He was inside a leaf-covered ditch, piled high and thick, but still, he could escape. With both hands, he tugged at the leaves and tore through them, enlarging the gap, and finally crawled to his freedom. Regaining his footing, Kitai studied the sky for a moment, noting the thick clouds and brightening blue as the sun now was fully visible. He kept expecting a second sun to join it in the sky eventually, but that was back home and he was trapped here, on Earth.
He was distracted by watching his breathing condense into a mist, and he finally acknowledged how cool it was, although the sun was rapidly melting the thin coating of ice that covered everything. Slowly studying his surroundings, Kitai made a circle and was startled to see that atop the makeshift nest was the huge condor. This giant bird was now a friendly figure. He drew closer, tapping the still figure, and said, “Hey.”
He tapped the bird a second time, adding, “Thanks.” But she did not respond. In fact, she didn’t twitch in the cool air or appear to be breathing. With mounting horror, Kitai examined the protective bird and realized she had covered him in the nest and then kept him warm by sitting atop it, and rather than expose him to the elements, she’d sacrificed herself, freezing to death during the night.
Stunned, Kitai silently mourned her, appreciating the first act of kindness a resident of the planet had shown him. Although he wanted to say or do something to acknowledge her act, especially in the wake of her losing her chicks, he was at a loss for words. This was an entirely new experience atop all the others he’d had over the last few days. Worse, he didn’t have time to spare. He turned and moved solemnly into the jungle.
His mind was a jumble of thoughts, overwhelmed by the condor’s selfless act. His mind drifted to Senshi. He was helpless then, too, and someone died so that he could live. Maybe there was a difference between being a coward and being unafraid to accept help. Maybe there was strength in realizing and accepting that you’re not alone.
He was also concerned about the amount of time and distance left to accomplish his mission, which made him worry about his injured and possibly dying father. It was overwhelming, but his father’s image and stern countenance urged him to focus on the mission.
He studied the subtle trail and followed it, sweeping his eyes from side to side and making certain to keep his ears alert. The hunt continued as the sun rose higher, and he started to notice that his constant walking was beginning to take a toll on him. He could hear how labored his breathing was getting, but he was determined to go as far as possible before death could claim him. Soon the jungle thinned, and he was walking through grassland, squinting in the sunlight, wishing the lifesuit’s backpack came with sunglasses. He admired the surroundings and the scattering of animals that moved back and forth, continuing to ignore his presence, for which he remained grateful.
The warm air dried him out, and he tried to clear his throat, but instead, he coughed. First it was a slight irritation, but then it grew worse, and soon he was hacking and feeling like hell. The breathing gel had run its course, and his system was clearing out the last of it. The coughing fit continued, and he had trouble catching his breath, worsening his difficulty. He stood, hands on his knees, coughing and dreading his condition.
One final racking cough sent him to his knees.
While close to the grass, he looked down, trying to catch his breath. All he saw was dirt and tall grass, but then, in his peripheral vision, he finally spotted something shiny, reflecting the noonday sun. Unable to rise, he crawled toward the object, feeling less like a Ranger and more like a two-year-old with a new toy.
As he neared the object, Kitai saw that the jagged off-white item was metallic with numbers stenciled on it. Holding it gently in his left hand, he studied it and saw that the word Hesper was on the half-meter-long piece of the ship.
With renewed energy, he stood, holding the debris that had given him hope. His efforts had not been wasted and he was nearing the mission’s goal, and so he began to walk, then trot back toward the jungle. It wasn’t long before he noted that his dwindling oxygen boost was costing him energy. He had little choice but to keep moving, but then he spotted another piece of the ship. Despite his lungs now feeling as if they were constricted, wrapped in plastic, he forged ahead with determination. His body, though, repeatedly signaled its distress by making him cough again and again. It was as if he were issuing a homing signal to predators: Come and get me.
Yet with each newly discovered piece of wreckage, he ignored it all and kept moving. The frequency of discovery increased, and he continued forward, each step and piece of debris punctuated with fresh coughing.
Pausing to catch his breath, which now hurt with each shallow lungful of air, he saw a wiry, strange-looking tree. Gnarled and old, the bark was flaking in spots where animals might have butted it to sharpen their antlers. It stretched in many directions and grew very tall indeed. Encouraged, Kitai leaped to the first limb and then scrambled aggressively up the branches until he was high enough to look over the dense jungle shrubbery. It hurt and he wanted to rest, but images of his dying father propelled him forward.
As he stopped his climb, he saw in the distance, atop a hill, the enormous tail of the ship. The once-proud ship now reflected the sunshine, a beacon of hope. Between it and Kitai, there was a scorched area of open flat terrain, a path to salvation. He grinned. Then he coughed, a reminder that time was running out.
Kitai lowered himself quickly, dropping the last few meters, and then, without pause, began jogging toward the path.
Each step was accompanied by a cough, and soon the movements were joined by a wheeze that hurt. He couldn’t control it, and the sound grated against his ears. He felt like a sickly boy despite being in peak physical condition. Well, he had been that before the ship crashed. Now he felt like anything but a Ranger. What kept him moving was that every step brought him closer to the Hesper and its precious contents.
Working his way up the hill sapped the last of his energy reserves, reminding him of how hungry he had grown, and the wheezing made him thirsty. He wanted to rest but knew he dared not stop. He kept walking, and as he drew within a hundred meters of the wreckage, he stumbled. Falling to the ground, he began the worst bout of coughing yet. Kitai couldn’t breathe, couldn’t catch his breath, and if it hurt before, it was excruciating now. Hands clutched his chest, unable to open the lifesuit, rip through skin and bone, to help his lungs find fresh air.
Choking, he steeled himself and reached down deep. He filled his mind with determination and raised his head, focusing only on the Hesper. One arm covering his mouth, he rose once more to his feet and stood. Certain he would not topple over, Kitai resumed his pilgrimage.
The ship loomed large in his vision, but Kitai had grown dizzy, his breath coming in torn strips. He felt hot without sweating, and his chest was heaving. He was out of options, out of luck, and so close to his target that he felt cheated of his victory.
On his knees, he moved among the debris, eyes desperately scanning for salvation. He grew desperate, hands getting cut on the sharp edges of torn, twisted metal. He needed one thing to survive, and it was proving elusive. The dizziness was affecting his vision, and he was certain he would pass out in moments. Light and dark merged, blurring his ability to see, and he found it difficult to remain steady. Thoughts of simply surrendering to the inevitable fought with his instinct for survival, but willpower could fight his body’s physical needs for only so long.