BEYOND THE PALE: ( The Outlander ) (8 page)

“Where do you think the
stranger came from, and where is River now?” Concern was already creeping into
his uncle’s voice.

“He wanted to stay a
while with the stranger. River thinks he is from the Blue Horse City. He told
me to go on ahead. I told him to come with me, but he refused.”

“I understand that you
cannot command your older brother, but you should have remained behind as well.
Now River may be in danger, and so may the privacy of this community!”

Isa felt unfairly
admonished. Since the departure of his birth father, Geren had become the proxy
head of their family. Isa respected him as such, and also for being a Hopi
elder. This was not a reflection up on his age. Instead he had been elected
elder by other tribe members who believed him fit to hold a position of
responsibility which entailed shepherding a number of other Hopi families. He
was one of a few Hopi elders who shared a council with other tribal elders, as
well as the non indigenous elected elders who lived within this community. The
council held government over all the communally shared resources of Avana, and
its mixed population of Hopi, Ute, Cheyenne, and non indigenous denizens.

 “It was you Uncle that
warned us not to approach, or talk with strangers; and to stay invisible so
that they could not detain us or track us home.”

“I am not saying that
River was correct, but I am saying that you should not have left your brother
behind.”

“But he told me to go,”
Isa exclaimed in exasperation.

“But if you refused him
and remained, you would have made him responsible for your safety. This would
have shaped his actions.” Geren had a manner of assertively pointing out a
person’s mistake but in the non judgemental manner of a good teacher.

Isa realised that his
uncle was right, but he felt argumentative and challenged him further. -“Just
now, I walked into this camp unchallenged. There was no look out, and no guard,
and I could have been a stranger or a Blue Horse City Ranger.” Isa turned from
his defensive position on abandoning his brother to an overtly offensive stand
on security. “You tell us that these strangers and city dwellers are dangerous,
yet we have no contact with them, and I do not see any serious stance taken by
you on our defence.”

 “Our defence is our
invisibility,” spoke the Ute elder Isuzu. “It is imperative that they never
learn the location of this community.” Because Isuzu had stood quietly minding
his own business, his words now had gravitas. “I am sure that your uncle has
made you aware of the stories of abductions afflicting other communities by
these Rangers. Then there are rumours of worse atrocities enacted against other
communities of whom we held no contact. Yet we have no experience of any of
this.” It was in the nature of Isuzu’s speech, that it was never clear if he
had finished speaking, or whether he was just pausing. Geren assumed the former
and seized the initiative, “I am not criticising you Isa… I am counselling you,
as I too will take your counsel over posting lookouts and guards. This is not
the first time that you have raised such a concern over camp security, and you
are probably more aware than others, about the threat posed by these Rangers as
you have had many unseen encounters with them when you running the bounds. But
right now my son, I want you to make provisions to head straight back and
collect River.”

“I will tell my son
Hassun to go with you,” interjected Isuzu. “He will confirm that this is the
will of the elders, and River will listen. You can take two of the horses and
make good speed.”

Nathan Carlson waited
anxiously whilst the receptionist paged the doctor. He was aware that this was
not the appropriate way for the two professionals to interact. Usually he would
formally request information through an
authoritative
channel. His department's authority was usually enough, but his rank would
usually ensure a quick response. This however was different. River was his
responsibility, and under his supervision. He had brought him inside the
citadel after fast-pathing him through the usual detention and quarantine
processing. Now the young man had developed some form of sickness and extreme
fever, from which he now understood he was not responding to treatment. Carlson
knew that he could face some serious disciplinary action for dereliction of procedures,
and for introducing a foreign untreatable pathogen into the citadel through
bypassing quarantine.

His thoughts were
interrupted by the entrance of a middle aged Asian man wearing scrubs. He
looked distracted in a busy way, but he also showed evidence of nervousness.
The Doctor extended his hand.

 “I am Doctor Khan,
pleased to meet you Major Carlson. How can I help you?”

 “Thank you Doctor
Khan, I am familiar with your work schedule and I believe you are treating a
young man who was admitted yesterday, and was unconscious with a fever.”

“The outlander, yes; He
is stabilising, but sedated for now.”

 “How do you know he is
an outlander,” Carlson enquired genuinely surprised.

 “Where would you like
me to begin Major? He has no medical history or post natal implanted identity
information; no implants at all. There are abrasions and calluses all over his
skin suggesting he lives in an unfriendly environment, and a constitution which
I have not seen the like of.”

 “Okay Doctor, I am
impressed. The young man is an outlander and was... is… in my custody.” Carlson
paused for emphasis whilst he searched the doctor’s body language for clues. “Doctor
Khan, this is a sensitive matter concerning the potentially lethal virus or
infection which he may be suffering from. We cannot risk any...”

“Not an infection!” the
Doctor interrupted Carlson in mid sentence -“I can ensure you Major, he has no
infection. When he was admitted, we thought it might be a virus on account of
his high temperature. We administered the usual antibiotics and anti
inflammatory, and then his fever went critical. He has been on life support for
most of the night, but we noticed that his body temperature dropped when we
suspended his antibiotic treatment. Since then, we have suspended all intravenous
and oral medicines.” A short pause followed and then the doctor continued, “As
suspected, he has responded well and is no longer critical. We suspect his
whole sickness to be induced by an extreme allergic reaction.”

“Allergic to what,”
Carlson genuinely enquired.

 “Allergic to medicine
for one thing, and allergic to this..,” the doctor held out his hand to the
Major and dropped a small metallic sphere about a millimetre in diameter into
Carlson's palm. He knew what it was he had seen many before. It was the small
security spore that the Environment officer had injected into his arm the other
day.

 “Did you extract this?”
asked the Major.

 “No” the doctor
replied “We lanced a boil last night and found that his body had ejected it
itself. We re-injected it as a matter of procedure, and found it pushed out
through a new abscess about three hours later.”

“He is going to need it,”
Carlson pointed out a fact obvious to both men. “Perhaps you could re-inject it
into his bone tissue to secure it.”   

“I think that if we did
that Major, his body would probably still expel it, or he would probably die in
the process. We came to the conclusion earlier on, that his initial fever was
induced by a severe allergic reaction to it, and we cannot find a drug effective
in cancelling this allergic reaction. Because…” This time the doctor paused
while looking for the right words. “Because, we do not think it is a
bio-medical allergic condition. We have come to the conclusion that his body is
physically rejecting something it sees as alien and a corruption, and it has
somehow developed a way to physically move it and push it out of the body.”
Carlson looked very dubious and the doctor acknowledged this with a shrug and
raised eyebrows. Khan continued, “Major, I know this is very unusual and
perhaps even unbelievable, but you must trust me on this. A team of doctors
have looked into this with me. It is our collective diagnosis that his whole
constitution is different than ours. Perhaps it has mutated, but whatever the
cause, we can clearly see that his body violently rejects any implants, or any
drugs or medicines which we deliver orally or intravenously.”

“All drugs; I thought
you said you sedated him,” challenged Carlson.

“He sedated himself
somehow; he is in a deep sleep at present. We will of course page you as soon
as he awakes.”

Carlson thanked the
doctor and allowed him to return to his busy schedule. This young man who had
probably saved his life still intrigued him and continued to surprise him. He
was genuinely glad that he was going to recover, and very happy that his guest
had not introduced some untreatable virus from the outlands.

The two men rode in earnest, Hassun on his chestnut mare, easily
matching the furious pace set by Isa on his favorite bay and white Choctaw. Isa
would not rest he knew, until his brother was found, and in his silent and
determined focus, Hassun was acutely aware of Isa’s deep misgivings, ‘I should
never have left him,’ he had confided in Hassun when River had failed to return
from the ridge. Ten years his senior, he had watched Isa grow up and knew well
his character and the standards he set for himself. It was he who had taught
the brothers to ride and execute manoeuvres on horseback. It had always been
Isa on these occasions, who had pleased him the most by wanting to stay late to
practice his skills and perfect his technique.

Horses were in Hathor’s blood. Descended from the Ute, his
ancestors were credited with being the first Native Americans to acquire them.
He and his father could trace their ancestry back to the tribal unit known as
the Mouache Band. His father, Isuzu; steeped in ancient history, had spoken to
him of their illustrious past; how their people had escaped the colonial
bondage of the Spanish taking their horses with them, and how they sang as they
rode, offering songs to the mountain passes in their ancestral land. He was
proud of his Ute heritage and it’s once legendary reputation for being the
fiercest of all warrior tribes. Heavy set with a broad, muscular frame,
Hassun’s strength and proud bearing gave testimony to his celebrated bloodline.
Even as a child, there had been something solid and enduring in his nature that
had inspired the Elders to give him the name of Hassun, meaning ‘stone’.

The red rocks of the ridge were situated in traditional Ute
territory and Hassun felt inspired by their enduring beauty. At sunset a warm
orange glow would settle about the rock, casting shadows in the vales and
grassy plains nestling below. This whole area was known to the Elders as the
Valley of Miracles. Towering in the background behind it was the mighty peak of
Sun Mountain; home to Manitou the Creator. As a boy, his father had told him
the story of the bear who seduced the Creator’s daughter. Legend had it that
the issue from this union gave birth to the Ute nation. The bear as a
consequence was revered by his people and on occasion, he himself was
affectionately referred to as ‘Padooa’ meaning ‘bear’ in Paiute. Many was the
time; he mused fondly, that young Isa and River would crawl up on his back,
begging and cajoling for a ride on the ‘bear’.

Since River’s absence from the settlement, an uneasy tension had
settled about Avana. His disappearance was troubling enough but trailing in its
wake was a palpable and insidious mood of apprehension; had the security of the
entire settlement also been compromised? Hence it was not only on account of
his size and considerable strength that Hassun had been selected by the
Elders 
to accompany Isa, back to the scene of
the encounter with the city dweller; he was also in possession of tracking
skills and could be relied upon to cover his own.

Having passed the massive portals of the Gateway Rocks on the
eastern approach and the jagged sandstone peaks of White Rock, Isa slowed his
horse to a canter. “This is it,” he said, pointing further along the ridge to
where the secluded entrance of the cave was hidden in the rock. “This is the
place we brought the stranger to,” Hassun nodded as he brought his mare to a
halt. “Time to tether the horses,” he said decisively, “we’ll make our approach
on foot from here.”

As they neared the cave entrance where Isa had so reluctantly
set up camp, he thought ruefully of the last conversation he had had with River
inside - “All will be well brother!” The memory of these words chimed in his
head, mocking and accusing the absence of his own conviction on that fateful
morning. His gloomy reverie was noticed by Hassun who put a solicitous and
consoling hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” he said gently, “and until I give
the all clear, I want you to stay out of sight. Understood?”

Hassun noted the military style footprints in the dusty soil
near to the cave entrance. Without stopping to investigate further, and taking
care not to disturb the tracks, he entered the narrow opening that Isa had
identified and crawled up into the larger chamber. For several seconds, he
stood motionless against the rock wall, just listening whilst his eyes adjusted
to the light inside. A faint smell of food still lingered in the cool musty
interior and would be; he reflected, even now - an enticing draw for coyotes.
Moving further into the belly of the cave, he noticed the torches that Isa had
made and the remnants of the campfire. From somewhere in the shadows, he could
hear the sound of water, dripping, in a slow, intermittent rhythm. Satisfied
that the cave was unoccupied and free from predators, he crouched down to
examine the ash and burnt out embers of the campfire.

Returning outside, he signalled for Isa to join him. “Watch
where you tread,” he cautioned, as Isa approached, and lifting his chin to
indicate the tracks, he motioned a path that skirted to the side of the powdery
trail.

“Ranger’s boots!” said Isa, with a dark foreboding. “Nothing
inside?” 

Hassun shook his head as he stooped to study the tracks. “The
campfire is old, and burnt for only one day. No one has been here since.”

“River would not have hung about here knowing the danger. My
guess is he would have been watching from the ridge.”

“Maybe,” said Hassun distractedly, as he followed the tracks
leading away from the cave.

“Somewhere out of sight ... like there for instance, up on that
ledge.” Isa pointed to the very spot from which River had kept his vigil.

Hassun’s attention remained focused on the dusty trail that was
now opening out and leading him on to a clearing in the scrub.

“I have seen these markings before,” he said, pointing to a
heavy indentation in the soil. “And here too, see? These have been made by the
landing struts of one of their aircraft. You can still see where the sandy top
soil in the surrounding scrub has been displaced by the thrust from the
directional jets.” Retracing his steps, he indicated a few such patterns to
Isa. “This one here is entirely different however. The trail is narrow and
light by comparison. Give me your boot!”

 
”You want me to take it
off..?”

 
Hassun affirmed with a
beckoning motion whilst nodding his head. “These are the ones you wore for running
the bounds are they not?  spiked moccasins, same as River’s. See how the trail
leads back to the scree at the base of the cliff, and either side - more boot
marks, feint but unmistakably military.  With the sole facing
upwards, he drew the tip of the boot across the soil in a forward motion, to
demonstrate a match. Isa watched in silence, piecing together the scene of his
brothers’ misfortune.

 
”This is good news Isa. It
means that he was almost certainly alive when they abducted him. He would not
have been dragged in this manner had he been dead. Clearly he was stunned and
unconscious, but there’s no blood or evidence of wounding,” Isa continued to
brood, remaining resolutely unconvinced by any notion of ‘good news.’

 
”What now?” he asked
fiercely, looking across at Hassun and feeling utterly hopeless. Hassun
returned his furious gaze with a gentle understanding in his eyes that touched
Isa’s pain and had the effect of releasing in him an explosive burst of rage.
With adrenalin pumping, Isa reached for a rock and hurled it against the cliff
face.

Shattering against
the wall with an echoing clatter, it bounced the riven fragments high into the
air. Hassun watched as dust particles and loose stones, disseminated into the
scree below. Unflinching and composed, he knew well the depth of Isa's
feeling for River and the extent to which he had been holding at bay his fears
and painful remorse.

Still staring at
the spot where the rock had smashed, his attention was drawn to a
collection of branches and twigs woven tightly together. He walked over to take
a closer look. It was the discarded remains of the carrying frame that Isa had
constructed as a stretcher for the wounded man.

“This is your work?” he said to
Isa, who had now wandered over to join him. Isa nodded gloomily as he prodded
it aggressively with the heel of his foot.

Hassun
lifted the frame to examine it further. It was still
largely intact save for some binding that had worked itself loose on the cross
member at the top. He pulled on the loose end whilst noticing that the joint
seemed bulkier than all the others. As he began to unravel it, a small tubular
object emerged in the palm of his hand. Glancing across at Isa, who was gazing
on in astonishment, he squeezed it uncertainly between his fingers. Instantly
the tiny device came to life emitting a low light that was just visible in the
glare of the morning sun. “It’s too bright out here,” said Hassun, rising to
his feet, “Come, we’ll take it into the cave!”
 

He felt a tiny click beneath his thumb as he squeezed the devise
again from inside. Once more it lit up, this time projecting a bright
holographic beam down on to the smooth rock floor.  A sequence of
unfamiliar letters and icons were grouped together giving the appearance of
some ancient and indecipherable language. A few seconds later however, the
image refocused and the characters reconfigured themselves. They were now looking
at a message and it was addressed to Isa in bold, blue script.