A Lonely World Where the People Are Blue Page 9

  Te’rnu remained quiet, brow furrowed. I could sense that he was considering this thoroughly. I continued to proclaim my regret.

  ‘But our plan was doomed before it even began, wasn’t it? People can’t change things, not really, not on their own. Life just works that way - it crushes you, puts you into a hopeless job, into a broken family, into an uninspiring existence. I should have remembered that.’

  I shook my head, trying to rid myself of these depressing thoughts.

  ‘Anyway,’ I continued. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Te’rnu looked up at me. ‘It is not your fault. At some point, I would have done it anyway. The truth… must always be known.’

  I flashed Te’rnu a hopeful smile. ‘I couldn’t have said it better myself.’

  My Arellian friend laid his eyes upon the abandoned shuttle-bike.

  ‘Where are we going to go?’

  We?

  I paused for a moment. ‘You’re coming with me?’

  Te’rnu shrugged. ‘You said it yourself, back there, in the trial: you are the only person that I know, now. You are my only friend.’

  He hesitated on this last point.

  ‘You are my friend, right?’ he followed up.

  ‘Of course, Te’rnu. Of course I am,’ I reassured him. ‘But… are you sure you want to come with me? I won’t be on Z’h’ar forever, and much less in the Wastelands…’

  ‘There is nobody else I know,’ Te’rnu repeated, his voice hollow.

  I took a moment to process this. I couldn’t abandon Te’rnu here, after he had saved me, after he had agreed to help me in that doomed mission. My case could wait; I had a friend in need.

  ‘OK. Well, how about we visit another Arellian village? Maybe we can rest there, figure out our next move?’

  And maybe you’ll begin to realise that there are plenty of other places out there that you can call a home.

  ‘OK,’ Te’rnu replied.

  I started up the shuttle-bike. ‘So, erm…,’ I began, ‘Where is the next village?’

  Te’rnu pointed to the west. ‘Nu’r’ka. It is that way.’

  ‘Alright, hop on,’ I told him, doing just that myself.

  He stood still, didn’t move.

  ‘You alright?’ I prompted him. ‘What’s the hold-up?’

  ‘What do I do?’ Te’rnu asked, looking terrified by the prospect of sitting on a shuttle-bike.

  ‘Just sit behind me, leg either side, like I am. And hold on to me - tight. So you don’t fall off.’

  Te’rnu, cautiously, did as instructed, sitting on the bike behind me and putting his arms around my torso in order to hold on.

  ‘OK, great! I’m just gonna…’

  I pulled Te’rnu’s hands away from my breasts, where they seemed to have ended up, and moved them down to my belly.

  ‘Perfect,’ I assured him. ‘Now keep holding tight, yeah?’

  I started up the shuttle-bike’s engine, and as it purred into life, I felt Te’rnu’s grip tighten.

  ‘It’s OK, Te’rnu. It’s perfectly safe.’

  There was no reply.

  I pulled on the accelerator and we sped west, undulating over the dunes in the early morning sun.

  Before long, Te’rnu’s arm stretched out to my right.

  ‘There,’ he said. ‘It is Nu’r’ka.’

  And indeed it was. The Arellian village sprawled out before us. It was bigger than Te’r’ok; there were more houses, more people. Most notably of all, the locals from Nu’r’ka seemed to be in possession of their own technology. Some carried transporter sonars, with which they were carrying their plentiful supply of food. Others spoke on radios to faraway villagers.

  ‘It has changed,’ Te’rnu commented.

  ‘It didn’t used to be like this? The size? And the radios?’ I guessed.

  ‘No,’ he replied, a cautious tone to his voice, ‘It did not.’

  I pulled up outside the village, just past the last of the town’s buildings, and something caught my eye.

  A tall statue, made from the local orange rock, stood tall in the central square, next to Nu’r’ka’s own Iyr beacon. Maybe this wouldn’t have been striking in and of itself, but to me, it most certainly was.

  The monument, as confirmed by the nameplate at the bottom, was of Leya Raynor.

  My sister had been here. Here, on Z’h’ar. In Nu’r’ka.

  Maybe it was about time I looked at her diary again; and at what little I had been able to decrypt.

  “Dear Diary”

  The Diary of Leya Raynor

  Gu, 12e-05-2332

  Dear Diary…

  Is that a cliché, starting this like that? It feels like a cliché. Like I’m thirteen years old and I’m about to write about my crush who was mean to me in school today or something. No. I’m not doing that.

  I’ll start again.

  Dear Reader….

  Too formal?

  Ah, fudge it. Who cares? I’ll feel this out as I go.

  I said my goodbye to Mum today. It was a “goodbye” rather than an “au revoir” because I don’t know how long this journey is gonna take me. Could be weeks, could be years. Hopefully, I’ll stop by on Terra every now and then if it ends up being years. It’s not like I expect anything to happen to me or anything.

  Mum didn’t take it very well. The reason I’m going, that is. I mean, I didn’t really expect that she would; last time she had any clue what Dad was doing, she got hooked on the ‘Liks. I’ve sent Syl a message to stop by at home soon, to make sure Mum has support if need be. Can’t have her relapsing.

  My first destination was the planet Gu. It was the only place I could really remember Dad going on any regular occasion, so it made sense that I would start my search for him there. I had an address, which I took from an old diary of his. It was scrawled in the margins of it, like he was in a rush. That scribble had always felt important to me.

  I went there as soon as I landed, not even bothering to try to find a place to stay. I only had a backpack with me, I should mention; I didn’t pack much. Just a few changes of clothes, the basic sanitary items to keep me going, and a hair-sonar (I might not always be dressed perfectly on this trip, but I’ll be darned before I have bad hair). Anything else that I do need, I can pick up as I go.

  Sorry. I’m realising now how rambly this is all coming across. I’ll make more of an effort from now on to write better. I never did well in Terran language class, after all.

  See, there, I’m doing it again - going off on a tangent! I’ll stop. Really, I’ll stop this time. I’ll make it read more clearly. Like you’re reading an actual professional piece or something.

  Right. Where was I?

  I went straight to the address that was scribbled in the margins of the diary, letters clipped at the side of the page where the stylus crept off the pad. It was a small house, barely average in size by Gulien standards, that stood in the poorer outskirts of one of the cities.

  I buzzed at the front gate and was immediately welcomed by a full-body scan. Head to toe, x-ray, sonar, the works. You name it, they had it. Clearly this was where all their money had gone. After taking a small sample of my blood, a message popped up on the screen:

  Relative of Ira Raynor.

  There it was: proof that I was on the right tracks! Without asking me any questions, the house’s inhabitants granted me entry, and I walked in through the open gate.

  I didn’t know what I had really been expecting to be inside, but it wasn’t this. The house was bustling with people, all with dour expressions on their faces, all dressed entirely in black. Of course, I just had to have been wearing a bright red coat at the time, so I could stand out like a sore thumb.

  A young man came up to me, introduced himself as the son of the man who I had been looking for, and explained to me that his father has passed away just this morning.

  Typical! I faff about for years before I start my search, and the man I begin with passes away on the very morning that I leave home. I kep
t this to myself, of course.

  This wasn’t my immediate reaction, I should add. I’m not a sociopath! I offered my sincerest condolences and then asked if there was anything I could do. There was indeed something I could do, it turned out: I could help with the U’kka run. Once the hot drinks were divvied out amongst the grieving family, the son sat me down and asked about the reason for my visit.

  He seemed like a kind man, taking the time out of his day to ask about me, acting sincerely interested in what I had to say about my father, and how he might have known the deceased. The son confirmed this - he remembered my father visiting when he was a child. He told me that my father was always courteous towards him, occasionally brought him gifts, and always wore a smile. I had to check we were definitely talking about the same person.

  The son showed me pictures. Of Dad. He really had been there, and it seemed as though he was, dare I say it, chummy, even, with the Gulien. In some of the pictures he even had an arm around the deceased’s shoulders.

  I pressed the son as much as I could about the nature of my father’s visit, but he struggled to give me any information. He was too young, he said, to remember properly, but his sister might know. She was older back then, more likely to have had some clue about what was going on.

  Of course, she wasn’t around yet. She worked on Rykan (lucky her!) but was on her way over for the funeral already.

  The son invited me to stay with him, until she arrived, as long as I didn’t mind sleeping on a sofa. I suspected he liked the look of me, but maybe I was imagining things - he was grieving his father at the time, after all.

  I made myself as useful as I could around the house, which mostly involved making U’kka, and waited for the sister to arrive with the information I was searching for.

  11

  All This Life Amongst The Stars

  I rushed towards the statue in the centre of town, leaving Te’rnu behind at the shuttle-bike.

  The heads of the local Arellians turned to look at me as I sprinted, but there was something different about their reactions here. In Te’r’ok, my Terran form had been enough to elicit gasps, stares of awe, even mouths left hanging agape. In Nu’r’ka, however, there was no wonder on the faces of the Arellians. They’d seen my type before - not just an off-worlder, apparently, but specifically a Terran. In place of awe, there was only confusion.

  Why is this strange Terran rushing up to our statue with such a look on her face?

  As I got closer to the monument of my sister, the smaller text on the plaque became more legible. Underneath Leya’s name, it said:

  “Saviour of Nu’r’ka”

  Not a bad title.

  I grabbed at the arm of a passing local, who flinched away and turned to look at me with wide eyes.

  ‘Why…,’ I started - and then realised I might have offended the Arellian. ‘Sorry for grabbing you, I just wanted to… can I ask you something?’

  Te’rnu appeared at my side, having rushed after me. The locals, who had been sporting such stiff and uncomfortable body language since I arrived, seemed to be relieved to see that I was travelling with a fellow Arellian. Their shoulders unclenched, their movements became more fluid.

  ‘What is it that you would like to know?’ the Arellian I had semi-assaulted asked me.

  ‘Why… why do you have this statue?’ I replied, still trying to get to grips with the concept of my sister being here - and on top of that, being their “saviour”.

  ‘Leya is our saviour,’ the Arellian replied, as though that was enough of an answer.

  Yeah, I can see that from the plaque.

  ‘But… how? Why? What did she do?’

  The local Arellian looked at me with a furrowed brow, as though I was asking a stupid question.

  ‘She saved our town.’

  Oh my god…

  ‘Yes, but how did she save your town?’

  ‘By renegotiating our deal. With the Iyr.’

  Suddenly the improved technology and the abundance of food in Nu’r’ka was beginning to make sense.

  ‘She helped you? Why? I can’t say I’ve ever known my sister to put much effort in-’

  The local Arellian’s grew wide.

  ‘You are the sister of Leya Raynor?!’ the local exclaimed, with sheer joy on their face.

  Other locals immediately stopped what they were doing and turned to face me, only now adopting the same look of awe that I had received in Te’r’ok.

  The village began murmuring excitedly, and there was a very perceivable sense of delight in the air. I could even hear an Arellian using their radio to spread the news to others. It was almost like a queen had come to visit.

  I felt like a con artist. I was no queen, I was an underpaid private investigator, who hadn’t ever really helped anyone in any meaningful way. In fact, I was only even here because a number of unfortunate circumstances had conspired to put me here.

  The Arellian I had first spoken to approached me with their arms spread wide.

  ‘Oh, err,’ I started, ‘What’s happening here?’

  And then their arms closed gently around me.

  ‘It is called a “hug”. Your sister, the Saviour, taught it to us.’

  Were we talking about the same Leya Raynor?

  I hugged the Arellian back. It was only polite.

  Once the Arellian let go of me, another approached to do the same. Over and over it went, hug after hug. I received more displays of affection within these five minutes than I had in my entire life to date - although, admittedly, that problem was largely due to my bad choices in romantic partners.

  Towards the end of these five minutes, I found myself being hugged by Te’rnu.

  ‘What you doing there, buddy?’ I asked him.

  ‘Oh, I, err…,’ he began to reply. ‘I thought we were all doing it.’

  I laughed and hugged him back.

  One of the older locals, after completing the supposedly traditional display of affection, turned to the rest of the now large crowd, and announced, ‘Tonight, we feast!’

  I insisted that Te’rnu and I help prepare this feast, and the locals lauded my family’s generosity. I must come from a kind bloodline, they told me. I denied this and told them I actually came from a bloodline of unsuccessful artists. This response was a mistake - as it meant that I spent more time describing the galactic art industry and the economics surrounding it than I did actually helping with the cooking.

  Te’rnu, on the other hand, was elsewhere, collecting raw materials for the fire with the stronger locals, as well as helping decant a “special surprise liquid” which the village was eager to share with us. There were not eager, however, to tell us exactly what it was - we would just have to taste it, we were told.

  I was conscious that the past day or so had been a real detour from the reason I had originally come to the Arellian Wastelands - to find Melonaitopila. But the discovery that my sister had been here was too much of an opportunity to pass up. If it was a toss-up between finding the target (and keeping my job) and finding my sister, well, my family just had to come first. I swore to myself that once the feast was over - and I had sufficiently questioned the entire village about my sister’s time here - I would return to the task at hand.

  The feast itself began in much the same way as dinner in Te’r’ok had. All the villagers sat in a circle, with a designated few serving the food - this seemed to be the way it was done in the Arellian wastelands. In Nu’r’ka, however, the town was populous enough that there were several circles, with the inside circles on lower ground - so that all participants still had an equal view.

  The Arellian who announced the feast, who I had correctly determined was one of Nu’r’ka’s Elders, instructed me and Te’rnu to sit in the central circle, right next to the now blazing fire. This seemed like it was the prime placement, reserved for anyone held in high esteem - but, not being used to this warmer climate, I could really have used being further away from the fire. I kept this preference to myself,
and hoped nobody would notice - or failing that, hoped nobody would care - about the sweat building up on my back.

  The food, here, in Nu’r’ka, was absolutely incredible. It was similar in consistency to the food in Te’r’ok, but the flavour here was so extraordinary you could even taste it on the air floating up from the bowl. I tucked in, hungrily, and was pleased to see my bowl get refilled several times.

  I could get used to this whole ‘being treated like a queen’ thing, actually.

  When I had eaten all the food that I could possibly stomach, I returned to the matter at hand: it was time to ask about my sister. I turned to the Elder next to me, leaving Te’rnu alone, licking his lips as he ate his meal.

  ‘I was hoping to ask: what exactly did Leya negotiate for you that she is revered so much?’ I asked.

  ‘Have you seen other Arellian settlements?’ the Elder asked. ‘I say this not out of malice - we were once like them - but they have little food or resources, or even time for themselves. Their existence is a basic one.’

  ‘And now…’

  ‘And now we have more food than we know what to do with.’

  ‘Hence the feast,’ I added.

  ‘And,’ the Elder continued, ‘We have some of the Iyr’s spare technology, which Leya taught us to fix, to maintain. Some of us are so well-versed in these devices that they are even improving them. As far as I am aware, we are the first Arellian village to have an Elder of Technology.’

  They pointed across the circle to an Arellian who seemed to be wearing some sort of device on their head.

  ‘That is them, over there.’

  Yeah. With the thing on their head. Got it.

  ‘All of this… we would not have if not for your sister. She came here, she saw how we were living. Then she spent time here, understanding our lifestyle. Once she realised that it was the Tradition which was stifling our lives, she went to the Iyr, demanded a negotiation.’

  ‘And how did she convince them?’ I asked.