Showing posts with label behavior. Show all posts
Showing posts with label behavior. Show all posts

Friday, June 24, 2011

Evacuation

It took me a while to assess the entirety of the damage. My pack comes apart to a degree, and I had stashed the large main part in the cave since we’d moved to this area. I kept all my reagents and antidotes in the big pack, where they’d be safe. The smaller mini-pack has my daily tools like the computer pad, first aid kit, and my multi-tool.

The irony is that I had left the little pack hanging on a tree branch when we’d first gone to see the grass fire. It had been out in the elements for the entire time the tornado had ripped through the area, and somehow it was completely untouched. The big pack, which had been wedged near the entrance to my cave, had been drug out, bashed and battered, and then dumped into a patch of burning grass. That’s where Nandi found it.

It was the fire, not the tornado, that really screwed me over.

The chlorine reagents are the only ones that are in liquid form. They’re kept in packs of tiny individual dose-sized cylinders, made of a shatter resistant polymer (they come in clips, like funny little bullets, and I have to load one into the injection gun to administer them). If they had been through just a thorough bashing, they probably would have been okay. But the polymer isn’t resistant to extreme heat. I pulled a twisted casing full of melted plastoid slag out of my pack and glared at it. The casing had a picture of a flame with an “X” over it, and said “Keep away from fire,” in seven languages. I really hate you, Murphy. Ugh.

This was really bad.

I literally cannot survive on Minerva without the chlorine reagents. The thought made my throat close and my pulse spike. Itchy eyes and trouble breathing would be the least of my problems. While I was busy wheezing, my body would be, quite literally, corroding from the inside out. Not the way I want to go.

I sat on the ground, staring at the remains of the cylinder casing, dreading the next step. I’m due for a dose today. Without it, I’ll be itching and miserable by evening. In a week I’ll be dead. Nandi and Kohric were looking over my shoulders on either side. Nandi doesn’t really understand why I need all my pills and injections. He just knows they’re important in some vague way. Kohric, though, knows that his world is effectively poisonous to me. He sat down next to me, looking very, very solemn, and caught my gaze.

“Tee must go,” he said, very softly. It wasn’t a question, and hearing him say it made my throat close up again. I felt Nandi start from my other side, and he made a tiny keening whimper.

I felt sick. I would have to use the emergency com box to flag GZ Station and have a shuttle come for emergency evac; the ultimate statement of failure for a field scientist. It’s like going away to summer camp and then having to call your mommy to take you home after the second day. Doc Sutherland will never, ever, EVER let me live this down. Granted, I’ll only be away long enough for medical treatment and resupply, but I’ll probably still be weeks; weeks of time I’m supposed to be documenting. Weeks away from people who have become dear friends.

“Tee must go,” I whispered. My voice sounded thick and raspy. Kohric pressed his forehead against my shoulder, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. “But I will come back before the moons have turned.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It takes a shuttle three days to get to Minerva from Iapitus. Those three days were misery. I barely left the cave on the second and third days, and by the time I got a ping from the shuttle with an ETA, I had to have Kohric’s help to walk to the pick up site. My breath was rasping like an old lady, I felt nauseous, and I was so short of wind that it took us nearly an hour to walk there. My eyes were so irritated that I was having trouble seeing clearly. I was practically stumbling by the time the shuttle landed.

Nandi and Kohric were the only ones that accompanied me. I’m incredibly grateful for that. I don’t think I could have handled having anyone else there; it was hard enough saying goodbye to the two of them.

Azu-nah don’t weep; they don’t have tear ducts in the same way we do. When they’re particularly upset, their throats start to tighten involuntarily and they make a kind of keening wail. Kohric’s jaw was tight, and his throat was working furiously when he came to hug me goodbye; the equivalent of holding back tears. We bumped foreheads and I hugged him while he murmured words of safe passage, and asked me to “return home soon.” My eyes were already watering, but that started tears openly trailing down my cheeks.

Nandi told me that he would save an entire koh for me, and if I didn’t come back he would give it to Ikaylay or Sodo. I laughed weakly through my tears and hugged him.

I was quickly bustled into the shuttle by two no-nonsense medics. They buckled me to a gurney and began setting up monitors before the shuttle door even began to close. My head was beside one of the small, oval windows. Outside, Nandi raised a hand and flexed his fingers in an imitation of waving goodbye. I pressed my hand to the window and tried to smile as my two friends seemed to grow smaller and smaller below.



”Before the moons turn,” I whispered.




Okay, before anyone freaks out, this is NOT the end of Tee's story or the Project.

There is, however, going to be a period without updates. Think of this as a season finale. The Project requires a lot of plotting, planning, and working on art. It's difficult to keep that up on a weekly basis indefinitely, and when I try to the quality begins to suffer. So I'm going to be taking a few weeks to do some behind the scenes type work; plotting things out, mostly, but I also want to get a bit of a dictionary up for you guys. If you have any questions, let me know!

ETA for the "season premier" (I use the term extremely loosely) is July 26th. Look forward to it!

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Flashers

Science is always soothing to me. There’s something comforting about simple observation. So today I took shameless advantage of my needing to document the local wildlife, and played the anti-social scientist; I spent the day sprawled on the cliff face with my binoculars glued to my eyeballs, watching the most recent herd of uku to pass through our territory.



They eat a lot.

A lot. I think about 90^% of today was just watching the things eat. Granted, their food source is somewhat labor intensive; the plant almost resembles bamboo in that it’s primarily a cylindrical stem with thin, lefty extremities. The uku have no interest in the leaves. Instead they use their sharp, horn-like beaks to snap off pieces of the stem, and then split the pieces open to get at the soft pulp inside. Kohric says the pulp is sweet, and the Azu-nah use it to make something a little like candied fruit (I will officially not be able to die happy if I don’t get to try at least one piece of candied koh before I croak).

Anyway, when they’re not hunting around for something to eat (which is rare), they seem to engage in a lot of … shoving. There’s definitely some sort of hierarchy in the herd, but I have a very hard time telling the individual animals apart, so I haven’t been able to pin it down. The sexes look identical, for example, and other than size and their horns being a bit blunter, the young look almost the same as the adults. This makes it tricky to tell who an individual is arguing with and why.

The shoving matches are relatively subdued for the most part; one individual will saunter up to another, broadside, and just start shoving. The two will huff and honk and push back and forth for a few minutes, and then the loser will go off and sulk. Occasionally the argument will get a little more rowdy, and the two “combatants” will start puffing the dewlap-like structure on their necks. The skin seems to be thin and very flexible, like a frigatebird’s gular pouch, and can inflate into a kind of spiky red balloon under the jaw.

One encounter, though, was even more impressive. The shoving had started as usual, and had escalated to gular-pouch-dewlap-thingy puffing. But instead of one of them breaking off and going away, they just kept at it. Maybe they were evenly matched. Whatever it was, it was enough to move to the next level of behavior. One of the two suddenly reared up on its hind legs and a huge hood expanded from its neck. The bony spikes lining each side of the neck are apparently anchors for a fleshy frill structure. There are two vibrant eye spots on the inside of the hood that are normally hidden.
They’re iridescent, and the animal rocks back and forth on its hind legs while displaying them, causing them to flash. They’re surprisingly bright. The non-displaying uku immediately backed down and trotted off to hide behind a bush.

It was fascinating. I’m dying to know if the hoods are exclusively to intimidate rivals (for what I still don’t know), if both sexes have them, and if there’s some aspect of the hood that makes one “win” a fight. I wonder if the hood is mostly used for breeding displays, like with pheasants? That’s the problem with ethology; one question answered, thirty new questions arise.

Poor Kohric. I’m going to have so many more things to ask him.




There will be no update next week. I have a commitment I can't avoid. But hopefully I will get time to make some spiffy art for the week after.