Red Dawn

Pluck the stem and uproot the growth. Burgeoned fruit, selfless life. Kiss the stem and cast it to the wind. Progeny blooms in years to come. Hopeful blossoms, flowered with care. Now raze the ground and scorch the earth. Fulminate your homeland. Pollute the air with wagging tongues and borrowed time. From earth comes nothing. But to it comes flesh. Burning world, blackened country. Water dry and sour to taste. Children awaken to revelations. We reap what we sow but what to reap when the Earth is shorn. Breathe deep now and exhale tomorrow. Continue until your lungs collapse. Savor the sweetness and cough up your sweat. Cough up your blood. Cough up your tears until nothing remains. Death will come and bury you in ashes. No flowers will adorn your grave.

He would look upon the dawn of this new world. But not before turning to that home of old. Ancient and proud it parted the sky. Stoic and steadfast it withstood eons of torment. Providing only salvation and a land for love and fruition but never receiving. It would circle alone and vacant. A blackened sphere, it’s veins clotted with filth. Turning forever. Crafted by God and impaled by devils. He knew it would crumble. And with it the memories of a people. He could only turn forward. A new horizon. Red with sulfur and ripe for the sow. Tread lightly and give mutually. This is your last chance.

_______

From the Journal of Commander James Albright

Cultivator I

2071

Feb 1, 2071- First Step

Refugees. Slave to the winds of change. We come as aliens. Foreigners and gluttons. We have consumed a world. I pray this new land is without life. I pray their solace is in a distant system. Tranquil and without disturbance. For if they are here, content and hopeful, I weep for their innocence. They know not the throngs of tyranny that crest their horizons. They know not the insatiable hunger which treads their soil. Ichor drips gently from these creature’s teeth. You could see it if your eyes were not shut. Throw yourselves to the wind and beg for peace in the next life. I would weep to see you wasted.

April 3, 2071- First Harvest

The crops line the rear of the ship. In wilted soil they lie dead and limp. With artificial light, measured air, and borrowed water we attempt to create the impossible. Tomatoes and pears. Blackened fruit. Scarce vegetation. The sun is not strong here. The nights are cold and chill the blood, freezing what little life exists. This Red Country is an earned salvation. Sulfuric air makes the lungs wheeze. The water is sweet. It can be home.

April 5, 2071-Second Sow

This we do with crossed fingers and lofted prayers. This soil is firm but it can be fertile. We know this. Akin to volcanic ash it is uninviting and harsh. The greenhouse holds strong. We keep warm on the fire that burns within us. We know this will work. Success is anathema to the scientist’s being. Failure is a comforting mountain. Crest its peak and claim your success. This is what we will do. The soil may be symbiotic as the nutrients here are scarce. We will introduce a variety of fungi and hope for life. We will find what nutrients are sparse and give to this land what it is lacking. That is the least we can do. The tools are present but need a catalyst. Fresh water and fertilizer. Potassium, chloride, sodium and magnesium. Present but scarce. We are the difference.

June 17th 2071- Second Harvest

These crops are cultivated with gallons of sweat. They require symbiotes and careful timing. The soil is particular and unknown but we are beginning to understand it. We have tread this mountain and actively harvest hope. A single pear tree and a bushel of tomatoes. They taste like home. The juices are sweet and natural. Full of life and fresh with knowledge. We will continue on. This world will be ripe with cultivation. A brimming utopia of natural beauty. All tinted with red. I pray this is the constant. I pray success is our new normal.

July 23 2071- Storm

Sisyphus ranges beside us. Our first dust storm came in the night. We were not prepared for its rage. A dry goddess of dashed hope and wrathful vigor, she uprooted our labor with graceless dignity. We do not belong here. The land tells us this with every passing day. Life of our kind is not sustainable. We will destroy it or it will destroy us. At first light we start anew. Repairs are necessary to the greenhouse. After which, we will begin to impregnate this ground once more. This boulder must be pushed. There is no other choice.

September 14 2071- Renewal

We have constructed hope through due diligence and omniscient hands. The crops grow taller and plumper at each check. Our greenhouse is bountiful and fortified. We have sheltered it’s walls further and covered our crops. Our data is more reliable for predicting the storms. Communications back home show us this. We are not alone in this settlement. An entire world watches from afar. They aid our struggle. We are not alone. We cannot forget this.

October 7 2071- Motions

The crops are shielded from the storms. We have constructed growth chambers in the ship to further protect the plants. I am considering leaving base and walking this desert. Growth is constant and the crew needs reports. Human reports. I am tenuous today. Tomorrow is different.

October 8 2071- Contact

Today marks a seminal day in the downward spiral of mankind’s hubris. I encountered new life in this land. Small and feeble they hide within caverns. What I saw resembled a nuclear family. The father had low cheekbones and a wider trunk. His height was greater. The mother was slender and curved at the waist. She hid behind the father. I only saw a glimpse of the children behind their mother. Their size was that of a human three year old. Their skulls are angled and narrow. I assume this allows for foraging in crevices. They are bipedal and humanoid with slender torsos, appendages, and digits. They were scared of me. I do not blame them. I tried to speak in a calm manner but they would not approach my outstretched hand. They are smart. They have adapted to this land. Who knows how many more there are. I have found but one family. I was a monster to them. This is their land and I am not meant for this place. But they are. Their fear was writ plainly in their unseeing eyes. Black pools looked around me and through me but never at me. Their ears were large and pointed. I will return with a peace offering. I am thrilled but hesitant with this discovery. They are not fit for the coming invasion. The aliens to come are conquerors and leeches. They’ll suck this place dry and sit proudly on their throne of dirt. What is one more extinction to them.

October 9 2071- Offering

I returned to the cave but did not see them. I am certain they knew of my presence. Their hesitance is a virtue. I pray it lasts. The pouch that I left contained 4 pears and 2 tomatoes. A modest offering but an offering nonetheless. These are not predatory creatures. They are peaceful and docile. But I fear docility and passiveness are no solace in the face of predators. Burrow your children in deep black dirt. Make yourself invisible. Scavenge little and hope for no confrontation. These invaders will eat your children for sport.

October 10 2071- Reaper

I returned to the cave. The pouch was gone from where I left it. The crops grow with a steadiness that gives hope worth clinging to. The fungi introduced have filled in the lacking nutrients, allowing for constant yields. The tomatoes are soft and make these air-sealed meals more tolerable. We have filled the greenhouse entirely. The crew wants to take over my botanical duties so I can commit to this new species. This is exciting to them. They are good people. Not everyone is. Today I enjoyed another pear. I bit into its flesh. It produced a sweetness that I have come to love. I flipped it over and noticed a bruise. It was black and blue, making the fruit mushy. I focused on the healthy side and enjoyed what I could. I would confront the darkness when it arrived. Or remove myself from it entirely.

October 11 2071- Motions

The pouch is still gone and I have not noticed the family again. I hope they enjoyed my meager sum of provisions. I believe I will explore their cave tomorrow. There’s a high beam light on the ship that will give me ample sight in the darkness. I do not want to scare them. I will be calm in my approach and make no suggestive movements. These creatures are capable of love and I am capable of giving it. History repeats itself. Do not tarry. I must set the precedent.

October 12 2071- Tolls

Today I explored the cave. It was pitch black and dry. The light cut through the blackness. I saw what plagued my nightmares. Harmful ignorance and the price of naivety. The first tomato was whole and pocked with dirt but still fresh. It lay on the ground next to the open pouch. The second had a bite taken out of it on both sides. The bite marks were lined with small indentations and rot. The pears lay on the ground near the pouch. Three were untouched and the last was absent. I walked further beyond the pouch before I noticed them fully. Cowering, they hid behind a boulder. Quaking. Terrified. A smaller version of their parents with a less developed skull and smaller body. Their eyes were large. They hid from the light and shielded their eyes with their hands. I directed the light at an adjacent position hoping to calm them while still shedding light. I kneeled slowly. They were hugging each other, scooting as far back into the boulder’s shadow as possible. I could see their chest rising and falling. Their breathing was rapid. I told them it was ok. I spoke to them slowly. I reached forth my hand in a gesture of peace but they only retreated further. I do not blame them. Still kneeling I inched further forward. Ever so slowly, hoping to gain their trust. As I got closer I noticed their eyes. Dark pools but not lacking emotion. I noticed their faces. Their expressions. Their senses darting this direction and that. Their fear of me compounded with confusion. Their norms were crushed. This was apparent. That is when I shifted the light. I focused it around the cave before coming to a stop. Their bodies lay a ways off from the pouch. Cradling one another, they lie unmoving. Red blood had dried on their mouth and cheeks. Tomato seeds stuck on their lips. The last pear lay at their side.

I came to set the precedent. We were to be the difference. But time is a circle. We ride it’s winds with no notion of our influence. Always, history turns the cogs of this cosmic wheel. I will exist forever at the mouth of that cave. And that family will succumb to my ignorance. Again and again. Forever.

January 7 2072

Do not record my name in history books. Do not mount my portrait. No posthumous awards. Leave me as I am.

April 5 2072

These pears are sweet. My mother would’ve made a cobbler. With ice cream and hot coffee.

June 5 2072- Red Dawn

I see you across the horizon. You arrive with hope and I leave with none. It's good to have hope but it’s bad to keep it. I’m just a ruminator, though. Watching from a bird’s eye. You’ll never see me and I’ll never know your name. But maybe you’ll reap my handiwork. Bite into a ripened pear. Feel the juices flow through your cracked lips. You’re starving and desperate. I have sown the soil of your survival. I have sucked these noxious breaths for you. The water is sweet and lacking impurity. This place feels like home for the mongrels that will occupy it. I speak to you directly. Make record of these debts you owe me. Pay me in the next life and I’ll pardon your sins. Give to this land or it will fall from beneath you. This is your last chance.