Eden, Dawn

Chapter ?

  With the water boiled, I add the leaves to the teapot and pour in the hot water. I allow it to brew for a minute before pouring two mugs.

  Boy, that smells good!

  My mind is still bursting with the stories of our past. I’ve been asked to compile the first chronicles of our brief history on the planet Zika. I smile. It still amazes me how easily we interchange the words Zika and Eden. Spending every day, as I have for two moons now, reading through the reams of notes made by the Mzees and myself, I’m still shivering with the emotion it stirs in me. And I’ve only got through the first decade.

  “Daddy!” she squeals.

  I spin around to see her run towards me.

  My delight, my joy.

  “Hello, my darling! You’re awake!” I drop to my haunches; she jumps into my arms. I squeeze her gently as tears well up in my eyes. I cry too much! I kiss her about a million times all over her pretty face. “Scott should be home soon,” I say as I tickle little Sarah softly.

  She giggles and glows, “Scotty!” A shaft of light from the midday sun, shining through the kitchen window, acts like a spotlight making her look angelic.

  The beauty and innocence of a child.

  I take her face in my hands and look into her beautiful eyes. “You look just like Mummy. Gorgeous!” She smiles and plants a wet kiss on my nose.

  I hear the soft, powered sound of the front-house elevator start. “Must be Scotty, I think he’s back already,” I say and kiss her on her forehead.

  “Scotty!” my three-year-old turns and runs out of the kitchen, buoyed by the delightful anticipation of seeing her brother again.

  I check whether there’s enough tea in the pot.

  Yep! Enough for two more.

  “Mum!” I hear Scott’s voice as the elevator comes to a halt, and the front door opens. “Oh, my jispers, Mum. Why didn’t you tell me?” He sounds over-the-moon ecstatic.

  “Lights going on!” calls out Mum. “Sumbabric’s taking off his visor.”

  I hear the shutters close automatically over every window around our tree-house home, and the soft glow of the purple light turns on to welcome a Zikalic guest into our home. Where once the light powered by the Zika-jewel elicited fear, it now warms my heart.

  “Come in, come in,” I hear her voice. “Scotty, we wanted you to find out with your friends, in the arena itself,” Mum replies to his question.

  “Mum, I was like so amazed; it was just so incredible, unbelievable … everyone cheered for me … because of Dad. You should have been there!”

  “We so wanted to come, Scotty, but Dad didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention away from you and those coming of age.”

  “Where’s Dad?” Scott sounds out of breath.

  “I’m not sure?” replies Mum.

  “Er, I’m in the kitchen. Making tea!” I shout. I can’t believe how nervous I feel. It was so long ago, another lifetime past. Did I really do those things? I finish pouring two more mugs; my hands are shaking, even my knees are knocking. I’m more nervous now than I was then! “Tea’s ready. Come and get it!”

  Scott bursts into the kitchen; tears are streaking down his handsome young face. He dashes over to me and just about runs me over. “Dad! I love you so much!” He buries his head into my embrace.

  My heart melts. I hold my thirteen-year-old son in my arms. I can feel his heartbeat; it’s pounding. He’s trembling all over. I put my hand on his blond head and hold him tight. “You had a good time; I gather.” I feel a tear roll down the scar on my left cheek.

  “Amazing! The arena is just mind-blowing. Huge! What an awesome historical site!” He is beside himself. “Dad, the Mzees explained everything, our history, and told us about what you did … in dramatic detail!”

  “What, they dramatised it?” I ask amused. Scott’s face is shining.

  My pride, my son.

  “Yes, Judd played you and his wife played Shumbalic.”

  I grin at my wife as I become aware she’s joined us. “Sounds about right, hey Sweetie?”

  “Something like that,” she smiles.

  “And Sumbabric’s father played Xakanic.” Scott struggled to contain his excitement.

  I feel my eyebrows rise. “That must have been a little difficult for him … Sumbabric!”

  I realise I’ve forgotten about our guest and see him standing in the kitchen doorway. I walk over to the young Zikalic and place my hand on his heart. “Peratuka, Sumbabric; welcome to our home!”

  “Peratuka, Consult Abel … I mean, Ristan,” he says nervously, placing his hand on my heart. He still struggles to call me by my first name even though I’ve encouraged him to do so many times.

  “Did you also have a good time?” I ask even though the dynamic blue in his eyes gives him away.

  “Yes R-Ristan, very much so. Your story is so inspiring.”

  I feel my whole face smile. “Don’t forget that without your aunt Shumbalic’s sacrifice, I would’ve come to a short and sorry end!”

  “Ristan!” my wife reprimands me tenderly, glancing at little Sarah, who’s hanging on to her brother’s leg.

  “Oops! Yes, only when she comes of age,” I say in a whisper. Looking straight into Sumbabric’s remarkable eyes, I say softly: “And without her sacrifice and your grandfather’s Declaration of Peace, we Humans wouldn’t be here today.”

  “Why do our Chiefs only tell us now?” Sumbabric asks. “It is the most amazing story I have ever heard.”

  “Your leaders and ours decided to make it part of your coming-of-age initiation. We want you to understand what it cost us to create the future we have today … at an age when you’re seeking answers.”

  “Tea’s getting cold,” smiles Mum.

  “Thanks, Sweets!” I say. “Yes, let’s have a mug together before we help you settle in Sumbabric. Thank you for having Scott in your home these last three days; it will be great to have you in ours for the next three.” Sumbabric has slept over at our home before with his parents, but this is his first time alone.

  We move to the living room of our tree-house and sit down, mugs in hand. Of course, it isn’t really tea but something very similar. We decided to call it tea, not only because it served the same purpose, but because we looked for as many points of connection to Earth as possible.

  We had urgently needed to recover a sense of identity—who we were—to move into our destiny—who we wanted to be. And of course, it gave us conversation points with our children. To help us explain what happened to Earth. We didn’t want to forget … both the extraordinary good and the tragic horror.

  “Scotty, there is still one thing Mum and I want to tell you,” I say. I can feel my eyes lighting up.

  “Yeah?” The beam on his face, still as strong as ever.

  “We wanted to wait until this week,” adds Mum.

  “What?” Scott can’t contain his excitement.

  I begin. “You know that all the children in your cycle turn thirteen this week—”

  “Yeah?” says Scott. “We celebrate twenty-nine years on this planet.”

  “And you celebrate your thirteenth birthday,” I say, stating the obvious, “but there’s more.” I let a pause draw out the suspense.

  “Dad, what?” Scott leans forward. “You’re killing me here?”

  “Okay, okay,” I smile at him and Sumbabric. “Scott, six years after the Declaration of Peace between the Zikalic and the Humans, the first human child was born on Eden.”

  “Wow!” says Scott. “Must have been incredible.”

  “Yes, but nerve-racking for … your Mum and me, especially your Mum—”

  “You?” Scott looks at his mother. The light turns on. “Me?”

  “Yes, Scotty … you! You were the first human baby born on Eden. Mum and I got married the second year after the Declaration of Peace. Four years later, you arrived!”

  “Jispers! The first Human born on Zika,” Sumbabric gushes as his eyes sparkle.

  “Yes, my son,” says Mum,
tears fill her eyes. “Your birth gave us all hope.”

  Scott smiles bashfully, looking a little uncomfortable with the attention. Like father, like son. “Err … but Dad, why don’t you serve as a Mzee?”

  Deflecting … just like me.

  “I was asked by Sumbabric’s grandfather Miltredic to serve as the connection point between our people, as the Consult. We felt it would be best if I wasn’t one of our Mzees, especially when he gave up his right as Head Chief.”

  “That’s amazing,” says Scott.

  “Yes, a heroic, unbelievably selfless act. He and I served as mediators,” my throat tightens, “until his death. After that … Sumbabric’s father took over his role.”

  “It hasn’t been easy … especially those first few years,” continues Mum, “so much hatred, pain and distrust. And then their unexpected arrival…” her brow furrows, “…we had a number of close shaves—”

  “Too many … close shaves,” I add, puffing out my cheeks. For a moment, the memories clog my heart with deep sorrow, regret, guilt. His young face flashes before my eyes. Could I ever forgive myself? Can I still walk on? I feel immediately claustrophobic and dizzy.

  “Without Miltredic and your father,” she says, rescuing me from my gloom, throwing aside her own distressing memories, “we would not have made it through those first two years.”

  “And it’s why we as a family have spent so many nights in Sumbabric’s home,” I say, trying to recover the joy of the present moment, “and because we like your family so much.” My gaze is fixed on Sumbabric with poignant fondness, the colour of his eyes sparkling blue. “Your grandfather Miltredic was like a father to me … a great, great Zikalic.”

  Scott puts a thoughtful hand on Sumbabric’s shoulder, and the two friends smile at each other. I can see the coming-of-age week has bonded them even closer together. I can almost feel Miltredic smiling down on us. The two boys are becoming men. Their friendship, and the many others developing in this generation of Zikalic and Human, gives me hope for the future. It’s been a long pilgrimage fraught with much pain and too many lives lost.

  Then Scott asks me a question that occupies my mind constantly.

  “Dad, will we always have peace?”

  “Yes, I believe so.” Even I’m surprised by how quickly my answer shoots out. “Scotty, we’ve learnt hard lessons, and we want to pass these on to your generation. That is why this first coming-of-age week is so very important.”

  “What’s the most important thing we’ve learnt?” asks an ever hungry-to-learn Sumbabric; his eyes aglow, his large hands steepled together under his chin.

  “Good question,” I think for a moment, wrestling off a few dark memories as I press my finger against my lips. “Actually it’s quite simple. From you … our children, we’ve learnt a secret to our future.”

  “What do you mean?” asks Scotty.

  “When we see another as someone else’s child, not as a Zikalic or a Human, not as a friend or a foe; but as someone else’s son or daughter … then, we find true compassion for each other.” I pause and ponder for a second, challenged by my own words. “Then we can serve each other heroically without prejudice … and live in peace.”

  Scott turns and smiles at his Zikalic friend. The two shake hands. I feel deeply moved, choked up. Somehow I manage to say: “If we remember the evil we’re capable of, both Human and Zikalic, our horrendous capacity for darkness; we’ll yearn for the light.”

  “Yes, if we live for ourselves, we’re doomed,” adds Mum thoughtfully even as the word ‘doomed’ momentarily catches in her throat. Doggedly, she finds her voice. “When we make choices with our children in mind … and with other people’s children in mind … then we have a chance.”

  “Then the future is bright,” I smile, my heart aching … bursting with longing, hoping, dreaming. “Then this Eden will be a paradise.”

  Epilogue

  “Captain Vortem, Sir!” The first officer snapped to attention.

  “At ease, Wong,” said Vortem with a tired sigh. “News? Good, I hope.”

  “Permission to speak plainly, Sir?”

  “Spit it out!” said the Captain, his face wound up in a permanent frown. The deep, dark rings under his drab grey eyes entrenched in wrinkles of worry, betraying his chronic insomnia.

  “Attempt 214 has failed, Sir. I’m sor—”

  “Arrgghhhh!” Vortex slammed his fists onto the flight deck of the spacecraft. “Why? Why can’t our engineers get it right?!”

  “Sir, the main thrusters just cannot be configured for a leap into warp speed—”

  “And you think that after nearly ten years of looping around that fireball we once called home, I don’t know that yet?”

  “S-sorry, C-captain, I just—” said Wong, his lips a tense line.

  “Ten years!” Vortem scratched his bushy-red beard in aggravation. “We’re just keeping mutiny at bay on our Ark. Ark-III is close to anarchy, and the crazies have already taken Ark-IV.”

  “Captain—”

  “And the geniuses at Ark Command were convinced we could complete the configuration in space … nine years and thirty-three days ago! Good glory! We’re into our tenth year! Nearly a decade…” the hard-nosed captain began to sob.

  Wong shifted in his shoes; he had never seen his Captain come unglued so quickly even though the once steadfast, unshakeable veteran was increasingly showing worrying signs of fragility. “Sir—”

  “I was a vigorous fifty-one-year-young visionary then. Now I’m a decrepit sixty-year-old old man … nearly sixty-one!” He shook his head and rubbed his eyes dry with the heel of his hand. “And we have not managed to get a single metre closer to Eden. Not a single metre! Around and around this dying solar system, on the same trajectory over and over again … no wonder everybody has gone bonkers on board!”

  “With all due respect, Sir; you’ve kept this Ark—”

  “What?” said Vortem caustically, scratching his thick beard with both hands, tugging at his red hair. “Alive for another loop around a dying star? To watch another loved one die aboard a patched-up spacecraft designed for a six-month journey? To survive another few weeks … or even days, before the mad-rebel crazies break through decks four and five … so that we become like Ark-IV? Or maybe the crazies on Ark-IV get it in their head to board us? What will I do then?”

  Worried that the Captain would further unsettle the others in the flight deck, Wong inhaled and exhaled sharply, and tried reining his superior in. “Sir, you know—”

  “Sometimes,” Vortem broke in again, as was his habit, “I wish we didn’t make those breakthroughs in food production.”

  “Sir. You don’t mean that? We wouldn’t have lasted three years—”

  “But would that have been so bad? To die with dignity, together. Now … we’ve got terror on board … with nowhere to run, nowhere to hide … and still, a spacecraft that doesn’t work! We’ve kept ourselves alive long enough to go mad!”

  “Sir, there’s always hope when—”

  “Don’t! Wong, don’t!” he snapped, a drop of drivel dribbling onto his red beard. “I keep that rhetoric for those outside this flight deck. I offer them some consolation that there’s hope, but in here we know the truth. We should never have left Earth. We should have waved goodbye to Ark-I and faced our fate with the rest of mankind.”

  “We had to take the risk, Sir. Perhaps Ark-I made it,” said Wong, hoping to turn the conversation in a more optimistic direction.

  “I’m sure they did,” said Vortem, sucking air through his teeth. “Probably landed in heaven itself. I can imagine Captain Hazard right now, lucky devil. You know I should have captained that craft, you know that?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Wong crimped his mouth like he was sucking on something sour, “you’ve mentioned it a few times—”

  “That weasel! Probably drinking the nectar of the gods as we speak—”

  The internal phone rang and made them both jump.

  Captain V
ortem picked up the receiver. “What? … It’s for you, Wong!”

  First officer Wong took the phone.

  “Yes … yes … What?” His angular eyes grew round and wide. “Are you serious?”

  “What? What’s going on?” snapped Vortem, pacing up and down.

  Wong put down the receiver, trembling all over; sheer disbelief etched into his face as he ran his hand through his jet-black hair.

  “What?” asked Vortem. “Spit it out soldier!”

  “Captain,” Wong swallowed with difficulty, the excitement dancing in his eyes. “That was engineer Weinstein. The good news you wanted—”

  “Yes?” Vortem tapped the floor furiously with his shoe.

  A smile slowly crept onto Wong’s face. “He says he made a premature call on Attempt 214. It seems—”

  “What?” Vortem’s tapping stopped, and his jaw tightened.

  “It turns out, the reconfiguration has worked—”

  “What?!” Vortem lost his breath for a moment, taking a step back to catch himself from falling over.

  “Yes, Attempt 214 … it has succeeded!” Wong’s eyebrows arched in ecstatic wonder. “I don’t know what—?”

  “No … yes, really?” Vortem stumbled over his words.

  “Yes, I—”

  “How quickly can they build it?” Vortem cut in again, his brain shifting into first gear.

  “Well, um … from this point, about two or three months … as projected.”

  “Two or three months,” Vortem mused, his weary mind working overtime, “we can hold the crazies at bay … perhaps we could even reason with them.”

  Wong nodded. “Yes, I think this may give us the higher ground with them, Sir.”

  “Ri Wong, my dear friend, get the word to Captain Washington on Ark-III immediately … and get him the specs of Attempt 214. Tell him that with a bit of luck, we’ll set course for Eden within the next two months.”

  “Yes, Sir!” gushed Wong. “Eden, here we come!”

  TO BE CONTINUED

  MY NOTES