Notes: Some made up words pop up in the 'Poleepkwa' language (just one, it's meaning is explained at the end of the chapter). Along with some common ones to add emphasis, but won't be carried throughout the whole story. Wanted to build a little before moving on… enjoy!
"Desmond."
He opened his eyes. It was almost noon, and he had slept all throughout the night. He woke up to Christopher's voice hovering behind, and the bug-eyed kid-thing looking straight at him.
Desmond pulled his arms close and rolled to the other side.
"Come. We will get water for Jackson and our tent."
By noon it was sweltering in the heat. The sun blazed just beyond the shade of their tent.
Desmond got up. Hunger clawed at his gut, but he ignored it and followed Christopher. Each of them carried the same 3L MNU issued water buckets as they meandered between the tents.
"We have been losing our people." He finally started.
"They have been disappearing."
Desmond shrugged, perhaps too carelessly; it was a good thing Christopher was in front.
"Disappearing? How… can, you… tell?" It wasn't new to him. 'Their' people were capable of killing one another; like mindless, hungry rats. And if they didn't kill each other, the guards would be the most probable second and only other cause. The Nigerian gangs had no other means to get to them. District 10 had become so militarized, that it was nearly impossible for a regular human citizen to waltz on through without clearance.
"Their bodies cannot be found."
"Gangs?"
"No. The gangs have been cooperative."
Desmond could sense the trepidation in that last sentence. It brought a strange, sick feeling that spread all over him.
"You trust… the gang?"
"They would not lie about these things."
They started walking where the tents became sparse and a fountain appeared ahead.
"In the night they have been taking people… too many people."
Desmond started filling his bucket. He frowned and shook his head.
"So?" What could he do?
He avoided Christopher's gaze as he shifted away, allowing the prawn to fill his bucket with water.
Nothing was said between them as they started on their way back. Desmond didn't want to think about the probable cause, the reasons that had once landed him in the depths of that MNU laboratory unit. The damned thoughts refused to leave though, as Christopher's scent hit the air with a tangible and uneasy wave of frustration.
They briefly stopped at Jackson's tent. Christopher went ahead inside to drop off the water, before they promptly left.
As they started Christopher's hand stopped him. He turned, finding it hard to meet his eyes without feeling uncomfortable. The hand let go in response.
"We will make a trip to District 9. Tonight."
Desmond frowned.
"With who? How?"
"There will be three of us."
"Oliver?"
Christopher paused and watched him carefully for a moment. He shook his head.
"No. He is staying back with Theo."
Desmond huffed quietly and put the bucket down. He closed his eyes for a moment, frowning. An underlying whirl escaped him.
"Chris… Why? Why am… I going- too?" His eyes opened. A slight glare pointed at the prawn.
"Well?"
"There's not enough time to collect the fluid."
Desmond's right antennae twitched, but every other sinew and muscle of his body stilled. Tightening.
"It's getting harder to find our technology. You understand? Our best chance is to try and get a signal out."
"Did… you- you agree… to this?"
This must have been one of the things they talked about in the meeting, the one that Christopher had gone to.
A thorough clean up and sweep at D9 occurred after the relocation. Officially it took a full year and 3 months to sweep every shack, container and through every junk pile in the process. They had missed things, few and small; certainly not enough to recover enough fuel though. Or perhaps that was what Christopher had decided.
"Why me?" Desperation plagued that voice, and if not discernible by his clicks than it was certainly present in the air now.
"You should be a part of our rescue efforts." He nodded.
Desmond blinked, and shook slightly.
"Wh… What?"
Christopher made a half step closer. It was an expression, Desmond recognized, he wasn't fooling around.
"I remember that first year and a half. How you… hurt. A'kau'rru'."
And how patient Christopher had been, how much he and his son sacrificed to look after him. There was a time where he had only been hateful and loathing of the creatures. A painful process, and with a flinch he stepped back feeling betrayed by Christopher's notion.
"Desmond?"
The previous frustration had somehow uplifted from Christopher. A look in his eye brought forth concern, and perhaps even a bit of wonder. There were times where human and alien could not find common ground; frustration was easy to muster, surprise however came with an unguarded shock. And neither could form enough words or expressions to explain themselves.
Silence, Desmond had learned, was the better alternative to this frustration, this annoyance and inconvenience. It had once been the opposite, the silence once dreadful; all he could do was fill it with curses and unintelligible ranting. As if it would fix itself, or provide Christopher the means to ignore any attempts to clarify.
"Yes…- I did. I said… sorry. Many, many… - times."
"We have an opportunity."
He snorted, shook his head and picked up the bucket.
"Why does… it – it even matter?"
Christopher trailed behind him.
"This must… mean, you have given up."
"Kau. This would be our best chance."
"No." Desmond was certain of it now.
Christopher stopped. Took his arm and yanked him back.
He stiffened. A flush of anger spread to his throat, his gills flared briefly and tightened with a sharp breath, antennae twitched rapidly.
"Tonight, we will board the mothership. We will re-activate and boost our signal. They will know where we are, and they will come. We will bide our time, but they will come."
"For how long?! Three more? Ten!"
The grip on his arm tightened. Could see the plates on Christopher's face constrict in a growing scowl.
"It's over. It was over a… - long, time ago." He didn't think these words would deter Christopher, or affect him in any way. Desmond refused to stay long enough to observe anything beyond it. He pulled himself away, free, and hurried along to the tent.
When he arrived Oliver was playing with Theo, encouraging him to speak. Theo warbled and trilled; made odd vocalizations that must have been cute in alien terms, but resounded in clicks and clacks, buzzing noises in different sub-vocalizations that drove him crazy sometimes. Like a mini non-stop construction site.
"Hi Desmond… Where did father go?"
"He's on his way."
The young adolescent nodded. Paused in thought and then chirped as he started up again.
"Theo said something today." Oliver smiled.
"Guess what he said."
"Not now." He was standing, avoiding eye-contact and fidgeting with his hands; sweeping his eyes into the small living space of the tent.
"I'm… - going out."
"But… Theo's hardly seen you today. And I think he really wants- ," Oliver stopped himself.
Desmond had left.
He returned for dinner. He ate in silence as the other two conversed lightly. Theo was looking at him, making those horrible clacks.
Eventually the child gave up.
"When do we leave?"
"Before the sun starts to set."
Desmond nodded, confirmation of his attendance, and went back to eating the slop in his can.
Later on, just as the sun was about to set Christopher and Desmond made their way to a particular tent. It was in the thick of District 10, deeper into camp and slightly off from its center. The activity was high here. It wasn't the same heady scent from the full moon, but it was thick enough that it made him uneasy. Some eyes followed their path, most ignored them.
A rather large alien sat at its entrance. He stood up, gaining the eyes of some of the prawn near him and trilled in greeting to Christopher.
"He's waiting for you."
He paused to look at Desmond. A gruff snort summed his impression.
"The hybrid?"
"He's allowed to come."
Desmond didn't respond, he just stared into the tent. He had only ever been called once to a meeting, after D9's relocation. Not once after that.
The prawn let them through.
There were two prawns that looked to see who had come. The older one greeted them both with a similar trill.
"We are ready to start."
The old one glanced at Christopher's old, worn backpack.
"I have the fluid, and the tools I need."
"Food and water?"
"Yes. Both of us do."
"What was your name?"
"Desmond." He tilted his head. No one really talked to him. It was hard to tell if the prawn was genuinely interested.
It simply gruffed, and walked a few paces to a part of the tent that had boards on the ground. He lifted them to reveal a dark hole.
"This is Nick."
Nick. He appeared roguish. Unlike the guard at the front, he didn't have any piercings. But his eyes reminded Desmond of some of the prawn gang members. There was a dark purpose in them, beyond the dull look that most 'workers' had.
He was slightly taller than Christopher, broader shoulders and thicker limbs; still reasonably thin, just fuller, and sharper than most.
Nick regarded him with his eyes.
Desmond caught them, and nodded as was custom.
The prawn merely looked away, past him and to the hole in the ground.
"Nick first, Christopher and Desmond." The old one said. He flung a knotted rope down. It was attached to a fixture on the ground.
Nick grabbed for one of the alien weapons. It had a sling attached to it, allowing him to carry it against his back. A smaller weapon was attached to his thigh with a homemade holder from confiscated duct tape.
"Here, you will have a weapon each." The old prawn picked up two that each had a sling attached.
"Try not to lose them." He raised a brow at Desmond.
"Ah, yeah…" Desmond frowned briefly at the prawn, before watching Nick start down the rope.
"How uh… how far is it?"
"I would say around three stories. A fall is not in your best interests."
Desmond snorted, shaking his head and giving the hole an uneasy look.
His heart was in his throat and his hands felt like they were shaking uncontrollably when he started. He took his time at the first bit, receiving a goodbye from the old one as he went down. Soon enough all light disappeared.
There were moments where he couldn't tell if he had made any progress. He'd taken too many pauses perhaps. He was beginning to lose his sense of direction, despite the ever nagging pull of gravity; his hands and arms sore. Eventually he found the ground and bumped into Christopher. His hands stretched out to steady himself in the darkness.
"H-how long… ah- is this, going to take?"
"Twenty minutes." Nick responded. "We move out now."
The dull sound of footsteps muddled in the air. Desmond kept one hand against the side wall, and one out in front of him. He kept jabbing his hand into Christopher's back.
"Hold on to my shoulder." He insisted.
Desmond relented, feeling awkward; after so many days and months of sleeping together. The in-between of dream and consciousness, a pleasant touch no longer bothered him. He could lie to himself, think it only natural for him to want some tactile form of comfort. Most living things, he suppose – sought for it. A dog, cats, domestic things and wild animals; must only be instinct, he told himself.
Nonetheless, he whirled in a quiet thank-you between them.
The awkwardness quickly lifted, his grip relaxed; and he could breath normally again. The walls no longer closing, entrapping them as they pushed forward.
(1) A'kau'rru' ~ Inspired from the Korean noun aswium (ASH-i-oom); the mingled feeling of disappointment, frustration, and regret that results from an unsatisfactory situation ( .com); OR a mingling of unsatisfaction, wistfulness, disappointment, regret, higher hopes, frustration and sadness that something has to or did not happen ( .vu)
… to be continued.