Migrations
Content Warning (click to expand)
(none noted)
by Mike A. Rhodes
By the fourth day everyone had begun to open up a bit. There was a recently retired couple from Tycho City, five teenagers from Ganymede, a middle-aged man from the Midwest who was doing the trek for charity, a couple more loners like me, and the guides. I seem to have attracted the particular attention of one of the other soloists, a middle-aged man named Dudek.
I didn’t tell any lies, but obviously I omitted the full truth. When asked questions, I was polite and stuck to just the most basic facts: Born in a town in the North of England, no you won’t have heard of it, Dad Martin got a promotion when I was ten and we all moved to London. Only daughter, three brothers. Art-college drop-out. Divorced, no kids, no pets. I said that I was taking a career break whilst I thought about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, which was a stretch to be sure, though not exactly a lie.
• • •
By day we walked through the tall grass, following the path trodden down by the mammoths. A few rock outcroppings broke up the sea of red and purple grass, along with some stone arrangements which were ancient skrine statues. The guides explained they were sort of like a cross between milestones and prayer sites. The land was high and occasionally would fall away dramatically at one side or another leaving a precipitous drop.
The walk afforded me the thinking time I wanted, although the heat made it very difficult to concentrate. It’s a strange kind of heat, on Skrine. Dry and energy-zapping rather than a heat which burns your skin or leaves you bathed in sweat. It’s persistent though, a relentless, endless heat from dawn until dusk. Truthfully, I was fretting rather than thinking anyway. I kept turning over, not why I’d stolen the data, but why I’d stolen it without having a plan. I’d know that I had to get the hell off-world, but the smart thing would have been to plan the theft in advance, rather than decide, there and then, that I couldn’t take it anymore, that I had to make a stand and make it now. And now, here I was, on a remote alien world with no way of contacting anybody, no way of finding how close they were to catching me. I’d realised too late that in closing the lines of communication, I’d denied myself the chance of having a say in my fate. My only choice: complete the pilgrimage and hope no one was waiting to arrest or kill me at the end.
Why had I chosen to detonate my life?
• • •
We stayed far behind the beasts, not wanting to spook them, yet by this point the barriers between us and them were beginning to break down too, and when at mid-morning they stopped by a lake to drink and to bathe, one of the teens, Maddie, eased up to one of them, drank at its side, and gently reached out an arm to stroke at its burnished golden-orange fur.
I stood off to one side of the main hiking groups watching some infants as they frolicked and splashed and tried not to think about what might await me at the end of the trek.
• • •
By night, we sat around a campfire, with the twin moons shining benevolently down upon us. The teens had their own little clique but everyone else packed in tightly around the flames. I always tried to sit at one end of a row, back a little bit, away from both groups.
Many of you will have heard of the scebore plant, which accounts for the majority of the mammoth’s diet and which produces hallucinogenic effects that engender feelings of nostalgia when consumed by humans. On the first night we’d all tried the leaf, furtively looking at the guides for signs that they either approved or disapproved. They only blinked at us, uncaring. Everyone talked after of fantastic memories, a wave of feeling similar to that warmth and fuzziness you get in the pit of your stomach when you really connect with someone. They talked about home cooked meals, Christmas mornings, their first trips off-world. For me, I got the nostalgia, but the series of dreams I had came loaded with ominous, forbidding feelings, like the rainbow effect of oil on water: a rain-filled caravan holiday, a favourite childhood toy broken, breaking my leg playing volleyball. With everything I’ve done, I’m not surprised my rose-tinted memories came nicotine-stained. Plus, they left the most revolting taste in my mouth. I didn’t touch them again.
For the teens, getting high appeared to be the only reason for being on this once-in-a-lifetime trip. They were trying to have a group hallucination, and each night — and at most rests in the day too — they sat around in a circle, hands linked, and hummed whilst they chewed. They’d had no success. Late on the third night, when most of the others were asleep, I’d heard a couple of them talking and they’d decided that one of them in particular, Boothe, was to blame for their lack of successful group harmonisation and were bickering over who had to tell him that he wasn’t welcome to join them anymore.
• • •
After the watering hole stop on the fourth day, I started off walking alone, as I always did, only for Dudek to soon catch up to me.
“My interest is in using the leaves to unlock stored ancestral memories,” he was saying. “It’s just a passion project at the moment but I’m hoping to secure funding if I make sufficient progress on this trip. Have you ever had a powerful sense of nostalgia for a place you’ve never been to, or an era you never lived in? Perhaps from a powerful piece of writing or a vid? Well, what if you could use the scebore leaves to invoke not feelings but actual full-sensory experiences — memories even—”
“Is that possible?” I cut in. Ahead, a calf was being pushed along by two elders. One of them wrapped their trunk around the little one’s rear to try and coral it, in what seemed to be a maternal, loving way. The second lowered its head against the baby’s haunch and was practically ramming it forwards.
“Oh, it’s all speculation and hearsay at the moment, it is still such a new field of research,” Dudek said excitedly. “It’s only really been in the last ten to twenty years that human-skrinian relations have improved to the point we’re even allowed to do this hike, or that our scientists have been granted access to properly study their flora and fauna.”
Indigenous hawks circled overhead. I can’t even begin to pronounce the skrine word for them, no matter how much the guides try and teach us. They have a weird vulture/assistant like relationship to the mammoths. They fly along as the mammoths make their slow, deliberate journey on foot. They feed on scraps left by the beasts or ourselves (much to the chagrin of the tour guides) and they occasionally swoop down and hitch a ride on the backs of the mammoths rather like oxpeckers do elephants on earth. There they occasionally peck away, supplementing their diets with ticks and whatever else lives under the fur.
Dudek nodded off to the side, where the teenagers walked in a joint-mass of gangly limbs.
“Much like our teenage friends hoping for a shared event. Several parties have claimed to have experienced one.”
I didn’t respond and he regarded me for a moment.
“So, what did you come here for?”
“For some thinking time,” I said. He looked taken aback. “I didn’t say that so you’d leave me alone.”
Reassured, he nodded off to the side again. “Speaking of our young companions, I fear there has been a falling out.”
Far across to my right, the spurned party, Boothe, slashed through the long-grass by himself, staring daggers into the ground. I hadn’t seen or heard any argument between the group, the verdict of his expulsion must have been delivered back at the watering hole.
“And do I suspect a rival at play?” Dudek added.
The girl Maddie was walking closely with one of the other boys.
• • •
The pace was slow, but the distance covered and the humidity made the hike exhausting. I’d had to pass the same fitness test as everyone else, and still my legs burned every evening, were stiff in the morning and I had painful, bloody blisters on my heels. I noticed one or two of the others had taken to walking with sticks. When we sat down at the end of the day, we seldom rose again.
That night, as we rested around the campfire, the teenagers went off a way down the track. We heard raised voices. Later, Maddie came and sat with the rest of us without saying anything. She sat on the ground hugging her knees and staring into the fire. We didn’t see the others.
I had sex with Dudek. He came to find me, telling me of his latest scebore induced nostalgia trip, a long summer afternoon spent reading under a tree; but I knew what he wanted and I took the opportunity. Who knew when I might get the chance again?
Besides which, I enjoyed it and for a time I could forget all my worries.
We felt like naughty teenagers afterwards and he sneaked out of my tent before the others were awake.
• • •
If there was a slight tension in the group because of the teens falling out then Boothe didn’t cause any trouble, not at first. Honestly, he became easy to ignore, skulking along in our dust whilst we concentrated on the exotic animals who’s annual pilgrimage we were all on, the unique landscape, the alien plant-life. Once I glanced over and I thought he’d been crying but then his jaw set and his eyes shone with a steely, angry resolve. Dudek came over to talk to me once or twice. He spoke without saying anything: comments on the weather, pointing out vivid or unusual flowers, asking how I was doing. In one respect, I was thankful we were nearly at the end of the trek.
The guides had exhausted all they had to tell us, in their very broken use of human words, about the animals and their annual migration and instead tried best they could to tell us titbits about themselves, their upbringing, life in the swarm. Much of it — the sentiments, any true understanding — was lost. We were too alien to each other, too different.
• • •
The fifth night was going to be our final night and the guides assured us that we wouldn’t face a full day of walking tomorrow. Everybody’s reactions were a mixture of sadness and relief. My legs seemed to hurt less just hearing the news and yet the creeping sense of dread as to what awaited me at the end of the trek rose from the pit of my stomach and was as difficult to ignore as the physical pain. I’d tried to avoid thinking about what might be happening in the universe beyond this little walking group. I’d just wanted to concentrate on what I might do next, but now my mind flurried in dread anticipation. They’d know what I’d done by now, that much was certain, and they’d probably be able to track my movements in leaving Earth without too much hassle, but I’d made a point of choosing an activity I’d never expressed any interest in doing before, that I’d never researched online, on a remote colony I’d never expressed a desire to visit in the hopes it might totally throw off their search for me. My erratic route and very cautious use of sleazy ask-no-questions lodgings in getting here must have brought me some extra time. But how much? If they’d successfully tracked my movements, who or what might be waiting for me at the end? A police officer or a hitman?
Talk of nostalgic feelings, this was like the dread anticipation before an exam or a medical procedure.
One of the other loners produced a bottle of vodka from the bottom of his pack and passed it around. Fearing close scrutiny if I rejected it, I took a shot and then stayed silent whilst the rest of the group talked. I was preparing to announce I was off to bed when the incident started.
At first it was just more raised voices, and I assumed the teens were arguing again. It became quickly apparent that this was different, more intense. One of the voices carried on the night in a keening screech. It was Boothe’s.
Eventually we had to go and investigate, just to make sure everyone was safe. Sat at the edge of the campfire as I was, I was closest and found myself going on instinct. I heard a couple of others following, presumably those who hadn’t had too much vodka.
Boothe was stood staring at Maddie, her new suitor, and the other three teenagers opposite him. You didn’t need to get close to Boothe to know he’d been drinking. His eyes and cheeks were wet with tears. Maddie said something to him as I approached and he yelled back at her to be quiet. He waved an unlit emergency flare around in his hand.
“Is everything okay?” I asked. It clearly wasn’t.
The other girl glanced at me briefly. Neither Boothe, nor Maddie nor the others acknowledged my presence.
One of them said, “Come on, now you’re disturbing the rest of the camp. Why don’t you—”
Boothe cut him off, telling him to shut-up and didn’t he think he’d done enough already? His voice was taut, a mixture of bitterness turning to hate.
“You’ll scare the mammoths,” Maddie said. “Unless you keep your voice down.”
“Mammoths, mammoths, mammoths all you care about is the bloody mammoths,” he snapped back. “As if travelling halfway across the galaxy to this godforsaken wasteland wasn’t enough, we have to trek like wild animals for days on end. They’re just dumb stupid elephants with fur and a legal high.” He gesticulated wildly, the flare flying around in a wide-arc.
He was lost like me. I’d run, he was staying to fight.
There was a noise from one of the great creatures, one we’d not heard before, a sort of snort into a bellow. I flinched and my breath caught in my throat.
The skrine guides had appeared, waving their arms and mandibles frantically, calling at him in a mixture of broken English and their native tongue. He didn’t seem to be aware of them.
“Why does there have to be all this drama with you,” the other male said. “Why can’t you grow up?”
“If you hit one of the—” Maddie said. “You know the skrine abhor killing—”
“How many of us did they kill in the contact war?” The flare-arm swept down in a wide slash.
“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”
“He’s just drunk,” one of the others said, more to themselves than to anyone.
“Even if you just spook one of them it could start a stampede,” the other girl said.
The punishment for interfering even slightly with the creatures was severe, even if there was no loss of life or material damage done. The repercussions had been drilled into us like rote before we’d been allowed to leave base camp.
“Just put the flare down, kid,” Dudek said. He’d appeared by my side without my noticing. It startled me.
Boothe’s eyes flickered over to Dudek.
I took a surreptitious glance around. Most of the camp seemed to be out now. The guides were slowly trying to circle around Boothe without alarming him too much. Boothe’s shoulders seemed to sag slightly, for a moment, the first sign of submission.
“You’re still so young,” I said. “Don’t let a simple mistake dictate your whole future.”
Boothe’s head sank and his flare-holding arm lowered.
I could feel Dudek looking at me. My cheeks started to warm.
“Come on buddy,” said the other teen boy. Not the one close to Maddie. This was a quiet, reflective one. I’d not heard him speak before. He stepped towards Boothe and I tensed, waiting for the arm to come flying back up. The boy must have sensed it too, as he paused halfway towards Boothe, then powered on and closed the distance between them.
He put one hand on the flare and pulled it away. Boothe didn’t let go but didn’t exactly resist. The boy put his other arm around Boothe’s shoulders and turned him away.
Maddie’s beau strode after them hotly then stopped and stood gawping at their backs. Maddie came and put his hand in hers.
• • •
By mid-morning the plateau began to decline gradually and spread into an open plain and we saw the “visitor centre” that was our goal. For all that the architects had tried to make the building blend naturally into the environment it stood out like a sore thumb as a human construct on an alien world. The skrine would have had no use for a building like this, in this location. We walked towards it for a good couple of hours without appearing to get any closer.
My apprehension grew, but nothing was visibly out of the ordinary. If they were there in force to capture me, they were going to be springing a dramatic trap.
When we finally arrived, I walked inside without saying anything to the rest of my companions. I wanted to keep things casual, as if I fully expected to see them again shortly. I could feel Dudek’s eyes on me as I crossed the yard and went inside. My nerves had surprisingly vanished. Perhaps it was the prospect or fight-or-flight, or maybe my physical fatigue had met the weariness that had settled into my soul and I was resigned to whatever fate awaited me.
Lang was my fate. She sat on a bench inside the entrance, an expression of controlled indifference on her face. I noticed her straight away and I know she saw me. Of course, it was going to be someone like her, a corporate problem-solver. No police, no fuss. They couldn’t risk the attention, whilst the skrine wouldn’t tolerate ships full of law-enforcers or corporate security drones dropping out of the sky and disturbing their precious natural peace.
I went towards the restrooms and Lang made no effort to stop me. She must have known I wasn’t going to make a run for it now.
After so many days on the trail I was honestly just happy to sit on a proper toilet.
I came back out and sat down next to her, looking ahead at a wall mural depicting a scene of the wilderness you could just stick your head out of a window and see.
“Why did you do it?” she asked eventually.
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. “Maybe I thought you’d take a while to find me.”
“I meant why did you steal the data? Were you going to sell it to the press? Or were you hoping to blackmail us? Sell it to Kyona?”
“I don’t know,” I said again. “I guess I felt I had to do something.” I sighed. “It’s wrong. What we’ve done. What we’re still doing.”
Lang didn’t reply. I looked around, at a reception desk, the information boards, the ads. I wondered if, not so far into the future, we’d build even more around here. Research stations and science labs, and then small businesses to support the people shipped out here, and then some retreats for the mega-rich; and then before you know it the mammoths wouldn’t be able to make the same migration they’ve made for millennia. If we found a way to monetise selling the scebore leaves it’d be even worse. I was always going to have run, but maybe that’s why I’d ran here — maybe I’d be one of the last people to witness their true natural migration.
“Why did the skrine ever allow us to build this?” I wondered aloud.
“Since their economy tanked, they’ve been very welcoming,” Lang said. She sounded weary, as if she were the one who’d just spent five days hiking on an alien hotbed.
There was another moment of silence.
“If they were going to send anyone, I’m glad it was you,” I said.
Lang stood and I accepted the silent cue to join her.
We headed for the doors. I was struck by a sudden thought that she could easily lead me out back, shoot me and leave my body in the long-grass for the hawks.
I took a deep breath.
“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do this.”
About the author and the piece (click to expand)
Mike A. Rhodes is from Sheffield, England. He enjoys reading, writing, ice hockey and food – although sometimes in a completely different order. While not disabled himself, he played Para Ice Hockey for the Sheffield Steelkings Para Ice Hockey Club for seven seasons. Follow him on X @MikeARhodes
©2026 by Mike A. Rhodes. All rights reserved. May not be used for A.I. training.