Never Games

Author’s Note: Although the reader can intuit the necessary details of this Peter Pan retelling, an even greater experience can be found by reading previous short stories: Never, Never, The Test, and Welcome to Neverland. These shorts have all come from Elegant Literature Magazine’s monthly challenges. In this case, the challenge was to address “Paradise Plundered” in 2000 words.

Trista Smith’s hands trembled over the keyboard as she calculated the potential number of humanoids that might die in Gamma’s colonization.

That was Commander James Frederick Hoogeveen’s guess, anyway. He leaned forward. “Trouble, Mission Specialist?”

“No, sir,” she answered, her voice betraying her. She cleared her throat. “Merely checking the algorithm. I’ve developed a spatial query combining land cover, soil compaction, and thermal signatures to identify likely humanoids only.”

“Translate for the rest of us,” said Jim blithely, praying his light-heartedness would infect both her and Roark.

Janet Roark had been quiet since her assault by pixies on the surface, and he needed her fully functional. Tris had been quieter.

Tris didn’t smile. “I looked for humans in settled areas defined by roads and buildings.”

“Brilliant,” Flight Specialist Daugherty remarked from the navigation console.

“Looks like no more than 3,000 across the planet, most on this primary continent,” Roark added, “although you haven’t accounted for those awful pixies.”

“Part of the planet’s fauna, nothing more,” Tris offered. “But there were humans, and that Peter creature.”

Humanoids, Mission Specialist.” Jim winced as indecision flashed across Roark’s face.

As the mission’s anthropologist, it was her call whether the life they found warranted protection, documentation of culture and language…whether the Gamma Expedition could rightfully colonize over them. But Roark still bore the minute scars of a thousand fairy bites.

Tris, however, was an ecologist. To her, the pixies were nothing more than an evolutionary marvel, beautiful and dangerous like most predators. But equal beings? No. Why, the “ologists” were still arguing whether baser animals could truly comprehend pain. The feral boys, on the other hand, were not only human, but some of them hailed from Earth.

Roark breathed through her nose and glowered. “Commander, mission parameters indicate an acceptable location for Gamma. Let’s proceed with site eval and selection.”

Jim gloated internally, but allowed only a stiff, appreciative smile. “Outstanding. We will likely face duress in our establishment of a base.” He turned to eye each officer on the bridge. Many had found their experience difficult to believe, but suitcams didn’t lie. Jim didn’t yet dare confront the orphan boys and their master Peter, but the expansive continent boasted plenty of space. He pointed at Tris’s screen. “This southern area seems uninhabited. We land the Celeste in this cove, build a base of operations there.”

Tris shrugged. “We haven’t evaluated marine life yet. Our scans can’t go deep from space.”

“Deploy buoy sondes—”

“Already ordered, Commander. Loaded on the next shuttle.”

Jim wanted to glare at her interruption, but failed. Tris’s anticipation of his needs was too ready, her faith in him too unrestrained. He softened. “That gives Mission Specialist Roark time to fully evaluate other humanoid settlements for unique variants.” That drew a weak smile from Tris which faded quickly.

“I’ll need my whole team for full eval,” muttered Roark, who tinkered at her console. “Language scans, automated linkage to Earth cultural indicators, site visits…”

Tris caught his eye with a reproachful look. “Commander, are you sure we should proceed?”

The deck stilled. Only a handful had been part of the exploratory expedition. The rest had been cooped up for years, rotating duties with cryosleep as they sailed through the stars. The bulk of the crew still slept, forms frozen in tubes and brain activity paused until it could be put to good use on a virgin planet. Architects, scientists, engineers, carpenters, metalworkers…a myriad of creative men and women gushing with enthusiasm for the mission.

Jim wasn’t sure he believed they would do better than the incumbents of Earth, Alpha, or Beta. By the time they had left Beta, she already bore the scars of open-face mines and the mucky brown of pollution downstream of its settlements. Could Gamma be any better?

“Commander?”

He raised his chin with resolve. “Yes, we proceed. Wake the crew. Thousands of people awaiting a place they can call home. Thousands, Mission Specialist, and more when the primary colonial ship arrives.”

Tris ducked her head, brow furrowed.

Jim sighed. He’d have to work on her. He turned to the remaining officers. “As you all saw, the resident humanoids think hurting us is a game. Despite Roark’s incident, I believe we can come to an accord with the pixies. We have an ally in their multitude—” He raised his hands to quiet the worried mumbling that arose. “Furthermore, these pixies have a miraculous healing ability, which they also demonstrated on Roark.”

Roark grimaced.

“We’ll show the hostiles what happens when you mess with the best and brightest of humanity.”

Jim returned to the surface with his entire starship, although Tris warned against ferrying people and supplies with smaller landers. “Reptiles of unusual size,” he mused.

Daugherty wrinkled his nose. “Aye, Commander. Sonar’s picking them up now. Never seen anything like it.”

“I have,” said Tris with an exaggerated shiver. “In fossil books. Not so sure we’ll rely on fish for protein like I initially suggested.”

They led another shuttle to shore, and this time Jim and Tris remained, reveling in the feel of loam beneath their boots. Already, the cove seethed with activity.

Nothing here would be plastic and white walls. At least, not for a long while. Colonial reinforcements would be a decade away, and Jim’s crew would have to rely on native materials for construction.

Tris nudged him. “Potentially dangerous megafauna on this planet, Jim.” She stared toward the distant mountains, then squinted. “And microfauna, speak of the devil.”

Jim followed her gaze. A bright spark buzzed through the air, leaving a glittering trail behind it. He offered his palm, and the blinding glow settled and dimmed, revealing a tiny winged woman. He smiled. “Hello again, beautiful.”

The pixie simpered. “Hi’ya, Jamesy. Brought the whole crew, I see. Are any of them as handsome as you?”  She eyed Tris and chittered. “Oh, and you too. Smidge, Smee? Smith. What a silly name. Anyway, did you bring me anything fun?”

Jim pulled a wrapped box from his jacket. “I did.”

He and Tris watched as Tink chimed and sparkled with glee. She yanked the lid off and tossed it before squealing at the contents. She pulled a glamorous miniature dress from the box and clutched it to her slight body. This was no doll’s dress, not this time; Jim had awakened one of the seamstresses for its special fabrication.

“Like it? And I have something to match.” He pulled a tiny parasol from another pocket, fully functional and as well-made as a real one. Tink grasped at it, but he pulled away. “I need you to do something for me first.”

She marched off his hand onto the air and turned up her nose, pouting. “I want it.”

“Of course, I made it just for you. What I need is easy. I want to meet your friends.”

 “Pixies or lost boys?”

“Pixies.”

“Good, because we are not friends with the lost boys anymore.”

“That’s exactly what I’d like to discuss. They seem dangerous. I’d like your help protecting our base from them. Where do they live? How many are there?”

“You want to fight them, Jamesy?”

“If I must, but I’d rather have friends. Are you my friend, Tink?”

“Oh, I think we’re more than that.” She winked, then unashamedly stripped her old clothes off and donned the new dress. She held a peremptory hand out for the parasol, smiling triumphantly when she got it. “I’ll talk to the pixies about scouting for you in exchange for trade and mutual protection. We have enemies too, you know.” She blew him a kiss and flew off.

Tris clicked her tongue. “You think we can trust her, Jim?”

“Maybe. I put a bug in the parasol. We’ll hear everything she says and track her movements.”

Unfortunately, Tink flittered all over the continent, winking in and out likely with the same power by which she had traveled to Earth years ago. She spoke an incomprehensible fairy tongue which Roark’s computers could make nothing of. She brought friends, pixies all, who laughingly promised to watch the borders of their base while preening in their new clothes and downing acorn cups brimming with liquor.

The Celeste’s industrious crew acclimated to their blinking presence and went about constructing new buildings, raising a wall, and tilling the flat river bottoms for crops.

Tris stood next to him on the top of the wall, arms tightly crossed. “We’re making the same mistakes, Jim.”

He gave her a look.

Commander.” She shook her head. “Are we really still breaking ground, stacking levees? Aren’t those the errors of people hundreds of years dead?”

“You’re not assigned to Farming, Mission Specialist.”

“I’m lead ecologist. I don’t care what they’re used to doing. Now’s our chance to change. We have the technology; our cargo includes seed injectors, precision fertilizer drones. My computer has predictive models that tell me the odds of flooding and erosion, and I can guarantee you it’s foolish to farm those floodplains. Not to mention croc—”

An arrow pounded into Tris’s shoulder, and she tumbled backward.

“Lost boys!” cried a pixie in a sing-song voice. “Lost boys in the woods!”

Jim cursed at the belated warning and hailed the pixie. It was Tink. “Heal Smith,” he ordered before drawing his phaser gun. Ducking lower, he glimpsed through the slats, but all he could see was trees.

Arrows flew accompanied by hoots and howls, and Jim fired blindly in answer, hitting nothing. Seeing Tris recover, he gathered his wits and hailed Daugherty on the comm. “You on the bridge, Flight Specialist?”

“Yes, sir,” came the answer in his ear.

“Fire small trajectiles on heat signatures fifteen meters north of me in the wooded area.”

“Yes, sir.”

Explosions shattered the air moments later. Several trees toppled, and the arrows stopped. Silence descended, and Jim slowly pulled Tris to her feet to look out.

A chubby, half-naked boy toddled out of the woods wearing a bear-like headdress and red warpaint. He pointed a spear up at Jim. “Not fair,” he shouted.

Other boys limped out, revealing themselves, and shouted insults. “Cheaters!” “Thieves.” “Go home, you don’t belong here!”

A shadow over the sun made Jim look up, and his anger surged. Peter, that detestable, flying mongrel who led the feral tribe of boys. Peter floated down between them, hands on hips.

“You aren’t playing the game right.”

Jim raised his gun. “I told your boy Tommy, I don’t play games.” He fired.

A black hole burned into Peter’s side, and he merely sneered as it closed. “Grownups don’t know how to play because grownups are stupid. Grownups forget. Maybe you should all leave, before it’s too late.”

“Maybe you should leave, before I fire again,” Jim retorted, battling shock at the phaser’s ineffectiveness. “Better yet, stay right where you are…” Peter crowed and spiraled high in the sky. Pixies followed after, and Jim realized he couldn’t hit the enemy without hitting his new allies. He bit back his next order to Daugherty with a curse. “No matter, we’ll destroy you in time.”

“How?” Tink inquired, landing on his shoulder.

“Our primary colonial ship has additional weaponry and trained soldiers. I sent for them a week ago.”

Tink twinkled with laughter. “A message through space? Jamesy, can’t you see? Time doesn’t move here. Your message will never reach them. You’re going to have to learn to play the game.”

The words echoed in Jim’s head. Never, never. Horror settled in his gut as he pulled Tris closer. There was no relief ship coming, no wave of settlers, tools, and weapons. He was on his own, as always, and facing an enemy that could fly and magically heal.

“What do we do, Jim?” whispered Tris.

“We’ll kill them, Tris. Kill them all.”

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