Scene 09-4 – Rain
Location: Alien spacecraft and Niajin’s native village
Time: 01.08.29 – 9:31 AM (UTC-5)
Setting: Inside the spacecraft, 100 km above sea level
Niajin watched the Earth fall away beneath her, her gaze drawn to the coastline of the ocean. A sudden thought pierced her mind:
“My mother — the water!”
Driven by that impulse, the spacecraft altered its trajectory and began descending again, crossing the upper layers of the atmosphere. Instead of continuing upward, it veered gently toward the coast, gliding downward under controlled thrust.
At the thought of water, its course shifted toward the sea. The wings, once extended and still, began to move in slow undulations. Its speed dropped.
Quetzal reached the coastline and descended until it almost skimmed the ocean’s surface. The feathers beneath its wings became coated with condensed droplets. Circling above the water, the craft climbed again, tracing a logarithmic spiral aligned with the golden ratio. A stream of moisture-laden air followed in its wake, rising into the upper atmosphere and forming a low-pressure system offshore.
The trajectory shifted once more with the motion of wings and tail. A wind began to blow from west to east, drawing warm, humid air from the sea’s surface. When the spacecraft reached the upper edge of the troposphere, it described a circular path roughly one hundred kilometers in radius. Within that vast ring, a depression deepened. West of the coast, directly before the Nazca Desert, the eye of a cyclone began to take shape.
As the wings absorbed solar radiation, generating subtle temperature gradients that enhanced condensation, the system intensified. Dark, heavy clouds gathered within the circular track of the craft. The wind strengthened, pushing the clouds eastward.
The vortex fed on vapor rising from the warm ocean waters. Quetzal shifted from its ascending circular path to a direct line toward Niajin’s village, the lower feathers still heavy with moisture.
In the desert, something was changing. A bank of clouds appeared on the horizon. Soon the western sky darkened beneath a dense mass of gray and shadowed formations — the sign of a fast-moving tropical storm. Thunder rolled in the distance. Rain began to fall, first along the shoreline.
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Rivulets carved their way through the sand. Water spilled from the rocks in growing cascades. The scattered flows merged into a narrow river that rushed toward the plain, retracing the path Niajin had once walked — only now in reverse. At last, the water entered the village like an unexpected gift long awaited. Rain fell from the sky; water ran along the streets.
Bottles, aluminum containers, pots — anything that could hold water — were set out in the open. No one thought any longer of the water truck. People laughed, shouted, and ran to gather whatever they could.
The truck driver, stunned by the sudden downpour, found himself almost alone in the rain. Around him, joy spread like contagion. The drought was over. The scent of wet earth rose into the air — the promise of green grass and flowers yet to bloom.
“Perhaps I should leave,” he thought. “Rain, just now, when I was making a fortune. It hasn’t rained here in years. And it had to happen to me.”
From above, Niajin watched as though she stood among them. The SAI relayed the events below. She saw the driver, his pockets heavy with the last possessions of her people, hurrying toward his cab. He did not make it. A sudden surge of water struck him, throwing him backward into the mud.
The bag he carried — filled with coins, gold, and what he had taken — slipped from his grasp. A swift boy darted forward and seized it.
“Thief!” the boy shouted.
“Give it back! It’s mine!” the driver yelled, pulling a pistol from his belt. He fired into the air, but the weapon failed — soaked through.
“You’ve already taken your water back — and more! Give us our money!” the boy cried, laughter rising around him.
The villagers stepped between them, faces set with grim resolve. The driver retreated. The truck engine started reluctantly, wheels spinning in the mud before finally gaining traction. He drove away.
Some laughed. Some wept with relief.
Only one did not share in the joy.
Niajin’s mother stood apart. She saw more water than she had ever imagined, yet she saw no sign of her daughter.
The current dragged sand and stones through the canyon. Dry for years, its walls had begun to seep water long before the river reached the village. Now a swollen wadi plunged from above, roaring through the gorge, soaking into the earth, replenishing the buried spring beneath the sand.
A curved shard of pottery drifted to the threshold of her house and came to rest at her feet. She bent down. It was a fragment of the amphora her daughter had carried on her head the day she left. She recognized the pattern etched into the clay by her own hands.
The broken shard felt like an omen.
Quetzal descended low over the village, drawing near to the house.
“My daughter,” the mother whispered within herself. “Where are you?”
She lifted her eyes.
Among the clouds, the smiling face of her daughter appeared as a holographic projection. The immense shadow of Quetzal passed overhead, hovering in the sky. Fine rain fell from beneath its wings directly onto the house.
The pitahaya plant drank deeply. Its stems swelled with renewed life. White blossoms opened. Red fruits plumped back into fullness.
The wind carried words to her:
“Mother, I am alive, and I am leaving. I do not know whether you will see me again. I love you. Do not fear for me.”
It was the last time she heard — or believed she heard — her voice.
Further refinements and additional visual content are on the way, but Part II will take some time before publication.
See you in Part II — Wolf 1061c, Chapter X: Earth–Venus–Earth.
