IN NATURA: a science fiction novel (ARZAT SERIES Book 2) (2 page)

  “We will stay close to them until they bed down,” Za’at firmly repeated. “Then, when
I
decide, we will gut the smooth-skins and have their livers for dinner.” Za’at flashed his razor sharp teeth in the way of a smile and watched the other hunters shaking their heads from side to side to show agreement with their leader’s plan. He gave a stern look to each of them, aware that their patience level was probably not much better than Ack’s.

  A hungry Arzat was always a dangerous and unpredictable Arzat,
Za’at reminded himself, cautiously surveying the group of young hunters. He unconsciously felt for the scabbard that contained his killing stick and gave it a reassuring pat.

* * *

The hunters spent the rest of the afternoon quietly shadowing the
umans’
movement.

  Apart from the shallow canyon the smooth-skins
were traversing, the terrain was mostly open, with rolling hills of tall grass cut occasionally by small and swift waterways that usually only flowed during the early part of the season. In the far distance, the melting tips of the white-capped mountains that fed them rose from the earth like great rocky giants.

  Za’at paused to look at them, looming on the horizon, trying to imagine the exact location of the caves that were his home.
Somewhere up there,
he thought, mother, my mate, and the rest of the clan anxiously await. Za’at then made a short plea to the Great Creator to assist him in a bountiful hunt and a safe return.

  While Za’at was not one to spend much time pondering that which he could not physically see or touch, he was not averse to asking for any help he could get from this world or any other. The Arzat Priests were certainly convinced that the Great Creator had a hand in the Arzats’ overall wellbeing. Perhaps they were right—but Za’at was not so sure. It seemed to him that if the Creator was as involved in the Arzats’ lives as the priests maintained, he invariably caused as much mischief and pain as good fortune. Nonetheless, he paused for another moment, said another short prayer as insurance, and carefully moved on.

  The Arzats knew they had to be very cautious in their pursuit if they wished to remain undetected. While the
umans
certainly did not have the noses of the
ungo,
they had very sharp eyes during daylight. Occasionally, the small valley they were tracking flattened back out onto the open plains, and despite the fact that the Arzats’ skin color almost perfectly matched their surroundings and the grass was tall, there was still a chance that an alert smooth-skin might spot their movements if they came within direct line of sight.

  Za’at was determined to maintain the element of total surprise and kept a close eye on his hunters to make sure they stayed well hidden. Notwithstanding his extreme sense of superiority regarding the smooth-skins, he was a well-schooled Arzat Hunter. He had been taught from his youth never to underestimate his prey and never to squander any advantage he might have over them.

  Eventually, as
Qu’aa
dipped down and touched the horizon—and just as Za’at had predicted—the
umans
stopped near a small grove of trees at the bottom of a shallow basin where the stream they had been following slowed and pooled. He watched them through the tall grass as they began to set up camp.

  Za’at tested the water bag he had slung over his shoulder by giving it a silent squeeze. It was nearly empty. Though he had had many opportunities to refill it throughout the day, he had somehow neglected to do so.
Good,
he thought, as he watched the smooth-skins bathing their hands,
we will have some fresh water to drink with our dinner and more for the way home.

  Za’at positioned his hunters just on the other side of an adjacent hill from the
uman
encampment and settled down to wait for the night. He decided to nap, suddenly tired from the long trip and the constant embarrassment of his incompetent younger brother. He stretched out in the tall grass, carefully placing his killing stick just beside him, and gave Ack another stern look just before closing his eyes.

CHAPTER 2

WAKE UP CALL

Alex awoke suddenly as if from a bad dream. She was sure that something had gone wrong with the cryo units—sure that she had only been asleep for just a moment. She tried to open her eyes, but they initially refused, as if they were welded shut. When she finally succeeded, they were met by almost utter darkness.

  Oh no,
she thought,
not
this
again
—remembering that the last time she had found herself in pitch dark she had nearly died.

  Stay calm Alex, stay calm,
she could hear the comforting words of her late father Simon speaking as if he were right beside her.

  Her father often did that—manifesting himself suddenly in her subconscious as clearly as if he had called her on the phone or just stepped through the door. Even before his death, her mind would almost immediately conjure his response to virtually any difficult situation she encountered. Alex had known him so well that it was automatic, and although she didn’t always follow his psychic advice, she found that, in the end, her father was most often right.

  Alex could never recall ever having called him Dad or Pop. Perhaps she had when she was very young, but she couldn’t remember it. It was always Simon. Simon says this . . . and Simon says that. What she did remember was that all through her youth, the two of them had been inseparable and that most everything she knew that was worth knowing, she had been taught by her paleontologist father, the late Dr. Simon Moss.

  Ah, Simon,
she thought,
always there when I need ya.

  Alex remained motionless, trying to relax and get her bearings, still in a fog from what felt to her like a very short nap. Gradually, as her eyes began to focus and her mind began to completely function, she was able to vaguely make out the dim green lights of a computer module emanating from across the room. She recognized the lights as part of the master control console for the cryogenic unit computers—a good sign—but she was still confused. Hadn’t she just set them? Hadn’t she just shut her eyes? And why were all of the other lights out?

  She reached up slowly and felt for the glass enclosure of her cryogenic bed and confirmed by feel that it had opened, but as she moved to get, up her muscles protested. She found herself to be surprisingly groggy and weak. Alex struggled a bit and finally managed to swing her feet to the floor and sit up. She looked around, trying to see something past the green diodes, but the rest of the room was dark.

  “Alex?” she heard the familiar sound of Mot’s voice in her head. It still amazed her that the “sound” of his telepathy could be so distinctive even though it only manifested itself somewhere within the grey matter of her brain. But
his
voice, as opposed to the voice of her father, was quite real.

  She scoured the darkness and could barely make out the outline of his huge Arzat body in the very low light. Alex watched as his enormous silhouette approached her, momentarily blocking the glow coming from the computers.

  “Yes, Mot,” she finally answered, relieved she wasn’t alone. “Are you okay?”

  Hearing Mot’s voice had also triggered Alex’s full memory. She became suddenly aware of the fact that the two of them, at least, had just awakened from what had probably been a very long cryogenic sleep. That left two more of her small group unaccounted for.

  “I am fine Alex. And Ara seems to be fine as well, but I am not sure about Tom, son of Richard.”

  “What do you mean, Mot?” Alex asked, suddenly worried.

  She tried to stand up, but she felt lightheaded. Alex could not see it, but she could feel the Arzat’s large hand gently grasping her shoulder, steadying her as she stood.

  “Ara and I have been awake for several torches, and we have been calling out with our minds to both of you,” he said. “I could feel your conscious presence in my head some time ago, but I still have no awareness of Tom the Pilot.”

  “Mot, I can’t see anything. Can you help me find Tom’s bed?” Alex said, still struggling with the low light.

  “Yes, Alex. Take hold of me,” the Arzat telepathed back. He gently placed Alex’s hand on his huge arm and began leading her across the room.

  “Shit,” Alex said, banging her knee on her own bed, her legs wobbly from what she was beginning to realize must have been a very long sleep. She silently scolded herself for not having considered what they would do for light when and if they finally awoke.
Nice going Alex,
she thought, berating herself as usual.
Once again you are in the dark, several hundred feet below the earth’s surface, without so much as a book of matches!

  “Be careful Alex,” Mot said.

  Even in the low ambient light, the Arzat could see almost perfectly. His sharp reptilian eyes were accustomed to the near dark from having been raised in pitch-black caves intermittently lit only by torches. He was aware from experience, however, that his human friend could see almost nothing in these conditions.

  As she passed the main console, Alex glanced at the flashing green numbers and was surprised to see
8958 YEARS 174 DAYS
blinking in the control panel.
Impossible,
she thought,
I could swear I just barely slept.

  It seemed that just moments ago, Alex had given the commands to the cryogenic units to place the four of them into a long hibernation. In addition to Alex, there had been Ara and Mot, the amazing reptilians that she had discovered, and Tom—her “almost” ex-husband. Together, they had managed to take refuge as the sole inhabitants of a partially-completed underground governmental sanctuary known as an ARC—an Auxiliary Repopulation Center—just moments before the arrival of a world-destroying asteroid.

  Later, when it became apparent that the ARC was leaking poisonous carbon dioxide gas from the contaminated outside air, the strange foursome had been forced to attempt a very experimental escape into the ARCs cryogenic units. There, they would try to wait out the effects of the asteroid’s aftermath in the hope that the world would have a chance to recover.

  Prior to entering cryo, Tom and Alex had discussed a one-thousand-year sleep cycle, but Alex had spun the dials for ten thousand at the last minute. This was a much longer time than Tom had predicted the ARC’s nuclear power source might last and Alex was now regretting that decision. Their cryo units had been virtually untested. Anything and everything could have gone wrong. Her impulsive decision to play Russian roulette with their power supply probably hadn’t helped.

  As Mot continued to lead Alex slowly along in the dark, Alex resolved not to panic—yet.

  “Greetings, Alex, daughter of Simon,” she heard the familiar voice of a female Arzat say only in her head. She could tell immediately that Ara was as concerned as Mot about the fate of Tom the Pilot.

  “Hello, Ara,” Alex replied, still unable to see anything but now fully aware of the female Arzat’s presence. She was too worried about Tom to say anything more.

  “We are here,” Mot informed her as they approached Tom’s bed. “The glass is not raised, Alex.”

  “Can you see him?” Alex asked.

  “He is present, but still asleep or . . .”

  “Or
what
Mot?” Alex asked, now beginning to panic.

  The cryogenic units were supposed to automatically shut down and open in the event of electrical loss or any other system problems. Alex imagined that the nuclear reactors that powered the entire ARC had finally given up, as Tom had informed her that they inevitably would. But the four cryogenic units they had slept in should have all shut down and opened simultaneously. It was a failsafe that had been built into the cryogenic system.

  Just before they had placed themselves into hibernation, Alex had purposely extended their sleep time banking on that fact—and without informing Tom. She had been worried that one thousand years or two would not be nearly enough time for the world to heal from the results of a double asteroid strike.

  “Is he dead?” Alex asked, her heart racing.

  Neither of the Arzats answered. Alex could tell that both of her reptilian friends were now carefully blocking their telepathic thoughts. This caused her even more concern.
If Tom is dead then . . . I’ve killed him!

  “Mot, I have to have some light,” she said, willing herself to remain calm and failing. She could feel her body starting to shake.

  “I’m sorry, Alex, but I tried the magic torches and they no longer work.”

  Of course they don’t work,
she thought, temporarily blocking her mind from the Arzat and his mate.
No flashlight battery would hold a charge for nine thousand years!

  Stay calm, Alex, and think,
the words of her dead father echoed in her head.

  She suddenly realized the mistake they had made of putting virtually all of their supplies in the ARC’s hermetically sealed safes—not that any batteries would have survived in them either—but the safes were nowhere near their present location anyway.

  Alex, you have got to get a hold of yourself and think! Stop. And think!
she told herself.

  “Mot, didn’t Tom teach you how to make fire?”

  “Yes, Alex,” Mot answered her, suddenly aware of the solution himself.

  He raced back to his bed and recovered the two precious metal objects Tom had given him. Mot had taken them into his cryogenic bed as good luck, still amazed that the mystery of creating fire that had eluded his race for so long had such a simple solution.

  Now,
he thought,
all I need is some sort of fuel.
He looked around the room and could see nothing that would work.

  “Here, Mot,” Ara said, reading his mind then ripping a piece of the strange human clothing that Alex had made for her into strips and handing them to her mate.

  Mot placed a wadded portion of the torn cloth onto the floor and began to strike the two metal objects together as Tom the Pilot had taught him. The pieces immediately began to spark and the cloth gradually began to glow red. Mot carefully blew on the smoldering fabric until it caught. The resultant fire cast a dull glow around the room as the flames struggled to consume the material.

  “This will not last, Alex,” Mot cautioned her as he nursed the small flame and carefully added more pieces of cloth, trying to increase the fire’s intensity.

  In the dim light, Alex could barely make out Tom’s form under the glass.
Why hadn’t the damned unit opened,
she asked herself, suddenly feeling helpless again.

  She ran to the lights on the console and checked the settings on Tom’s cryogenic bed, which had the same indictors as the other three beds showing. They all registered
SLEEP CYCLE TERMINATED
. It didn’t make sense. Tom’s unit should have shut down and opened. Even the computer said so!

  Alex was torn. If she broke the cryogenic unit apart and Tom hadn’t yet been systematically revived, it might kill him. On the other hand, if the unit had somehow shut down and he was alive and breathing, he might suffocate in his own CO2 relatively soon.

  She looked back over her shoulder. Mot was busy working on keeping the dying flames from going out. Ara was handing him pieces of torn cloth, trying to assist.

  Decide, Alex,
she heard her father say.

  Alex rushed back to Mot and began ripping off her own shirt. “Mot, we have to get Tom’s bed open. Can you find something to pry with? I will tend to the fire. We need a metal stick or something. We absolutely have to get Tom’s bed open.”

  Alex was aware that the cryogenic bed’s glass-like door was made of some kind of unbreakable polymer—so simply trying to smash it was not an option. She continued tearing her shirt apart, feeding the resultant strips of cloth into the flames, her fingers shaking.

  “Will this work?” Ara asked.

  It was obvious that Ara had already thought of the solution and had been out and had returned again, scavenging with her preternatural speed. Clasped in the four fingers of her prehistoric hand was a five- to six-foot long, rusted steel reinforcement bar. The female Arzat’s golden eyes glowed in the light of the fire.

  Alex gratefully took the bar but almost dropped it from its weight. She got control of it and jammed it between the edge of the glass and the bed and began prying—then she felt Mot’s presence behind her.

  “Let me try, Alex,” the huge Arzat said, easily taking the heavy bar from her hands.

  She watched as Mot brutally forced the length of steel under the edge of the glass and attempted to work it open. But the enclosure was cinched down tight. Just as it rose a bit from its cradle, it would shut back down again.

  Alex stepped up and got her fingers into a small slot Mot had created with the bar on his second try, but the glass would not budge farther. Then Ara tried with her, and the three of them stood side by side wrenching together. Finally, the bed’s locking mechanism gave and the cover swung open.

  Alex could barely make out Tom’s face in the low light. It looked peaceful—and frighteningly dead. Other than that, he still looked perfectly preserved. She held her hand to his face and his skin was ice cold. She felt for his pulse and breathing. Nothing.