Post Number Ten: Another Short Story

Still was from Lakia. He had, according to his own account, been taken to my home world of Loma by mistake having something to do with disrupted flight schedules; once the landing had been made and the mistake discovered, the space-ship director refused to take him back due to cost and time delay. A day later I found him virtually dehydrated, wandering the desert in search of a settlement, and had taken him to my house where I hoped he would recover quickly. Soon however it became clear that he would not be able to survive on Loma for very long; the air being too dry and the climate too harsh. I was going to have to take him back. . . Myself, the self-respecting Emerald Long of Highland Sands, who had never ventured beyond the Sixteenth Parallel. 

What else could I do? There was no way that Still could pay for a passage back on a commercial Bistack [passenger/long distance space-ship] and I was in the ownership of a small Dartslide space-ship, though I was unable to fly it without at least one other helper. It would be an easy trip to journey to Lakia, drop him off in some nice centrally located position and head back to my peaceful existence, living in the blazing hot Cuilara Desert somewhere in the southern hemisphere of Loma.  

It did not turn out to be so simple; though nothing would have pleased me more if it had.

Sunlight shimmering through the leaves above played on the water's surface, a deep green lake in a deep green forest. Algae clung to the roots of the trees that stood halfway in the water, dangling vines from their branches like columns. In the distance was a pale green mist, rising from the surface of the water, light diffusing into green shadow, a vagueness as though the trees and the water infused the air itself with green. It was all still, almost a cave-like stillness, damp and sticky and mysterious. Shining beads of water collected on the leaves, and the trees were damp and slimy with clinging moss. Clear dripping sounds echoed in the stillness.  

 The air was so wet and heavy; so full of water that it was hard to breathe.  

Still looked at me. He was slight and rather pale, likely from living where the sun was always covered by clouds, and I could never get used to the way he seemed to know what I'm thinking.  

“Are you alright?” 

I knew he would ask that. “I'm fine. I'm just wondering how you could manage to like this place. What is it, ninety-nine percent humidity?”

Perfectly serious, Still nodded. “It is.”

Well, that would explain things. Never more had I wished for the dry and slightly metallic air of my planet, where one could breathe right without being swamped by humidity. I looked down at Still and saw his eyes fixed on the misty distance, smiling. I guess he was glad of the climate, at least.  

“Come on,” I said, eager to get to the nearest village. . . At least where we thought the nearest village could be.  

He ran to catch up. “I'm sorry you have to do this.”

“Do what, come with you? It's my fault as much as yours, Still.”

And it had been. If I had known how much trouble it would be to try and relocate him to his homeworld and then come back to mine, I might have thought twice before attempting it; but just being in the wet climate for two hours had improved his condition. It was hard to regret my decisions in this scenario.

We had already lost a rocket booster due to fuel leaks and had to land in the middle of nowhere, in this swamp that they called a forest, instead of a launch centre; which was not ideal, and as I was going to have to leave in the same space-ship I was going to have to find a replacement piece and someone to travel with me, also not ideal. But, I told myself that this would be a good learning experience for me. Who else in my town had gone to Lakia?

I was used to knowing where everything was and what to expect from everything; but we were on Lakia now, and it would be Still who knew his way around. I comforted myself by remembering that I didn't plan to be here long, only long enough to see him nicely settled in the first civilization we came across.  

A sound like great billows of water rolling onto the shore startled me out of these happy ponderings. I looked around wildly, as it seemed to be coming from above us, surrounding the world. Still smiled at my panicked expression. 

“It's the wind in the trees. It's so wonderful. . .”

I thought it was a terrifying sound; altogether strange. It made me feel small and insignificant, a most unpleasant sort of feeling. Hastily I changed the subject.

“Er, do you know where we are?” I refrained from mentioning that it had been twelve years since I had studied planet geography. Naturally I assumed that Still, being, as I thought, twelve years younger than I, would have recently learned such things as geography; but this fancy was revealed to be mistaken by his next answer.

“Not entirely. I haven't studied anything since I was ten. . . And that was seven years ago.  This forest doesn't seem familiar to me.” He paused, as though trying to recall his past learning. “Villages in any forest are common enough, though.”

I knew that that much was decently obvious, since Lakia's population was so large. But no matter how much I might wish for the open deserts of my world, there was something handy about more crowded areas. Hopefully we wouldn't have that far to go before reaching a settlement.  Soon enough, we did.

The trees on either side fell away at the edge of another huge green lake, spreading into the distance. Rising out of the water were houses on stilts, connected by rickety wooden platforms and long stringy bridges, looming ghostly out of the mist. Long ropes dangled and dripped, and the buildings made of light logs balanced atop one another in chaotic clusters.  

I stared, for never had I seen anything so unlike the stony structures of the desert. These buildings looked so flimsy and strange, so otherworldly (which they were). And so silent! I could see no one on the walkways or hear anything but the stirring in the treetops and the dripping of water.

“How do we get there?” I asked Still, who was already searching amid the slimy roots on the shore.

“Here.” He pointed at a little boat drawn up on the shore, several yards away. “They always have them.”

“Why not build a bridge?” I said, disliking the inconvenience of the thing, but there was no other way, so we got in. Still got the oars and rowed towards the nearest dock, and the splashes sounded muffled in the murky air. A yellow lamp hung above the dock, glowing strangely through the mist. I clung to the slippery sides of the boat and focused on the light, glad of something that didn't appear to be moving.

“Was your place. . . like this?” I wondered, somewhat out of curiosity but mostly to break the silence.

“Ya, only bigger. I lived in the city of Pyradock—before—” He gripped the oars tighter, and seemed reluctant to diverge any more details at the moment so I left the subject; I figured that even I would not want to talk about one’s home if I was hundreds of kilometers away and not likely to get there anytime soon.

The boat came to rest against the dock and I climbed out hastily. Even the dock seemed to be moving up and down and I clutched the rope railing, but it was slick with algae and I dropped it. O if only things would stop wobbling about so. . .

Still however was moving as though nothing were the matter at all; as though we were walking on solid ground. I scrambled after him feeling as large and lumbering as an elephant.

“This way, I think,” said Still leading the way up a tumbling stairway against the side of what I assumed was a house. The boards were damp and creaked underfoot, and glittering beads of moisture clung to everything, which might have been pretty had it not been so wet and cold and gloomy. 

 I leaned my hand on the wall to steady myself, wishing for something, anything, that was relatively dry; even if it was something as small as a pocket-handkerchief. Thoughts of the desert, with the sun blazing and the wind blowing billows of hot air, did nothing to improve my discomfort.

Still stopped in front of a low door in the side of another sloped wooden building. “This is it.”

A molding sign above the door read 

“D. Mushroom: Mechanics.”

My expectations of any decent space-ship repair area in this place were exceedingly low; nonetheless I followed Still into the dark and stuffy interior without a backward glance. Unfortunately it wasn't all that much drier than the outside was. The floorboards were damp and I heard water dripping from the ceiling somewhere. It smelled curiously like algae mingled with rusty metal.

I could have touched the roof had I reached upwards, and what interior there was was crowded with shelves and various strangely shaped items of machinery. A lamp glimmered dimly from a rafter overhead, glinting off the bald head of a short, round man sitting in front of a particularly rusty piece of engine. When he saw us he bounced up, dropping a bent wrench with a muffled clatter.

“Good morning! good morning!” he squeaked, plucking the wrench off the ground in the process. “Donald Mushroom here, happy to help you, sir!” 

“Thank you,” I said; “do you have any patches for a Dartslide 270 —”

“Dear me, let me see, let me see here.  I don't know if I got any but I'll look into it. Fuel leaks, I suppose.”

I nodded as the little mechanic chambered over a large pipe into a back room. Still, looking nervous, was attempting to examine an interesting article of metal but I could tell that his thoughts were elsewhere. I turned to face him.

“Well, where do you plan to go next?”

His voice was hesitant: “I don't know—I'm not sure where the North River-lake is. . . I'll have to ask someone.”

I would be sorry to leave him, even with the glorious prospect of warmth and dryness on the horizon. One couldn't help but develop certain connections to one's fellow-traveler, and I made up my mind to see that he knew where he was going before I left.

I didn't know what a North River-lake was but I assumed it was somewhere near Pyradock. I was about to inquire further but D. Mushroom’s squeaky voice cut in on my thoughts.

“I beg your pardon, sir, but are you Emerald Long of Highland Sands?”

At my affirmation of this fact he appeared quite excited, and held out a roll of parchment towards me.

“A visitor told me to give this to you. I don't know what it is or what it's about, but. . .”

“Thank you,” I said, curiously unrolling the letter. It was fine parchment, not brittle or cracked or even wrinkled. The ink inside was dark and neat, without a smudge. I had a strange feeling of uncertainty. How would anyone know that I was here, on Lakia, in a secluded swamp settlement. . .? I set aside my doubts and began to read.

“To the esteemed Emerald Long of Highland Sands, Second Empire of the Cuilara Desert, greeting.

‘It has been brought to our attention that certain of your past actions have impeded and/or interfered with, whether you acted intentionally or not, a project of some importance that has been underway for more than three weeks now. We regret to inform you that these doings of yours cannot be tolerated and must be reversed Immediately; namely, the removal of a certain Test Subject from its position near your esteemed dwelling. You shall commence the relocation of said Test Subject to its proper place in the Cuilara Desert, on the planet of Loma, without further delay. We appreciate your cooperation in this matter of, we are sure, mere misunderstanding, and we sincerely apologize for any inconvenience that this may cause you. Our thanks,

The Head of Agriculture and Scientific Development Administration, Seventh Empire, under the Supervision and Counsel of the Investigators Department Agency.”

My hand shook as I stared at the paper, my head attempting to make sense of this disturbing development.  The mistake that had brought Still to Loma had not been a mistake but an operation.  I had apperently been shortsighted enough to interfere with it.

I shot a glance at Still who was fiddling with a tiny piece, oblivious to the ruling governments that had so tampered with his life. How was I supposed to explain? How could I take him back to the land where he would die as a Test Subject in the Cuilara Desert? And what would happen if I didn't? It was unthinkable.

Donald Mushroom bounced back into the room, shaking his head.

“I'm very sorry, sir! I do not have the component which you asked for.”

I swallowed hard and thrust the parchment into my pocket. “That's alright. Look, if you see that visitor again. . .”

“The one who gave you that letter.” Mushroom nodded vigorously.

“Tell him I apologize but I cannot willingly comply with their request.”

“O! Very well, if that is your wish.”

I caught Still's eye and he followed me out. I breathed the wet-smelling air almost with relief—at least it was a little less stuffy.  

“We could come back in an hour or something,” Still suggested. “He might have your piece by then. . .”

It wasn't likely. I also wasn't too keen on meeting whoever had given me that letter. Perhaps it wouldn't be so inconvenient to keep clear of Loma for a time.

“Well, I don't know—I don't need to go back just now. . .”

Still gave me another searching look of his. “What happened to you back there?”

It occurred to me that I would have to explain all that to him at some point or other. That might not be the easiest thing in the world.

“I'll tell you later.”  

I took a deep breath.

“Let's go find Pyradock.”