Submitted for the January 2024 prompt: Weather Warnings

(Audio-log, day 26)

 

It’s been two weeks since I gained admittance into the Sahandi village, almost a month since I landed on this planet and began my survey. Which is crazy! It feels like I just got here. Every day brings a dozen revelations and twice as many fresh mysteries.

 

The Sahandi remain utterly tolerant of my presence, allowing me to come and go as I please. I’ve yet to spend a night in the village, but only because I need to return to the ship too often for water. Not only do the Sahandi not drink any themselves, they seem outright afraid of it, even in small quantities.

On my first day in the village, I caused a quietly tense scene with a water bottle I had packed in my bag. The chief and his entourage politely escorted me out of town, which is the most assertive I’ve seen them be. So now I make the two-mile trek back and forth between the village and where I left the ship — over and over. It’s a hard walk across the dunes, and it’s only getting harder as I’m wearing down. I’m not used to the exercise or the heat.

 

This is a scorching, dry desert, and these people are a lot better suited to it than I am.

 

* * *

 

(Audio-log, day 27)

 

This morning was the earliest I’ve arrived in the village, and thus my first opportunity to witness breakfast. It turns out, every single Sahandi starts their day with a healthy portion of this giant cactus-like plant that grows in clusters all across the desert. Its outer skin is thick and waxy, much like the Sahandi's own, but its heart is fibrous and full of moisture.

 

Could this spartan meal actually supply all the water they need to survive? During the day, I’ve only ever seen them eat seeds and thin strips of dehydrated meat. And they never drink. Anything!

 

Also, the villagers were busy today mending the canvas sunshield that protects their encampment from this system’s harsh, too-close sun. Which makes perfect sense to me. What I don’t get is why they spent an equal amount of effort fortifying the cactus trunk wall that forms a complete perimeter around the town.

 

I know there are other villages out there — we’ve had a few visitors during my stay — but they were all treated with the same general indifference they’ve shown me. I have a hard time picturing these people engaged in open conflict. But if they’re truly the pacifists they appear to be, then what’s with the wall? It’s obviously a defensive structure, but who it’s meant to defend against, I have no idea.

 

* * *

 

(Audio-log, day 28)

 

Got up early because I wanted another look at breakfast in the village, but now it’s only midmorning and I’m already back on the move. About twenty minutes ago, there was a rumble of deep, distant sound like nothing I’d heard here before. Everybody froze instantly, dropped what remained of their cactus steaks, and then began hustling about, double-checking the sunshield and the perimeter wall.

 

I freaked out at first, thinking the sound was a sonic boom from another ship entering the atmosphere, and that we were about to be attacked. I doubt the cactus trunks would offer much defense against a space-faring enemy. Hiding in the village felt like a dangerous plan, but sprinting off across the open desert toward my distant ship didn’t seem any better.

 

Before I could decide what to do, the sound repeated, only closer. This time I could not only hear it better — I could actually feel it. Thunder!

 

From pictographs in the village, I know that it does rain here sometimes, but who knows how often or how much? From the towering, dark clouds I’m watching roll across the sky right now, I’m guessing it’s going to be substantial.

 

As soon as I realized what was going to happen, I hurried away from the village. I understand now that all their recent busywork has been in preparation for this. They’re obviously going to do everything they can to keep the rain out of the village. I need to do the opposite.

 

I have rainwater collection equipment aboard the ship, but it’s not set up. I haven’t seen any reason to do so. A restock of fresh water would be a godsend I can’t miss taking advantage of.

 

Oh my gosh, I just felt a drop.

 

Yeah, here we go.

 

Oh, this is heavenly. It just started, and I’m already soaking wet. It’s so cool, I have goosebumps. It’s amazing.

 

I’m going to pick up my pace. I really need to get back to the ship and…

 

Huh, this is weird. I’ve just spotted a little, twiggy-looking thing protruding from the wet sand. Oh shit, it’s moving. I think it’s alive.

 

Could some dormant desert plant be responding to the influx of water already, after only moments of exposure? That’s hard to believe, but it’s hard to deny what I’m seeing.

 

Oh shit, it’s growing right before my eyes. Actually, I see another right over here. And a couple more over there.

 

Oh shit, there’s a bunch. Shit. Shit, shit, shit!

 

* * *

 

(Audio-log, day 32)

 

It’s been four days since I sprinted back to the ship amid the emergence.

 

The giant alien scorpions are scrambling over the hull incessantly. The click-clack of their probing antennae, which I originally mistook for plant shoots, might drive me crazy before the ship sinks the rest of the way under the sand.

 

I don’t know how I’ll ever take off again at this point, but regardless I’d really, really like it to stop raining. If I do somehow manage to survive this, I think I’ll spend the rest of my life as afraid of water as the Sahandi.