First Dimming, Year of the Survivor 1

It was supposed to be simple. Straightforward. The contracts had expired and given the situation on Earth, there would be no renewals. Olivia Raedwald’s uncle assigned her the responsibility of evacuating all official, important, and essential personnel from the planet regardless of their financial ability or willingness to leave. Others would be transported back to Earth as accommodations allowed, and only if they could afford to buy a ticket. He would not absorb the cost of flying back former prisoners, deadbeats, or anyone else unimportant.

Still, she had use of the Shuttle Commander’s vehicle. She would bring home however many she could squeeze in, damn it. They’d make room on the ship even if refugees had to sleep in the corridors. Her uncle would be displeased, and she would suffer harsh consequences, but the people would be home.

The shuttle rocked, leveled, then dipped into a wide turn. The pilot shouted back, “Missed the tower, ma’am. We’re going to need to swing around for another try.”

Ma’am. The ridiculous honorific made her uncomfortable. People ought to use her name, she thought. That’s why she had one. Although she had to admit she understood the deference since she owned the entire planet. The deed to the planet was in a protective case which she kept taped securely to her abdomen and a digitized copy of it was embedded in her left iris.

“How could you miss the tower?” she complained lightheartedly to her military escorts and the flight attendant. They laughed. She and the others sat on the floor rather than seats because they had removed everything possible to maximize room for the return trip. She clamored to her feet to head to the front cabin for an explanation. Without warning the craft flipped belly-up. She crashed to the ceiling and flailed out of control the length of the cargo bay. Just as abruptly the craft rolled right side up, catapulting her to the floor. She scrambled helplessly for something solid to grasp until the flight attendant grabbed one of her arms and a soldier latched onto the other. The shuttle slammed right then left then right again.

 “Hold on, ma’am. Hold on,” the flight attendant begged. “It’s a rough landing. Hold on.”

Abruptly, they were propelled toward the front cabin as the craft crashed into something larger and harder than itself. The mountains! Oh, God, she thought, the mountains. The vehicle crumpled like an accordion, then the fuselage split apart. Three soldiers slid past her, out the break, and into the sky. She heard their screams but couldn’t help, couldn’t even rearrange her position to be a witness to the end of their lives. Her feet dangled in the open air and the flight attendant held onto her arms. The final soldier scraped by, latched desperately onto the jagged edge of the shuttle wall then kicked her legs up trying to climb back into the damaged craft. She missed, but her boots caught the flight attendant in the temple knocking him unconscious. The flight attendant’s hands opened. He tumbled out and then they were both in freefall.

Fourth Dimming, Year of the Survivor 1

Olivia sheltered from the brilliance of First and Second Sun under a spreading Cushy Soft tree. Her back lounged against the pillowy, yielding bark that was so comfortable it seemed to hug her. Her hands rested in her lap. Her legs stretched out comfortably. She’d been there over an hour, closer to two, and the umbrella-shaped leaves of a vining plant had sagged against her ankles. It was seeking relief from the afternoon suns, too, she thought. She had not yet sorted out all the new varieties of plants and animals she’d found on this planet which seemed so much like Earth but yet was not. From time to time she tried to clear her thoughts and would shut her eyes attempting to nap, but inevitably they snapped back open and combed the sky between the puffs of clouds.

Why hadn’t they come back for her?

The Shuttle Commander’s vehicle was destroyed, but they had several others that they utilized to transport scientists and officials. Dispatching a search party would have been easy, and, frankly, doing so was their duty. She would have sent a detachment to rescue any of them. Her trip was to have been the final one and although it had been unsanctioned by the military, her authority outweighed theirs and she had been well within her rights to order it. Not that it mattered now. The deadline had passed a dimming ago, eight days. The military and their human cargo were on their way back to Earth without her.

She flexed her left knee intending to shift her leg so that the limb would stop tingling, but it wouldn’t move. Looking down, she realized that the vines had twined completely around both of her ankles and were slinking up her calves. She reached forward to use her hands to free her legs, but the Cushy Soft tree had curved around her shoulders and upper arms. She was trapped, being swallowed by the indigenous flora of Terra Saint Edmunds.

"Ciph!” she yelled desperately. When she decided to go for a walk, he had been in a conversation with his brother Callof, the leader of the Eolian family, so she hadn’t interrupted to tell him where she was going. She could only hope that he could hear her. “Ciph, help! I can’t move.”

In the thirty-two days, four dimmings, since he had plucked her from the sky after the shuttle crash, her feelings toward the blond-haired young man with such light-colored wings had grown to the point where she could no longer imagine a life without him close. She found it hard to imagine practical, decisive Olivia mooning over a man. Mooning, she laughed at herself. This planet didn’t have a moon, only orbiting chunks of gargantuan boulders. Shuttle pilots needed extreme skill and excellent timing to avoid them. She must have been unconscious when Ciph caught her because she didn’t remember it. Neither could she recall anyone else being saved although Ciph assured her that his family had tried without success to keep the soldiers with her from plunging to their deaths.

“Ciph!” she yelled again as she threw her weight forward hoping to release her shoulder and upper arms only to be brought to tears by the pain. The tree held her fast. If she tugged any harder the skin and tissue on her shoulders, back, and upper arms would rip off. The tree would flay her alive. When she’d caught her breath, she tried again to kick her legs, but a red substance squirted from the veins in one of the umbrella leaves and instantly scorched her skin. She squeezed her eyes at the discomfort and shouted, “Ciph! Help!”

She kept yelling until her throat was too raw for speech. Afraid to tip her head back against the tree, she dropped her chin and waited, wondering if she had lived through the crash only to die a few days later strangled by indigenous vegetation.

©2022 Vera S Scott

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