Pearson is Dead

I wanted to show you what I am working on in Junction right now. On this second revision, I’m trying to go back to some key scenes and add romance and mystery elements. The same basic things are happening, but the characters (especially the main character, Daisuke) react to them in a deeper, more engaging way.

Also, spoilers I guess? Although it’s not much of a spoiler in an alien-survival-murder-mystery when someone gets murdered and there are aliens involved.

Here’s the scene in the beta-version of the story:

“Commander Pearson is dead?” Hariyadi nearly shoved Daisuke off the hill as he whirled to face Misha. “How did this happen?” His eyes narrowed. “How was it allowed to happen?”

Misha only shrugged. With his sagging shoulders and thriving facial hair, the man looked like a depressed bear, emerging from its hibernation only to find its favorite salmon stream had been paved over. “I do not know how he died. Are no marks on body. No evidence of new trauma or allergy. Simply: he is not breathing.”

Hariyadi strode past Misha and stuck his head into Pearson’s tent. Daisuke could hear him muttering. “No allergy. No evidence of foul play. Observe the extensive damage to the legs…shock, perhaps, or some slow-acting poison.”

“As if bioactive molecules from aliens would have anything like the intended effect on us.” Blond curls flew as Anne shook her head. “Wait a second? What is Hariyadi doing?”

“Capturing the moment.” Daisuke tapped his life logger. “Speaking for the benefit of our audience.”

Anne’s expression twisted, as if in disgust that anyone could be so gauche as to think of filming a moment like this.

“What’s going on?” Nurul mumbled, climbing out of the women’s tent. She shivered under her thermal blanket, glaring blearily at the rest of the party, as if looking for the person who had turned down the thermostat.

“Pearson is dead,” said Anne.

“Oh!” Nurul’s blanket fell to the ground as she put her hands to her mouth, revealing clothes stained and in some cases eaten right through by Glasslands effluvia. “That’s terrible! Was it his wounds that killed him?”

Anne let out an exhausted sigh. “I suppose it must have been. It’s not like we can do an autopsy on him out here. Or a decent burial.” She ran her hands through her hair, turning it into a rather fetching nest-shape.

“No,” said Hariyadi. “We can’t bury him. We don’t have time.”

Anne rounded on him. “I think we do have time. Would you like us to leave your corpse out here when you die?”

Hariyadi raised an eyebrow. “When I die?”

“When all of us die, she means,” said Misha.

Anne just looked bleakly down at the ground.

And that’s when I knew I had to intervene. Daisuke found himself stepping forward and clearing his throat, checking to see where Rahman and his camera might be.

“We will bury Commander Pearson’s body,” he said.

He looked around. “Misha? Get the shovels.”

“Okay,” said Anne, while the Russian sloped off to the sledge, “but then what?”

“We will all dig together,” said Daisuke. “Just as all together we will help each other to survive. We will not give up.”

“Okay?” she said. “But I meant ‘what about decomposition?’ The bacteria in his gut will go some way to breaking his body down, but they won’t thrive down there in the quicksand. Local bacteria and scavengers can’t digest him. His nutrients will be wasted. Inaccessible.”

Daisuke prevented himself from asking “so what?” If anything, the sixty kilos of biomaterial donated by Pearson would help terraform this place.

Daisuke took a moment to compose the thought into a media-friendly form and said, “Perhaps his body will form the basis of an earthlike ecosystem. Future explorers might find here an apple tree growing in the oasis made by Pearson’s sacrifice.”

Anne just snorted.

The tree image would slot right into an American’s Johnny Appleseed mythology. Maybe Daisuke should have said something about billabongs?

“We cannot bring him with us,” said Hariyadi, who took a shovel readily enough when Misha handed it to him. “I am unsure how much longer we can even continue to use the sledge.”

That was a problem Daisuke had been considering, too. They had more supplies than could be carried in backpacks, but the ground was becoming less and less even as they got closer to the mountains. Wheels would help, but would they be enough?

But if Daisuke voiced his idea now, it would be swamped by the crew’s reaction to the death of Pearson. He had better sit on his plans until after the grieving scene.

“We’ll think of something.” Daisuke put a hand on Anne’s shoulder, showing support. Where the hell was Rahman with that camera? “For now, we dig.”

. It was far more difficult to carry Pearson’s body down the slippery incline of the hill than it was to lever up the tiles down there. The chalky sand below was entirely dry.

“What do you think happened, Anne?” asked Daisuke. “Where did the water go?”

She didn’t answer, only stared into the grave as if imagining it filled with the decomposed slime.

Daisuke breathed deeply, trying to crush this sudden annoyance at Anne. But why was she indulging in so much grief? There were tears on her face, but she’d never liked Pearson! She’d barely been able to exchange a civil word with him. Did Anne imagine she could wedge herself into the middle of the old swordmaster/naive protégé dynamic Daisuke had been building? Or had Anne been establishing her own relationship drama? Perhaps a romantic antagonism with the old man…

Stop.

Daisuke realized with a twist of self-loathing that he was thinking like a TV personality.

Pearson thought I was a flunky, eager to wipe away my ancestors’ wrongdoing by serving Uncle Sam. I had no problem using those assumptions to construct my own narrative about teaching the arrogant American to respect my survival skills.

Now both those stories were dead, and the only real emotion Daisuke could summon was pique that Anne and Pearson’s story was more interesting than his.

You’re pitiable, Daisuke, he thought in the voice of his ex-wife, like an egg-shell with nothing inside. This is a funeral, and you can’t even summon up the humanity to be sad?

Apparently not, but if Daisuke couldn’t be a real human being, he could sure as hell act like it. He rubbed his ring finger and composed his expression into heavy grief.

Hariyadi and Rahman lowered Pearson’s body into its grave. Scooped their shovelfuls of sand onto it. Everyone took their turns at the ritual, even Tyaney and Sing. What were their death rituals like, Daisuke wondered. How did they grieve?

Hariyadi must have been wondering something similar. “Ms. Houlihan,” he murmured once the corpse was buried, “do you have anything you would like to say?”

Anne shook her head. “What? I’m not…I don’t know any prayers.” She looked like she’d been hit very hard on the back of the head. “He was just alive last night. Joking. Or whatever the hell that story was supposed to be.”

Daisuke couldn’t help smiling at her. Of course Anne hadn’t been romantically interested in Pearson. That suspicion was just Daisuke being…jealous? Huh.

“So you are an atheist and will not say a prayer for the commander,” said Hariyadi. “Mr. Alekseyev? Do you share a God with the deceased?”

“Churches are beautiful buildings,” said Misha.

Daisuke might be able to make Anne feel better. That might go some of the way to lifting this weight out of the pit of his stomach.

“I’ll say a few words.” Daisuke looked at Anne. Not at Nurul, who was gesturing hurriedly at her husband to get his camera. Daisuke did not know whether to feel elated or depressed, proud of or disgusted with himself. With the ease of much practice, he buried those feelings and placed over them the glassy tiles of professionalism.

And here’s the gamma-version:

“Commander Pearson is dead?” Hariyadi nearly shoved Daisuke off the hill as he whirled to face Misha. “How did this happen?”

Misha only shrugged. With his sagging shoulders and thriving facial hair, the man looked like a depressed bear, emerging from its hibernation only to find its favorite salmon stream had been paved over. “I don’t know how he died. No marks on body. Simply: he is not breathing.” He looked at Daisuke. “You gonna help me?”

“Help?” Daisuke echoed.

“Help move body. Hard to bury him up here.”

Daisuke blinked. Well, of course, they had to bury Pearson. They couldn’t very well drag the corpse with them over the mountains. A corpse. One of their number had died.

“No,” said Hariyadi. “We can’t bury him. We don’t have time.”

Anne rounded on him. “Would you like us to leave your corpse out here when you die?”

Hariyadi raised an eyebrow. “When I die?”

“When all of us die, she means,” said Misha.

Anne just looked bleakly down at the ground.

And that’s when I knew I had to intervene. Daisuke found himself stepping forward and clearing his throat, checking to see where Rahman and his camera might be.

“We will bury Commander Pearson’s body,” he said. “Misha? Get the shovels.”

“Okay,” said Anne, while the Russian sloped off to the sledge, “but then what?”

“We will all dig together,” said Daisuke. “Just as all together we will help each other to survive. We will not give up.”

“Okay?” Anne said. “But I meant ‘what about decomposition?’ The bacteria in his gut will go some way to breaking his body down, but they won’t thrive down there in the quicksand. Local bacteria and scavengers can’t digest him. His nutrients will be wasted. Inaccessible.”

Daisuke prevented himself from asking “so what?” If anything, the sixty kilos of biomaterial donated by Pearson would help terraform this place. But the habit of long training took over and what Daisuke ended up saying was. “Perhaps his body will form the basis of an earthlike ecosystem. Future explorers might find here an apple tree growing in the oasis made by Pearson’s sacrifice.”

Anne just sniffed. Was she fighting back tears? Why? She’d never liked Pearson. She’d barely been able to exchange a civil word with him. Daisuke might be excepted to shed a many tear for the fall of a gruff old mentor, but what sort of relationship drama had Anne established? Romantic antagonism?

Daisuke realized with a twist of self-loathing that he was thinking like a TV personality.

You’re pitiable, Daisuke, he thought in the voice of his ex-wife, like an egg-shell with nothing inside. This is a funeral, and you can’t even summon up the humanity to be sad?

Apparently not, but if Daisuke couldn’t be a real human being, he could sure as hell act like it. He rubbed his ring finger and composed his expression into heavy grief. “Let’s get the body.”

Pearson’s body itself showed no signs of struggle. The corpse lay on its back under a silvery thermal blanket, its arms limp at its sides, its skin waxy and bejeweled with dew. Its mouth and eyes were closed. The man looked more peaceful than he ever had when alive. Daisuke muttered a prayer to Amida Buddha as he squatted at the corpse’s head and slid his arms under its armpits.

“So what happened?” asked Hariyadi as Misha and Daisuke waddled past with their grizzly cargo. “Allergy? Shock? Poison?” His eyes scanned across Daisuke’s face, Misha’s, Anne’s, narrow with suspicion.

“Well, we can rule out poison,” said Anne. “The shmoo injected him with something, but I doubt bioactive molecules from aliens would have anything like the intended effect on humans.”

“Allergies?” pressed Hariyadi.

Anne made a considering noise. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t even the Shmoo that killed him, just his own immune response to the alien germs that took up residence in the wounds post-facto.”

“What’s going on?” Nurul mumbled, climbing out of the women’s tent. She shivered under her thermal blanket, glaring blearily at the rest of the party as if looking for the person who had turned down the thermostat. Then her eyes fell on Daisuke and Misha. Pearson’s body. She stiffened, her face setting like cement.

“Pearson is dead,” said Anne.

“Oh!” Nurul’s blanket fell to the ground as she put her hands to her mouth, revealing clothes stained, and in some cases eaten right through, by Glasslands effluvia. Her forehead furrowed with shock and distress. “That’s—how terrible! Was it his wounds that killed him?”

Anne let out an exhausted sigh. “I suppose it must have been. It’s not like we can do an autopsy on him out here. Or a decent burial.” She ran her hands through her hair, turning it into a rather fetching nest-shape.

“Yes,” said Misha. “We bury him. If we don’t die of exhaustion carrying body downhill. Come on, Daisuke.”

It turned out that carrying Pearson’s body down the hill had been the most difficult part of the burial process. With only a little pressure from the edge of a shovel, the tiles that made up the ground of the Glasslands popped out of their sockets. The chalky sand below was entirely dry and easy to shift.

Small creatures like hard candies made of glass tinkled out over the ground as their shovels emptied out a grave. What would such creatures make of the body of a human? Would it poison them? Would they die of an immune reaction like Anne and Nurul almost had? Like Pearson? Daisuke grimaced at the thought. He’d experienced the early symptoms, himself. He’d experienced the early stages of anaphylaxis, himself.

Daisuke remembered burning pain, swelling of the eyes nose and throat. Anne clawing at her own skin, her rictus grin of pain and terror.

Pearson’s body, however, was as peaceful as a Buddha.

The plane crash might have been accidental. So might the animal attack. So might the deadly poisoning. Perhaps Junction was just that dangerous a place — more dangerous than the worst bush Daisuke had ever trekked through.

Or maybe, gentle audience, it is not Junction that is dangerous, but the human soul.