The Esperanza was doomed. The generation ship moaned as it tore apart module by module, plate by plate. Nora’s father scooped her off the bed and sprang down the corridor. Behind them her mother rummaged through supplies, stuffing what she could inside a large duffel bag. Her mother’s screams were drowned out by screeching metal, but Nora thought she said something about a damaged propulsion drive.
Her father entered the escape pod and secured Nora gently inside its stasis chamber. He placed Pepe, her favorite stuffed narwhal, in her hands and smiled. Not long afterward, her mother nestled the duffel bag directly beneath the door and crossed herself, whispering a prayer under her breath.
Her father’s fingers zipped across a control panel. The door slid shut, cutting her off from her parents, who each now placed a hand against the pod window. She could make out the words they mouthed. “Te queremos. We love you.”
Nora opened her mouth to call out to them, but as always, no words came. A mist enveloped her stasis chamber, drizzling her arms with tiny, cold beads of moisture. The droplets seeped inside her lungs. She felt drowsy, her grip on the narwhal slipping as her fingers went numb.
The escape pod rumbled for a moment before it jettisoned into space. Before sleep took her, the behemoth of metal collapsed on itself in a storm of scrap and debris.
But it was a dream. A memory. A regret.
Nora stirred from her sleep and sat up. Groggily, she peered out the pod window. The sky was dark blue. The sun had yet to climb over the mountains on the horizon. Planet Tierra Tres, as it was known back on Mars. Earth Three.
She grabbed her pencil and etched a new tally mark onto the piece of paper pinned on the wall. She did a quick calculation in her head. It was her ninth birthday. Two full solar revolutions on this world. It was a technicality. How many years elapsed as she hurtled through space? Ages, surely. She hugged Pepe and pretended he was two other people at once. She stood, yawned, and opened the hatch. Outside, many Kukumanos were already rousing and scuttling from out of their underground shelters as they prepared for the daily toils of frontier life. She stretched, fixed her mother’s straw hat over her head, and prepared to join them.
Nora stepped out under the shadow of a wooden canopy. Judging from the gathering storm clouds, she was lucky to have one above her escape pod, which had served as her sleeping quarters for the better part of two standard Earth years.
Ahead of her, a series of concrete walkways connected the colony like a grid. Every path led to something: an underground dwelling, a watchtower, an infirmary. Beyond the simple subterranean dwellings stretched a lush, verdant world. Jungles, mountains, raging rivers.
The settlement now stirred with the familiar sounds of scraping legs and clacking mandibles. Before she could make her way toward the colony center to pick up her daily assignment, she heard Krika’s unmistakable voice.
“You’re on digging duty today,” Krika said in her language, hammering her mandibles together in a string of clicks and pauses akin to Morse code from Old Earth. “Rain is coming and we need at least five dens on the northern end of the colony.” Her left mandible was broken at the tip, a memento from a battle with a hungry horned owl long ago.
“Five?” Nora protested, snapping her thumb and middle finger in her best mimicry of the Kukumano language. She had no language of her own to offer them on account of a severe laryngeal infection that left her with paralyzed vocal cords as a toddler. “My hands start to hurt after three.”
“Many eggs are expected to hatch within the week,” Krika said, the hard clacks of her mandibles suggesting impatience or perhaps anger.
Krika was like the rest of the Kukumanos, having a slender, eight-foot-long body made up of sixteen segments, each bearing a pair of legs. She also had a flat head with a pair of long antennae, sharp mandibles, and two glassy, bulbous eyes.
They were like Earth’s centipedes in many ways, except they were sentient and smart. She had read about them on those quiet weeks aboard the Esperanza, when her father and the engineering team had been away making repairs while the rest of the settlers remained in stasis.
Krika handed Nora a spade.
“Can I have a word with Okikoa?” Nora pleaded. Her snaps were barely audible, conveying submissiveness. “Maybe I can forage for bugs.”
“You know what he’ll say,” Krika said, scuttling away. “The world beyond the colony is too dangerous. Besides, if you want to be a part of this community, you’ll do what you are assigned.”
Nora ambled sleepily past the rest of the Kukumanos as they set about digging, hunting, or patrolling the perimeter in search of predators. She found the last den north of the colony and made a mark in the earth about twenty feet away under the shade of a tree. She set down her portable stereo, popped in her mother’s favorite CD, and knelt on the dirt as Vicente Fernández crooned “Volver, Volver.”
Some of the Kukumanos stared, agitated at the music blaring from the stereo. Some of the kids on the generation ship were the same way. They’d teased her for playing that Mexican cactus music. They didn’t understand the words, the melodies, its cleansing effect on the soul. Even at its saddest, it was a celebration of life.
Nora jabbed the small spade into the earth and scooped, closing her eyes and nodding her head slowly, rhythmically. She smiled. She couldn’t sing but sometimes the most beautiful things in life simply required listening. And like a temporal wormhole, the music transported her, gifting her, for a brief moment, her mother. Even now she could hear and envision her bellowing out the song as she showered before a shift at the hydroponic garden. It was the happiest her mother had been before a long day at work.
After an hour, Nora had carved out an upside-down dome ten feet deep. Later, someone would come reinforce the insides with mud and finely ground stone. Then another worker would climb the tree and erect a wooden canopy above the dwelling and a new den would be complete.
She stared at the hole. It looked cozy. More than anything, it was practical. The Kukumanos burrowed in order to shelter from predators and the elements. They weren’t too unlike humans. Nora found that comforting on most days. They were the closest thing to family she had. Yet, even that was never quite enough.
Nora removed her mother’s straw hat and wiped the sweat from her face. Or was it tears? On some days she couldn’t tell. She sighed and wondered if farm work back on Mars was just as taxing. Or on the Esperanza. Her mother would probably say it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that at the end of the day, you were alive. And if you could end that day with a smile, you were already winning at life.
Clouds blotted out the late-afternoon sun and rain began to pelt the ground just as she finished digging her fifth hole. She would have to reshape the holes another day when they dried. For now, many of the laborers were already scuttling back into the safety of their dens. She packed her gear and prepared to return to her pod.
“Young one,” the voice behind her clacked. “I have news to relay to you.” The colony chieftain arched his back so that he was standing to meet her at eye level.
“Hello, Okikoa,” Nora snapped her fingers in response. “What is it?”
“Since you came to us two revolutions ago, you have toiled and earned your place beside us, but we have not been honest with you.” He turned to face north, his mandibles opening wide for long moment before shutting. Nora had come to associate that with a deep sigh. “On the other side of this jungle lie the bones of a human settlement.”
Nora felt her heart drop into her stomach.
“Long ago, an exploratory crew of human engineers built the settlement in anticipation of your ship’s arrival. We partook in formal diplomacy, communications, trade. Shortly before you came to us, their numbers had thinned out and ultimately, they perished.”
“From what?”
“We believe this planet may harbor some unseen dangers to your people’s immune systems. Perhaps toxic water or even deadly spores. Perhaps disease broke out. That is why we tried to keep you safe within our ranks.”
Nora swallowed a dry lump.
“Your people constructed a radio tower. It remained dormant, until now. My scouts recently reported hearing a sporadic series of grunts and moans emanating from the tower. We have come to understand it as garbled human speakspeech. We do not grasp your technology and have no way of communicating in return. We assume you may be able to contact your species. Perhaps they can arrange for your retrieval.”
Nora didn’t know how to feel. Her insides knotted up and squirmed simultaneously. She was both eager and sad. She missed people that looked like her, but she had no one to come home to. Where was home? Mars had been ravaged by war while countless other settlers departed for faraway worlds. “I would like very much to investigate the radio tower,” she replied, snapping her fingers gently, trying hard not to stumble over her words or sound too desperate.
“Tomorrow, you shall travel alongside Ikkak, one of my scouts. Do what you need to do. It will be the only time I allow it.”
Drenched, Nora bowed her head as Okikoa scurried away.
On the way back to her pod, she plucked a sweet-smelling orange flower known as the oolok-kio. It bore a strong resemblance to an Earth marigold. She tucked it carefully inside her jumpsuit pocket and entered her pod.
Nora retrieved the two portraits she’d drawn that first week she’d arrived on Tierra Tres. It wasn’t anything fancy—just crayon on ruled paper—but it was enough to get her through most days. She propped the portraits of Angie and Teodoro Tamayo on a shelf.
Next, she placed the oolok-kio flower between their portraits and lit the candle she’d crafted from tunnel-weasel fat. The flame’s light gave their portraits a sense of warmth and life. She ran a finger along their waxy, painted cheeks and smiled through the cascade of warm tears. On some nights she pretended they were staring back at her through loving eyes. Sometimes she came close to believing it. On those nights, her heart ached a little less.
The ofrenda was all she could offer to honor their memory. Her mother had taught her that ofrendas were a way of keeping the dead alive. That their spirits would use the altar as a beacon to the mortal plane in order to visit loved ones. She kept smiling, in the hopes that her parents would see how much joy they brought her.
She crossed herself and uttered a prayer in her head, asking them for things she knew they couldn’t give her. Most importantly, she asked for help. For guidance. They hadn’t prepared her for a life without them.
Nora blew out the candle, removed her wet clothes, and slid into her cot. Outside, as the sky grew dark, twin ivory moons hovered above the jungle. She hugged Pepe, closed her eyes, and hoped that for once, she’d have a good dream.
Ikkak was quiet, but that didn’t bother her. She was in awe of the jungle and didn’t really feel like talking, anyway. She squeezed Pepe against her chest. It was all so much to take in. Giant ferns, dancing milkweeds, bioluminescent fungi growing under the shadows of colossal trees. The scout had politely and deliberately slowed his crawling pace to accommodate her bipedal debilitation. She was more than sure he’d considered upright walking a handicap.
They traversed north, past the last Kukumano outpost, past the winding creeks, and deep under the thick jungle canopy where sunlight seldom pierced. The air here was suffocating and moist, yet there existed a variety of sweet and musky scents.
Mars never had anything like this. Not even the indoor parks came close. She’d never ventured past the domed cities, but she had known there was nothing there but dust and heaps of rusty-red rocks. She pictured Earth looking much like this, so it didn’t surprise her that the Esperanza’s crew chose this as one of a few possible locations to settle after the Martian Civil War.
She thought about them: The crew of settlers lost to the void of space. What had happened, she wasn’t sure. A big explosion. Or was it an implosion? Her father surely would have known. She wished she could ask him.
“What do you carry in your bag?” Ikkak clacked, shaking her from her thoughts.
Nora regarded her backpack. “Gifts my parents left me,” she snapped her fingers in reply.
“What kind of gifts did they leave you?”
“Clothes. Books. First aid kits. Portable stereo.”
“I don’t understand those gifts.”
“Things to help me survive.”
“Yes, I understand that. Tools.”
“Yes,” she replied. “They gave me the tools to survive.”
After some time, the world grew dark and her legs felt heavy. “Can we stop to rest?” she asked, snapping her fingers loudly to draw his attention.
“Yes,” Ikkak replied. He promptly clambered up a tree and ingested a slew of small insects crawling along the bark.
Nora sat at the base of the same tree and sipped water from a canteen. “How much farther is it?”
“Not far.” Ikkak climbed down. His exoskeleton was etched with scars and scratches.
“What are those marks on your body?” Nora asked snapping her fingers and making a slashing motion in the air.
“Life as a scout is dangerous.” Ikkak bent his body back so that he was looking at the jungle canopy.
Nora followed his gaze. Scant patches of sky were visible, but she could see now that it was nighttime from the twinkling of stars. With the darkness came the vibrant sounds of the nocturnal world. All around she heard chirping and buzzing, even growling far off in the distance. She wrapped her arms around her chest and shrunk within herself.
Ikkak crawled beside her and rested on the ground at her feet.
A loud, piercing sound made her jolt upright. It was a distinctive screeching not far from where she sat. She leaned forward. It was shrill but almost melodic, with purpose. Like music. She slowed her breathing, hoping to get a better listen.
It came once more, emanating as a series of screeches followed by temporary pauses, only for the screeching to resume again. Eeeeeh eeh eeeeeh. Pause. Eeeeeh eeh eeeeeh. Pause.
“What is that sound?” Nora asked, quickly snapping her fingers.
“That is the kipi-kua,” Ikkak replied. “I have not heard its call in many, many revolutions.”
“What is a kipi-kua?”
Ikkak pushed off the ground. “I can show you.”
They trekked over thin meadows and a few rotting tree stumps toward a small clearing where moonlight shone over reddish soil.
“Do you see it?” Ikkak asked, his clicks hushed in the dark.
A small, round head sporting a pointed snout jutted up from under a burrow. The creature pulled itself halfway up by its long-clawed paws.
“I see it,” Nora snapped in reply, taking a few steps closer. As she did, she noticed the animal’s scaly-plated skin, and its milky-white eyes.
“It’s blind?”
“Yes. They are subterranean, remaining dormant for many cycles. They only surface to eat and mate. This is its mating call. I thought them all gone.”
“Why is that?” Nora asked, keeping her eyes on the creature as it jerked in its hole. It was almost pangolin-like, only rounder, stubbier.
“They have not been seen or heard for a long time. Much of their environment was destroyed by your people when they built their colony atop their habitat.”
Her face flushed. She felt guilt gnawing at her insides. Like she was going to be sick. Her people caused this?
The kipi-kua’s nose prodded the air around it, sniffing insistently for something just like a puppy.
Ikkak continued. “They inhabit a specific portion of land on this planet, preferably near soft, fertile soil. Your people found the area suitable for farming. They plowed over a large swath of kipi-kua territory.”
The kipi-kua tilted its head and screeched its melodious song, pausing every so often before continuing.
“Why does it sing and stop like that?”
“It is a song meant for two partners. The gaps in its call are meant to be filled out by another kipi-kua. That is how they find one another. It appears this one sings for a mate that will never come.”
A duet, Nora thought. She felt warm tears pool under her eyes. She knew she was crying for both of them. She hoped that there were more of its kind around. For the kipi-kua’s sake. For her people’s sake.
“Let us continue,” Ikkak clacked, “the radio tower is near.”
She wiped her tears and they continued through the jungle until they came upon a slope littered with fragments of bones. She found the strength not to ask. On the other side she saw the sprawl of modules, chain-link fences, even flowing canals as they intersected parts of the colony. All was quiet expect for the sound of small, chirping insects.
Ikkak led her toward the western end of the colony. A steel-latticed radio mast shaped like a long triangle had been erected at the crest of a hill. They entered the control room located at its base, which had been left dark and empty. She half expected someone to greet her, but she knew better.
Ikkak turned to guard the door. “Can you initiate contact?”
“I don’t know,” she said, flicking a light switch. The rumble of generators came to life. To her amazement, the room lit up.
Nora glanced over a series of computers and control panels until she found a microphone jutting out from one of the terminals. A decal of sound waves emanating outward from a radio mast was plastered beside the microphone. She flipped a switch and a red light blinked on. “Ready for transmission,” a synthesized voice spoke.
In the silence of the room the realization came. She balled her small hands into fists and for a long moment she stared at the light. At that moment she felt the urge to scream.
Instead, she sat and slumped her head, slamming a single fist on the counter.
“What is the matter?” Ikkak asked, craning his long neck.
Nora shook her head. “This machine requires audible vocal transmissions. I can’t speak in the language of my people,” she said, her finger snaps weak, nearly silent. She placed two fingers to her throat. “An old infection messed up my ability to talk. I have no way to communicate.”
“Perhaps I could speak for you?”
“No,” she snapped in response. “Whoever were to receive the transmission would just hear clacking.”
Nora buried her face in her hands. What she would give to have her father hold her, or to hear her mother sing Vicente Fernández one more time.
Her mother’s voice echoed in her head, her soothing vocals almost nudging Nora. A wide smile streaked across her face. She unzipped her backpack and probed inside until she found what she was looking for. She flipped the transmission switch on the control panel, grabbed her portable stereo, and thumbed the Play button.
She chose her mother’s favorite song, “Volver, Volver.” The violins, guitars, and trumpets boomed harmoniously off the speakers as Vicente Fernández crooned about a lost love.
As she nodded her head to the rhythm, she began to snap her fingers, translating so that Ikkak could understand.
“Woeful poetry,” Ikkak said.
“Yes,” Nora replied, smiling.
Her smile abruptly faded. She began to wonder if the signal would even reach anyone.
Something her father had taught her came back to her just then. While radio waves traveled at the speed of light in a vacuum, those waves eventually became weak and blended in with the background noise of the universe.
She sighed, the sting in her heart deep and piercing. The universe itself was working against her. The music would just become distorted, undecipherable nonsense.
Nora thought of the kipi-kua. Its beautiful song, an exercise in futility. A most wondrous tune meant for someone and no one all the same. They were alike: alone and the last of their kind on Tierra Tres.
She let the song play all the way through. When it was over, she turned off the transmission. She’d offered no coordinates, no clear message. But it was all she could do. She wouldn’t be allowed to try again. A final song for the ages, she thought. Like the kipi-kua, her kindred spirit, she was calling out into the void to a people who may never come.
Originally appeared in Infinite Constellations, 2023 (University of Alabama Press).
