It's Getting Hot: Red Planet Dragons of Tajss: Short Story Read online

  Rolling my eyes, I turn and scan the room again. There’s no mistaking what I saw. Not a single person that’s in Gershom’s ‘camp’ is breaking their fast this morning. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. This is bad and exactly the kind of thing that Rosalind expects me to be on top of.

  “Thanks Bert.”

  “For what?” he asks.

  “For being you,” I say, giving him a smile over my shoulder as I walk away.

  His cheeks flush and his eyes sparkle. Sometimes there are good parts of my job.

  I listen in on conversations as I make my way out of the dining hall. Unobtrusive, I don’t want anyone to know I’m doing what I am. It’s the best way for me to gather information. People reveal more in normal conversation with their friends than they’d ever give up under the most intense interrogation. Another of Rosalind’s teachings. I’m due to meet her soon, not that we have clocks, and I’ve certainly not mastered telling time with two suns in the sky. It’s more of a gut feeling of when I need to arrive someplace.

  The heat of the double suns beats oppressively down as I step from the dining hall.

  The air inside the dome is still and slightly stale. It’s not awful, but the system that’s supposed to control the ‘weather’ in the dome is only functioning at ten percent capacity. Enough that we don’t suffocate by using up all the oxygen, but not enough to make it pleasant. Another thing most of the survivors don’t know. I’m fairly sure that even the Council doesn’t know how close we are to extinction. Rosalind doesn’t give them information they don’t need to know. Which means anything that no one can do anything about anyway.

  ‘Keep them focused on problems they can solve,’ she says.

  Rosalind is incredible. I count my blessings every day that she put her faith in me. I’m sure she doesn’t tell even me everything. That would not be Rosalind, but I’m definitely on the inside. I lucked into this job and I love it. Knowing Rosalind as I do, I know she saw something in me. I don’t know what and I’ve never been brave enough to ask, though my curiosity is high.

  My job isn’t flashy. I’m not on the Council, never in fact been to a meeting. In the view of all the survivors, I’m another scavenger. Exploring the city and looking for things to help us survive. It’s a good cover. Opens doors and explains my presence in odd places.

  Opening the small side pack on my waist, I dig through its contents and find the piece of metal piping that I have for my next stop. It’s about four inches long and has a knob on it that controls the flow of whatever is inside. Clenching it tight in one hand, I head for my destination.

  Inside the ‘main’ building, which is what everyone has come to call it, is where Calista and Jolie have set up their lab.

  Main building. Huh. I’m not sure why it came to be called that. It’s where the Council meets, probably used to be the equivalent of a City Hall. It’s behind the large fountain and statue with glass-like walls for an entrance. They can’t really be glass or they’d have broken. It’s some clear material that has the strength of steel. The material also filters out a lot of the UV from the suns. Inside is much cooler than outside.

  All the mated girls have also moved into this building, which is a point of contention for Gershom’s followers, though he’s never publicly said anything about it.

  ‘Why do the betrayers get special consideration?’ they ask.

  Special consideration my bum. They have babies, I wouldn’t want them staying in the dorms. Besides, it’s no different than on the ship. Single women lived in dorms of three to six, same as the guys. Once we chose a husband we were moved to private quarters. That logic is beyond Gershom’s camp. It has nothing to do with privilege or anything else, it’s just something for them to be all butt hurt about and complain over.

  “Illadon!” Calista yells.

  Her voice carries down the hallway but just ahead of it is Illadon. He’s crawling like mad and making good time with a grin going from ear to ear. His little wings are flapping hard and his tail wiggles as he giggles his way down the hall.

  Kneeling down, I block his forward progress. He rolls to the side then up to a sitting position.

  He looks up at me with his beautiful, gold flecked, greenish eyes with their dragon slits that look just like Ladon’s. His chubby arms and cheeks are covered with bright scales, rendered in brilliant shades of yellow, blue, and green. He has plenty of baby fat that just makes him all the cuter. He babbles then giggles as he reaches for me. Spreading his wings he flaps them furiously, then folds them back when they fail to give him the desired lift.

  Taking him into my arms I touch his nose with my index finger and he laughs.

  “Hi there,” I smile.

  He giggles more then makes some hissing sounds, he’s trying hard to make words. The intensity in his eyes makes it clear he has something to say, though I don’t know what he’s trying to tell me.

  “Illadon!” Calista yells, her voice coming closer.

  “I’ve got him,” I call.

  Illadon wiggles in my arms, trying to worm his way free. Adjusting my grip, it becomes work to keep from dropping him. He must weigh twenty or thirty pounds, though I wouldn’t guess it from looking at him. Holding a Zmaj baby is more difficult than a human one. I take care to avoid his wings and don’t want to crush his little nub of a tail either. When he’s struggling like this, it becomes an acrobatic act to hold onto him.

  “Damn it Illadon, wait till I tell your father,” Calista says, running through the open door.

  She comes straight to me and grabs Illadon from my arms. The anger melts from her face as soon as she sees he’s fine. He looks up at his mother and smiles, then blows bubbles at her. Shaking her head she sighs and laughs. “Illadon, what am I going to do with you?”

  He makes a whistling sound then claps his hands before grabbing onto the shiny necklace around Calista’s neck.

  “Thanks,” she looks to me and smiles. “He’s becoming more than a handful.”

  “I can imagine!”

  “So what’s up?” she asks, turning and walking back towards the lab.

  “Oh, I found this part, thought it might be helpful,” I say, holding up the piece of pipe I gathered for the purpose.

  “Let me see that,” Calista says, taking it. She holds it up and looks it over with a critical eye. “Yeah, this is good.”

  “Excellent,” I say. “Thought it might be helpful. How’s it going?”

  We walk into the lab proper as we talk. It’s a room, like any other, but this one has rows of shelves set up. On each shelf is a tray with different kinds of soil. Several of them have small sprouts of plants growing. While doing my best to not appear overly interested, I inspect the progress.

  I know a lot more about what’s going on in here than I could explain to Calista or Jolie. They report directly to Rosalind who then filters the information out to the other survivors. The progress has not been nearly what everyone hoped for, especially now that I know our food supplies took a major hit.

  “Oh, it’s okay,” Calista lies. “It’s a slow process.”

  “Hi Sarah,” Jolie says, as we pass her working at one of the shelves.

  “Hi Jolie.”

  “Bring us anything cool?” she asks.

  “Does Illadon count?” I grin.

  “How far did he make it this time?” she laughs.

  “End of the hall,” I answer and Calista sighs.

  “He’s getting faster!” Jolie laughs.

  “Just wait,” Calista growls.

  They’ve built a playpen for the babies in one corner of the room and Calista sets Illadon down inside it. He looks up at her with a grin that clearly says yeah right, like I’m staying here. I can’t suppress a laugh.

  Rverre crawls over to Illadon, then lies on her side. Her hair is thickening now. She’s smaller than Illadon, maybe half his size overall. He looks down, giving her the biggest smile yet, and lunges forward to plant his wide open mouth on her cheek. All of us aw
w at the obvious attempt at affection.

  A tear wells in the corner of my eye. I turn so I can wipe it discreetly, that empty ache can just keep on waiting.

  “I’m not worried,” Jolie says. “Girls are much calmer than boys.”

  “Right,” Calista says. “We’ll see.”

  As they banter back and forth, I covertly inspect the plant’s growth. It’s not going well.

  “How’s the project coming?” I ask.

  Calista and Jolie exchange a fast glance. If I hadn’t been watching for it, I would have missed it, but it tells me what I already know.

  “Oh it’s coming,” Jolie says.

  “Yeah, we’ll figure this out soon,” Calista says, coming closer to an outright lie.

  “What’s the biggest difficulty?” I ask, genuinely curious.

  Calista purses her lips and runs her hands through her newly shorn hair. Short styles are becoming the fashion lately because it’s so balls hot.

  “Water,” Calista says.

  “Well that makes sense,” I say. “Considering.”

  “Yeah, well on the ship we had plenty. Here, we can’t keep the aerator running so we can’t store enough that’s useful for the plants. There’s no running water of course so it makes growing things difficult.”

  “The soil sucks too,” Jolie adds helpfully.

  “There’s that,” Calista agrees. “I think we can work around it though.”

  “Your idea on that was brilliant,” Jolie says.

  “Idea?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s gross but anyway,” Jolie says.

  Looking between the two of them, I’m lost. “What is it?” I ask when it becomes clear neither is going to speak on their own.

  “Waste,” Calista says, then there’s a metallic click that echoes. “Shit!”

  “What?” I ask, looking around confused as Jolie laughs out loud.

  Illadon crawls past, going so fast his little legs and arms are a blur. Once more I can’t suppress a laugh. Calista glares at Jolie and I over her shoulder, racing after him.

  “It’s not funny!” she barks.

  Covering my mouth with my hand, I try to hold back laughter but I can’t. Illadon is dodging from side to side with little zigs and zags. Calista is bent at the waist trying to catch him without hurting his madly flapping wings.

  “Uh-huh,” Jolie says, still laughing.

  Calista gets a grip on Illadon and lifts. It doesn’t affect his mood in the least. He giggles and holds his arms out to his mother, tiny hands reaching. When she puts him against her chest he hugs her tight and coos.

  Rverre giggles. She has a tiny hand poked through the fencing of the playpen and it looks like she’s trying to point with one of her tiny, perfect fingers.

  “What am I going to do with you?” Calista whispers, patting Illadon’s back.

  He gurgles in response.

  “Okay, well I’ll talk to you later,” I say.

  “If you find a padlock and key out there, I call dibs,” Calista says as she closes the playpen gate and latches it with Illadon safely inside.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” I grin. “But I wouldn’t be surprised if he figures out how to pick the lock.”

  “Don’t encourage him!” she exclaims.

  I shrug and wave goodbye as I leave.

  2

  Afternoon

  Climbing the stairs from the lab is exhausting, five stories down, one to go.

  I’m breathing in ragged gasps. Because it’s hot? The air is stale? Or am I just out of shape?

  I like the first two better.

  It doesn’t help that the stairs are designed for a Zmaj, that’s the real problem. The shortest of the aliens is close to seven feet tall so the damn stairs are huge. How rude, why didn’t they plan for humans to crash and need to survive in their ruined city?

  Chuckling at my own dark humor, I finish the final flight. Seriously though, with each step I have to stretch as far as I can. Great for a workout I guess.

  Standing on the final landing, I lean over, rest my hands on my thighs, and wait for my heart rate to slow and my breath to even out.

  When it does, I straighten a fly away hair, wipe the sweat from my brow, and open the door.

  It’s quiet, of course. The hardest thing to get used to after we crashed was the quiet.

  On the ship there was a background hum that I never noticed. Machines whirring, engines thrusting, people breathing, snoring, living. The metal walls had a vibration. Strange, I never once paid attention to that until it was gone. When I first walked into a building in this city was when the absence of noise became clear. The floors were quiet and still.

  It took me hours to put my finger on what was missing. When I finally did, it was like a light bulb switching on.

  Little things. It’s the little things we take for granted that I, for one, miss the most.

  The air is still as I walk down the long hallway, passing several closed doors as I go. Rosalind’s quarters are at the end of the hall. She wanted to be able to look out over the city and chose her room for that purpose.

  Reaching her door, I knock then wait.

  I know she’s up. I’m not sure that she sleeps, ever. I’ve had to get her at all hours of the day and night and she’s always the same. Perfect. Every hair in exacting place, her eyes always bright, alert, ready for anything.

  She’s the Lady-General and there’s a reason she held that position on the ship and still does even now among the survivors.

  Rosalind exudes confidence and control and inspires it in others. I only hope to one day be half the woman she is.

  “Enter,” Rosalind’s voice comes through the door.

  Walking in, I make my way straight to the living area where I know she’ll be waiting. The space is sparse and utilitarian, despite being her personal living area. Her status as Lady-General gives her the right to private quarters. A desk is the only prominent feature with three chairs in front of it, all of them the Zmaj design that accommodates their tails but are a bit too big for a human to sit in comfortably.

  She’s standing in the middle of the open space, long dark hair just past her shoulders. There’s a regality to the way she holds herself. Her white outfit gleams, reflecting the sunlight coming in from the window she stares through. I know the secret of why it’s always clean, but it does nothing to lessen the impression. She actually wears a space suit, designed just for her, that self-repairs so no matter how dirty she gets, it never shows. A feat of engineering created at her command. On the ship it served both as armor and as protection against a loss of air.

  Rosalind has had many long talks with me about morale and how to keep it up. Cleanliness and industriousness top her list. As she would say, luckily the second can be used to achieve the first, creating a double pronged attack on low morale.

  “Good Morning, Lady-General,” I say.

  She doesn’t turn. “Rosalind,” she corrects, her voice soft, low. “You may call me Rosalind when we’re alone.”

  “Yes, Lad- Rosalind,” I stop myself.

  No matter how many times she tells me, I still default to her title.

  “It’s going to be beautiful,” she says without turning away from the window.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Our city,” she says.

  There’s a heaviness to her voice that I’ve not heard before. Goosebumps raise on my arms and the hair on back of my neck stands on end.

  Moving next to her I look out over the city. She sees something I don’t. All I find is decay, broken windows, and crumbling walls. Destruction of both time and the war that nearly ended the Zmaj race.

  “Yes Ma’am,” I agree, not because I understand but because I don’t know what else to say.

  A smile plays at the corners of her lips. She glances at me then returns to staring out across the city.

  “Imagine,” she says. “Think of how it can be, not just what it is. That building there,” she points to a tall building just acro
ss the way from us. “Replace the broken windows. Tear down the top floor where the walls are crumbling. Put a garden on the open roof. Plants blooming, people, our people, working. Creating.” She points lower. “Down there, the fountain has flowing water and people are moving about their daily lives. No concerns, no worries about where their next meal will come from or will the dome hold. Will the pirates return. That is what we are working for. It’s important, never lose sight of the goal, Sarah.”

  Listening to her, I see what she sees, just like she’s creating the images in my mind. It’s beautiful, perfect, and so much more than how we live today. “Yes, Ma’am,” I agree, chills running through my limbs.

  This is why she’s Rosalind. It’s what sets her apart from, well everyone.

  “Enough,” she says, turning away from the window and walking over to her desk.

  I follow, moving to stand across from her. “We have a problem,” I say without further preamble. Rosalind doesn’t like dancing around the bush.

  “What is it?” she asks, resting a hand on the desk.

  Suddenly her hand twitches. I can’t keep my eyes from the spasm. She looks at her hand then at me, her eyes widening, not much but enough I catch it. Quickly, she moves the hand to her side then takes her seat.

  “I said what is it Sarah?” she repeats, cutting off the words I was going to say.

  Staring at her hand, my mouth moves but the words won’t come out. I’m locked between what I was going to say and what she wants me to say, leaving me unable to speak. Trying to push past the mental block between my mind and my mouth, I look at Rosalind. Her sharp eyes pierce into mine, making it clear my inquiries are not welcome.

  How can I not inquire? Something is wrong. That tremor, it’s a weakness that Rosalind would never reveal.

  “Uh,” I say, struggling.

  “Sarah,” Rosalind says, her voice soft but firm. “What is the problem?”

  Your hand, I want to scream. The block in my mind clears. Deep inside a faint thought occurs, but it can’t be. That would be too ridiculous to be true. I’m not an egomaniac and such an idea would be beyond egotistical. If there is something wrong though… could Rosalind be grooming me?