Jazik looked up at the darkening sky, which was barely visible through the tree leaves. Cramps from riding all day shot up his backside and his skin was sticky from the jungle humidity. Chemical lanterns painted the trunks with a pale blue light, chasing shadows along the dense greenery. The scraggler he was riding, a segmented beast with twenty legs, chewed through the foliage with its mandibles, felling small trees and bushes. Its mouth was like a saw, ripping through wood and crushing twigs.
Sitting in front of him was the guide, a clickman. That was not what the species called themselves, but the language they spoke was incompatible with the human tongue, being formed of high frequency clicks rather than words shaped by vowels and consonants. But they’ve grown to accept the moniker. Tall, and covered in clothes with a thick weave, the clickman was an imposing presence. Chitin carapaces covered his many arms and legs. Segments slid into segments when it flexed and moved. His antennas probed the air continuously. His orange eyes were sharp with sentience.
Behind Jazik, rode his wife and daughter on a separate scraggler. It weaved seamlessly along the path the clickman’s beast created. Behind them, wagon rolled, carrying their shelter and supplies. The wheels squeaked as they bounced along the roots and logs.
When Jazik’s wife, Menelle, caught his eye, she smiled. In her arms, she held onto their daughter, Samith, who was fast asleep despite her head jostling.
Jazik returned the smile, then looked ahead, hoping for some sign that the jungle would regress.
It did not.
Trees were bunched up against trees and the empty spaces between them were filled with vines and shrubs. The forest was a stifling mass of verdancy, a claustrophobic cluster of leaves and brambles. The humidity was so heavy, he could see a steam-like fog drifting among the woods. Red fungi scaled their trunks and wild orange flowers bloomed like stars. Some of them shuddered at their presence and retracted into their stocks. Creatures with six arms leapt from branch to branch overhead, fighting over fruit.
All around them, the jungle grumbled. The Wildwood was referred to by many as a cursed forest, trapped in a constant state of growth. Limbs clawed their way out of trunks, grass forced its way out of the ground, twitching flowers spreading their pedals in agony. If one looked closely enough, the Wildwood’s growth could be observed with the naked eye. Even if a patch of dirt were uncovered, it would have green needles poking out of it within hours. It was an ever-shifting maze, prepared to strangle both itself and anybody foolish enough to wander into it.
Eventually, they came upon a small opening in the woods, a glade with a humble creek trickling through it, carving through a bed of stone.
“Hold on.” Jazik said to their guide, “Let’s stop here for tonight.”
The clickman brought the scraggler to a stop and hopped off. Jazik spun his legs over the creature’s side and slid off, planting his feet on rock. He proceeded to stretch. Stone was a man’s best friend in The Wildwood. It was the only place where its growth did not take root. Though vines crept along, they could be kept at bay. Anybody foolish enough to camp on the forest’s dirt would find themselves ensnared in the morning.
“Sammy.” his wife said, nudging their daughter awake. She stirred, groaning, and rubbed her eyes.
“What?” she said, looking around.
“We’re stopping for the night.”
Samith immediately sat up with interest, shaking off her sleep. When their scraggler came to a stop, she slid off and immediately ran to the river.
“Oy!” Jazik said, “Don’t run off! Stay where we can see you. We are in the Wildwood!”
“I’m not running off!” There was crankiness in her voice, but Jazik let it slide.
Menelle slid off her mount and stretched her arms. A big, stupid grin spread across her husband’s face. How could every movement she made be so graceful, even something as simple as dismounting a giant insect? She grabbed a spare chemical lamp from the mount, turned the knob and gave it a shake until blue light illuminated the reflector. While Samith played in the creek, Jazik and his wife unloaded their supplies.
The clickman, whose true name they could not pronounce, dropped on two pairs of legs, while his arms preened his antennas. His tail end, chitonous and prawn-like, swatted the ground several times, a gesture Jazik had seen many of his species do, but never knew the reason for it. He chittered nervously, glancing around the glade. The creature was frightened of their destination. In fact, Jazik had to pay him a hefty fee to get him to come this far.
Jazik and Menelle set about erecting a tent made from leather skins and rolled out their beds. Then Jazik hefted the generator over his shoulder and lugged it over. He set it down, pushed a few buttons.
Nothing.
Grumbling, he slapped it a few times.
No response.
With all that bouncing around, he wouldn’t be surprised if a connection had been shaken loose. His daughter, seeing that there was something that needed to be fixed, ran to get his tools. She brought the toolkit over, set it on the ground, and opened it up.
“Dualprong.” Jazik said, without looking up.
Samith rummaged through the toolkit, pulled out a two-pronged key, and placed it in his hand. He used it to pop the casing open.
As he set about fixing the generator, he could hear the forest groaning around them.
“Ok. Got that fixed!” Jazik said, giving the generator a few taps. The cell inside hummed and gave off a dull glow.
The clickman let out a loud, rattling rumble and pointed at the generator, his mandibles clacking together in anger. Samith took a few steps back in fright as the creature stood over them both, looking ready to destroy the device.
“Whoa, whoa!” Jazik said. “What’s the problem, friend?”
“Hrkrkrkrrghr...”
The clickman’s language was one no human could ever speak, just as vowel and consonant-based languages were something it could not speak. But both beings understood each other’s dialect, nonetheless. Someday, Jazik would teach Samith how to learn the creature’s language.
“I know we’re in Thresher territory,” Jazik said, appeasing the creature’s fears about the brutal tribes that lived near the Wildwood. “But you yourself said they wouldn’t come this close to the crash site. They are not going to—”
Another series of throaty clicks erupted from the clickman’s gullet and he slapped the air, his needle-like fingers glistening in the lantern-light.
“You don’t need to remind me of our deal.” Jazik said, “But our deal did not prohibit the use of technology.”
The clickman hissed at that word. His people, a stranded race like Jazik’s own, adopted a taboo against using certain types of technology. This stigma was not uncommon for those who got trapped on this world. Nobody knew what it was about Calun V, but ships that flew too close often experienced system malfunctions and found themselves careening toward the surface, so the verdant planet was populated with both survivors, and the descendants of survivors. The clickman’s race was older than most, being one of the earliest stranded species. They inherited a belief that technology that involved electricity or computers always led to disaster. Sometimes they got violent over it.
Jazik looked at the creature’s claws, knowing it was fully capable of slicing him to ribbons in a matter of seconds if it wanted. He had his gun on his belt of course, but he did not reach for it. He did not want to escalate the situation.
“Listen,” he said, “we just need some light. We don’t have your eyes, friend, and it is too damn hot to start a fire.”
The creature clicked dismissively and glared at him. Then it turned around, and went to retrieve a large sack from its mount. Jazik did not know what these bags were called, but the creature had been hanging it from the trees and sleeping in it. If one did not find stone in the Wildwood, camping in the air was the only way to make sure they could sleep safely. The ground would choke a person. Sure enough, the clickman found a tree with a suitable trunk and scaled it effortlessly, his insectoid body disappearing into the thick leaves. Samith watched him go with a nervous look in her eyes.
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“Why was he so angry?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about it.” Jazik said, “our machines make him nervous. But it will be alright.”
“Jaz,” Menelle called, “there’s a few skin lickers growing around the campsite. We need to take care of those.”
“Where?” Jazik asked.
His wife shined the lantern on a tall cluster of flowers, whose blooms were concave and flame-shaped. Tendrils with black orbs on their ends extended from behind the flowers, “tasting” the air. At the plant’s base was a mass of vines with a glistening texture.
“What are those?” Samith asked.
“Don’t touch it,” Jazik said. She looked like she was about to walk right up to it. “That is a skin licker. Weren’t you taught about those back in the colony? They will eat you alive if given the chance.” He shined a light on their vines. “You see that shimmer? You’re seeing millions of tiny poisonous needles. See its vines twitching? It knows there’s a meal nearby: us. If we let it, the vines at its base will creep toward us and try to sting us. We’ll become paralyzed, then it will wrap its vines around our bodies until it forms a cocoon. Then it will excrete acid and it will digest us slowly.”
Disturbed, Samith took a few steps backward. Jazik smiled.
“Stop scaring her,” Menelle said.
“But it is dangerous.” Jazik said, “the Wildwood is a dangerous place. It is not meant for colony folk.”
“Just take care of it!”
“All right, all right…” Jazik grabbed a machete and walked up to the skin licker, making sure to avoid touching its vines.
Fortunately, it was as simple as hacking off their blooms, blinding the plant. But for good measure, he hacked at its vines too. There were three lickers around the campsite. After he took care of them, he washed his blade off in the river and rinsed his skin. He’d brushed up against a few of them and a dull fire spread at the point of contact. Just what I need, he thought, wiping sweat off his brow. The damn forest was trying to suffocate them with its unrelenting humidity. He wanted to dunk his entire body in the river.
The stragglers, native to this planet and having evolved to adapt to the Wildwood’s chaotic growth, found a spot to curl up and lie down in. They would be entangled in vines the next morning, but they always shrugged them off. He wished he could adapt as easily as that. But the forest’s dank, moist air clung to his skin like slime. He took his shirt off, earning a whistle from his wife.
“Oh, you like that, huh?” Jazik said, “this jungle is going to kill me! I thought my ancestors grew up in places like this…”
“I can believe it.” Menelle said, laughing. “You blend right in. You’re just a pair of eyes floating in the air.”
“Lord have mercy… I feel like I’m going to choke on this damn air!” Jazik stepped into the tent and laid down on his cot. He turned to his daughter, who was reading a novel on her holo. “Well Sam. what do you think of this jungle?”
“I like it,” she said without looking up.
“As do I,” Menelle added, “we get to walk through a forest that is constantly changing and shifting. It’s fascinating!”
As she said this, Jazik heard a tree falling in the distance. It was a common sound, accompanied by the snapping of branches. The forest was the antithesis of the colony, where there was order. The Wildwood was chaos, constantly at war with itself.
“You people…” Jazik sighed, “I need to get a new wife and kid. Dump you both in this place and find some beautiful azelis girl–”
His wife threw a pack of dehydrated apples at him.
“It was a joke!”
“Jokes are supposed to be funny,” Menelle said.
“But I am funny. You do not think I am funny?” Jazik asked, “Samith, don’t you think your father is funny?”
“Sometimes…”
“Ouch!” Jazik opened up the pack and began to eat the crisp apples. “Well, I know our creepy insect friend doesn’t think I’m funny. He almost tore my face off earlier. What do you think he’s doing up there in his tree?”
“Sleeping.” Samith said.
Jazik didn’t know why he expected a different answer, so he just stayed silent for a few moments while he ate. Then he turned to his wife.
“How’s your song coming along?” he asked.
“My song?” She looked confused for a few moments.
“The one you started writing lyrics to when we entered this god-forsaken place.”
“Oh! It’s finished… mostly. I don’t think I like the lyrics yet.”
“Who cares about the lyrics?” Jazik said, “I want to hear it.”
Menelle smiled and averted her eyes, suddenly looking shy. Jazik adored that look and he had to resist the urge to tease her. But he practiced restraint.
“I want to hear it too,” Samith said.
“All right… all right.” Menelle cleared her throat. She went through their stuff and pulled out a black case with a small stringed instrument inside, hand-crafted by a Velos trader. It was called a thelp. Menelle had been learning to play it for years now. She got it tuned up, took a deep breath, and began to play. It was a simple, arpeggiated melody, but it seemed to pour from the instrument and meld with the chaotic woods around them. She took a deep breath.
“If you come by,
a light in the night.
When the sun dies…
A black sky…
Look from afar,
stay where you are,
or you'll be misled by the wisp in the wood.
If you take chase,
you'll be led astray.
by the quiet…
whis-pers…
Keep your head down,
and turn right around,
or you'll be misled by the wisp in the wood.
Dancing aflame
Gliding away
Your only light through the cold night
“Cold night…” Menelle faltered, frowning.
Silence followed and her audience waited. But the next words never came.
“That’s all I have…” she said.
“I like it,” Samith said.
“Thank you, Sam.” Menelle put the thelp back in its case.
“Your voice is as beautiful as your blush,” Jazik said with a huge grin on his face. “You see your mother’s cheeks blushing?”
“Oh my God…” Menelle looked for another object to throw at her husband, who began to cackle.
“Do you think the clickman liked it?” Samith asked.
“The what?” Jazik said, “Oh, our host? Who knows what he likes? I know what he’s afraid of: That ship we’re going to see tomorrow. We’ll be parting ways sometime in the morning. Speaking of which, are you excited to see it? They say it’s as big as a mountain!”
Jazik sat up and turned toward his daughter. “You haven’t seen an S class vessel yet, have you?” She shook her head. “You’re in for a treat then.”
“I heard it was dangerous.” Samith said. There was an equal amount of curiosity and worry in her voice.
“It may be,” Menelle said, “we’re going to be very cautious with how we approach it. Do you remember me teaching you about spallatic radiation?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, we have to watch out for it. We’ve been told that the forest does not grow near the ship and that may be the reason.”
“Humanity’s first known attempt at blending magic and science,” Jazik said, reciting from memory some of the fables he had heard.
“Magic isn’t real,” Samith said.
“You’re right, it isn’t real,” Jazik admitted, “but why spoil the fun?”
“The important thing is that the ship’s a mystery,” Menelle said, “it’s waiting for us to discover its secrets.”
Jazik was secretly nervous about what they would find. It was a mountain of resources and yet it remained mostly untouched since its crash, even though it was surrounded by scavengers. The tribes around here were a superstitious bunch, subscribing to beliefs about curses and omens. But if multiple tribes, enemies and allies alike were afraid of the vessel, then there was a real danger. That danger may not have any supernatural causes, but it was present nonetheless.
“You will be very careful,” he said, looking right at Samith. “You will stay close to us.”
“I know…” she said.
“Good.”
“Why do you think it crashed?” she asked.
Jazik leaned back and looked at the top of the tent, watching as hundreds of bugs gathered on the canopy.
“I don’t know,” he said, “probably the same thing that caused The Morning Sun to crash when I was a kid. That’s just what this planet does. It eats ships.”
It was an unsolved mystery. Any flying vessel that came close to Calun V, no matter how advanced or how primitive it was, always malfunctioned. Even a simple toy drone could not take flight on the planet’s surface. The propellers would spin, but as soon as it hovered more than a few feet, the props stopped and it crashed to the ground. Everybody on this planet was trapped.
Jazik used to hope that someday, there would be a rescue from Earth or from one of the Earth-owned planets, but Calun V was not called the “Bermuda Triangle of the Milky Way” for no reason. Even communications were silenced. Some phenomenon prevented any signal from leaving the planet and nobody had a clue what. So he had long since resigned himself to the fact that this was their home for the rest of their lives.
It was not all bad though, Calun V was a wild planet, but it was incredibly fertile, vibrant, and filled with life. There was no fear of starving, for there were plenty of crops to plant and regrow. The world was like a rose: it was beautiful, but it was also covered in thorns. One had to tread carefully. So even though there seemed to be no hope that they’d ever be able to leave, they could live here.
Jazik smiled. What if they made the vessel their new home? It would be perfect. He, Menelle and Sam could take shelter in the very thing they were trying to study, and nobody would bother them because everybody was too afraid to approach it. They could grow crops in the field and every day, they could penetrate the ship’s depths and piece together its untold story. It was a fanciful thought. They would not approach the vessel until they took thorough readings of the soil and air surrounding it, making sure there weren’t contaminates in either. But it was a nice thought: a spaceship all to themselves.
As the night grew older, Samith eventually went to sleep. Menelle stayed up, writing down her reports. Jazik rolled onto his side and looked at her, his eyes drinking in her beauty. She noticed him looking and smiled.
“Yes?” she whispered, “What do you want?”
“A cold shower. Climate control. And a beautiful woman in my arms,” he said, “but I’ll settle for the woman for now.”
“In a minute.”
He set his head back down and grumbled. As he listened to her write, his eyes drooped shut and he began to fall asleep. Eventually, she turned off the lamps, came over and laid down next to him. His arms moved more by muscle memory than by thought, wrapping themselves around her and pulling her close. He leaned in and kissed the back of her neck, before whispering in her ear that he loved her. Then they both fell asleep.