Could’ve been just the wind. This place is not too inviting. Blustery to say the least. That sand gets everywhere and it’s as cold as a deep freeze at night.”
“No worse than many other places they’ve terra-formed.”
“We’ve found them.”
The sudden sound from the comm-link in his ear gave him a start even though he’d been expecting it. He adjusted the volume behind his earlobe: it was always set too loud.
“What shape are they in?” he asked.
“Dead. Have been dead for quite a while. Since the crash is my guess. Frozen solid by now. But there are only three of them here. One of the women is missing.”
“Cause of death?”
“Two of them have skull fractures and some serious lacerations. Death was probably caused by a sharp object to the head. Almost identical injuries on both. Could’ve happened during the emergency landing I guess, but I don’t want to speculate. The third has some broken bones and signs of internal injuries. We’ve found the ship’s log but it’s useless. Looks like somebody tried to erase it. Not a professional job, but there are only bits and pieces left.”
“Erased it? And no sign of the fourth?”
“Nothing so far.”
To hell with it, he thought and held up his hand to shield his eyes from the light. To hell with all of it.
When they left four days later he was standing by the round observation window in the gathering hall, watching as the planet’s illuminated crescent disappeared beneath them. The three bodies were resting in the cargo hold, sealed in shiny metal containers.
“Seems perfect for terra-forming,” his second in command remarked.
“But without complete stats they can’t begin. And they don’t know when the next science team can be sent out here. They’re pretty busy elsewhere.”
That elicited a derisive snort.
“Busy. Right. If they’d start terra-forming now, it could be ready for colonization within the next decade. Instead we have to wait for another expedition before the process can begin. Sending out another ship could take several years considering how slowly Search and Science works.”
“The regulations are there for a reason.”
“But following them is occasionally a waste of time. We both know that. As if we have all the time in the world. As if we can afford to be picky. You know my opinion. These manned expeditions are a waste of resources. A couple of robot teams could make evaluations on flyby, maybe not all that precise but good enough. We don’t have to be so thorough.”
He said nothing, just blew on the hot cup of tea he had just poured, watching the steam fog up the window.
“They’re running an analysis on the remains of the ship in Tech-lab right now,” the other man continued. “But with the crumbs they have to work with, it’ll be difficult to determine what really took place.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“Anything could have happened to her. Most likely an accident on the way to one of those useless monitoring stations she set up.”
“But no body.”
A shrug.
“No body. Maybe she overdosed on pain pills like the ship’s specialist. Maybe she committed suicide out there in the sand somewhere. We’d never find her.”
“And the probes? Two of them gone and not a trace. And the monitoring stations? Every instrument smashed.”
“She must have done it before she killed herself or got herself lost. Psychosis. How many times have we seen that before? A couple of months down there all alone would drive anybody crazy. It was a stupid idea to set up those stations, but I guess it gave her something to do anyway.”
The stars were dense here in the inner spiral arms of the galaxy, and they stood silent side by side looking at scraps of white starlight while the ship kept going.
Cold, he thought. It must have been so very cold.
“Long shifts for those teams,” his second in command mused. “Enormous psychological pressure. I don’t envy them. Hey. Are you listening?”
He felt the tug at his sleeve and turned, but instead of the other man’s face he saw the ridge and its shadow and the shimmering ice crystals that had shattered beneath the soles of his boots when they had gone down into the hollow to pack up the bodies.
If it wasn’t so cold.
He closed his eyes so the sand would not get into his eyes.
“The wind,” he said finally. “Almost like voices sometimes even though you can’t understand what they’re saying.”
“What are you talking about?”
But he turned away, staring out the window again.
I wonder what she saw, he thought, placing his palm on the window, fingers sprawled on the glass as if in a greeting, but all he could feel was the cold outside.
~~~~
TWO POEMS FROM 'CUTS & COLLECTED POEMS 1989 - 2015'
Read two poems from Maria Haskins' collection of poetry 'Cuts & Collected Poems 1989 - 2015'. This book is available now in paperback and as an ebook.
DRAGON
I said
fire
but I couldn’t even feel the flame
crawling across my skin
– thin and blue –
barely breathing
no heat, no charred skin, no blistered fingertips
no pain.
Won’t touch
don’t touch
not with words or hands
not even to look at.
I said
there is no fire
and watched it snake and slither across the skin -
blue thin flame
held close to the bone
tight in fist,
my breath withheld.
But, oh.
Oh,
to uncoil in all the glory of it:
jeweled scales shimmering
this shiny coat of arms.
To feel it, rippling across the ground:
the searing, burning, vicious heat of it,
still withheld in my chest, mouth, head
firefirefire
rough and hot and raging
consuming every good and wicked deed and thought and dream
unsaid words like screaming flames
caught in my barbed throat.
No.
Leave it.
Leave well enough alone.
Leave me:
just one claw, just one tooth, just one precious scale.
Just one lick of flame:
thin and blue
barely visible
scrawled upon my naked skin.
~~~~
GRANDMOTHER
These hands, so tired, resting on the windowsill.
Early spring outside,
light blue sky:
that which does not seek the darkness,
but still finds it.
My memory fluttering
like a table cloth on the table outside,
like a curtain in the open window
like a white sheet drying on a line
held on by pegs and claws
ripping
but not yet.
Right now, there is only light and colour:
pink-red-gold streaks of sun
woven into sky, fraying edges:
that which does not seek the darkness
but still finds it.
This time and place,
so frail and brittle,
blue veins, slender bones barely covered.
So little is left
so little of you
so little strength
so little time
just a little more to take.
Then night
cool and pale
like a freshly pressed sheet
white
pulled over skin.
These hands
rested on the loom for a little while:
life was spun,
wound into skeins,
woven into patterns.
Batten and lat
he
yarn and warp
wool and linen
These hands
opened
as the eye closed:
that which does not seek the darkness
and does not find it.
###
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maria Haskins is a Swedish-Canadian writer and translator with a passion for writing and reading in general, and science fiction and fantasy in particular. She was born and grew up in Sweden, but since the early 1990s she lives just outside Vancouver on Canada's west coast.
Her English language debut 'Odin's Eye' - a collection of science fiction short-stories - was published in March, 2015. Her book 'Cuts & Collected Poems 1989 - 2015' - a collection of poetry - was released on November 9, 2015. It includes both new poems written in English, and her own translations of her previously published Swedish poetry. She is also currently working on a science fiction novel, and various other writing projects.
Connect with Maria Haskins online:
Official website
Twitter
Facebook
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