorry,” I say, realizing I should be celebrating along with everyone else. I pour four cups and pass them around.
“A toast?” Darcie suggests, holding hers aloft.
“To this fucking weird planet,” Julian declares.
Darcie rolls her eyes. Ben side-eyes Julian.
“To the Planet,” I say, and I mean it.
“The Planet,” everyone echoes.
The wine tastes like loam and nutmeg and what I can only assume is grape. It’s completely different from any wine I’ve tasted before. It’s richer, more complex, but somehow cleaner. It’s been taken from the bosom of Earth herself. We’re drinking to our new home with the blood of our old.
We drain our cups, and Julian opens the next bottle, filling them again with ruby liquid. After a few days of subsisting on dehydrated space food, the stew is heavenly despite its questionable content. Everything begins to feel warm and hazy, soft-edged. I can’t stop looking at Ben’s hands.
“Listen,” Julian announces after a while, their wine sloshing as they raise the cup aloft. We’ve all consumed at least a bottle each — the stores are expansive. “Benjamin.”
“Please, not Benjamin,” Ben mutters, lowering his forehead to his arms, folded on the table in front of him.
“ Benjamin . Papa Benjamin. I want to discuss the guns. And why you have them, but we don’t.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Darcie drawls, every word spoken with obvious love. Her eyes shine in the orange light. The sun has set, and outside, a chorus of crickets wavers in and out of hearing. But they can’t be crickets. Crickets only exist on Earth. As far as we know, there are no insects on the Planet. These are something else, some other sound. Birds? Bats? Frogs?
“None of you need a gun,” says Ben.
“What if I do, though?” Julian insists, leaning into Ben. “It’s a power imbalance. What if you go insane?”
Darcie and I shoot each other a look to say not this again . Julian’s imagination and tendency to chafe under authority have always been a source of annoyance and entertainment for the team. But I had hoped maybe they’d mellow out once we got to the Planet.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Ben says, sitting up and leaning back in his chair. He’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his jacket, revealing a white fitted Henley underneath.
“I’m serious ,” Julian insists.
“So am I,” Ben says. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you hold my gun. Now, that’s enough talk of deadly weapons. Tonight’s a celebration.”