The Master and the Apprentice

by | Jan 21, 2006 | Story

To the farmers the two monks looked like the comedy/ tragedy masks that adorned the theater in town. The older monk was bald, and smiled beatifically, as if every cold breeze was a kiss. The younger monk had a mop of black greasy hair and he frowned, looking again and again at his wet boots.

“Farmer Kerr!” said the older monk joyfully “Farmer Rae, thank you both for coming out here on this day.”

“Anything to catch a thief.” Muttered Farmer Kerr.

“Please! Please!” said the older monk. “No name calling! My apprentice and I have come from very far to resolve the disputes of your world, and it would be very difficult to reach a consensus on this when we start from a place of bitterness. Let us give thanks to the light in each thing, and the blessings of this day.”

“Master, can we just get this thing over with?” said the apprentice. The Master smiled.

“You have to excuse my apprentice, he is going through the stage of Philosophical Disillusionment. He’ll get through it soon enough and move on to Transcendence.”

“I don’t see how. Nothing actually means anything.”

“He is such a joy.”

The apprentice rolled his eyes. “What exactly is the problem you people have here?”

Farmer Kerr pointed at Farmer Rae. “Rae stole my sheep.”

“Please!” The older Monk waved his hands. “Stealing is so harsh a word. Can we say instead that the sheep seem to reside in his stable now, and you would like them to reside in your stable?”

“Master, if he took them, it’s stealing.”

The old monk pushed up the sleeves of his brown robe. “Young and delightful apprentice, please observe the rite of joyful silence, the breaking of which results in the most excellent slapping of my stick on your spine!”

The apprentice made a face and tried to scrape the mud off his boot on the bark of a nearby tree.

The monk turned to the farmers. “Who would like to tell me the tale of how the sheep moved from one field to another.”

“Well,” said Farmer Rae “Last winter was harsh, very harsh, and some people did not have enough grain saved from the summer and their sheep were left bleating and hungry in the field. I could not stand to see the creatures suffer, so I took them into my stables – with no complaint, I may add, from this man – and I fed them, and kept them warm under my heat lamps, and the sheep survived. Now, here, in the early spring, someone wants his sheep, the sheep that without me would have died, back in his stables. These sheep would have died without me, therefore, they live because of me. I should keep them.”

Farmer Kerr’s face had turned red. “He never asked me if he could take them! They are mine, he should give them back.”

“You do realize that you are arguing about sheep.” said the Apprentice. “That’s all you people do! You argue about sheep and land and fish. Don’t you ever want to see what else is out there in the galaxy? Don’t you realize that we live on the precipice of a black hole? Doesn’t it bother you that the universe circles an orifice of nothingness? Of death?”

The old monk shook his head, laughing. “My apprentice, he always makes me laugh. Farmer Kerr, by taking in your sheep for the winter, and feeding them, Farmer Rae did you a service. Farmer Rae, you did take these sheep in unsolicited, which was not wise of you. Farmer Kerr rightfully owes you payment of half his flock, but since you did not ask permission for your deeds, your payment is lessened. Unsolicited acts should be those of goodwill, my friend. You, Farmer Rae, shall divide the flock into three parts, and you, Farmer Kerr shall pick the two thirds you desire for your own, leaving one third with Farmer Rae in payment.”

They both grumbled.

“Consensus, my friends? Are you in peace with the settlement?”

“Friend speaks my mind.” They muttered, not exactly in unison, but somewhere close.

“Can we go now?” asked the apprentice

“Yes, my good and disillusioned apprentice. We shall go. Hold each other in the light, my friends!”

“Those people will be dead in fifty years.” Said the apprentice, as they trudged against the swamp towards their ship.

“Perhaps less.” Said the Master “This does not mean that we do not have this moment. Ah, look! The second sunrise!”

The land in the west glowed green as the second sun bloomed on the horizon.

The Hot Belt

by | Jan 18, 2006 | Story | 0 comments

It was two hundred miles to the temperate equator, across the frozen tundra of the planet Dera. At the start of the trip, in front of the mangled ship, the colonists had cursed the planet, cursed their dead pilot, cursed the persecution of the government that forced them from the center worlds and cursed the faulty engine that crashed them two hundred miles from the land where they could farm, worship their pantheon, and live free.

Ten cold nights had finished the cursing, and settled them into a slow march as their supplies dwindled, and the cold sunk deeper into their bones. Helen, the hearth keeper, and Apollo, the unofficial leader of the expedition, lead the colonists forward, following their doctors navigation towards the warmer climate, that thin warm belt around the belly of the world. So when Helen, usually serene, cursed, it stopped the seventy colonists cold.

“Holy shit! What is that?” screeched Helen, pointing.

A thing, with eyes, many eyes, glassy and yellow, ran across their path and froze, looking back at the colonists curiously.

“That’s a.. .” the doctor paged through his handheld record keeper “Actually, it’s not in the records for this planet.”

Helen grabbed the doctors arm. “How does it even live out here, it doesn’t have fur and it’s freezing!”

“I don’t know.” The doctor put his scanner back in his pocket. “It looks like it’s walking on little mouths.”

Apollo cocked his rifle. “I know what it is.” he said, aiming the rifle with both eyes open. “Lunch.”

Sun Shield

by | Jan 14, 2006 | Story

Commander Xylm of the Red Bastards jumped when he heard Knthens voice in his head.

“Commander, please meet me in the docking bay.” Despite his powers, Knthen usually used the intercom, and there was nervous emotion in his projected voice. The use of Xylms title, Commander, made him uneasy. The Red Bastards never stood on ceremony; rank was never mentioned when they were on their own. Something was up.

Knthen packed his things into the small storage unit of his fighter. He wasn’t wearing his flight suit; instead, he was dressed in the gold and bronze of the Sun Shields, his cape dull under the florescent lights. Xylm hadn’t seen Knthen in his Sun Shield uniform since the day he arrived, four rotations ago, as their old Sun Shield left to meditate on the side of a mountain.

Xylm crossed his arms, annoyed. “You’re leaving? Why wasn’t I notified?”

Knthen handed him a scroll, the mark of the War Council shimmering on the digital plastic. “I can’t stay. All Sun Shields have been ordered home.”

Xylm caught Knthens shoulder. “The Red Bastards have always had a Sun Shield, it’s a tradition. Why are the Sun Shields leaving us without our resident psychic?”

“The Sun Shields never promised a psychic to you.”

Xylm felt Knthens rage on the inside of his skull. “Don’t you dare put your fear on me.” He tossed the scroll on the floor. “I’m not your enemy. What in the filth is happening with the Sun Shields?”

Knthen touched the golden mark of the triple suns on his forehead, the mark that showed him to be a psychic. “Trust me Xlymn.” Knthen reached for his friend, his palms closing in on Xylms cheeks. Knthen touched Xlymns temples and closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. Xelm relaxed, and his head rested onto Knthens palms. Knthen closed his eyes.

When Knthen stepped back, Xylm shook his head, feeling fuzzy. “What was that for?”

Knthen bowed his head. “I needed to see you, I needed to know for sure.”

“By the holy dark, what is going on?”

Knthen looked away, focusing on his ship. “I think I’m going to be killed.”

“What? Who would kill you?”

“The War Council. Sun Shields have been judged dangerous to the human species, the genetic alterations have, they say, made us inhuman, dangerous. They say we have too much power. The debate is going on in the council right now, we don’t know what the outcome might be.”

“How could they do that?” Xlym shook his head. “They couldn’t. No, this will pass over.”

“Most people don’t feel like you do Xlym.”

“Don’t go then.” Xlym shook Knthens shoulders “Stay here. They will have to come through us to get to you, I know the Bastards would stand with me.”

“It wouldn’t matter.” Knthen tapped the side of his head.” “I’m rigged with a self destruct. All Sun Shields are, in case they go rogue. At least, if I go, I might be able to appeal to the council.” Xlym struggled for words. Knthen lowered his voice.

“Xylm, I need to trust you with something.”

“Anything.”

“If I am killed, the Red Bastards will still have a psychic.”

“What?”

“Xylm. I’ve suspected this for a while, the way you seem to know what someone will say before they say it, the way you calm the hotshots down when their egos get too big. I made myself believe that you were just a talented leader. I never let myself make sure, I never wanted to know. Now I have no choice. Xylm, you are a psychic.”

Xylm laughed, this had to be a joke. Knthens face was sad. Xylm felt his heart beat faster. “How is that possible? I’m not a Shield! Shields are grown sterile in a lab. My parents aren’t psychic. It’s not possible.”

“I don’t know how it happened. Maybe if two Rouge psychics conceived a child in the early days, before the sterility program.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Xylm, but you are psychic. The Sun Shields would have had you killed if they knew. You may be the last of us Xylm. There may come a time when humanity will need you, and the Sun Shields will be gone.”

Knthen climbed into his ship, and Xylm backed away, his mind still struggling with Knthens revelation. As Knthen locked the restraints in his cockpit, Xylm called out to him.

“You wait. The War Council will reverse their decision, you’ll be back in a standard round.”

“Keep safe, Xylm. Promise me, no matter what happens, you won’t hold my death against humanity. They will need you one day. Promise me.” The cockpit door descended, closing over Knthens head.

“I swear it.” said Xylm, as Knthens engines roared.

“I knew you would.” Knthens disembodied voice hung in Xylms mind, as the ship roared out into the silent black of space.

Partners

by | Jan 9, 2006 | Story | 0 comments

Emeeki dove off the cliff, spreading her silver wings wide to catch the current of air, flying over the Sacred ground. This would put her quite a distance from her earth locked predator, whose yellow mane she could see moving in the grass on the golden plains.

The Sacred ground was a beautiful preserve and Emeeki wished she could spend more time here. Her partner, Brekki, had always wanted to explore the preserve in depth, but their diplomatic work had kept them off world, and away from familiar comforts.

Today was their consummation; she would be one with Brekki at last. They had almost given in to temptation once, during a diplomatic conference held on the flagship of an alien Coalition. It was late and they were meeting in her room to iron out a few last details of the presentation they would give to the Coalition. They were defining zoning lines in space, and territory was one of Brekkis passions. They had been tired, but filled with enthusiasm, about to bring back a contract that would create peace and understanding between the alien omnivores and themselves. It was a landmark, and perhaps, after this, they might join the powerful Coalition. Emeeki, only in her second molt, a bustle of red feathers, had hopped from her perch and spread her wings in the small room.

“We’ve done it Brekki! Joy! Joy!” she chirped, and without thinking, bounced close to him, putting her delicate wings around his tawny, powerful shoulders. He growled, and moaned in a low tone. Emeeki squeaked, realizing her mistake, and tried to pull away, but it was too late, he had already put a paw on her wing. He bit her shoulder, breaking the skin, the rush of his intoxicants spreading into her blood through his saliva, his tongue lapping at her tiny shoulder, she was falling under, into the black tunnel and then suddenly, he was across the room, running for the sliding door, scratching the carpet as he left.

They spent a few days apart after that, trying to regain a sense of control. Emeeki was terrified that Brekki would leave her. He had been a choice partner, and they had accomplished so much together, for him to leave would be devastating, and yet she felt a hanging guilt for putting him in a terrible position. She did not know how to apologize, but as always, Brekki was there to help her. He came to her with his claws clipped, a sign of shame, and begged forgiveness, after which she pulled out fresh feathers, and presented them to him as a sign of her guilt. They were both awkward for season, but this passed and they moved on with their career.

Emeeki flapped her wings, feeling the air slide through her feathers, savoring the feeling of lift and fall, the glory of the burn in her wings. She should have made the time for this. The tips of her wings tingled. She was told that she wouldn’t feel the effects of the little vial her family gave her, but she had never felt her wings tingle like that before. Emeeki saw the grove of trees, a traditional spot for her family, and descended gently there. Brekki was far behind her, he did not run as fast as he used to.

She could leave right now and he would never catch her. She could take flight from here, or run to a different, more shaded grove. She examined her options, and imagined what her ancestors would have done. She may have a few seasons left in her, and she would very much like to see her daughter’s hatchlings. She pecked at her feathers, and dismissed those thoughts. She had been spending too long off world, and those alien ideas were starting to infect her. Her people were not obsessed to silly notions of infinite life; it was the seasons, to which all things were committed. Emeeki waited.

“You always arrive first.” Brekki pawed at the ground. “I believe the sacred script calls for something specific at this point. I did memorize it for you, if you would like to follow it.”

“I thought about the sacred script.” Chirped Emeeki. “But we’ve never followed any script in our lives, I don’t see why we should start now.” She hoped that the poison she had taken would not be painful for Brekki. Of course, even if he did suffer, she wouldn’t have to see it.

Brekki pawed the soft dirt. “Are you scared?”

“Not anymore.” She hopped down from the tree. “Now that you are here.”

“I was trained to do this while you were running away,”

“Ah, yes. Well, see that you keep up with me, Elder.” she teased; Emeeki was a full season younger than Brekki.

Brekki folded his front paws and touched his nose to the ground. “I want you to be inside me, before I surrender to the planet.” He was always the somber one.

Emeeki cocked her feathered head. “That’s from the sacred texts.”

“So it is.” Brekki stretched his paws and waited for her reply.

“Catch me Brekki. I am ready.” She opened her wings, and hopped between the trees. Brekki growled and followed. It was, like all life, very swift.

Bride

by | Jan 5, 2006 | Story | 0 comments

The van comes for me at the usual time. I imagine myself as the driver must see me, a doll with matching parts, standing in front of buildings that are coated with red sand. I pull my coat around me but the cold wind climbs under and up my bare legs. I am wearing the dress that my mother saved for, the one I do not eat in, the one I keep laid out at the foot of my couch, the one that my grandmother presses formaldehyde in to keep it fresh.

Girls are crowded in, stinking of perfume. I see the usual faces and a few new ones, their nervous twitches betray them. With a years of experience, I have become old at this game. A few of the new girls chatter, hoping for handsome and rich. They lie to themselves; no one who is handsome or rich would come here for a woman. The driver jokes, and makes check marks on his pad. He tells the van where to go and it takes us to the Hotel.

Paint is curling off the plastic in the Hotel, breaking down, like all of Mars. They line us up in rows of chairs. We wait for the men. There is the clatter of breakfast dishes, the smell of baked goods. Our best reproduction of Earth food. The little oily man comes in. He’s not so bad, maybe he sleeps with a couple girls to give them front row seats, but that is their business, not mine. It doesn’t matter, he isn’t really bad, not as bad as what could be.

Most of the girls are smiling now, watching the middle aged men, the best dressed. I do not make eye contact. I will not act like a whore to meet a man. I do look, though, at the oldest men when they are not looking. I am watching the oldest. If he looks toward me, I will look away. Perhaps that will interest him. A few of the girls giggle and the men watch them. One girl touches her leg, another, her cheek. I hold my hands on my lap and practice stillness. On the other side of a small window I see there is sandstorm coming, red sand, whirling.

The men are looking at our profile on their data pads. I am a virgin. Some earth men like that. Some do not. I have seen the Earth women in the Interactives. Earth women are wild. Earth women will deny men. Their denied men come here.

I feel his eyes on me before I see him. He is not so old and has a soft face. He says something in his Earth tongue. I do not smile. He is too young, fat on Earth food. I look at my hands but he is staring. There are other women who are more attractive, who want him to look, but he is watching me.

I am at the edge. He mispronounces my name and the oil man, our translator, flashes a smile.

“Stand up.” He says “Turn around.”

I stand and turn, looking at my shoes. I am naked now, on display.

“Be a pretty cat.” Says the oil man.

The cats on Mars are starving.

I try to make eye contact with an old man, but he is looking at a young girl. I am looking out the window for signs of a red storm. Will my shoes get stained in the storm? The red can stain everything.

I try to sit but the young man grabs my arm. He points to me; his fingers are hard. The oil man motions to the other girls. I snubbed the oil man once, I did not want the front row as much as he wanted me and he has not forgotten. He is telling the young man that he has time to decide, that he should think it over.

The young man shakes his head. He has made up his mind. He will take me to Earth, to him home. He has paid his fee to the oil man, and my parents will get five percent. It is more than they make in a year.

The men break for lunch and the oil man leaves me in his office. They want me to sign papers. There are pictures of weddings here, each of them with the same background, the same fake cake and champagne, only the date changes on these photos. There are hundreds of pictures.

It is my eighth trip to the hotel and no one has chosen me.

The papers absorb my signature as I sign them and they carry the confirmation to the oil mans data pad.

Red sand beats the window in his office. The storm has arrived.