Chapter 9: Hunger

  ———

  Hunger came like a tide. Zavian had been ignoring it for days, pushing it aside, focusing on walking, on surviving, on not being eaten by things with too many teeth and too much intelligence. But on the fourth morning since his arrival on Kronum, his body decided it was done being ignored.

  He woke to a gnawing emptiness that consumed him from the inside out. His stomach cramped and twisted with urgent pain. Hands trembled as he pushed himself upright, vision swimming, darkening at the edges before slowly clearing.

  {Zavian, you need to eat. Now. Not soon — now,} NOVA said, her voice tight with concern. {Four days on a handful of berries. Your body is starting to cannibalise muscle tissue for energy.}

  "That explains why I feel like death."

  {You are still alive. For now. But continued caloric deficit will significantly impair your healing and physical recovery. The life essence can repair damage, but it cannot create energy from nothing. You need food.}

  "I'm aware."

  He sat against his tree, breathing waiting for the dizziness to pass. The morning was beautiful — golden light filtering through the canopy, mist rising from the stream, birds singing their incomprehensible songs, but he couldn't appreciate any of it. Twice he caught himself staring at movement in the undergrowth, certain he smelled cooked meat, before realising his brain was inventing signals his body wanted to receive. The stream sounded farther away than it was. The tree he leaned against felt like it was tilting, though it wasn't. His entire being had narrowed to a single, overwhelming need.

  Food. He needed food.

  {The berries you have been eating are insufficient,} NOVA continued. {They provide some vitamins and simple sugars, but lack the protein and fat necessary for sustained survival. You need a more substantial food source.}

  "Like what? I can barely walk. I'm not exactly in hunting condition."

  {There may be other options. Eggs, if we can find nests. Insects, which are protein-rich and relatively easy to catch. Fish from the stream, if you can devise a method to catch them.}

  "Insects."

  {They are a viable food source. Many Earth cultures considered them delicacies.}

  "Many Earth cultures weren't me."

  {Beggars cannot be choosers, Zavian. That is an expression, yes? I have heard you use it.}

  "It is. And I hate that you're right."

  He forced himself to his feet, swaying slightly before finding his balance. The world tilted, steadied, tilted again. His body was running on fumes, and the fumes were running out.

  {There is another option} NOVA said. {One that provides significantly more calories than insects or eggs.}

  "What?"

  {The Forest Hoppers.} Zavian stopped. "You want me to eat the things that have been stalking us?"

  {I am not suggesting you hunt them, in your current state, that would be suicide. But if circumstances were to change... they are clearly made of meat. Meat that would sustain you far longer than berries or bugs.}

  "NOVA, they're intelligent. They communicate. They have social structures. That's not--" He struggled for the right words. "That's not something I can just eat."

  {I understand your hesitation. But I want you to survive more than I want to respect their cognitive capabilities. If it comes down to your life or theirs, I know which one I would choose.}

  "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

  {Yes. Let us hope.}

  ———

  Foraging, it turned out, was harder than it looked. Zavian had read about survival techniques back on Earth, everyone in the bunker had, in the early days, when they still thought the surface might become habitable again. He knew the theory: identify edible plants, avoid anything with white berries or milky sap, test unknown foods by touching them to your skin before eating. But theory and practice were very different things.

  The forest was full of plants he didn't recognise. Fruits in colours that didn't exist on Earth, leaves in shapes that followed no familiar pattern, fungi that pulsed with bioluminescence even in daylight. Everything was alien, and alien meant potentially deadly.

  {That one} NOVA said, highlighting a cluster of small, orange berries in his vision. {The chemical compounds I can detect suggest high sugar content, no obvious toxins. It should be safe.}

  He picked one, rolled it between his fingers. It was soft, slightly warm to the touch, and smelled faintly of citrus.

  "Should be?"

  {I cannot guarantee anything. My analysis capabilities are limited without proper equipment, but the probability of severe harm is low.}

  "How low?"

  {Approximately 12%.}

  "Twelve percent chance of poisoning myself."

  {Twelve percent chance of significant adverse reaction. The remaining 88% includes outcomes ranging from 'perfectly fine' to 'mild digestive discomfort.' The odds are in your favour.}

  "Your definition of 'in my favour' needs work."

  {Would you prefer I lie and say there is no risk?}

  "No. But maybe round down next time."

  He ate the berry. It tasted like a cross between an orange and something floral he couldn't identify, sweet, with a sharp undertone that made his mouth tingle. Not unpleasant. He waited. Nothing happened.

  {Initial reaction appears normal} NOVA reported. {No elevated histamine response, no signs of toxic reaction. I’d suggest consuming several more before moving on.}

  He ate a handful, then another. The sweetness hit his bloodstream immediately, a rush of energy that pushed back the fog in his head. Better than nothing.

  "What else?"

  {Those fungi, to your left. The blue ones with the spotted caps.}

  "Mushrooms. Because nothing ever went wrong from eating wild mushrooms."

  {The colouring is actually a positive indicator in this case. On Earth, bright colours in fungi often signal toxicity, a warning to predators. But I have observed several small creatures consuming these mushrooms without apparent harm. If native fauna can eat them safely...}

  "Then maybe I can too."

  {The logic has gaps. It is still the best we have.}

  The mushrooms tasted earthy and rich, with a meaty undertone that made Zavian's starving body sing with gratitude. He ate as many as he could find, stuffing them into his mouth with an urgency that would have embarrassed him under other circumstances.

  {Slower} NOVA cautioned. {Your stomach has been essentially empty for days. Overwhelming it with food too quickly could cause vomiting, which would waste the calories you are consuming.}

  He forced himself to slow down. Chewing thoroughly. Swallowing carefully. Treating each bite like the precious resource it was.

  {Better. Your blood glucose is beginning to stabilise. The trembling in your hands has eased noticeably.}

  "I can feel it. The fog is lifting."

  {Good. But this is a temporary solution. Berries and mushrooms will keep you alive, but they will not restore your strength. For that, you need protein.}

  "I know."

  He looked around the forest, at the abundance of life that surrounded him. Somewhere out there were creatures he could catch, kill, eat. Creatures that would give him the energy he needed to survive.

  Creatures that might also be watching him right now, with their amber stares and their clicking language and their unsettling intelligence.

  {Zavian} NOVA said. {Speaking of which.}

  He followed her attention to the undergrowth, twenty metres to his left. A Forest Hopper sat there, watching him eat.

  ———

  It was one of the smaller ones, a juvenile, maybe, or simply a lesser member of the pack. Its fur was mottled green and brown, perfect camouflage for the forest floor, and it made no effort to hide. It watched.

  {It has been there for about three minutes} NOVA said. {It arrived while you were focused on the mushrooms.}

  "Why didn't you tell me?"

  {I was assessing. It showed no signs of aggression, no indication it intended to approach. I did not want to alarm you unnecessarily while you were eating.}

  "Being watched by predators while I eat is pretty alarming, NOVA."

  {Is it? You have been watched by predators for your entire time on this world. This is simply the first time you noticed.} She had a point. An uncomfortable one.

  Zavian held the Hopper's gaze for a breath. It blinked, slow and deliberate, its gaze reflecting the dappled forest light.

  Then it made a sound. That same trilling vocalisation from before, the one that seemed almost like language.

  {It is communicating} NOVA said. {The pattern is similar to previous vocalizations but not identical. There are variations that might indicate different meaning.}

  "What's it saying?"

  {I cannot translate, but the tone seems... inquisitive? If I were to anthropomorphise, which I recognise is scientifically questionable, I would say it sounds curious.} Curious. The thing stalking him was curious. Zavian didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

  "Very well," he said, more to himself than to NOVA or the Hopper. "You want to watch? Fine. Watch."

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He deliberately turned back to the mushroom patch and continued foraging. His hands shook slightly, fear this time, and he forced them steady. If the Hopper wanted to attack, it would have done so by now. If it wanted to watch, well, he couldn't stop it anyway. Might as well get some food out of the experience.

  {That is either very brave or very foolish} NOVA said.

  "Probably both."

  {Your heart rate is elevated, but you are maintaining functional composure. I am impressed.}

  "Don't be. I'm mostly just too tired to panic properly."

  {I will take what I can get.}

  He gathered mushrooms, berries, a handful of nuts from a low-hanging branch that NOVA tentatively approved. The Hopper watched the entire time, occasionally making small sounds that might have been commentary or might have been nothing at all. When Zavian finally stood to leave, the Hopper stood too. And followed him.

  ———

  By afternoon, there were three of them. The original watcher had been joined by two others, all maintaining a respectful distance, never closer than fifteen metres, never farther than thirty. They moved when he moved, stopped when he stopped, and occasionally exchanged their clicking vocalizations in what Zavian could only interpret as discussion.

  {They are definitely tracking you,} NOVA said, stating what had become obvious. {But their behaviour pattern is consistent with observation rather than predation. If they intended to attack, they would have done so when you were weakened this morning.}

  "So they're just... following me."

  {It appears so. Perhaps yesterday's evaluation did not end with a decision, perhaps it initiated a period of extended observation.}

  "Great. I have an audience."

  {Look at it this way: if they are observing you, they are invested in your continued existence. Dead subjects provide no useful data.}

  "That's a very clinical way of saying they're keeping me alive so they can watch me longer."

  {Is that not preferable to the alternative?} He couldn't argue with that.

  The stream led him to a small clearing where the forest opened up around a pool fed by a miniature waterfall. The water was crystal clear, deep enough that he couldn't see the bottom, and alive with fish, silver shapes darting through the depths, catching the light when they turned. Food. Real food, with protein and fat and everything his body desperately needed. If he could catch them.

  {Your expression suggests you are considering the fish,} NOVA said.

  "I'm considering the fish."

  {Do you have any experience with fishing?}

  "I've read about it."

  {That is not the same thing.}

  "No. It's not."

  He crouched at the edge of the pool, watching the fish move. They were fast, much faster than him, and the water would slow his movements further. Without a net, a line, or any proper equipment, his chances of actually catching one were...

  {Approximately 4%,} NOVA supplied helpfully. {Based on your current physical capabilities and the observed speed of the fish.}

  "Thank you for that."

  {You are welcome. I try to provide relevant data.}

  "I was being sarcastic."

  {I know. I was ignoring it.}

  He studied the pool, trying to think like a physicist instead of a starving man. Water refracted light, making objects appear in different positions than they actually were. The fish moved in patterns, responsive to currents, shadows, each other. If he could predict where they would be rather than react to where they appeared...

  "NOVA, can you track the fish movements? Look for patterns?"

  {I can try. My visual processing is limited compared to dedicated systems, but I should be able to identify basic behavioural cycles.} A pause. {There. The larger silver one, near the rock formation. It follows a roughly triangular path, returning to the same position every forty seconds or so.}

  Zavian watched. NOVA was right, the fish circled, returned, circled again. Predictable. He waited for the right moment, then plunged his hands into the water. The cold shocked him. The fish scattered. His fingers closed on nothing but water.

  {Unsuccessful} NOVA noted.

  "I noticed."

  {The fish were faster than anticipated. Also, you grabbed at where they appeared rather than where they actually were. The refraction index of water at this depth--}

  "NOVA."

  {Yes?}

  "I know about refraction. I'm a physicist."

  {Then perhaps you should apply that knowledge next time.}

  He tried again. And again. And again. Each time, his hands closed on empty water. Each time, the fish escaped with contemptuous ease.

  On the twelfth attempt, his foot slipped on a wet stone. He went down hard, one knee slamming into the streambed, water flooding up to his chest. The cold seized his muscles. For a panicked moment he couldn't push himself back up, his arms shaking, his body burning through energy it didn't have. He knelt in the stream, gasping, while the fish darted around him as if he were furniture.

  {Zavian. Get out of the water. Your core temperature is dropping.}

  He dragged himself back to the bank and sat there, dripping, shaking, furious. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision. His body wanted to quit. His body had wanted to quit for days.

  He waited until the spots faded. Then he stood up and went back to the pool.

  {Attempt seventeen} NOVA said. {Still unsuccessful. Your success rate remains at zero percent.}

  "Your commentary is not helping."

  {I am providing data. Data is always helpful.}

  "Data that says I'm failing is not helpful. It's demoralising."

  {Would you prefer I stopped counting?}

  "Yes."

  {Very well. I will continue counting internally, but I will no longer share the results unless they become relevant.}

  "Thank you."

  {You are welcome. For what it is worth, your technique is improving. You are now missing by smaller margins.}

  "Still missing."

  {Progress is progress.}

  Behind him, the three Hoppers watched with what Zavian could swear was amusement. One of them made a sound that might have been the creature equivalent of a laugh.

  "Oh, shut up," he muttered. The Hopper made the sound again.

  ———

  He caught a fish on attempt thirty-two. It was more luck than skill. The fish jerked one way when it should have gone the other, and Zavian's hands simply happened to be there ready at the perfect moment. He didn't care how it happened. Only that it had and that the silver weight now trashed in his grip, slick and frantic, fighting to be free.

  "NOVA!"

  {I see it. Do not let go.}

  He didn't let go. He stumbled backward from the pool, the fish thrashing wildly, and managed to maintain his grip until he was on solid ground. Then he did what instinct demanded: he bashed its head against a rock. Once. Twice. Three times. The fish stopped moving.

  {Target eliminated} NOVA said . {Congratulations, Zavian. You have secured protein.}

  He sat there for a breath, breathing hard, staring at the dead fish in his hands. It was beautiful, in a way, silver scales that shimmered with iridescent rainbow hues, fins that spread like delicate fans, eyes that had been alive moments ago and now were not. He'd killed it. With his own hands, he'd ended a life.

  A sound stayed with him — the wet crack of skull against stone. His hands still felt the frantic thrashing, the exact moment the struggling stopped. The blood was brighter than he expected, almost orange against the silver scales, and it had a smell, copper and salt and something he couldn't name that was distinctly not-Earth.

  {Zavian?}

  He didn't answer right away. He was looking at his hands. They were shaking again, but not from hunger this time.

  "I'm fine."

  {Your emotional response suggests otherwise.}

  "It's just..." He struggled to articulate what he was feeling. "I've never killed anything before. Not like this. Not directly."

  {You killed the simulation targets in the bunker's training programs.}

  "Those weren't real."

  {No. They were not.} A pause. {Does the reality of it trouble you?}

  He looked at the fish. At the blood on his hands, actual blood, red and wet and real.

  "I think it should trouble me more than it does," he admitted. "I feel sad, but I also feel... relieved? Grateful? Like I'm sorry it had to die, but I'm glad I get to live." NOVA was quiet for longer than usual.

  {I do not know what to say to that,} she admitted. {I want to help you process this, but I have no framework for it. This is outside my design parameters.}

  He looked at the blood drying on his fingers. Orange-red. Alien. Already flaking at the edges.

  "Maybe it doesn't need processing."

  {That feels wrong to me. Everything should be processable.}

  "Not everything is." She didn't respond to that. He wasn't sure she knew how to.

  The Hoppers had moved closer during his fishing attempts, now only ten metres away, watching with undisguised interest. The largest of the three made that trilling sound, and the others responded with their clicking language. Zavian held up the fish, showing them.

  "Dinner," he said.

  The lead Hopper tilted its head. Made a sound that almost seemed approving. Then all three of them turned and bounded away into the forest.

  {Interesting.} {They departed immediately after you secured food.}

  "What does that mean?"

  {I do not know. But it feels significant.}

  ———

  The fish tasted like survival. Zavian had built a fire near the pool's edge, using the last of the daylight to clean and cook his catch. The process was messy, primitive, and deeply satisfying. Scales scraped off with a sharp stone. Guts removed and buried. Flesh roasted over open flames until it flaked apart at the touch.

  He ate with his fingers, grease running down his chin, caring about nothing except the protein flooding his starving system. Halfway through, his hands stopped working. He sat holding the fish, staring at nothing, while his body processed the backlog of adrenaline and exhaustion and relief it had been holding since the first failed grab. His jaw ached from clenching. His knees throbbed from the fall in the stream. He was, he realised distantly, crying. He couldn't have said why. Relief, maybe. Or grief for the version of himself who'd never had to bash a living thing's skull against a rock. Or just a body held too tight for too long finally letting go.

  He didn't try to stop it. Didn't try to understand it. Just let it move through him like weather. It passed. He wiped his face, picked up the fish, and kept eating.

  NOVA said nothing. For once, she offered no data, no metrics, no analysis. She simply stayed quiet and let him eat.

  He ate until there was nothing left but bones and skin, then sat back and let the fire warm him while his stomach worked on digesting the first real meal he'd had in days.

  The pool reflected the emerging stars, doubling the sky. The waterfall murmured its endless song. And somewhere in the darkness, the Hoppers were out there, watching, waiting, judging. But since arriving on this world, the future felt like something other than a countdown.

  He'd found water. Found food. Killed something and kept it down. Small victories that would have meant nothing a week ago and meant everything now. He was still weak. Still lost. Still making it up as he went. But he was here. And he was fed. And that would have to be enough.

  {Zavian} NOVA said.

  "Yes?"

  {I have been thinking about the Hoppers.}

  "What about them?"

  {Their behaviour pattern has shifted since you caught the fish. Before, they were observing you with what I interpreted as assessment — determining your capabilities, your threat level, your potential as prey or competitor.} She paused. {But after you successfully hunted, they departed. The timing is significant, but the reason is unclear.}

  "What do you think it means?"

  {I keep running analyses and none of them hold together.} She sounded frustrated — genuinely frustrated, in a way he hadn't heard from her before. {Maybe they saw a fellow predator. Maybe the assessment was already finished and the timing was coincidence. Maybe it meant something I cannot parse because I am applying human logic to alien social behaviour.}

  She stopped herself.

  {I do not like this. I want to give you an answer and I do not have one.}

  "Welcome to being alive, NOVA."

  {It is deeply unpleasant.} He almost smiled. "You get used to it."

  {I doubt that very much.}

  He thought about that. About the way the lead Hopper had looked at his fish, the sound it had made before leaving.

  "So what happens now?"

  {I do not know, but I suspect the nature of their interest has shifted. You were a mystery before. Now you are a neighbour.}

  "That could be good or bad."

  {Yes. It could be either.} A pause. {But I choose to believe it is good. You have earned something today, Zavian. Whatever comes next, you have proven, to them and to yourself, that you can survive here.}

  He looked up at the alien stars, at the purple-black sky, at the moons, he hadn't noticed before, but there were two of them, rising over the treeline.

  Two moons. He hadn’t noticed them before. This world kept revealing itself in pieces, each one a reminder of how little he understood.

  Fire crackled. The waterfall sang its constant, indifferent song. Somewhere far away, through a door that wouldn’t open for two more years, a hundred million people breathed recycled air and watched the counter fall.

  He carried them all. In the drawing in his pocket, in the promise he’d made, in the hollow place behind his ribs that a full stomach couldn’t reach.

  Fire burned low. The moons climbed. And the waterfall kept singing, because waterfalls don’t care about the weight a man carries to sleep.

  ———