Shades of Earth

“We’ve been able to get the shuttle open again, but if the evacuation taught us anything, it’s that it’s unwise to have the entire colony living within such a contained area. All our eggs in one basket, so to say. Therefore, from this point forward, the shuttle will be used for storage and scientific research. Everyone—Earthborn and shipborn alike—is to relocate into the buildings here. Although we will all have to share our space, it will afford us much more privacy than if we were all living in the shuttle’s cramped quarters.”



I agree with him here; that first night was miserable.



“The first part of the morning will be spent relocating. Bring whatever supplies you need for day-to-day life with you back to the building that will be your new home. My people will distribute food rations at midday, and with them, work assignments.”



I narrow my eyes.



“Every single person will have to contribute. We need basic things for our survival, and we must all work together to ensure that this happens.”



I have no doubt that what he’s saying is true.



But I also have no doubt that this is the first step of Orion’s prophecy.



Soldiers, he warned. Or slaves.



As the military guides people to the shuttle, I make my way back to the ruins and Colonel Martin. I catch him as he’s leaving the building. “Elder, there you are,” he says. “I tried to talk to you before the meeting but couldn’t find you.”



I get right to the point. “How are you dividing up the labor?” I ask.



Colonel Martin holds out his hand, and Emma, who is behind him, hands him a notepad. “I’ve talked with your medic, Cat—”



“Kit,” I correct him automatically.



“Kit.” Colonel Martin nods. “She made a list that she was kind enough to share with me, indicating the labor skills of your people. I’d like to get the farmers working right away—I believe we might have landed in this planet’s summer, but it might not be too late to start some crops.”



“That sounds good,” I say, surprised by Colonel Martin’s approach.



“The other labor is menial but necessary,” Colonel Martin continues. “A cleared path between the ruins and the shuttle. Toilets—toilets are a top priority. We have a pump and some water pipe as well, and I’d like to get that started so we can bring water from the lake to here.”



I nod. “I can help distribute the labor among my people,” I say. “But I want to know what your people will be doing.”



“The FRX’s primary mission with our colony was to discover new resources, so I’d like some of the geologists to be present when the latrines are dug,” Colonel Martin says. “The other scientists will be performing their individual missions, and the military will be spread evenly throughout the area to protect everyone.”



“From those things you’re calling ‘pteros’?”



“Precisely.” Colonel Martin leans back, inviting me to continue, and I cannot help but feel that somehow he’s using his words in the same way a spider uses a web.



“But you’re not concerned about protecting us from whatever built the ruins we’re now living in?” I ask.



“I’ll remind you that it was your idea to settle in these ruins,” Colonel Martin says genially. “And it was a good idea. But as of now we have no reason to suspect that the life-forms that built the structures we’re currently residing in mean us any harm or, in fact, are even still currently on this planet.”



I stare at him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t.



“You’re not even curious about them?” I ask, unable to keep the disbelief from my voice. “They’re human size, they made buildings that fit our needs perfectly, and there’s not a single trace of them. You don’t even care?”



“I care,” Colonel Martin says, his voice grave, “about our colony’s future. Not this planet’s history.”



“So you want toilets and dirt samples,” I growl. “And I’m guessing I can’t expect any of your people to do any digging.”



Colonel Martin stops. “We can provide tools, but we don’t have the manpower to—”



I cut him off with a wave of my hand. I should have known. Orion’s warnings ring in my ears. “So my people are the ones doing all the work?”



Colonel Martin shifts. “There are only one hundred of us—actually, only ninety-eight—”



“And all ninety-eight of you will be pissing in the toilets,” I snap.



“We will help. I’ll have some of my men help lay down the water pipe, and as I said, the geologists will be hands-on to gather the soil samples for evaluation. We have to work together, Elder.” Colonel Martin doesn’t sound patronizing; there’s real concern in his voice, and the sincere look on his face is the same one Amy wore every time she made me a promise. He really means what he’s saying.



I sigh. Would I have been so antagonistic if I didn’t have Orion’s words ringing in my head? If I hadn’t seen him die less than an hour ago?



“I know,” I say. “I understand. We’re in this together.”



I just wish saying that didn’t make the situation feel so ominous.



Amy catches me as I’m helping to pass out our lunch rations—a single serving of dehydrated wall food that is both dry and tasteless. My people accept the packets of food gratefully, and they eat them huddled together and standing up in the bones of the buildings we’ll be living in from now on.



She has The Little Prince in her hands.



“Let’s talk to Kit,” she says in an excited undertone. “She worked with the wi-coms with Doc; maybe she knows a way to amplify yours so you can reach the ship. If we can just talk to Bartie or someone still on Godspeed, maybe we can figure out where Orion’s next clue is—”



“No,” I say heavily. I hoist the bag of food rations higher up my shoulder and make my way to the next stone building. Amy follows.



“Why not?” she says. “It’s worth a try.”



“Maybe it is,” I say. I start handing out the packets to the next group of people. “But there’s work that has to be done first. I can’t let my people starve.”



“Elder!” Amy looks shocked. “You can’t let them be food for pteros either.”



I don’t have the energy to argue. I just keep passing out food rations, and she leaves me in a huff, taking the book with her.



After lunch, I follow the group heading out to work on digging toilets first. It would be wrong of me to ask my people to work without working myself. I grab a pickax and spend the next several hours digging trenches, throwing every ounce of frustration at the hurt look Amy gave me into the task at hand. At first, my people freeze at each unknown noise and shadow, but as the day progresses and they realize that most of the commotion is caused by the geologists who are there to collect soil samples, they cease jumping and concentrate instead on finishing up the job ahead of them as quickly as possible, despite the intense heat.



I, for one, rip my shirt off. It’s sweltering here, the air heavy like it was just before the storm. Sweat pours off me as I swing my pickax down into the yellowish sandy soil for the umpteenth time.



But this time the ax doesn’t stop. It plunges through the dirt, and suddenly the ground around it breaks away, sending me and the ten or so others digging nearby crashing through the crumbling ground, falling into the darkness. For a moment I feel as if gravity has disappeared like when the shuttle was landing, but then I slam into the cold, hard earth below, dust billowing around me, clinging to my sweaty skin as the wind is knocked out of me.



“The frex?” Tiernan, one of the workers who’d been helping me, says. We both peer up—and then around. The hole we’d been digging for latrines has given way to an eerily large tunnel.



“Elder?” several of the Feeders call, peering down into the collapsed tunnel.



“Is everyone okay?” the Earthborn engineer shouts. “Someone get the medics!”



I quickly assess the damage. Three of the Feeders were injured in the fall—one’s shoulder was sliced by a shovel blade, one is limping, and another has a knot on his head. We’re streaked in mud, but the air down here is blessedly cooler and the drop was less than seven meters.



The others all turn to me, the whites of their eyes starkly visible in the dim light. “We’re all going to be okay,” I say. I glance up, and they follow my gaze. Already, the people above us are securing a rope and organizing a rescue.



My eyes turn to the tunnel. “Where the frex are we?” I mutter.



Tiernan touches the wall of the tunnel. He turns to me, eyes wide in the darkness. “I don’t think this is supposed to be here,” he says.



I run my hands over the hard-packed earth along the wall. It’s smooth and cool to the touch. Above me, everyone is yelling and shouting—for ropes, for doctors, for the military. But the tunnel goes on and on, into the darkness and the unknown. “What made this?” I whisper.



I step forward. It’s so dark—as if the inky blackness is eating the light. The tunnel’s ceiling arches, but the floor is flat, with thick grooves cut along the bottom. Because the tunnel is almost three meters wide, all I can think about is that whatever creature made it must have been huge. My mind fills with images of worms twice as tall as me or long-nosed, sharp-clawed, overgrown moles that could eat me with a snap of their pointy jaws.



“Elder!” The voice cuts through the darkness and chaos, and I squint up at Colonel Martin, peering over the edge of the collapsed hole. “Any injuries?” he barks.



“Some!” I call.



“We’re coming down!”



Before I have a chance to do more than step back out of the way, a dozen ropes are thrown into the tunnel and camouflaged military men rappel down. They go first to the three injured men, but there’s no doubt about it—they’re hustling to get us out of the tunnel as quickly as possible. For the very first time, I see real fear in the military men’s faces. Their eyes dart nervously as they wrap the ropes around my people and start hauling them up.



I ignore the soldier trying to get me to come closer so I can be dragged back up to the surface of the planet and instead squat down, looking at the grooves along the ground. They are cut deep and straight, almost as if wheels made the marks, but when I touch the dirt, I feel something abnormally smooth. I dig my fingers into the dirt and remove . . . something.



It’s about the size of my palm, thin, and clear as glass. I hold it up to the light and see a golden sheen to the surface.



A scale? I think. At least that’s what it looks like. My mental image of a massive worm burrowing into the tunnel is replaced by a monstrous snake with crystalline scales.



The scale is plucked from my open hand. I’m about to protest when one of the soldiers yanks me up—Chris. “It’s not safe down here!” he shouts. He loops the rope under my arms and tugs on it to signal the people on the ground to start pulling me back up.