The Arcane Chronicles: The Book of Jack

Ch. 4: Discovery

Chapter 4: Discovery





Later that morning, I ran into Brytta on my way out of the crew’s mess after chow. Those of the crew who had holed up in the galley that night had nothing better to do while they waited so they cleaned it up so we could utilize it in the morning. It certainly made things easier than if we were to try making breakfast outside with scavenged equipment.


“Oh hey, Jack!” She exclaimed. “How are you doing?”


“Better than I was when we landed,” I said with a smirk.


Brytta giggled and lightly stroked the bandage on my shoulder, “That’s good. I saw the Captain carry you out when we evacuated and I hoped it wasn’t too serious. What was the diagnosis?”


“Just a couple broken bones. Collar bone had a compound fracture and I lost a lot of blood, but it’s nothing that won’t heal after a month or two of LLD. How have you been?” I replied as if it was normal to be broken.


“Busy,” she said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “I’ve been helping Luke with his work ever since we landed.”


“Oh yeah? I talked to him last night to try to get a better sense of time here. Have you guys had any breakthroughs recently?”


Brytta sighed heavily, “No. We can’t really do much else until we’ve had a few days to study the movement of the suns. It’s really a lot harder than it seems. The added variable of the suns rotating around each other makes calculating a year more of a loose approximation than anything and vice versa.” I knew she was smarter than me, but now she was just making me jealous. “The planetary orbit makes calculating the rotational cycle of the suns just as difficult. If we had better equipment to make observations with, this would be much easier, but the Armstrong was a military vessel not scientific. We may not be able to figure this out until we find some friendlies on the planet, if there are any.”


“I really hope we do find some civilized people here,” I thought out loud. “Finding out the length of a year may be irrelevant if we can’t sustain ourselves for more than a few days. If we don’t find civilization we may have to start experimenting with the plants and what little wildlife we can find to see if any of it is edible. Maybe if there is a race here with technology as advanced, or more advanced than ours we can find a way off this rock. Hopefully they’d offer food and shelter in the meantime.”


“Yeah. I don’t know how long we can last without help,” for a brief moment, Brytta looked me in the eyes and I felt the deep penetration of her stare. Was that fear I saw in her face? If so, it’d be the first time I’d ever seen her afraid.


When she was in the eighth grade, I was walking home from my summer job and happened to catch a couple thugs trying to mug her - or worse - in the alley next to our apartment building. There may have been tears streaming down her face, but there was no fear. The next year, I sat by her side in a hospital room for a month after she had been hit by a drunk driver and sent into a week long coma. Even after losing her parents the year before I left for Annapolis and my family had taken her in she showed no weakness. Year after year of her cursed life she kept her stoic resolve. Perhaps being so far from home, in a place so unknown, made her finally grasp the concept of fear.


I couldn’t look at her anymore. I turned my attention to my tray and nervously fiddled with my silverware before giving it to a junior Sailor in the scullery, “Try not to think about it. That’s the worst thing we can do right now is worry over our current situation. Especially a department head like yourself. If the crew sees you freaking out, morale will tank even more than it already has.”


“I know. I can’t help it though.”


I looked back at Brytta and caught her eyes once more. Her fear was almost obvious now, so I made sure no one was looking and pulled her in for a tight hug with my good arm. Being more than a head shorter than me, she pressed her face against my chest and slowly took a deep breath. I gently patted her back and tried to reassure her. “We’ll be fine,” I whispered.





* * *





For the first few hours of morning I had been overseeing the construction of a temporary camp. Tarp tents and makeshift shelters were being set up on the north side of the wreck. Several bio-glow torches had been set up to illuminate the camp in the waxing sunlight. It may have been safer just to stay inside the Armstrong, but we had been cooped up in there for the last 3 months and it was such a beautiful day outside. We had another crew cleaning up the berthing compartments inside the Armstrong so we could retreat inside at night just in case. On one of my rounds I found Captain Maxwell chatting with McKinley by what I assumed was our weapons cache. I had been partially left in the dark since we crashed, and I wanted some more details. He must have seen me approach because he excused himself and jogged over to me.


“Good to see you up and about, Foster,” he extended his left hand to me, which, as a right-hander without the use of my right shoulder, I clumsily shook. “You seem bothered.”


“Yes, there’s a lot that has been going on that I have missed. I was hoping you could fill me in a little.”


“Yeah, I would have last night, but it wasn’t the best time. And I’ve had a lot on my mind since we crashed. Walk with me, Sailor, and I’ll give you a more appropriate update.


“Most of the scout groups returned last night. All of them found at least one lifeboat, but only a few came back with survivors. Seems like most of them suffered pretty bad crashes. Fourteen of the missing sixty-four came back alive before sundown. The scout parties counted another twenty-two dead. That still leaves twenty-eight missing, and one of the scout groups never returned. We are assuming they are dead, perhaps caught by more of those creatures that attacked us in the middle of the night.”


“Any luck finding civilization or wildlife?” I asked.


“Unfortunately no. But we did get some geographical info on the surrounding area though. There is a large barren mountain range to the southwest, a large river that curves about our position from the north around to the east, and a few small streams and patches of what seem to be forests of tall plants scattered all about in every direction. One group tested the water in one of the small streams and found there was actually very little water in it at all. It’s a mixture of deadly alcohols, mainly butanol. There’s only about four percent actual water. So that poses another problem. Not only is our food and water supply not going to last long, but there’s paint thinner running in the rivers, and we don’t have the proper equipment to boil the water out.


“I’ve sent out another six scout parties, and since we have much more time till the sun sets they should be able to provide a decent amount of information.


“Obviously, I don’t plan to stay here very long, and regardless of whether we find any place to relocate to by the end of today I plan to have us move out by tomorrow. Being around the crash site seems to be bad for morale, but we will probably need to camp out in the ship again tonight.”


“Aye aye, sir,” I nodded.





* * *





“Oy! Something’s coming from the northwest,” I heard one of the patrols shout.


It was around midday and I was making a tour of the makeshift perimeter we had set up around Ground Zero as we officially began calling the crash site. I jogged over to where the Marine shouted to take a closer look at what was coming. It looked like multiple creatures off toward the horizon. It was hard to see how many because of how distant they were, but they seemed to approach at a fast walking speed. I quickly glanced around to find Maxwell, but I didn’t see him in the immediate area.


“Captain!” I shouted as I ran back to the ship. I had hoped he was outside still. I hated going in and out of the ship; the gravity shift made me queasy every time. Luckily I caught sight of Max near the south side of Ground Zero, still overseeing some final construction of our temporary camp.


“Captain, we have several unknown contacts approaching from the northwest,” I panted and tried to catch my breath.


“Hostility?” Maxwell quickly stepped over to me and we made our way back to the northwestern perimeter.


“They don’t seem hostile. If they were intelligent enough to organize a hostile attack they would make an effort to hide themselves. They are walking towards us out in the open. These are definitely not the same things we fought last night.”


When we arrived at the perimeter several Marines were already grouped up and fortified behind whatever rubble they could find, awaiting the approached contacts. The Captain took a quick look towards the northwest horizon.


“I hope you’re right, Foster,” the Captain said. “But I’m not taking any chances.”


“Stay sharp, Marines!” Maxwell ordered. “Rifles at the ready, but don’t fire unless fired upon. If these guys are hostile, get ready to make a break for the ship. If not, well let’s give them a warm welcome. Maybe they can help us.”


The Marines hunkered down in a funnel fashion as the creatures cautiously approached and entered our camp. There were about twenty of them all about a head shorter than the average man. They were centaur-like, with the upper body of a man, thick arms and defined muscles. However, their lower bodies were reptilian: wide with four short stubby legs giving them little ground clearance, and a long tail that drug on the ground. They had dark red scaly skin and a black underbelly. A long bony crest ran from the top of the forehead, like a mohawk, all the way to the tip of the tail, short at either end and tallest between their fore and hind legs. Their crests were dyed various colors from the tip at the forehead to the back of the neck, leaving the rest a bone-like, off white color.


Though their faces were similar to those of a human with scales, they were thinner toward the chin and taller. They had no mouths, a small protuberance that may have passed for a nose, and three pointed scales protruding out around holes that I guessed were their ears. Their eyes were most noticeable with an extreme slant towards the center of their face and various bright iridescent colors.


All wore silver armor plating along their chests and backs, but leaving their crests uncovered. Shoulder pauldrons and unique helmets that covered all but the bony ridge completed the adornment. Most carried what looked like metal spears and jagged diamond-shaped shields with two large axes holstered along the sides of their lower bodies between their legs, while a few wielded only large crystal-tipped staves. Those with spears had crests that were dyed a bright red color, while those with staves had various other colors.


There was a single creature with golden, ornamented armor wielding a staff. His crest was dyed a rich violet with a black stripe on either side. They couldn’t have made it any more obvious who their leader was.


Suddenly I heard a strange voice in my head. None of the words were discernable and it had an airy, hum-like tone. I glanced at the other crew members who were looking around at each other with very confused looks on their faces. They must have heard the voice too. It must have come from one of the creatures, probably goldie. Without mouths, they must have had to communicate with gestures or through telepathy. Telepathy with medieval weaponry just didn’t add up though. Maybe it was ceremonial garb?


“Did everyone hear that?” Maxwell asked. He was replied to with a unanimous “Yes, sir,” from the crew.


“Do you understand the language I am speaking to you?” the Captain asked to the violet-crested alien.


The alien turned and looked as if it were discussing with the others. There was no sound however. Only their heads and hands moved for gestures. They must have been able to control who they broadcast their telepathic signals to. Suddenly the ones with the spears and shields sharply raised their spears over their heads in what looked like a strange salute, and spread out around the perimeter of the camp, patrolling. The others remained still with the leader who turned to face the Captain again.


The strange speech started up again, but it was accompanied by simple hand gestures. The alien pointed to himself, and made a gesture as if he was holding a spear and standing guard. Then he pointed to Maxwell.


When the speech stopped, Maxwell began his own gestures. He pointed to himself, and then a tent. He made a simple gesture with his hands over his head for shelter, and then pointed off to the horizon where the aliens came from.


The creature replied by pointing back towards the northwest, then at the blue sun almost directly overhead and lowered his arm to a forty-five degree angle. No speech this time however. Maybe he figured out we couldn’t understand.


What seemed to have just taken place was an offer for shelter. From what I could figure out, the creature intended to protect us for the time being, and take us back to where they came from by the time the blue sun was where he pointed to in the sky. It seemed too good to be true, but unless we wanted to slowly starve to death, it was our only option. We really had nothing to lose at that point.


Maxwell cautiously held out his hand for the creature to shake, but received only a blank stare. Getting that the alien did not understand the handshake gesture, he slapped McKinley’s shoulder with the back of his hand to get his attention and together they demonstrated. Once more, Maxwell offered his hand to the creature, who slowly grasped Maxwell’s hand and shook it once.


Maxwell turned to the crew behind him, “While it would be natural not to trust a race of beings who are completely unknown and are unable to communicate well with us, I see no other option than to trust them. They certainly seem more hospitable than whatever we met last night. So I ask that you trust them as I do. I believe they want to offer us shelter, so everyone is to pack up what you can and be ready to leave in 2 hours. Food, water, weapons. Everything must get packed up. We don’t want to leave anything behind. Dismissed.”


The crew scattered to pack immediately as Lieutenant Junior Grade Radcliff from Radio came jogging up to the Captain and I. There were several JG’s and Ensigns onboard the Armstrong, but being the youngest and most junior department head, Radcliff was most often referred to as simply Junior.


“Shall I call the scout parties back, sir?” he asked.


“Yes,” Maxwell replied. “Tell them to hurry back as quickly as they can. We will need those jeeps to help us move. We can’t leave without them.”


“Aye, sir,” Junior saluted and quickly ran back to his equipment.


I hung around with the Captain and kept an eye on these strange creatures. The armed guards still patrolled in eerie silence, but the others mingled around with the crew inside the camp. I heard a few whoops and shouts come from a small group of men near a smoldering pile of rubble. I arrived at the scene just in time to see an orange-crested creature conjure a sort of fireball in his free hand from the tip of his staff and toss it onto the pile reigniting it. Another series of shouts and clapping followed as more of the crew crowded around. The fire burned for a short bit until the blue-crested alien beside him created a large ball of water and dropped it on the flames. The fire extinguished with a loud hiss.


These creatures were truly unique to be able to control the elements like that. The one literally summoned a fireball in his hands from nothing and cast it onto the pile of wood as if it was second nature. This race of beings could prove to be a considerable ally if communication could be established. The thought of being able to throw fire and water from nothing at my command was exciting. I couldn’t wait to learn their magical secrets. Suddenly, the whole telepathy and spear thing made sense. Why would a civilization bother with technology when they had magical powers at their hands? The humans were to technology as these creatures most likely were to magic.


While the crew continued to watch the entertainment, I glanced over at the one alien with the golden armor. He simply perched himself on large chunk of hull plate and observed. He had this studious look on his face as if he was trying to figure something out about us. I began to think to myself, wondering how long it would take before we could communicate in a more refined manner with these odd reptiles. Would we be forced to learn their language, or would they learn ours? Perhaps it would be mutual.


Suddenly I noticed the golden armored reptile had been staring at me. When he looked away, I said to myself, I wonder if he can hear what I’m thinking. And sure enough he snapped his head in my direction once more. I heard his voice in my head again, quietly, and it sounded slightly perturbed. I wished I had known why. His bright golden eyes were so penetrating it was almost frightening.


A couple hours later, Captain Maxwell and I were discussing the progress the crew was making towards packing when the decorated alien cautiously walked up and interrupted us.


“I… am… Artanus…” the strange voice rang in my head. Stunned by the fact that this alien somehow figured out bits and pieces of our language by studying us for less than two hours, I could only stare at him with my mouth open. “I… am… leader…" he pointed to a few of his kin nearby. "Offer… shelter…”


Maxwell slowly turned to look and me and we stared at each other, wide eyed, in disbelief.