Location: Slopes of the Nazca Desert
Time: 01.01.17 — 07:51:00 UTC?5
Setting: Niajin at the foothills of the Nazca mountains, heading toward the hidden spring.: Nazca Desert
The bare slopes of the mountains closed off the horizon, marking the end of the open desert.
Though she had long surpassed the normal age of growth for a human female, she had not yet reached full maturity: even that year she had grown again — slowly but steadily — and her long, flexible legs handled the rough terrain with ease. When needed, she helped herself with her long-fingered hands, which gripped perfectly onto the rocks. Taller than any woman in her village, she was also stronger and more agile than most men. She loved to walk, and through her solitary wanderings she had learned much from the desert. She climbed the cliffs with the agility of a vicu?a; her bow and arrows were her unfailing companions.
The virtual world that the implant offered her had led her into unknown realms — lush forests filled with water, animals, and plants. Perhaps they were real places on other planets, or remote memories of the past — of ancient eras when that same desert had been a dense and vibrant tropical forest. A technology far beyond human capacity had created for her a world of holographic projection — a virtual reality so beautiful that her own homeland appeared sad and hopeless by comparison, the outcome of a mass extinction caused by the degradation of Earth’s environment and the spread of regions hostile to life.
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During her solitary explorations, she had once discovered a hidden spot among the mountains, far from the village, where a small spring of true water emerged. She had never told anyone about it: she had found it during her training journeys, and it was hard to reach. The water trickled drop by drop from a slightly protruding rock. It was pure, crystalline, and absolutely unsalted — an extraordinary fact in the heart of the desert.
After a strenuous three-hour walk, she finally reached the place she was looking for. But the spring was gone. The drought, at least in appearance, had conquered even the last drop. Before her lay only a hot, rough boulder — abraded and sharp. On the ground, a young huarango sprout had just emerged, like a silent sign. It seemed to say: You were right — this is the place. She was overwhelmed with disappointment, almost fainting. All that effort... for nothing? And suddenly she felt thirsty.
A swirl of fresh wind blew through her hair. She turned toward the rocks at the edge of the valley and saw a narrow crack in the cliff — right behind the point where the spring had once flowed. It hadn’t been there before; she was sure of it. Perhaps the spring hadn’t dried because of the drought, but because of the earthquake that had struck a few days earlier. The water might have been trapped behind a heap of debris that now partially blocked the entrance.
Maybe there was still hope to find a water source — how else could the huarango seed have found enough moisture to sprout?