dejah_thoris | [OOM] Third Teean 27, 38 O 94 E

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[OOM] Third Teean 27, 38 O 94 E

Dejah had thought, by returning to work on the Project, she could forget about her other concerns for a little while. It was only ever the Project in her mind. It had been the Project since those very first days after they'd realized, the Thern threat had been dealt with, once and for all. The War was over. The Project began. Terraforming a planet was no small undertaking. It had been over a century in the works already, and looked to be at least three more in the making. By that time, she expected there would be no way to conceal their presence from Jasoom any longer, and they had to be prepared for that eventuality as well. So, the first iteration of atmospheric generators had been brought online, and the second and third iterations had entered development and testing. Subterranean pump houses were already supplementing what little surface water they had, and they were a long way from open air reservoirs on the surface. Right now, subterranean reservoirs would have to do. And there was so much more to consider on the surface. Topography and geological surveys to be completed. Small scale test environments to be built, merely proof of concepts at this point, but they were no small endeavor in and of themselves.

She'd been back for three days, working straight through, and her people none the wiser that she'd been gone for more than a month through a secret door between universes. She looked over the plans as they stood, and found everything to be on target, just as they'd been when she'd left. So why wasn't the tension behind her eyes relieved?

She knew why. She'd been avoiding thinking about it. About him. She stepped away from her drafting tables and for the first time, thought to herself, Who do I know that could counsel me on this issue? The first question really was, what was it she needed counselling on? There was no one here in the city who could even begin to understand what it was that Curtis had been through. But she thought perhaps, she knew someone who might.

"Sola, I want to go and visit your father."

"Yes, my Jeddak. He should be back in the Old City by the end of next month."

"I want to go visit him now."

"But… My Jeddak, he is on the path now. There was good hunting to be had in the southern reaches this season. He will be with his hunting parties, out in the Warhoon."

"Well, send a flyer to locate him and we shall ride out."

"My Jeddak… Dejah… That is at least five days on thoat back. Might we take a flyer instead?"

"Sola, my friend. I need some time away from the city. I need the desert now. Surely you understand?"

Sola regarded her Jeddak and dear friend with a knowing look. "Are you going into seclusion again? As you did before, when…?" She could not say it, but they both knew what she meant. Dejah had ridden out to the Temple of Iss after John's passing. A journey that should have only taken a week ended up lasting six months.

"No, no not at all." Dejah put a hand on Sola's shoulder. "I merely need to speak with your father. I require his counsel. And the ride will clear my head before we get there."

Sola closed her eyes and dipped her chin, a smile of relief touching her lips. "As you will. I will have the flyer sent out immediately. Mounts to be ready by morning?"

"Let's leave tonight."

"As you will. I will let them know."

Dejah quietly thanked her, and turned back to the room. She hadn't been in the field in far too long. Suddenly, she was actually looking forward to it.

~~~

The flyers located the Thark hunting band eight days ride south of the city of Helium, and Dejah's small caravan of guards and attendants set out to intercept them a few days out from the Old City. She'd had them bring water, enough for a traditional peace offering, along with other gifts of food and wine. She would not be seen to be a burden on the Thark's already limited resources. But not too many gifts. He had his pride as well.

Woola was acting as point, and kept them on target despite the shifting sands and usual dust storms. All she had to do was tell him, "Find Tars Tarkas." And the calot had done the rest. He was his usual grumpy self, as the thoats did not move with near enough alacrity for his taste, but he also seemed to be enjoying the wide open space. He'd adapted as best he could to city life, but he was a calot and as such, belonged in the empty expanse of Barsoom's red desert.

When they caught up with Tars Tarkas and his men, she made sure it was at a leisurely pace, giving them enough time to spot the dust of their trail and send out riders to meet them. It was an hour before sunset when they were escorted to meet the Thark Jeddak and longtime family friend.

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The sun was sliding down the sky, and the moons had just begun to pull themselves over the horizon. It would be a while before the torches the Tharks had set out for the hunting camp would need lighting. Nevertheless a fire burned in the central pit, as much for hospitality as for light or warmth. Tars Tarkas had made sure of that as soon as he realized whose thoats were approaching in the distance. A guest should know they were expected, after all.

This being a hunting expedition rather than a war party or diplomatic mission, there's little in the way of pomp or fanfare to be had. Oh, the warriors are very stern and disciplined and all when Tars Tarkas rises from his seat and offers the traditional words of greeting, Jeddak to Jeddak. But that only lasts a few moments before Tars lets out a big booming laugh and moves in for a sweeping hug with all four arms.

Dejah smiles and laughs as well, even as her eyes sheen. She is enfolded in his massive embrace and she can't help but let out a deep sigh and cling to him for a moment. He'd been one of John's dearest friends -- one of her dearest friends, and she'd stayed away far too long.

She hugs him back for a long moment, long enough for her guard to start to get uncomfortable about it, and then she finally lets him go. Her hands clasp his as she looks up into his face.

"Tars. My dear friend. How are you? How was the hunting?"

"Well enough, Dejah!" He gives her hands a friendly squeeze as she regains her footing. "We've had both meat and sport aplenty. I have half a mind to chase down what's left of this herd of zitidars and round the survivors up for breeding stock. We could use the wild strain's fighting spirit among our own beasts."

He glances up towards the the caravan; his eyes narrow a moment in speculation. Then his expression smooths, and he says, "But you, I think- you came out here for other reasons. Am I right?"

Dejah steps back a bit, gestures to her guard to take up their perimeter and set up camp within the circle of the Jeddak's torches. The water skins were given to the camp masters, as well as the small barrels of wine.

"I would say that the journey is well worth it just to enjoy your hospitality, but -- you are correct. I have need of your counsel. But please, let us sit. My legs are weary and I would enjoy the warmth of your fire and your company."

"Of course," says Tars, and nods to the nearest Thark. "Bring the good furs and stoke the fire. We have tomorrow's plans already in hand. I see no reason a night can't be spared for other kinds of consideration."

His men are incredibly efficient and in just a few minutes, she finds herself settling into a luxurious pile of banth fur with a long sigh.

"You are too kind, my friend." Her fingers feather through the soft fringe and the scent of the campfire draws an old memory to the surface. A memory of spending nights like this, under the stars. "I have missed this. More than I imagined."

Someone brings her a goblet and fills it with something that is not the wine she brought. She grins, shakes her head. "I see not much has changed."

"We'd be poor hosts indeed if we made no effort to offer from our own stores," says Tars, as close to primly as any green Martian might ever be said to manage. "Why fix what isn't broken?"

"You speak the truth." She grins, broad and guileless. She cups both hands around the goblet and sniffs, takes a sip. A moment later she's coughing, laughing again. "I have been too long in the city."

He's never been one to mince words, so she thinks he deserves the same honor in return. "I've come to ask you about -- matters a Jeddak might have had to deal with in the past, when the times were especially hard. I know I heard rumors of famine amongst the tribes when the war was at its height."

His expression sobers; he interlaces the fingers of his upper hands together, and nods. "It happened that way more often than I would have liked," he says. "Part of the reason for our ancient customs regarding our eggs. There were many times when food was scarce enough as it stood. Splitting it further for the sake of those who were sickly from birth would have endangered the whole band. As it stood-" He shakes his head. "Well."

Dejah's mood sombers along with the Thark's. She remembers John's story about his first few hours on Barsoom, how he'd stumbled upon a Thark egg creche as the younglings were hatching. How after a certain amount of time, when all the healthy young were retrieved, the rest of the unhatched eggs were dispatched by rifle fire. He'd been horrified. And she'd understood why they did it. Only the strong survive on Barsoom. It is a unique quality she possess, the belief that it is up to her as Jeddak to help all of her people be strong.

She gives the moment a bit of air, as it deserves.

"You honor your ancestors in keeping their wisdom alive. But -- have you ever met a Thark who -- well..." She hesitates, puzzling out the right words. "Have you ever known someone who had lived in hunger for so long, that it -- altered their mind?"

"I, myself?" He shakes his head. "No. But I have heard from those who have. There was a small tribe whose numbers we absorbed when I was still young. Their lands were not far from those of the northern Warhoon. As often as my people moved in those days, they moved more often- to hunt, or to avoid the enemy's eye, or because their jeddak had an itch. They had a creche they thought very well hidden in a barren gully, and avoided it as long as they could- more than most. Better that than to lead the Warhoon to the spot, even by accident."

"When the time drew near for the most recent clutch to hatch, of course they had to send scouts to the place. They had avoided Warhoon notice- but not the eyes of ill fortune. Another band in those lands had been put to the sword, and the Warhoon had slaughtered or stolen every creature in their lands that could be eaten. There was one survivor, a maimed and half-blinded woman named Tharvas. At the end of her strength, she had crawled into what she thought was a quiet place to die."

"An egg creche is a very quiet place. And one who has neither eaten nor had water in many days may do things others are unwilling to do."

Dejah's jaw clenches and her eyes close. The very idea of being forced to eat one's own children leaves her ill. She is very quiet for a long time. Eventually, she draws a breath and lets it out, slowly.

"I have always been raised to believe that, we do what is necessary to stay alive. No matter the cost. I suppose none of us knows what we're capable of until fate puts us to the knife."

Tars nods. "Our elders made sure we young Tharks heard of Tharvas' story early on, so that we would understand what survival might truly mean. Not every enemy can be brought down in battle."

She meets his gaze and feels the weight of his words.

"True. And like any other form of combat, the trouble is leaving that enemy behind once the battle is over. I am beginning to suspect that is the trickiest part of surviving. Figuring out how to live again."

"Memories can be heavier than metal," says Tars soberly. "And just as difficult to put aside, after a lifetime carrying. Whoever it is you come on behalf of, I don't envy them the road they have ahead at all."

Dejah's gaze falls and a sad smile ghosts over her lips. After all these years, he knows her too well.

"Yes, well. As with any burden, they are easier borne with help than by oneself." She glances back up. "How did you know I came on behalf of someone else?"

"You asked me if long hunger could change a person's mind," says Tars. "Helium has fared well for a long while now, so you weren't asking for your people. If you were only chasing some old legend, or some piece of history, you would have said as much at the very beginning. It made the most sense to assume you had some particular person's condition in mind."

She dips her chin, gives a slight nod. "Yes, you are correct. I met a man on my travels. He has recently been released from a long confinement. And in all my studies, I have never read anything about -- how to -- I do not know how to help him. Every bite of food seems to bear an impossible weight for him. It's as if he feels he does not deserve to be alive. And yet, he is."

Well, for certain values of alive, anyway.

"I am grateful for any counsel you might have to give."

"A Thark who's gone a long time without food or water finds his stomach shrunken," says Tars, after some thought. "Give him too much to eat at once, and he'll sicken. One held prisoner with no way to strike at his captors for too long, given a sword, will either go mad and attack any foe he sees, or fail with the weapon entirely. If this man's been confined and starved for so very long, I would say to move slowly. Offer him only a little more than he thinks he ought to have, whether food or the company of others. It takes slow stretching over a long time to bring what's shrunken back to its proper size without tearing it in the process."

Dejah takes in this information, the corners of her mouth drawn down. She's tried to be patient and she doesn't think she's done much at all to force the issue. Still, it is sage advice and one she will take to heart.

"I can do that. But I fear my own impatience may be an impediment. Still, that's nothing I haven't had to deal with in the past."

She leans forward and extends her hand to her old friend. "Thank you, Tars. You have no idea how invaluable your words are to me right now. Again, I find myself in your debt."

"We all have something in our natures to overcome," says Tars. "I have no doubt you'll find a way to see this done. You have a knack for that sort of thing."

He clasps her hand with one of his own. "Return the favor for me one day, and we'll call it even," he says. "I have no doubt there'll come a time when I'll have to knock at the gates of Helium with questions of my own."

"You are always, always welcome in our home, my friend. The warrior who brought us Dottar Sojat will always be revered in Helium."

She squeezed his hand and leaned back again, gentle smile back in place.

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[OOM] Third Teean 27, 38 O 94 E

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