REGENESIS

by

Bruce Vaughan

Chapter one

Time and space merged as Juno spun clear of the aircraft.  At first the shock of being shot from the cockpit eclipsed all other emotions, but as his mind grasped the reality of his plight, fear, awful gut fear, tempered by a near orgasmic high, gripped him as he fell, spinning like a Maple seed into the void. The seat separated and fell clear; Juno spread his arms and legs as he managed to steady his violent somersaulting.  Juno felt the wind tearing at his clothing as he struggled to contain his urge to pull the ripcord and open the parachute.  He knew that he was too high; he had to resist the temptation as he plummeted towards an as yet undefined surface.  

        The young space traveler was well aware that the planet rushing to meet him had large areas of water, and, if he came down far from land, he had little or no chance of survival.  At the tender age of twenty-three, Juno Zeenon was dropping alone, on to an alien planet. 

        After falling for what seemed like an eternity, during which he felt as if the wind was pushing him upwards, he estimated that it was at last time to open the parachute; one that Juno knew was so old that it could well tear to shreds on opening.   As he drew in his arms to reach the metal ring of the ripcord, he began to spin once more.  He clawed in near panic at the harness, fingers searching for the ring; at last he found it and with a sharp tug brought the cord clear.  It seemed for a few seconds ― or were they just fractions of a second? ― as if nothing happened; probably the whole thing is so old it is just stuck, he thought. Juno’s heart was pounding against his chest as he waited for in fact no more than a nanosecond, but it seemed like a lot more, before he felt the parachute burst from the pack and he gasped as he was snapped upright, spun, and left dangling, like a marionette between shows.  

        The fabric billowing above him seemed undamaged as the parachute opened, to Juno’s intense relief.  Juno took a moment to pluck up the courage to look down; his heart was still pounding, but his fear, once he took stock, subsided and was replaced by an overwhelming elation; a feeling of exhilarating, joyous freedom filled his every cell and stimulated each of his senses. He experienced, for the first time in his life, a oneness with the elements; he was at the mercy of the natural forces around him and yet he was controlling and at least for the moment, subduing them. He knew that he was hurtling towards a possible disaster, and yet he was at peace, lulled by the sensation of stillness.  There was nothing to gauge his speed by, except the whistling of the wind vibrating through the rigging and the flapping of his clothing.   

        The first shadows of the day, long silvery shadows, barely accentuated the few scattered islands and peaks far below him. A light smoke haze almost obscured the scattered lights of a city awakening, at a distance to his left. The blackness beneath him was broken only by the grey wake of what appeared to be a stubby fishing craft, setting out in search of an early catch. 

        Juno knew he had to aim for land.  He was relieved to know that there was some close by, a few large islands spread out to one side but they were a fair distance from where he was aiming.  The closest option was a smaller island a few miles away from the city.  He pulled hard on the left down-haul-line, which only resulted in a violent swing; he tried to correct it by pulling on the right line, which just increased the swaying.   Juno waited tense and anxious until he felt steadier and then with greater care tried again, with more success, allowing him to maneuver with more effect.   At that altitude, and in the early morning half-light, he found it difficult to estimate wind direction and speed.  The distance between himself and the planet below was closing all too fast for his peace of mind, he was just getting used to flying and hadn’t had time to think about landing.  Juno's erratic maneuvering brought him a little closer to the island, but he was still over water, and it was coming at him fast. 

**** 

        At Hong Kong's Kai Tak International Airport, the only flight under the care of duty air traffic controller Jerry Lai was Egypt Air's flight from Singapore to Tokyo, via airways R85 and R900. 

        “Hong Kong Radar, this is flight MS 546, passing SUNEK, at time 22:45, flight level 330, estimating ISBAN at 22:57.”  The pilot relayed the time in Greenwich Mean Time, as is custom­ary in international aviation. 

        “Roger, MS 546, report at ISBAN next for radar identification,” Jerry replied. 

        “Roger, Hong Kong.”  

        Jerry, although in his early thirties was an experienced traffic controller, he relaxed and reached for a cup of black coffee. He was close to the end of a long overnight shift, made more tedious by the fact that Kai Tak was closed to flights overnight, because of its proximity to the town, so all flights were flyovers. There were rest peri­ods, but it was still difficult to keep alert.  The first inbound flight was not due in for a while yet, and the large amber screen before him was empty, save for the sweeping beam that circled over a line map of the South China coast.  

        Flight MS 546 was still out of range of radar, and it would be passing well to the South of the British Administered Territory.   

        A sudden frown disturbed the controller’s rather youthful face, as he leaned forward, forgotten coffee cup still in hand. An echo had appeared about eighty miles to the southwest.   Jerry waited for the beam to repeat its twelve-second journey. The image had moved further east, indicating an incredible ground speed of 800 knots. He watched as the echo continued on its course, reduced speed, and then disappeared from the screen at a point just west of Lamma Island.  Although puzzled, he was not unduly worried as he searched the radio frequencies listening for signals, but there was none. 

        Probably a spurious echo, he thought, as he reached for the ATCC Watch Log and wrote: UFO sighted 80 miles SW, heading ENE, disappeared W of Lamma.  Erratic behavior, consistent with electronic spurious echo .  It was a fairly rare phenomenon, although well documented; Jerry had only seen it happen once while on training in the UK; it can be caused by radar beams bouncing of clouds.  Jerry soon put the incident behind him, as MS 546 approached position ISBAN, just within the radar screen. 

        “Hong Kong radar, this is MS 546 passing ISBAN....” 

**** 

        Juno's slow, lazy descent all too quickly became a rapid plunge, as the water leaped up to meet him. He dropped into the sea and felt the numbing shock as the cold water engulfed him.  The total darkness disoriented him; he struggled but did not know if he was going up, or further down into the watery darkness. As Juno’s lungs were about to burst, he saw a lighter area, and fought his way towards it. Juno's head reached the surface, but something held him down. He lashed out as he realized that he had surfaced beneath his parachute.  Grabbing fabric and lines, he pulled in a wild desperation, searching for an edge.  He gasped a lung full of air, as his head broke the surface for one brief moment, only to be dragged down again by the weight of the submerged fabric. The more he struggled, the more entangled he became. 

        “Don't let me die now,” he pleaded. “I have come too far.”  Juno saw the face of his father flash before him and heard the words he had spoken as he lay dying.  “You must survive this journey, you are the last of our world, and you are the seed, the future of our race.” He had pulled him closer as his strength was fading. “You must survive.” 

        Juno sucked at the air as he sank back into the darkness. He screamed for help, but instead produced bubbles, which shocked him out of his panic. “I must get free; there is no one to help me here.” Like a frightened animal caught in the hunter's net he struggled, contorting, and tearing at the fabric.  His joints stung and he felt as if his head was about to burst, before he managed once more to surface for air. Darkness again, eyes smarting, nails shredding against webbing - a gasp for air - darkness again.  After several desperate attempts, Juno squirmed free of the parachute and then discarded his harness and flight- overalls. He was still wearing the small inflatable life jacket that had been part of his harness; it had slowly inflated after he had been in water for a while — the delay had probably been because of its vast age, far beyond its use-by-date. 

        Spray, whipped up by the wind, lashed without mercy at his face; this made his progress agonizingly slow. The life jacket chafed his skin, so he slid, with great reluctance, out of it and held it in front of him. Keeping an eye on the land mass in front of him, Juno clenched his teeth in determination as he kicked and clawed towards what he hoped would be safety. The water was cold against his near-naked, rather thin, pale but strong body.  His crude attempt at swimming was quick to take its toll. The island loomed above him, tantalizingly close and yet still clearly beyond his reach: its very existence was a reassuring sight nonetheless. 

        Close to the shore, Juno's foot just touched a rock beneath him.  He tried to gain a foothold, but a wave threw him off balance and he stumbled, losing his hold on the life jacket.  He grabbed in desperation, as he saw his only life support system blown beyond his reach.   

        The cold, liquid blackness sucked at Juno again, as he thrashed and kicked in his rather futile attempt to stay at the surface. Juno gulped air and struggled to keep his head clear.  He heard the crashing of waves hitting rock and felt the current as it sucked at his feet.  His foot found another rock, but he recoiled in pain as barnacles tore flesh. A large wave struck him; rib-crushing pain knocked the wind out of him as he smashed against the steep pebbled shore.  The wave receded; he lay panting, gasping for air and clutching the rocks beneath him. 

        Teeth chattering, hands and feet numb from the cold, Juno searched for a foothold. He stood for a moment and then pitched forwards, as the next breaker hit him.  He tasted salt water mixed with his own vomit; he was fighting for his life and he knew he was too weak to win.  He forced himself to rise and, struggling against the swell with what little strength he had left, took one step and then, with a supreme effort, another. Just as his goal seemed attainable his legs gave way and he collapsed onto the rocks, waiting for the end. 

 **** 

        Another wave, a seventh wave, came crashing in. Juno, almost beyond caring, became aware, as if in a dream, of being pulled, not by the waves but by a hand.  He felt the firm grip on his shoulder and turned to see a bearded face; but it seemed to fade again, as a different sort of blackness engulfed him. 

        The next thing Juno knew was when he awoke and felt the pressure of his body against solid ground, but it was dry.  A heavy fabric lay across his chest, protecting him from the cold morning air.  As Juno opened his eyes he could see nothing but a mist, which, after a few moment seemed to clear. His gaze, as solid objects started to appear, followed the strangely blue sky above him, down to the sea, that had so nearly been his grave, and then to the rocks, where the waves, now at a safe distance, were breaking harmlessly.   The coarse, dry grass he was lying on started to hurt his skin; he tried to move, but the movement hurt him even more. Turning to look around him, he took in what he recognized as trees as they swayed in the breeze high above him. The air, now that he had time to think about it, was cool against his cheeks and deliciously fresh and clean; he filled his lungs with the air, bringing strength back to his exhausted body. 

        “A strange time to go swimming, isn't it?”  A voice echoed round his confused mind.   

Juno just stared at the person who was sitting on the ground nearby; he understood the meaning of the words, and tried to reply, but words just wouldn't come.   

The rugged reddish-grey beard and tanned complexion accentuat­ed the blue eyes of the friendly face that smiled down at him with compassion. Looking beyond the stranger's face Juno could see the sky, quite blue now except for wisps of cloud high above; he had heard about blue skies but had never seen one, all he had ever known was the blackness of space.   

“Do you think you can stand?” The man asked.   

Juno nodded his head and started to get up.  He was very unsteady and had to pause to allow time for his head to stop spinning, but after one unsuccessful attempt and with the help of the proffered hand he managed to stand. 

        After standing for a few moments, Juno felt confident enough, at age twenty-three, to take his first ever step on dry land.   

        The first step was a success, but the second a disaster, or would have been if his rescuer had not caught him.  Grateful for the man's steadying hand, Juno started to climb the narrow, rough path that snaked upwards from the shore.  Although concentrating on where to put his next foot, Juno was able to take in the vivid green bushes and trees that dwarfed him, as he struggled up the steep incline.  Near the top of the rise, a sudden flash of color startled him as a yellow-browed warbler took to flight. He stumbled and almost fell back down the slope, but once more his rescuer was there to grab him. 

       The path led them to a grassy clearing, where Hong Kong's young weekenders would pitch tents and picnic, or barbecue during the warmer months.  Juno and his rescuer sat on a bench to rest, under the rustic makeshift shelter used by the villagers to sell drinks. 

        “What is your name?”  

        “My name is Juno.” This was at least a phrase that Juno had rehearsed many times while he was learning English. 

        “I’m glad to meet you, Juno. My name is Andrew.” 

        “I’m pleased to meet you, Andrew.” They both laughed as the tension of the occasion eased. 

        “What were you doing in the sea?” Andrew asked, slowly and clearly, aware that Juno’s command of English was tenuous at least. He dwarfed Juno, even when they were seated. 

        “I...have...just...arrived.”  Juno pronounced the words with careful deliberation, like a language student reading an unfa­miliar passage.  He searched the man's bearded face for a sign of understanding. 

        “Are you from Vietnam?” Andrew asked as the thought struck him. 

        Juno pointed to the sky.  “I come from there.”  As he said it he searched the blue above him for the stars that had been his constant companions for so many years, but he could see none.  Andrew followed his pointed finger and also saw just an empty December morning sky. 

        “Don't you mean there?”  Andrew asked pointing to the horizon.  “How many people were with you?” 

        “I am the last.  My mother died when I was very young.” Juno explained.  “My father died two years ago, he was not very old, but suffered an accident.  Since then I have traveled alone.” 

        “How long did it take you to get here?”  Andrew the Earth person asked, puzzled by the reply.  He looked down at this slight, frail boy, or young man, it was difficult to guess his age. The youth’s face appeared quite young and yet there was a maturity that spoke of experience rather than hardship. The facial features were certainly neither typical Chinese nor Vietnamese, yet at the same time hard to place as an Indian, Arab or Caucasian. 

        “We have been travelling for twenty-four years. I was born one year into the journey.” 

       “Journey? Journey from where?” 

        “We called it Staeries, which means ‘the firm ground', the same as your ‘Earth’.” 

        “We must keep moving,” Andrew said, as he saw Juno shivering.  He helped him to his feet. 

        The tall Earthling, Andrew Longridge, was also feel­ing the cold.  He had wrapped the jacket of his tracksuit around the lad, and now had only a t-shirt against the cold morning air.  Finding the youngster in the water had interrupted his morning jog. 

        Andrew led the way along a winding path. Juno felt a little steadier and started to enjoy his first experience of standing on solid ground.  Although the path was narrow, and he could only get a glimpse of land beyond the trees that bordered it, he reveled in the open space; in comparison to what he had been used to all his life, it seemed endless.  He stopped under a tree and marveled at its sheer size, as the spreading branches towered above him.  He saw the huge leaves of a banana tree that were big enough to cover him.  His fingers thrilled to feel the delicate silk-like quality of a fern, sheltering under a tree and for the first time in his life he got soil under his fingernails.  Juno smiled as he enjoyed the freedom of unlimited space and the freedom of movement that it gave him.  He had traveled all his life in the infinity of space, but he had had little room to move about in himself. 

        Juno stopped to rub his legs, in the excitement he had forgotten the cold, but now he realized that his legs and arms were going numb, and he was shivering.  A combination of delayed shock, fatigue and the cold hit him; his knees gave way and he sank to the ground, shivering violently.  Andrew lifted him by the arms and, with one fluid movement, placed Juno across his broad back.  The reassurance of human contact, coupled with Andrew's sheer size, was enough inducement for Juno.  He rested his weary head on the man’s broad shoulders, shutting his eyes to the alien world around him.