A quote: “Still round the corner there may wait, A new road or a secret gate.” ~~ J. R. R. Tolkien
I’ll start with a story …
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When you get dropped into some place foreign … or maybe that’s not quite the right word. It’s not your home, something part of you so even each leaf can be taken for granted. It’s not like this world is much different than the one we left.
Until it is and that feeling of being off kilter, of finding something so sideways, you’re jarred yet again by the foreignness. You wonder, will we ever belong?
But that’s first wave. You’re the experiment. The beta-testing because, despite the data, when you step off Ship, YOU are first wave.
And odds are against you.
You hang on to traditions like a lifeline, make families and for your children and their children, there’s no foreignness here.
You may wonder who had this place before you. You see the signs. But Vessels are silent, Ship won’t share. You shrug and make this world your own.
So when your grandchild is as bright-eyed and eager for the Lights as your child was, you say a prayer of gratitude for that innocent delight and you walk holding hands to see, at winter’s solstice, the monoliths glow and twinkle, and tamp down the off-kilter in your soul.
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Now, it’s your turn.
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Trogluddite says: Maxim sat on a stowpod that once held part of their shelter and reached for his pouch of dehydrated vodka – just add water! (or the green H4O2 that ran sluggishly through the bogs here). He had hidden it before liftoff; with luck, Ling Ling wouldn’t find his supply as they unpacked their survival rations and disassembled their allotted sections of the ship (1/4 share of the galley, which was useful, and 3 shares of the outer hull, which were not) and built their home here.
He poured water – they all called the H4O2 “water” now – into a thermacup, trickled in some D-vod — paused, then tapped in some more – and set the cup to low boil. Too low and he’d have D-vod jello; to hot and the H4O2 would evaporate in the thin atmosphere and carry off scarce dehydrates.
Meilin and Shu ran circles between the widely separated shelters as only five-year-olds can, oblivious to the wonder of their new home. Maxim closed his eyes. Was he wrong to have brought them on this one-way trip? Should they have stayed, clutching desperately to existence on war-battered earth? He sighed.
Cameron says: “It’s an outrage!” the pixie yelled. “We have lived here for ages. We were here when you humans had only just figured out fire. Now look at this!”
I looked at the ring and saw what he was indicating. Strings of lights hung cheerfully off of the stones and several people were drinking nearby.
“I want them out,” the pixie continued. “Or my people will-” he stopped as he saw the look on my face.
“Do nothing. You will not bring them any harm or I will roast you alive in front of your friends. Look; I get what you’re saying but you forgot something very important. You don’t own this land and the stones are part of that land.” I pointed at the people who had started a campfire nearby. Among them were some of the local fae.
As the pixie started to sputter in outrage, I held up a hand. “You are no longer the stewards here. That time is long gone. My family owns this land and you and your people are invited guests as long as you keep things peaceful. Look; let’s go over there and have a beer. I will make sure the mess is cleaned up.”
At dusk the fairy lights began to glimmer on the towers. Danny’s skin prickled with gooseflesh, and Nyawral’s fur was visibly fluffing up, although his ears remained erect.
“You sense it too?” Nyawral’s voice had a growl to it, perfectly matching the lash of his tail, like a long, fluffy pendulum.
Memories were coming back, of all the sf Danny had read while growing up. His parents’ generation would’ve been limited to what they could find in the tiny libraries of his south Alabama hometown, but the Internet had brought him an endless array of free e-books. He’d read the first book of a hundred or more space opera series, and even the occasional complete series that an indie author had put on free during the release of a new one. Enough to recognize a trope…
“This world isn’t uninhabited.”
Nyawral’s ears twitched, amplifying his affirmative. “So now we need to decide whether to sit tight and wait for rescue based on our fighters’ distress signals, or try to make First Contact and hope these entities can help us connect with the Fleet telepaths up there.”
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