Generation Alpha Centauri - Part 7

Mave stood at the edge of The Weald as the shadows of trees through dark streaks over the barely visible path. Overhead a small passenger droneship passed, heading in her direction. As she turned the temperature up on her onesy Mave imagined the passengers riding on the vehicle. Safe. Without a thought of what they took for granted. Without a thought for whatever was in the thicket ahead below them. Without a thought of her.

There was still a little hololight left. Should she try to make some distance on her journey, or should she make camp at the edge of the forest? Her initial excitement turned back into a naked fear. Did she have enough to eat? How far was the next city? Who or what was in The Weald?

She heard something move in the shrubbery to her left.

“Hello?”

Mave made her way down the dirt path, noticing the various sights and sounds of the animals of The Weald. The noises were not unlike those found in the Atrium underneath her city with its dome that revealed the stars.

Overhead here, however, was only the top of Cradle, obscured more and more by the thickening canopy. She realized that the sounds here were different after all. The Atrium had upkeep, after all, and there were no dangerous animals. That was likely not the case here, and the numerous cries of wildlife made that clear. This was an unrestrained place, unkept.

Another rustle in the bushes, still ahead of her.

It was just animals, she expected. Hoped. She had made the right decision going forward. There was no reason to believe that she was any safer on the edge of the Weald than within it. As the hololight faded Mave assured herself that the various sounds, including the foliage, were just harmless wildlife and the wind.

When Mave sat down to catch her breath from carrying the heavy packs, she moved her onesy to the light glow setting in order to help herself survey her surroundings. Behind her, the entrance to the Weald had winded out of view, leaving her isolated and surrounded by the tall trees. Beside one tree, she could see two eyes glowing in the dark.

An arrow sang over her shoulder, soaring into darkness. Mave dropped to the ground instinctively, but soon realized that it hadn’t been for her. The glowing eyes were gone. Behind her, form where the arrow had come, she heard a rustling in the bushes. She frantically snatched a small knife from its place in her larger pack and pointed it towards the movement.

“Are you alright?” Came a voice. Out from the bushes stepped a man with a bow slung over his arm and holding a strange lantern. Mave tried to hide her shaking, but kept her knife raised. This was one of them, a denizen of the Weald.

The man had stubble and looked tired, but was otherwise handsome. His clothes were set to a mottled green, and his face had some sort of paint.

“Well if you had that knife the whole time, why didn’t you pull it out for the weald fox?”

“Who are you?” Mave said, never removing her eyes from the man.

“Not important,” he said. He put two fingers into his mouth and whistled.

“What did you just do?”

The man laughed. Mave could see now that he was actually a relatively young man. Maybe a little older than herself.

“Don’t worry. That was just to let my friends know you’re safe. Surprisingly, not every deselect we’ve gotten has been.”

More rustling from the bushes around her and three figures appeared. One looked to be a child. With the face paint and strange clothing Mave couldn’t tell the gender. Another was a man with a long beard, getting on in age. The last was a woman about Mave’s mother’s age who, at least with the paint and clothing obfuscating her, reminded Mave strongly of her mother.

Mave relaxed her hands by her sides, but still clung to the knife.

“Looks like we’ve got a survivor, here,” the older man said with a mirthful smirk that lit up his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s not anything like the last one,” the younger person said, walking up to her and looking up into her eyes. Mave could see close up that it was a girl. At least, she thought it was.

“Alright, that’s enough. The other groups will be roaming tonight. We got what we came for, let’s head back.”

The leader disappeared into the foliage, followed by the old man and the woman who had, so far, said nothing. The young child turned around on the edge of darkness.

“Well? Are you coming or what?” Then, giggling, she ran out into the dark.

It was quiet for a long time before Mave finally moved. She felt eyes open on all sides of her and pressure closing in, the Weald itself separating her from the mysterious strangers and her only hope of contact in the Weald.

“Wait!” she shouted, running after them. But even with the light of her onesie she couldn’t see them or hear them moving through the brush. What she could hear were sounds behind her growing alive, suddenly bold now that the last hololight was gone.

She stumbled through the brush, cutting her exposed flesh on the thicket and branches. Paranoia closed in like a vice. Was that a shadow flitting through the dark? The bushes to her side rustled, a form parting them.

“This way.”

It was the silent woman from earlier.

Mave followed the woman’s form through the twisted trees. A light from ahead made her silouette a gracefully moving figure. It was clear that this woman knew her way around the Weald, or at least this part of it.

The others were standing when Mave and the woman found them. They sat back down and relaxed only after seeing who they were.

“I found her,” the woman said, sitting near the fire and warming her hands. Mave had sensed it getting cooler, but her onesie kept her at the perfect temperature.

“So, she decided to come. Good,” said the man. “Well, if we’re going to share our food with you the least you could do is introduce yourself.”

Mave looked around at the group, all four staring back at her expectantly.

“I’m Mave. Mave Longborn.”

The man cleared his throat. “I’m Jonah. This is one here,” he said, pointing to the young girl, “is Mary. The old man is Ezekiel, and she’s Clementine.”

“Who are you calling old? I prefer the term well-aged, myself.”

“Welcome to The Weald, Mave. See, Jonah? I told you it’d be okay.”

“We’ll see, Mary. We’ll see.”

“So. You live here? In the forest?”

The four exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“Well we sure as hell don’t live on the Spoke, little missy!” the old man shouted.

“Though I am sure our accommodations are every bit as fine,” Jonah said, laughing.

“I doubt people on the Spoke eat wealdling meat stew,” Clementine said with a smirk as she handed Mave a steaming bowl of brown liquid with what appeared to be meat chunks and vegetables. It smelled delicious, and saving her rations as much as possible wasn’t exactly a bad idea.

Still, it wouldn’t do to be incautious. She waited until Jonah and the others took their first few bites before digging in on hers. The taste was rich and warm, grounded and earnest in a way that none of the food in her home sector had been. The replicators meant that people were always pushing the limit on food there, trying to have new and fancy things on the nearly endless lists as much as possible.

“How is it, Mave? I know it’s not what you’re used to…” Clementine said, worriedly.

“Oh, it’s delicious!” Mave said, realizing her silence might be taken for ungratefulness. When she’d left earlier that day, it had felt like she might never meet another person again. Now she had hope that she could build a new life. Maybe even amongst these strangers.

“Did you hear that?” Jonah said, his face turning stern.

“Surely did,” Ezekiel said, picking up his bow from where it lied next to him.

“Put out the fire.”

Clementine was already on it, picking up a large leaf full of dirt and dumping it on the fire. Mave, no knowing what to do, put herself close to the ground like the others.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Jonah. I thought we’d have longer.”

“Me too.”

“What is it?” Mave dared to ask in a whisper.

“Another tribe. They’re here for you, too.”

And an arrows whistled into the camp from the endless dark.

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