Author: Majoki

Cantor waited until Hazzez finished checking the airlock before asking about the Frumies.

Hazzez flashed a crooked grin revealing the eclectic range of micro-implants in his teeth. “Why do you want to know about the Frumies?”

Cantor shrugged. “Sarge said not to give them anything under any circumstances. Zilch. Nada. Why? Seems kind of overkill. On Haliburton 4, we were encouraged to give the locals our extra supplies. It was considered good practice. Keep the locals friendly.”

“Yeah, on Haliburton worlds that works. They’re in the mainstream of the Arm. Easy access worlds. But, we’re on the Fringe. Vanuata is a completely different situation,” Hazzez explained with unaccustomed patience. “The locals can be unpredictable. Like the Frumies.”

“Are they hostile?”

“No. But they’ve got an interesting belief system.”

“Religious fanatics?”

“No more than you are for wearing that Saint Christopher medal.” Hazzez poked at Cantor’s chest.

Even the slight pressure made Cantor feel the silver medallion against his skin. Hazzez and the other soldiers had ribbed him because he never took it off. “You know that’s for my mom. She thinks it’ll keep me safe on deployment.”

“Exactly,” Hazzez clicked his teeth over the com-link. He tapped at the transparent metal of the porthole to what lay beyond. “You see Vanuatu out there? Imagine you’re a local. You have no clue about a larger universe. Galaxies. Other worlds. Strange creatures arrive in amazing ships. Your world is turned upside down, but maybe in a good way. You like all the things these strange creatures bring. They have powerful tools that make your work easier. You don’t speak the strange creatures’ language—but one word sticks. The word the aliens use a lot when unloading their amazing vessels.”

Behind his faceplate, Hazzez’s green eyes brightened for a moment and then came a thick and delicious whisper. “Cargo.”

“Yeah. I get that,” Cantor said, stepping back from the airlock door unimpressed. “Natives. They like things. That’s what cargo is. Things. So, why can’t we share some with the Frumies?”

His eyes still ablaze, Hazzez cracked his crooked grin once more and opened the airlock door. “Better to show than tell.”

They tractored past numerous cave dwellings of the squat simian-like Frumies, who watched but did not approach their vehicle. It was almost an hour up the redrock canyon before they reached the structure.

Cantor was gobsmacked. Hazzez let him stare for a few minutes before he commented. “You gotta hand it to the Frumies, they know how to work with stone.”

“Why? It must’ve taken decades. Is it a religious site?” Cantor asked, growing more conscious of the Saint Christopher medal around his neck. It seemed heavier.

“They did it for cargo,” Hazzez answered.

“But it’s made of stone,” Cantor flailed. Before him stood a two hundred foot high stone replica of a much outdated landing craft. The details were stunning, down to the scarring on the lower thrusters to the delicate sensor arrays near the pinnacle of the craft. All deftly carved and recreated in stone.

Then there were the support structures. The complex infrastructure deployed from a lander on any planetary resource mission. Solar vaults, com towers, crew quarters, vehicles and command center had all been painstakingly chiseled in Vanuatu red stone. And all reverently maintained, swept and wiped down by the Frumies.

Cantor tried to grasp it. “Do they think we’re gods or something?”

“Not gods, just givers,” Hazzez answered. “Used to be routine missions to Vanuatu, but then there was an almost twenty years interruption between visits. The Frumies liked our cargo. They wanted us back. This is the way the Frumies thought they could bring us back—or at least our cargo.”

“By building stone replicas?” Cantor sounded lost.

Hazzez clicked into lecture mode. “Here’s the upshot, the Frumies confused cause and effect. Many decades ago, our spaceship and infrastructure brought the cargo, so when we didn’t come back for awhile, the Frumies thought if they replicated the ship and infrastructure, the cargo would come again.

“What a waste,” Cantor said. “Impressive, but a colossal waste.”

Hazzez chuckled. “I dunno, Cantor. We came back. We brought more cargo.”

“But not because of this,” Cantor gestured toward the monolithic structure towering above them.

“Well, then what brought us back?” Hazzez challenged him.

“I dunno,” Cantor mused. “Trade. Greed. Exploitation. Take your pick.”

Hazzez’s grin flashed behind his faceplate. “Well, then we’re not that much different than the Frumies, are we, Private Cantor?”

Cantor gazed back up at the massive stone rocket ship and felt the familiar tug of the medallion around his neck.