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One of the locations Mak wanted to see was wiped out completely by the heightened volcanic activity. It was once a highly populated military training area, which Mak thought would be suitable because of the mild weather in the southern region and the ample existing infrastructure. But when we arrived, what we found was a field of cooled lava. All you could see in every direction was black ripples of igneous rock.
I was there when he called the Deadhead scientist to describe what we saw.
“A concentrated center of youths,” Kiva said, grim lines dimming his usually bright expression. “Trainees coming to mating age were living there, so perhaps that has something to do with the dramatic reaction. I am constructing a map of the worst areas of reactive kali, so I will record it there. Most of the other areas we’ve marked were closer to existing volcanoes…”
Today, we’re promised a relief from those horrors. Because the place we’re visiting has not been occupied for centuries. It’s an ancient city called Ta’Nak Annir, which Mak tells me roughly translates to ‘Place of Midnight Waters.’ The seaside ruins sit on the mouth of a triangular bay with a jagged shore that makes it look like a crocodile head on the map. I’ve read about it a few times in the Archaic books I’ve been reading, often referenced as a fishing center, a fabric dyes center, and a place where newly mated couples would stay to satisfy amma’ka on a peaceful getaway.
“You’re gonna want to change,” Mak tells me when I emerge from my room to meet him for our early morning rendezvous.
I glance down at my jeans and t-shirt.
“I thought you said it would be just us?” I ask, internally groaning at the prospect of spending time with anyone else. When we travel with a large entourage, the ambience goes from relaxing vacation to business trip, as I attempt to charm people as a queen and forge connections with the many movers and shakers of the Deviants’ society.
“It is, although I’ll never understand why you don’t feel comfortable wearing the cultural dress of your people when in the company of mine,” he says. “I think the canvas pants flatter you. But we’re traveling on the speeder. I thought you’d enjoy that, since this location is not too far away.”
I chuckle at the thought of jeans and t-shirts being the cultural dress of Earthlings.
“I’m trying to make a good impression on them,” I say. “Alright, I’ll put my jumpsuit on.”
Traveling on the speeder is a thrill ride, and it’s the best way to see many of the sights that would be difficult to land near, like the boiling hot springs that smell of sulfur and the treacherous cliffs that form the northern edge of the mainland continent. Zipping that fast on the sky-bike means the wind cuts through even the warmest clothes. Cotton won’t cut it.
But the speeder also brings other possibilities to mind, like the way his thighs straddle me from behind. We sit like that whether he’s driving or I’m driving, because he insists it would be easier to protect me should we crash. The heat of him pressing behind me makes me tingle in certain regions that typically remain dormant. Ever since the night he made me come in a mere few minutes, his closeness makes me shiver. I don’t know what to do except ignore it, but the speeder rides make it impossible.
“If this is a front-runner before we’ve even made the trip, then how’d we get away with coming alone?” I ask.
“It’s a sneak peek,” he says with a grin. “We’ll be going back with the others, but I wanted to see it for myself first. The captain that scouted here for me raved about it. Meet me outside when you’re ready. I’ll prep the speeder and make sure it has everything we need.”
He’s fueling the speeder in the shadow of Makiva’s Revenge when I jog down the gangplank in my more appropriate gear.
I produce the journal I’ve been keeping with detailed notes on every location we’ve visited. The handy little thing was gifted to me by Mak’s adoptive mother, Lalo. It’s a marvel by human standards, a booklet of tablet pages that feel like paper and move like it too. It’s the size of a smartphone, fitting neatly in the front pocket of my traveling jumpsuit. But I can take photos with my comm that will automatically appear on the pages along with my voice memo notes transformed into type beside them. Mak is amused every time I get a thrill from it, since I must appear to him like a Victorian child presented with a basic tablet and stylus.
“How can it compare to Va Unnaka?” I ask, showing him the title page for my personal favorite so far, the mountaintop village. There was plenty of space to grow there. To the Deadheads it was a mere outpost, but it was surrounded by serene pools, wildflowers, and even a few ruined temples from the Archaic era. It was not far from Tevi’s research on the Great Northern Tundra. The Deadheads had built a gondola system there, which I believe would make for pleasant public transit. A few repairs and the gondolas could be up and running again.
“It is the warming season there, I would remind you,” he says. “You like it now, but Va Unnaka will be freezing cold. Our ancestors might’ve been used to that, but I assure you my people are not. We’re accustomed to the mild, regulated temperatures of a simulated atmosphere.”
“The changing seasons are one of the best parts of living on a planet in my humble opinion,” I say. “Do you know what the seasons will be like in Ta’Nak Annir?”
“Only vaguely,” he replies. “I know it can be very hot at times and quite cold at others. Shall we see it for ourselves, then?”
The trip might be short enough to take by speeder, but it’s long enough for my mind to drift away for a while. It takes less than an interval, probably closer to an hour by Earth standards. We blur by the world below us, over fields of charcoal brush, abandoned infrastructure, and the occasional streams of blue lava trickling across the ground.
Mak nudges my shoulder when we can see our destination in the distance.
What remains of Ta’Nak Annir climbs the cliffs on the coast and spills down toward the beaches like it sprouted naturally from the stone and sand. The shores are the same gray color as Kar’Kali skin, and the main structures that dominate the city’s skyline follow the same scheme as well. But what might have made for a monotonous appearance is broken up by humble clay buildings scattered between the stone walls and castle-like structures. Whatever was used to stain the sun-bleached clay must’ve once been vibrant, but it has faded to pastels instead. Lavender, sage, pale blue, and beige walls line the streets. They look like dollhouses from above, some left plain aside from metal shutters and others decorated with tiles embedded into the façade.
When we take a bird’s-eye view of the city, it’s evident which street was the main drag. It’s wider than the others, marred by massive cracks from which plant life has begun to grow. There’s a circular piazza that connects this main road to the front of the largest structure, which must be the palace where a Ka’lakka would’ve run the city from.
“Let’s land there,” I say, pointing to the open area. There’s rubble in the middle of the space, and I want to get a closer look. “We’ll be able to enter the palace from there.”
Mak takes the speeder down, landing near a gate that separates the piazza from the palace structure.
I whip off my goggles and helmet and race toward the center where an amorphous indentation must have acted as a fountain at one time. Its insides are half grown over with a mossy bed of vegetation.
“Just as I thought,” I say, approaching what looked like boulders from the sky. “It’s a statue!”
A carved feminine body is strewn around the area in pieces. Her head has rolled away with an ear to the ground, her abdomen is a barely recognizable chunk in the mossy fountain, and her chest has split in two halves.
“I’m sure it was once magnificent,” Mak says, sauntering over to watch me.
