A Lonely World Where the People Are Blue Read online

  I pulled my console from my pocket, with the intention of looking up the meaning of this red stripe, when the bartender suddenly appeared.

  ‘What would you like?’

  ‘You mean, to drink? Or just, like, generally?’

  ‘To drink,’ the Iyr replied, and I could only assume that there was a stern expression under that helmet.

  What a humourless bunch.

  ‘Whisky,’ I replied. I wasn’t risking the local stuff, not after that spit-roasted rat I’d seen earlier.

  ‘Terran or Rykan?’

  ‘The real stuff,’ I answered. ‘Spelled with an H.’

  The barman (or barwoman - it was impossible to tell from under these mechsuits) poured a glass, and I timidly took my first sip. Recognising that it really was the good stuff, I downed the rest of the rather small portion.

  The Iyr bartender, still standing and looking at me, poured me another, and asked.

  ‘I shall leave the bottle, shall I?’

  I shrugged - and the Iyr correctly construed that response as a “yes”. I topped up my glass, filling it to the brim, rather than having barely a splash, as suggested by the bartender’s serving.

  As I sipped quietly, allowing the warm liquid to run down my throat, I pondered everything that had happened over the past few days.

  This job, potentially my last, hadn’t gotten off to a good start. I had no real leads, a population of locals entirely dedicated to being unhelpful, and the heat was almost unbearable. No wonder this case had been the bottom of the pile, the last to be picked.

  Trying to distract myself from the inevitability of me failing to complete this job, I pulled out Leya’s journal and skimmed through it again. It was a waste of time; without knowing how she’d encrypted it, I wasn’t going to be able to understand it. Looking through it now, it seemed as though there were sections, each cipher using different character sets. It didn’t seem like she had encrypted the whole thing at once, but maybe every now and then, whenever she had the chance? I put the journal away again in a huff; I felt destined to fail with that, too.

  I spent another hour and a half or so in wistful contemplation; remembering the days of old, and pondering the route I had in front of me.

  Only when I realised that my mood was turning sour, did I look around the room once again; it was time for some company. I didn’t fancy wasting my time on any more of the humourless locals - neither the quiet group nor the lone customers with the red markings - and so I fixed my eyes on the Pritan.

  Soon, he caught me looking at him, and quickly, embarrassed, shifted his gaze to focus back on his book. I could tell, now, that he was staring at the page, reading the same passages over and over, distracted by me gazing at him. It didn’t seem like he was going to take the hint that he should come over.

  I sighed, collected my glass and the bottle, and walked over to his table. The Pritan continued to pretend that he was transfixed by his book.

  If you like that guidebook so much, why don’t you just… step outside and actually experience the planet you’re reading about.

  I resisted the urge to open with this suggestion, and instead sat opposite him, continuing to look over in his direction. I was conscious, already, that the alcohol was starting to go to my head. I wasn’t usually like this; it must have been the heat.

  ‘Good book?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah… yeah, it’s good,’ the Pritan replied, barely glancing up at me.

  ‘Want some of this?’ I offered, pointing at the bottle of whisky. ‘It’s good.’

  As if to reinforce the point, I downed another glass.

  The Pritan shook his head.

  ‘So, how comes you’re here? On holiday?’

  Sensing that he wasn’t going to be rid of me any time soon, the Pritan put down his book and diverted his attention to me.

  ‘I’m… I’m, err,’ he began, stuttering over his words. ‘I’m just travelling the sector. I just finished studying and… and my dad, he said he’d pay for me to see some of the galaxy.’

  ‘Ah, I get it. He thought it’d put some hairs on your chest?’

  The Pritan, in addition to looking nervous, now looked confused as well. He glanced down at his own, hairless chest. ‘Well… I don’t know about that. But he thought it would be good for me, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘And you’ve seen a lot, sitting in bars, reading guidebooks?’ I asked, hoping the smile on my face would be enough for the Pritan to understand that I was just poking fun at him.

  ‘I’ve been out, too!’ he replied. ‘It’s just… Z’h’ar’s a bit of a… a cold place, isn’t it?’

  ‘Tell me about it. That’s the reason I chose you to come over and bother, rather than this lot.’ I nodded my head in the direction of the group of Iyr, who were currently sitting in silence, sporadically sipping from their glasses.

  ‘Oh. I see,’ the Pritan responded, and then, when I didn’t carry the conversation any further, asked, ‘So… so why are you here?’

  I looked around the room. Nobody seemed to be listening; the group were talking amongst themselves, the lone Iyr was staring into space.

  To hell with it, who’s gonna care anyway?

  ‘Here for work. Looking for someone. Diplomat’s daughter. From Itagurinatipilaz.’

  ‘Good pronunciation.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So, she’s missing?’

  I shrugged. ‘Seems that way. Chances are I’m wasting my time looking for her. The people here… haven’t exactly been helpful. Don’t suppose you’ve seen her?’

  I showed my new friend an image on my console’s holodisplay. He shook his head.

  ‘Well,’ I replied, ‘I guess that was a longshot.’

  I raised my glass took another gulp.

  The Pritan, loosening up a little now, leaned in close. ‘What about that guy? You asked him?’ He pointed to the lone drinker in the corner.

  ‘What, I wouldn’t ask him cos he looks so scary?’

  The Pritan pulled a face which suggested that he thought that was exactly the reason that I wouldn’t have asked him. ‘Tell you what, if you do it, I’ll pay for a quarter of that bottle you’re drinking.’

  ‘Make it half.’

  ‘No,’ he responded.

  ‘OK. A quarter it is.’

  How could I refuse such a generous offer?

  I stood from the table, set my eyes on the Iyr in the corner, and began walking over to him. Catching myself on the edge of one of the tables, I mumbled, ‘Ouch,’ which was enough to draw the lone drinker’s attention. He stared me down as I approached.

  ‘Hi, how’re you?’ I asked, slurring my words a little, but surely not enough that anybody would notice.

  The Iyr remained silent, still, and stared at me.

  ‘I like your… your red bit… up there,’ I continued, pointing at the stripe on the Iyr’s helmet.

  Still, I got no response. Despite this, I carried on talking.

  ‘So, anyway, I was looking for this-’

  ‘Leave,’ the Iyr interrupted.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I heard your questions. You ask of things that concern only the council.’

  ‘Concern the…,’ I began to ask. ‘What you on about?’

  ‘The…,’ the lonely Iyr started… and then fell silent. For a few moments there was only the vacant stare of the mechsuit’s eyes, the inhabitant apparently taking a moment to think about their response.

  ‘No,’ the Iyr started up again. ‘Leave. No more questions.’

  I turned to look over to my new friend, accidentally stepping on the Iyr’s foot in the process. They grunted a noise of irritation, but didn’t wince, so I acted as though it hadn’t happened.

  My friend shrugged - and I shrugged back at him in response. Not wanting to shout across the bar, I mimed in his direction the action of taking a sip of drink. He nodded; he would indeed pay for the promised amount of whisky.

  I walked back towards him, meanin
g to skirt around the quiet group of Iyr, but accidentally collided with one as they stood up. Their drink was knocked from their hand, spilling as the glass dropped to the table, a clunk echoing around the bar.

  For a moment there was only silence, and then the Iyr whose drink I had spilt raised their arms at me, throwing a punch in my direction. I tried to dodge it, and the blow was softened - as it only barely caught my arm.

  So these Iyr aren’t so dull after all!

  ‘Bit of an over-reaction, don’t you think?’ I asked as I stuck my foot forward to sweep my assailant’s leg. ‘All I did was-’

  The Iyr dodged my attempt to floor them. Now even more enraged, they struck me in the side of the head, dizzying me, and sent me tumbling to the ground. They stood over me, broadening their shoulders as though trying to intimidate me.

  Through their legs, I saw the Iyr in the corner stand up, and begin marching towards us. When they, too, noticed this, the rest of the Iyr scattered in fear.

  ‘Cease!’ the lonely Iyr called out as they strode. ‘I will abide no more of this!’

  At first, I thought they were directing this at the rowdy group of Iyr - but then I saw that they were staring fixedly at me.

  ‘You shall not cast these kinds of aspersions about the Iyr.’

  5

  Where You Belong

  Footsteps pounded the ground around me as the group of four fled the scene. The Iyr who had been drinking in the corner, a red stripe across their helmet, stormed towards me. I didn’t need to see this Iyr’s face to know that they were furious with me - the body language said it all. And - let’s face it - this was a reaction I’d provoked dozens of times before.

  As he got closer and closer, I suddenly found myself fearing for what was about to happen. I’d seen, just a few seconds ago, how the Iyr liked to respond to even the most innocent of frustrating situations - and if they were intimidated enough by this one to run away, then it didn’t exactly bode well for me.

  At the last second, the bartender stepped between us.

  ‘I will handle this, sir,’ they told the charging Iyr.

  “Sir”? So was that stripe some measure of seniority, perhaps?

  The other Iyr slowed to a halt, breathing furiously. They looked at the bartender, then to me, then back to them again. ‘If you must,’ they replied, before returning to their seat.

  My saviour turned to face me.

  ‘Thanks, I guess,’ I said to them.

  ‘You are causing a scene. Get out.’

  ‘Oh.’

  So much for “my saviour”.

  I remained still on the floor for a few moments longer.

  ‘Why? All I did was accidentally knock a drink over, surely that happens all the time in here…’

  The Iyr shook his head. ‘It does. That is not why you need to leave.’

  They turned their head to peek over at the Iyr in the corner. He had returned to his drink - but glanced up sporadically.

  ‘If you upset the Head of Guard, then you cause trouble for my business.’

  Head of Guard, eh? Very fancy title.

  ‘Upset them? I asked them a few questions, that’s all.’

  ‘Yes,’ the bartender replied. ‘But asking those sorts of questions around here… often means you are never seen again. If my customers start disappearing, the rest will stop coming. You understand?’

  ‘What, I’ll be taken away somewhere just for asking where someone is?’

  They groaned. So far, the only emotions I’d been able to elicit from the locals had been irritation and rage, which was saying something, even for me. ‘Stop asking about it.’

  ‘No!’ I retorted, and the volume of my own voice caught me off-guard. Maybe I had had a little too much to drink.

  ‘Look,’ they continued, leaning in so that they could whisper. ‘The last I heard, the woman you are looking for was heading out into the Wastelands. Somewhere near Te’r’ok. Is that enough information to make you leave?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Good,’ they replied, and then pulled me to my feet by my arm. Raising their voice once again, they called out, ‘And do not come back to this establishment! We do not need your sort in here.’

  They threw me out onto the street, and, in my drunken state, I only just about managed to remain on my feet. I looked around. The city was emptier now, only a few stragglers still walking or shuttling about. At this time in the early morning, you might even describe the atmosphere as peaceful. I could take in the sights and enjoy the slightly cooler temperature - as the sun was only just rising against the horizon, hidden still behind the tall stronghold walls. Suddenly the city seemed like an oasis of calm.

  I walked south, towards the perimeter gate, hoping to get a view of the wastelands beyond the stronghold’s wall. As I approached, the guard towers loomed over me, two monoliths of such great height as would strike fear in the hearts of any invading force. Not that the Arellians, as far as I knew, stood any chance against the Iyr, were they to venture out of their humble lands.

  At the base of the towers, there was a transmat station, presumably intended to save the guardsmen from having to climb the hundreds (if not thousands) of steps to the top. There didn’t seem to be anyone guarding it, nor were there any signs saying not to use it, so I stepped in for a look at the lands beyond.

  The transmat whirred into life and shot me upwards at a rate I’d never experienced before.

  Weren’t there laws about these kinds of things?

  Reaching the top in only a few seconds, I began to feel nauseous - although it was possible that the alcohol was as much to blame as the transmat. I plodded out of the transmat area and held myself against a nearby pillar, counting on it to hold me upright.

  A lone guard looked warily on - but said nothing.

  When I’d largely recovered from the journey up, I looked out through the glass. As far as the eye could see, desert dunes paved the land of the beyond, looking almost as though they were the waves of the great seas of Terra. But, no, they were still, peaceful, and proudly golden. The sun, rising to the south-east, cast shadows from the great dunes, peppering the land with darker patches, and illuminated small Arellian settlements in the distance. Compared to the stronghold, they seemed like nothing more than villages, like small tribal encampments like in the Terran days of old. Conversely, the few Iyr buildings that stood a few kilometres outside the city limits were tall, piercing the skyline, spoiling an otherwise beautiful view.

  I remained up here for a few more minutes, until the glare of the guard became excruciating, and then prepared myself for the transmat back down. It didn’t seem so bad on the return journey; I only had to rest for a few seconds at the bottom.

  As I rested, I heard a commotion in the distance. Looking down the road, I saw two guards hauling a person along by the arms. I didn’t recognise the species; blue, lanky, their hands in weird proportions compared to the width of their limbs. This blue person didn’t seem to be resisting in any way, only meekly submitting to being dragged along.

  I followed at a distance, this situation having piqued my curiosity. What crime had this person committed to deserve such a treatment?

  Probably spilt someone’s drink.

  When the guards reached the perimeter of the city, they threw the person onto the ground, in much the same way as I had earlier been thrown out by the bartender.

  I suspected that I had skimmed over the section of the Z’h’ar guidepage that referred to the Iyr’s hobbies:

  “The Iyr, a quiet people, typically enjoy throwing people around and just being generally lairy.”

  ‘Go. Back to where you belong,’ one of the guards muttered at their victim - and then turned to leave them, alone, on the ground.

  They were an Arellian, then, this blue creature. The guidepage hadn’t had a picture of them; presumably, this wasn’t because such an image didn’t exist, but because the Arellians were such an unimportant footnote in terms of information about Z’h’ar.

>   The Arellian stood up - but only once the guards had turned their back on them and left them well alone.

  I looked on at the Arellian for a moment, as they stood, motionless, eyes surveying the city in front of them as though they were considering coming back in.

  They caught me staring at them and we held eye contact for a few moments, before they turned, shoulders slumped, to trudge back out into the wastelands.

  I thought about approaching them, but, what with all the trouble earlier for something as innocent as asking a question, I thought it best to not be seen associating with an apparent criminal. Instead, I walked up to a local salesman, who was pitched up outside the city gates and seemed to be renting shuttle-bikes to clueless tourists.

  ‘How much?’ I asked them, knowing better than to try opening with small-talk with an Iyr.

  ‘Three thousand units,’ he replied.

  ‘To buy?’ That was rather cheap, in fact, I’d thought.

  ‘To rent. One rotation.’

  ‘Oh,’ I replied, not bothering to hide the disappointment on my face. ‘Bit rich for me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘In that case,’ the Iyr went on, ‘We shall do a deal. Three thousand units for two rotations.’

  ‘Oh, we’re haggling? I can do that! Three thousand units for seven rotations?’

  ‘No. Not seven.’

  ‘For… five rotations?’ I asked, hesitantly.

  ‘Three.’

  I remained silent for a second, prompting the merchant to continue, ‘And I will throw in a free Guran. My partner made too many for me. I am on a diet.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, thanks, keep the rat. Three thousand units, for three days, and you tell me how to get to Te’r’ok.’

  ‘Deal,’ the Iyr replied. ‘The easiest way: follow the road to WS1, and then head south-east, not far by bike.’

  ‘WS1?’ I asked as I transferred the units to the merchant using my console.

  ‘Outpost. Outpost WS1,’ the Iyr explained, and then, only after checking that the units had been transferred, asked, ‘Why do you wish to head to Te’r’ok? It is an Arellian village. There are only barbarians out there.’