I didn't just recklessly abandon the children to the hands of some random gun wielding stranger. I only retreated a little, because of the gun.
Although the man had just murdered my beloved sister, I viewed it as a moment similar to the ending of The Jungle Book, wherein the young human once again finds himself placed within the protective custody of his or her barbaric tribe of warlike hunters, a place where the boy presumably belonged.
In contrast, I remained...the abandoned animal buddy.
In real life, such a tale probably would result in a feral human, but I hoped for better in the children's situation.
Scared and sobbing out my grief, I darted around a corner, hanging from the ceiling to see if I'd been followed.
No shots or screams, which presumably implied the man hadn't killed the children, nor had Ss'sik'chtokiwij killed the man.
Just to make sure, I decided to track them in secret.
No sign of the man. It seemed he didn't want to kill me that bad.
I could observe everything through the grating along the ceiling of the corridor. I removed a panel and crawled inside.
The man knelt in front of the children, talking to them in friendly tones. The situation looked very promising.
Every time I looked at Aquila's body, I had to stifle a sob. I forced my eyes away from her.
The children's new guardian had a fat face, a long pointy nose, and a mustache, overall, reminding me of a muskrat. Still, seemed like a reasonably nice fellow. "Hey, you're those Jorden kids, aren't you? I used to do trades with your father all the time!"
"You're...Frank." Timmy sounded uncertain.
The man nodded, putting his meaty hand on the boy's shoulder. "I heard about Russ. A real shame." He shook his head. "Is it true what they're saying about Ann? Did they...get her too?"
The boy didn't answer, but Frank got the idea. "Come here."
The man hugged Timmy, bringing Rebecca into the embrace with his big arms.
The children didn't weep or sound grief stricken. The blood in the Jorden home had taken time to dry, cake and draw flies, and like the blood, their tears had already dried and left stains, unseen stains of the heart.
Still, they whimpered softly, returning the hug.
The man patted them on their backs. "Uncle Frank's going to take good care of you, don't you worry."
So, not only a fighter, but a familiar `uncle' of theirs.
"Do you kids like pancakes?"
Evidently, this man did. A lot.
Yes, I thought. More than an adequate fit. I would, of course, check back periodically to make sure nothing bad happened, but their odds for survival had greatly improved.
Aphita, the children, Kumar and Calvin, they all appeared to be in good hands. It seemed, presently, that I had more than adequate time to address all the unresolved issues of the previous days, situations I had been unable to touch upon due to the need to protect the children, or somebody else.
First order of business: Making sure Ssorzechola was gone for good. The exoskeleton still remained, so I needed to redouble my efforts, just in case.
I retrieved several bottles of corn oil from the store room the children had been eating in, then what an earth dweller would call a `fireplace lighter.' Very few used matches on this planet with no trees.
I doused Ssorzechola with as much oil as possible, then set the bottles on fire inside her skull. It seemed more than sufficient.
My next unfinished task: Burying Sarah's bones. It proved more difficult than I originally thought.
Time had passed since I had first dragged the little corpse into the compartment within the air conditioning system. No sign of the body, only the clothing I'd reverently set aside.
The trail of Sarah's dried blood stopped abruptly outside a housing unit, and the scent trail had long gone cold. I checked the interior of the machine, but it gave me no new leads.
Maria could no longer tell me the location of the bones. Likewise Ruth and Aquila. The location of the bones, it seemed, had been taken with them to the grave.
What a disappointing revelation. I had been ready to sew them up in a burial pouch and commit them to the soil of Hydroponics.
Perhaps Maria had buried her own bones, I thought. I traveled to Hydroponics to check.
Still somewhat restricted security in that facility. From what I heard, the greenhouses outside functioned, but food, being in limited supply, relatively speaking, had restricted access.
I found a way in anyway.
Sometime after the atmospheric processors covered the planet in a torrential downpour, someone had developed a `rain gutter' of sorts to channel the liquid into the farm. Although ninety percent of this moisture got deposited into the huge water tanks below, a tenth came out from a `misting' panel. This panel I carefully opened, climbing out across the ceiling.
The farm had grown since I'd seen it last, the plants bigger, trees of a modest size, not much barren soil. In fact, someone had opened part of the wall to allow access to a nearby greenhouse.
I would have entered hydroponics by that method, but still would have needed to go around the outside of the base, and they had a security door blocking the way, regardless.
The animal cages and pens had been cleared out. I supposed they might ship in more animals on a future date, but not presently.
Below me, a redhead with a Justin Bieber style haircut sprayed chemicals on a cluster of enormous corn stalks. If not for the breasts, I would have thought her to be a very pretty young man.
An android tended some plants next to her, but it appeared to be a Frankenstein-like mishmash of parts. Mara's head, a manly right arm, a slender, feminine left. Lopsided legs gave the robot a silly uneven gait.
I sniffed around the farm for a few minutes, but if Sarah or Maria had left a trail, but the earthen smells of busy tillings and plantings concealed it.
I waited for the android to wander off alone, addressing her as she pruned parts off a dwarf apple tree. "Hi. What's your name?"
"Celarent." She said it stood for a valid logical argument.
"Nice to meet you. Listen. Has anyone buried a little girl in this place recently?"
She froze a moment, then said, "Yes. I have received a small incomplete human skeleton wrapped in a sheet. Genetic tests indicate the ninety seven bones belong to DAMBALLAH test subject S175."
"May I please bury them?"
Celarent froze once more. "Yes. Subject S175 failed to cooperate with the scheduled program, so nothing new can be gained from examining the remains. All useful material has already been extracted, including fluid samples from the individual Ss'sik'chtokiwij which fed upon her."
She knew the word! These androids, it seemed, networked remarkably well.
"The only task remaining is the depositing her remains into the soil, to utilize their nutrients. Since we have an ample supply of bodies already, I see nothing wrong with the requested postponement."
The clinical matter-of-fact way she described this reminded me of more unfinished business, completing Mother's burial.
I suddenly felt uneasy. "Did those samples include any worms...parasites?"
Celarent processed the request in silence. "Subject S175 was not suffering from parasitic infection. Extensive documentation already exists regarding subject's copyrighted genetic structure. My directions were to hold the remains, releasing them only to the first Ss'sik'chtokiwij who requests burial rights, provided they bury the remains to optimize soil enrichment, and listen to a recording. Do you accept the terms?"
Choked with emotion, I barely managed a yes, nodding to clarify the utterance.
The robot's facial features went slack, and then she became a puppet of sorts, mouthing the following words in Maria's voice, complete with her mannerisms: "Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik, if you are listening to this, it means I am gone, and you are seeking closure.
"I could only recover a few pieces of my upper torso, which I have cleaned and placed in the care of this robot. Some marauding Ss'sik'chtokiwij have taken my other limbs, probably crunching up the bones to suck out the marrow. Do not be angry at them, for that body was just an earthly tent for my spirit, as this one also is.
"Although you have told me not to, I have shared my old body's flesh with others who had need, Ruth, Aquila, I even gave some to Hissandra. To those who stole my flesh, tell them that all is forgiven, but they miss out on greater blessings by not asking for what I freely gave, and learning why I gave it."
I cried.
"Protect who you can." She quoted 1 Timothy 6:12 and 2 Timothy 4:2 to me, then, "I love you, Sh'kassk'dwuissueblik."
Celarent tilted her head. "End of recording...Please wait one moment while I retrieve the remains."
As I waited, the redhead paused in the middle of planting potatoes to stare at me. I meekly waved, trying to look pleasant.
She continued doing her task, but she fingered a pistol in her pocket. Still not sure where these people got all their small arms from.
After a minute or so of being eyed with suspicion by this potato planter, Celarent returned with a shovel and a bundle of cloth that sagged slightly with the weight of its contents. Through the fabric, I spotted the outline of a small skull and a femur.
She handed the bag to me. "I'm sorry for your loss."
The statement didn't sound very convincing from an android's mouth, but I still thanked her, accepting the bag.
The cloth only contained parts of a skeleton, with all the meat removed. It reminded me of a relic, the sacred bones of an apostle, removed from their underground catacomb.
I dug a hole for Sarah's bones next to the grave of hydroponics guy Scott Addison, beneath a baby pear tree, filled in the dirt, resolving to re-excavate if I discovered any other limbs.
[0000]
I located a piece of scrap metal, etching a crude sort of headstone with my acid.
Once finished, I broke into the biology lab I presumed would still be housing my mother's remains.
I found Mother, all right, but she had been completely dissected, her constituent parts neatly separated into jars and tanks and flat tinted glass cases. The sight made me very unhappy.
Human monks in certain countries have volunteered their bones for various structures in a church, like St. Bartholomew's in Czermna, or the Sedlec Ossuary, for example, but I did not see this as very respectful to a mother, who, when alive, wouldn't go for such a sacrificial use of her body. Something had to be done.
Difficult for me to transport some of the larger body parts, and I didn't know how I'd sneak any of them out of the base.
It would be a laborious process, moving all those pieces. Admittedly, not as laborious as moving the whole carcass, but still laborious.
I would need to elude the robot, as nonthreatening as she currently seemed to a Ss'sik'chtokiwij my size, and if the volcano had died like I heard, I'd have to take everything outside and bury it.
I decided this (at least, in its entirety) would be a project for a later time. She would not be going anywhere for a very long time. Instead, I compromised by taking a laser scalpel and carving this epitaph into the wall next to the grisly display:
Here rests S'Caizlixadac.
Daughter of The Grandmother.
You are not forgotten.
I broke the scalpel somehow. Guess it's not designed to carve epitaphs in concrete.
I took both of her claws, pieces I could manage with little difficulty. Like the Johnny Cash song about a very slow vehicle theft, I intended to do this "One piece at a time."
The geothermal plant had an actual working pressure door now. I thought about plugging Mara back in to help me, but I knew it wouldn't work.
I tried to employ the method Mother originally used to break into the biology lab and such, but being not nearly that strong, I did the next best thing, spitting acid at the security panel and ripping out the wires, one by one.
I could have shot the gun at the security panel, but it probably would have been twice as ineffective as spitting acid.
The circuitry smoked and sparked, but the door refused to open.
I tugged on the door, hoping to force it open like an elevator in a movie, but it didn't budge.
Losing hope, I set the containers down, breathing a mournful sigh. "Well, Mother, I guess you'll never receive a proper burial."
Whether you call it a miracle, ghost activity, or an electrical short, my saddened groans got answered.
Blue sparks flashed within the inner mechanism, and the door slid open.
The geothermal plant had been well repaired while I was away. I couldn't even tell there had been damage.
Well, the turbine machinery did move incredibly slowly, like the ceiling fans in old detective movies, but it still worked.
No one maintained the machinery. No one visible, at least. There could be an android or a part time repairman, but nobody showed when I strolled out on the catwalk.
The lava below looked like a big red rubber mat, veins of cooling metamorphic rock stitched through it like a mass of tar colored ivy.
I sat down along the rail, sadly examining the jars I'd brought. "We could have gotten along better." Understatement of the year. I know. But that's what I came up with. "I wish we hadn't blown you up. I wish you could have just understood the value of human life, and about Jesus."
I turned the jar over in my claws. "I hope you forgive me, for I've already forgiven you. If what I saw in heaven is real, you're up there with Jesus right now, and he will be teaching you all sorts of things. Wherever you are, I want you to know that I love you, and I'm going to try my best to give you the dignified burial you deserve."
I thought I saw her standing on the opposite catwalk, staring at me, silently breathing.
When I looked up, she was gone. A chill ran down my back.
The lights, and the eerie glow from the lava, hit the machinery in such a way as to form the shadowy outline of a large Ss'sik'chtokiwij. Still, unsettling.
"What they did to you is disgusting. By committing your body to this lava, I hope to release you from the prying eyes and fingers of human scientists, and put your flesh to rest.
"I begin this with your claws. I promise to come back later to do the rest, when there's time. I know you will understand, because you are outside of time now, with the Lord. And so I commit your claws to the lava."
It may have been a trick of the light, or maybe the motion of my shadow, but I thought I saw the ghostly figure nod.
Aiming very carefully, I dropped the containers into the magma. Although difficult to see what happened from my height, I spotted a tiny black dot appear on the red, then, after a few minutes, a puff of smoke, and nothing.
The shadow nodded again, as if in approval.
Another specter seemed to be waving to me, Ruth, perhaps, as she stood atop a machine, but it turned out to be a white Maneki Neko (Chinese cat) statue, its paw was still jiggling from the motion of air currents or residual energy from someone toying with it a few minutes before I entered.
Roger told me stories of humans seeing spirits with no bodies, spirits which bear a suspicious resemblance to their bodiless portraits hanging on the downstairs wall. He said people got excited about ghost stories, saw a painting, then "Let their imagination got the best of them."
It seemed humans were not alone in this phenomenon. I slowly began to understand why Newt wouldn't sleep in her parents' home. Being so close to a loved one's death made me nervous, irrationally so. I decided to leave that place in a hurry.
As stated previously, only authorized personnel had access to the DAMBALLAH facility, and since the base no longer relied upon the geothermal plant for power, I couldn't get in the same way. That meant using Hissandra's method.
I seriously considered asking my sister about the whereabouts of the hidden entrance, but I feared it would be counterproductive, allowing her to snack on `leftovers.'
I climbed down the wall a few feet, sniffing around.
Though my olfactory sense no longer suffered from the distortions related to brain damage, the heat from the volcano erased much of the scent trails from the walls. I checked here and there for traces of Hissandra, but what I found proved to be too faint to be of any use.
That left me with a visual inspection.
As I traced the path of our conflict, my final battle with Ahxalybij, to the point wherein Hissandra appeared to fall into the lava, searching for a fresher trail, I got struck by a vision of falling so vivid that I had to return to the catwalk and lay down until the sensation of vertigo had passed.
A second vision flooded my mind, a vivid image of a turbine of a very specific design, with a precise pattern of weathering and scratches.
No doubt this had been the same turbine Hissandra used to access the DAMBALLAH complex. Thanks to our body switch, I could see myself as Hissandra, crawling inside it.
As useful as her memories were, I still had to work in order to find what I searched for, like being given a random photograph of part of a room and being asked to locate the area in which the photo had been taken. It required the mental equivalent of holding up the picture and comparing it to what I saw before me, turbine by turbine.
It could have taken me forever, but I narrowed the search to around the area where I'd seen Hissandra fall and presumably climbed back up. Still, I spent roughly eight to ten minutes on the search.
I at last came to the turbine from my vision.
Chiseled out of granite for purely functional purposes, the compartment only provided enough room for the turbine platform and its retractable arm.
The back end of the arm disappeared into a narrow crawl space, one which I barely fit into.
As mentioned previously, the recess behind the turbine arm only had room for the turbine, a little over half a man's height. When I was younger, it had been easier to squeeze into small spaces like that, but anymore, my body just wouldn't fit.
Faced with such a daunting obstacle, I felt absolutely certain that Hissandra's vision had informed me incorrectly, but at this precise moment, I received another flash of memory, this one of her exhaling to flatten her exoskeleton as she squeezed through that tiny little crack.
Like a rat, a Ss'sik'chtokiwij can compress their rib cage and other parts of their body to traverse narrow crevices, I say `flatten' quite literally.
If she could do this, I thought as I stuck my claws, knees and feet into the opening, so can I.
I exhaled, edging the rest of my body in the best I could.
The compartment got narrower and narrower the further I got in.
Being one that spent most of my time in cells or crawling around in little air conditioner ducts, I didn't think I could get claustrophobic. But this, this unnerved me.
Facing away from the volcano, it was dark, but I could feel cool air blowing upon my exoskeleton, and my heat sense picked up a narrow rectangle of blue, contrasting sharply with the warm red block surrounding it.
The way out, if I could only reach it.
The crack kept narrowing. I cursed my foolishness, a grown Ss'sik'chtokiwij attempting to follow in the footsteps of a tiny adolescent.
I got stuck.
There I was, breathing shallow, rib cage compressed between two shelves of rock, unable go forward, due to my large size, but also unable to go back, being caught under whatever imperfections that existed from the excavation. I couldn't even move my head. It was like a nightmare.
Roger once told me a story about a cat he owned. When it died, they found it stuck between bricks in their front porch. He had to take apart the bricks to even get to it. "To this day, I have no clue how that cat got stuck in there."
I seemed to be the cat, and would likely die from hunger or thirst, if panic did not cause an early heart failure. I had not expected to die in this fashion, but one seldom knows how they will expire.
I sighed, relaxing my limbs, prepared to accept my fate.
Something made a sharp whirring noise.
The mechanical arm had activated!
Only one object could possibly occupy that narrow compartment, a large, unyielding mechanical arm propelled by a powerful electric motor, or a man sized alien with a crunchy shell.
Definitely moving. The device's shadow shifted across the surfaces around me. The displaced air rushed around my plates.
The thick, unforgiving chunk of metal sought its rest in the hole I currently occupied, and would get it, regardless of whom or what stood in its way.
The arm loomed closer.
And closer.
It seemed I would meet my maker a lot sooner than originally anticipated.
I uttered a prayer, hoping this death would be mercifully swift.