I slowly open the hatch to the shuttle craft and look around the dim, damp forest.

It's not a rain forest- I've seen them before on other worlds. This place is different, though I can't say how or just what it is that's different. Maybe it's the leaves on the trees. I've never heard of silver leaves before. Or maybe it's the smell.

The woods don't smell like any forest or jungle I've ever smelled before. This almost smells like fresh cloves.

Something moves to my left.

No sooner do I look than the sound is gone.

Something moves ahead of me.

Wisely, I don't turn my head, but watch out of the corner of my eye. Whatever it is, it's unlike anything I've ever seen before, and as many worlds as I've visited, I've seen some strange things. This, though, is very new.

It approaches me slowly, awkwardly on feet that for some reason have six toes. I'm not blind to the fact that all six of those long, shimmering silver toes end in long, liquid black, bird-of-prey talons.

Four of the toes face forward, but the first and last toes are offset, opposable digits that I suspect function like thumbs. I suspect their feet are prehensile because of the way one of them reaches down from the branch above me with a foot and gingerly takes my gun with its foot as easily as if it were using a hand.

The one on the ground moves toward me with a spear of some kind, and I slowly turn to face it.

It's barely five feet tall, a shimmering, almost blinding shade of polished chrome now that the sun has finally burned through the pewter clouds above the silver leaves of the trees above me.

The periwinkle eyes with their diagonal slits for pupils are too large for the face, oval, and almost remind me of manga characters. The face is angular, elfin, and marked by a black diamond outline on the forehead with an intricate pattern of interlinking diamonds, circles, and triangles running from the forehead around the sides of the head and down the arms to the elbows. A similar pattern pours over the sides of the hips just below the waistband of its knee-length loincloth and down the sides of the legs to the knee.

Pointed ears like those I'm accustomed to seeing on Vulcans are pierced and adorned with delicate, beaded hoops. A single braid of pale frosted-purple hair ending with five black beads hangs in front of each ear. The rest of the braids are bound together at the back of the head.

It makes a hissing noise at me, revealing orange gums and teeth the color of polished hematite. The fangs are what
worry me most. Those look like they mean business.

Whoareyouandwhatareyoudoinghere?

The speech is so fast I can't understand a word of it. I don't understand.

The oval eyes narrow and I can hear another one of them drop down from the thick branches behind me. Whoareyouandwhatareyoudoinghere,Outlander?

I shake my head to show I don't understand. People say *I* talk fast.

One of them, a smoky silver individual with mint-green hair and watermelon-pink eyes approaches me slowly.

The one who took my gun, I realize. I know from training as well as experience that first impressions are the lasting ones, so I smile and do my best to appear friendly. My name's Quasar Omni Synolakis. I'm from-

The purple-haired one lowers his spear and looks at the sky.

The others do likewise.

I look up in time to see a large, pterodactyl-type bird come gliding down toward me out of the pewter sky. It's big, fast, and mean-looking.

I immediately drop to the soft, spongy forest floor while the people scatter into the trees.

The one with the silver skin though, remains.

I look up at what sounds like a war cry and see him throw his spear with impossible strength for someone so small and slim.

The bird bucks upward as the spear hits it, spirals, and crashes into the undergrowth.

Deso, the silver one snorts softly.

The others come out of hiding as I pick myself up, and all of them make a chittering sound that for some reason sounds to me like laughter.

Man, do I stink.

I look down and give thanks that I wasn't a few steps closer to my craft. If I was, when I dodged the large bird,

I'd have gotten something's leavings on my face instead of my clothes.

The purple-haired, silver-skinned male shakes his head slowly. Clopieturd.

Clopie turd? I have no idea what a clopie- cloe pee, is what it sounds like- is, and something tells me I don't want to know. A pile that large can't have been made by something smaller than a wagon. Where can I wash?

They look at me like I'm speaking a foreign language, so I mime washing.

They look at each other and laugh even more.

After a while, one of them motions for me to follow him, and I do so. I can't begin to describe the way I smell, but the smell falls by the wayside when I see the waterfall ahead.

The falls are breathtaking.

A sheer wall of crystalline green water roars over the obsidian rocks and forms a pool nearby where I'm instructed to remove my clothes and wash.

Before I can protest, my guide takes my shirt and trousers from the rock with the tip of his spear and carries them into the woods.

Great. Now I have to face these people in my underwear.

What a wonderful first impression, I sigh.

Sal'k'y stared through the viewport at the bright blue ball hanging in space. They were in orbit around the planet. It was amazing. It actually had water just sitting on its surface!

"Now dear, you won't learn much about the planet just staring at it," Sal'k'y's kith said laying a gentle tentacle on Sal'k'y's brain case.

"But it's so pretty!"

"Pretty is nice, but information is vital," the kith said firmly, "What can you tell me about the planet?"

"The inhabitants are mildly sentient. They only have four limbs, and use two for locomotion. The humans, as they call themselves are constantly arguing with each other over imaginary lines on the ground. They also think that they are the only intelligent beings on the planet."

"Hmmm, not bad, so why are we here?"

"Well, the water is neat, but we can get ice easier out of the gravity well. They have no unusual technology." Sal'k'y slapped her braincase with a fore-tentacle. "Someone asked us to come?"

"Well done," the kith said, "Who do you think asked?"

"The dolphins have been talking to us for ages, so it probably isn't them. The parrots and the primates are sentient but haven't made contact yet," she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the viewport. "The cephalopods! they are so cute! Will I be able to meet them?"

"An un-civilized planet is no place for a youngling. You will have to watch through the link this time."

Sal'k'y slapped the floor.

"None of that," the kith said. "Do I need to bond you?"

"No, m'kith," Sal'k'y said, "Sorry."

With a final caress of the youngling's braincase, the kith moved off down the corridor while Sal'k'y went back to staring at the blue planet. Finally she sighed and scuttled off to her quarters. If she was going to watch through the link she wasn't going to miss anything.

A few orbits later the shuttle was being made ready to travel down to the west shore of one of the imaginary places. United States of America, the humans called it. Sal'k'y didn't really understand what a state or an america was, and uniting was something best left to the elders.

"Please help me," the voice spoke right into Sal'k'y's braincase.

"Who are you?" she asked.

"I need your help. The two hands have put me in a not-real place. I think I am dying."

Sal'k'y called the kith.

"Not now Sal'k'y."

"But..."

"Later."

Sal'k'y slapped the floor in frustration. She would just have to go herself. She left her quarters and went down to where the shuttle was almost ready to launch. Beings were carrying bits and pieces onto the craft. She just picked up something and followed the line into the shuttle. The launch took her by surprise and the shock made her black out.

Sal'k'y woke as an odd motion made her feel queasy. She slipped out of her hiding place to explore. The shuttle was empty. The elders had probably left already to make contact. Sal'k'y opened the hatch and shuddered in exhilaration as she felt the alien air on her skin.

"Are you still there?" she thought at the voice.

"Hurry."

"Keep talking to me," Sal'k'y ordered as she concentrated to get a direction for the thoughts.

"Will try."

She left the shuttle, and if she thought the air was exhilarating, than the experience of moving through the liquid water was indescribable. Every once in a while she would stop and do flips or splash just to watch the chaotic movement of what the humans called the ocean. The water wasn't pure. Sal'k'y could taste a great many impurities, but the chemical complexity was intoxicating.

In spite of her delight in her new environment, Sal'k'y made considerable speed toward the inner voice. Several creatures wandered nearby, but the only time she was concerned was when a pod of dolphins surrounded her. Yet, they didn't hold her for her people to retrieve, but just laughed and chattered for a while before leaving her close to the intersection of ocean and land.

The mechanics of waves in liquid were fascinating but exhausting. When she finally pulled herself ashore Sal'k'y had to collapse and rest.

"Aren't you the strangest octopus I've ever seen?" The human picked Sal'k'y up and peered at her. "You aren't a Pacific Giant, but you're too big to be anything else I could think of.

"I'm am not a cephalopod," Sal'k'y said. To her surprise the human the human heard.

"Not an octopus then..." It scratched the furry patch on its head. "Ah, ET!" It made an odd sound with its hands. "You're lucky I'm a classic movie buff."

"I need to go here." She tried to give a direction, but the human just continued to stare at her and mumble perplexities. Sal'k'y finally just pointed. The human, a male she thought, shrugged and put her in a bag and moved in the direction she had pointed.

He climbed aboard a mechanical conveyance and stared out the window. The air in the machine was not nearly as nice as the ocean air. It had a very different set of impurities that made Sal'k'y's eyes ache. Finally the human left the machine and entered a building.

For a moment Sal'k'y thought she was back in the ocean, but she while she was surrounded by water, none of it touched her. Creatures swam by on the other side of a glass barrier.

"Here, this is what I think you want." The human held her up so she could touch the cold surface of the barrier. A large creature who looked superficially like Sal'k'y flowed out of an impossibly tiny crack in the rock and clung to the other side of the glass.

"Save me," it said.

Sal'k'y put her tentacles on the glass and thought, I'm here, so now what do I do?

Roy looked upon the SS Americana with contempt. The $264 round trip ticket seemed overpriced in hindsight. After all, he had no plans of ever riding the ship back from London. Roy knew that this ship was just a means to an end. He was going to make this ships final voyage his own, while reinforcing its reputation as a suicide ship.

After spending the first few days secluded in his cabin Roy mustered up the effort to walk about the upper decks. He could not help but wonder why the other jumpers had taken off their shoes. He planned on taking his loafers with him, there was no way Roy was going to let anyone else have them.

With the scent of the salty sea air following him, he made the trek back below deck to his cabin. Every female passenger that Roy passed caused his heart to ache. Tonight. Tonight he would leave this world and Evelyn behind.

Clutching the rail later that night, Evelyn was all Roy could think of. Evelyn and her beautiful raven hair. Evelyn and her laugh that was both contagious and flirtatious. Evelyn and her new boyfriend.

Without Evelyn in his world, there was no reason for Roy to continue living in this one. Casting glances to both his left and right Roy made sure that no one was there to stop him from jumping overboard. Before Roy could raise his foot to the rail though, he was suddenly basked in a bluish light. Fearing he had been spotted, Roy tried to turn his head, only to realize that he couldn't move at all. The light that had coalesced around him started tugging at Roy's body. Frightened and on the verge of passing out, the last thing Roy saw as he was being abducted by the light, was that he had been sucked right out of his loafers...

------------------------

Roy was awoken by the shhck of the ships' intercom being turned on.

"Welcome aboard the exploratory ship Bertie Pi. You have been chosen for the initial exploration and colonization of the near Earth M class planet dubbed 'Ruellia' in the NGC 64593 sector of space. Your party will consist of you and two others like you, whom you will meet shortly."

Roy could do nothing but stare open mouthed at the speaker inset into the bulwark. None of this was making any sense at all.

"Do not be alarmed," the monotone voice stated. "You were simply chosen because you fit the criteria. You wanted to end your life because you saw no future for yourself, so it was deemed appropriate to intervene. Since your body would never have been found or recovered, you were removed from your time and place to be brought here in the present. Please relax and await the arrival of one of your party. More data will then be provided."

Roy slunk against the wall as he absorbed all the information. Not only did he just travel through time, but he was traveling through space at this very moment. It was just so remarkable, so darn near unbelievable. Roy was recalled from his reverie when the only door slid back to reveal a dark complexioned girl who looked no older than thirteen. She was clad in a near skin tight metallic coverall, with shoes that looked to be of the same material.

"Hi I'm Kalama. You must be Roy. It's a pleasure to meet you," she said all in one breath while proffering her hand. "I'm sure the ship told you the basics, and that will have to do for now. I will let you change into your own coveralls, and then we can go and meet the third member of our ragtag bunch and be on our merry way."

Kalama placed the coverall on the floor and retreated from the room. Roy shed the clothing of his past life, and donned his new duds with care. Two steps to the door, and it opened automatically for him, with Kalama waiting patiently on the other side. She had obtained another coverall, this one looking like a larger version of her own.

"This way now please," she said as she walked down the passage way.

The door they stopped at opened to reveal a beautiful red headed gal with piercing green eyes. She was pacing the room like a caged tiger, and lunged toward them as they entered. Roy couldn't help but flinch when her steely gaze fell upon him, while Kalama did what she seemed to do best.

"Hi I'm Kalama, and this is Roy. You must be Tori. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. If you put on these coveralls I can explain why we are here. We'll just wait..."

Kalama trailed off as Tori turned and disrobed in front of them. Abashedly Roy looked away, after all he thought himself a gentleman, although he did sneak a glance or two.

"Right," Kalama said unwaveringly. "We're all here because we are 'expendable'. I had shamed my parents and was about to jump into the volcano, a notion that now seems antiquated and rash, thanks to my new education. And Roy here literally was about to jump ship. What misfortune were you about to partake in before you arrived?"

"I was detonating a bomb," Tori said while slipping on her remaining shoe. "I'm a member of the New IRA. I do hope that it went off..."

"Please remain still for transport," The speaker box squawked.

This time a green light coalesced around the trio. As it did the ships' walls seemed to shimmer and fade away, to be replaced by a lush green valley. Roy looked down to see that they were on the porch of a prefab building. Tori stood arms akimbo staring at the landscape, while Kalama plucked a nearby flower and placed it in her hair. Roy slipped off his shoes, and wriggled his toes in the grass. He could come to like this new world.

The co-ordinates were set, two hundred years from now, the reasonably distant future. Eric felt strained. He had nothing to do now, just wait and anticipate what was to come. He had never had to anticipate something for two hundred years before and it was already wearing him out. He gulped and looked across the room to the herd of scientists within the viewing gallery. Most stood in deep concentration seemingly exploring aspects of Eric’s current situation that his own unscientific mind couldn’t fathom. He gulped again, this time harder.

“10,” The voice rang through the air shattering the mechanical whirring that, although previously loud, seemed currently silent in comparison. “9,” Each number was making Eric sweat more and more. “8,” He made eye contact with one of the scientists within the other room. She looked at him without pity despite Eric’s desperate attempt to look unwilling. “7,” her eyes returned to the clipboard. “6,” His eye darted across the sea of faces looking for someone to latch onto, a sprinkle of humanity in all the cold, concentrated eyes. “5,” The whirring was now trying to make a comeback. Something was definitely happening. “4,” A buzz to his left sent an electrical spark flying outwards, this did not lend to his confidence. “3,” The room was increasingly changing. Eric felt sick, not from nerves, this was a travel sickness from a long journey; it felt largely out of place. “2,” ultimately this wasn’t his idea of a good day. “1,” Everything went white; the room, the scientists even the whirring. All five senses could only tell him “you’re surrounded by white Eric.”

His senses called a meeting. The white had definitely gone and had been replaced by a new sensation, wetness. Rapidly it was decided to put breathing on hold and assess the situation in more detail. Eric opened his eyes. His senses were right, not only was he wet but he was soaking and worst of all he was underwater. He murmured as he began to call for help. His thought processes caught up with him and, deciding that opening ones mouth would be a bad idea in these current circumstances, kept the call for help at a murmur level.

He looked up. Perhaps that shimmering was sunlight, he considered this for as much time as he felt was okay to waste. Ultimately he wasn’t even sure if that way was up.

As oxygen began to hit an all time low within his internal organs he remembered something. A big red button, now that was important. Something to do with being an essential part to the mission, again he found his mind wandering, wasting time when that specific resource was in quite high demand. He cut the reasoning and got his hands into action searching his body for something large, button like and hopefully red. He found it and he pressed it. His senses were rushed to the boardroom.

The white returned. Eric wasn’t sure what the consensus on breathing in white was. He didn’t want to risk it. Unfortunately the side effects of holding his breath were killing him. He shut his eyes and held on. The white remained.

A familiar whir started just behind him. A loud splash followed. He opened his eyes, the lab was familiar if not a bit wetter. He looked down, a small proportion of the ocean had hitched a lift with him. Currently, in its state as a series of puddles scattered across the floor, it looked a lot less ocean like. He breathed in heavily. The air was mechanical but markedly safer to breathe then that at his previous locale. The machine to his left sparked again, this time due to an animosity with the newly acquainted water.

“Tell us of the future?” The voice echoed through the chamber. Eric quickly remembered the viewing gallery and the scientists. Their prior distractions were now clearly ignored. All eyes were focused on Eric. He looked up whilst trying to maintain a posture that allowed for the greatest intake of oxygen. He couldn’t answer, he could just stand there breathing, water still falling off his body, hair and clothing.
“What is it like?” The voice sounded increasingly impatient.

Eric managed to stand straighter. He grimaced slightly as his mind glanced back “wet.”

Hassan sighed as a man in a suit gave him a paper towel. That man was one of many towel guys in London’s nightclub bathrooms. They smile, sometimes offer a spray of some mid-level cologne, and want payment for being an intermediary in a process that men have performed alone since early childhood.

“Thank you for your kindness,” said the club employee as Hassan reluctantly placed a pound coin on a metal plate beside the basin.

Hassan looked up, intrigued by the accent. He expected a cheeky grin but saw only solemnity. “Where you from, man?”

“Sudan.”

Hassan smiled. “So’s my mother. I lived there as a kid.” Both men stepped aside for an individual who entered the bathroom to wet his hair. “What you think of crazy London?”

The employee smiled. “I have been mugged and beaten up. I work in a car wash in the day and this bathroom at night. I hate it. But, I am making money for a family far away, and this is better than my alternative.”

Hassan pondered those words. “What’s your name?”

“My name is Abdi.”

“Abdi, my name is Has-“

The other man in the bathroom stepped in between them, forcefully took a paper towel from the pile and knocked over the plate for coins in the process. Hassan huffed in frustration as he helped Abdi pick up the coins and plate, and he muttered expletives under his breath. He didn’t have much chance to defend himself from a knee to the head that sent him sprawling. He tried to stand quickly, but didn’t need to — Abdi had already broken the aggressor’s nose. The third man shouted in pain, and three other men, hearing the commotion, promptly entered the bathroom as Hassan stood up groggily. The shortest of those three men looked at Abdi flexing his hand.

“Out, Ab. Now.” The security head then pointed at Hassan and spoke to the bouncers. “Take him outside, and make sure Busted Nose Man goes to hospital.”

“Cheers, Abdi,” was all Hassan could say before his forearm was jammed behind his back and he was marched upstairs. Moments later, a group of people met him outside. His friends.

“What happened?” asked Michael, flanked by two men and four women.

“Someone started a fight, so the towel guy broke his nose.” This statement caused a flurry of banter, which Hassan eventually quieted. “You guys go inside. I’m fine. I’ll head home.”

“Guilt by association, Has: we were told to leave, too!” said Alexandra, a beautiful, curly-haired girl from Brighton. “Your place?”

Hassan beamed. “Let’s walk, then.” He turned to the bouncers at the club entrance. “Do me a favour, big men: say thanks from me to Abdi, the towel guy.”

“Tell him yourself,” grumbled one of the bouncers. “He’ll be up in a minute.” Sure enough, Abdi soon emerged from the underground.

Hassan smiled brightly. “Abdi! Thanks for that.”

“I’ve lost my job,” said Abdi flatly. “But I was unhappy there… maybe this was meant to happen.”

Hassan nodded. “You’re coming with us, man — no questions — to my place.”

They walked hurriedly to meet Hassan’s friends, who welcomed Abdi with open arms. He fascinated them, and they fascinated him. For the first time in London, as he moved towards Basil Street, he felt ease and happiness. Alexandra, who once also lived in the Sudan, took his arm, and together, they walked behind everyone else, laughing and sharing stories of a land far away.

“My parents bought this place to have an occasional base in London,” Hassan said as he pushed Abdi inside a top-floor apartment. While everyone else settled on leather couches, Abdi stared speechless at paintings and antiques. An hour ago, he was in a bathroom, hiding torturous thoughts of an uncertain future. Now, if only for a while, he was thinking of a beautiful girl’s smile and the cheeriness of kind strangers. He looked around at the laughing faces before him — this dream would end soon.

At dawn, while everyone else slept on a couch or one of the apartment’s many beds, Abdi stood beside Hassan on a balcony. His heart ached as he thought of returning home to Mile End, where life would become almost as it was before this surreal evening. He would eventually become a memory to these people. They would become a memory to him. Distance, differences would set them apart again. This new world was too far away from his own.

“London occasionally gives you a perfect night,” said Hassan. “A dream. The next morning, you want it again. You chase that dream to have it again.” Abdi smiled as he held onto the balcony rail. Hassan exhaled smoke and looked at Abdi. “We should keep in touch, Ab.”

Abdi measured his next words. “I wish such different lives could exist together.”

“Well, I’ve a job for you, if you want. Great money for your family. You worked two jobs and commute like crazy everyday. That’s dedication. I need a dedicated guy to help me.” Abdi said nothing, so Hassan continued. “Maybe, like you said, all this was meant to happen.”

Abdi paused. “What kind of job, Hassan?”

“My business has expanded. A lot. I can’t take care of my smaller clients anymore — I don’t have time. But those small clients around town are good money, and I need someone who can deliver stuff to them in the evenings.”

“You want me to deliver things for you?”

“…Yeah.”

“What?”

Hassan’ smiled, his silence was his answer. He had Abdi where he wanted him. An hour ago, Abdi thought this night, this dream, was a momentary, fleeting happiness. Now, he had a chance to have it again. He was afraid, afraid to lose that chance and this better hope for his family. Abdi wouldn’t let this go. He looked at Hassan, who now seemed a very different man.

To dispel the fear of loss, Abdi nodded with his eyes closed, while Hassan smiled again, a very different smile.

Of all the life-bearing planets in the galaxy, this overgrown wilderness of purple jungles was the last place they would have expected to find a space-faring race. But for the parabolic reflector melted into the planet's highest mountain and perfect crystal rising fifty meters to the focus, they would have said life here had not progresses to any technological level.

There was life, common enough on any planet with the right conditions, but not even the brief flicker of a technological civilization that flared as intelligent inhabitants discovered a planets untapped reserves. From experience, such short-term societies tended to collapse as soon as those resources ran out. But for some quirk in human history, perhaps they would have gone the same way but now they were out among the stars, finding the companionship of equals has become an obsession.

"Any luck with those marks, Su?" asked Will.

"Some," Su replied poring over the discolored lines in the walls. "These first few seem to be scalar values; base 16, fortunately."

Will smiled. "Why not?" he conceded. "The universe does love hex."

"These next ones have a familiar distribution. I think they're chemicals, it represents the periodic table, so this last more complicated one should be a chemical formula. I've got our Web node working on it now but it would be a lot faster if we had full Web connection."

Will sighed patiently. "We didn't solve the light-speed limit, we just found a few work-arounds," he said. "They work with physical objects, not data streams. Just another piece of technology that's failed to live up to its early promise."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Su.

Six months in the confined quarters of their ship had left Will less conciliatory than usual. "Immortality," he snapped. "Weren't we supposed to have longer to work on these problems?"

"There's nothing wrong with the process," Su protested. "If there were, you and I would be long dead."

"And yet, we are the two oldest human beings by a wide and growing margin," insisted Will.

"The problems's not physiological. After five hundred years they just stop. Without hindsight, I would have expected those born to it to be better adjusted than us instead of the reverse being true. We expected nothing but thirty five years of meaningless struggle on a dying planet, we never had the luxury of asking why. You and I had a gradual introduction via longevity, and even that was unintentional. Our problems and theirs are completely different."

"They think they have so much time, it's impossible to get anything done," griped Will. "You know it took only fifty years to get the first probes designed and launched? Another hundred to solve the problem of sending living things beyond light speed? It seems the less there is to do, the longer they take. Immortality, even perceived, doesn't give them much incentive to actually finish anything. Working on the ship, they would spend decades arguing over the most trivial details. In the end, I just took it for a test flight."

"How did that go?"

"Pretty well so far, don't you think?"

Su laughed. "Will, did you ever have a vehicle you didn't steal?"

"How else do you think we would get a spacecraft for just the two of us?" asked Will. "Besides, they may not realize it but they need the results urgently. We had to leave Earth. The survivors descended from those mobile enough to dodge the worst of the climatic changes and find resources. Once that problem was solved we were suffocating on that tiny planet."

"And instead we find the loneliness and futility of space." Su pointed out.

"We've barely reached the stars and already we're in decline," mused Will. "Is it possible for an entire race to be lonely?"

"For want of a better word. We're not the first civilization, we've found their traces, so they must be out there."

"We are rare, Su," Will pointed out. "Perhaps not across the life of the universe but at any given time."

Su snapped out of the descending gloom as the results came back. She examined the screen closely. "It's a crystalline data store," she announced.

"But it's black, opaque," said Will, stating the obvious.

"All the better for absorbing solar energy to power its signal," Su flashed. "In which case, that last number must be the resonant frequency to access it." She adjusted the tool on a tripod and it began to hum. "Ah yes, up there in the x-rays. It looks like all we'll need to make sense of it is a translation matrix."

"How long is that going to take?" asked Will.

Su shrugged. "Probably not long, they wanted the data to be read."

"If we're not done by sunset, there's going to be another pulse," Will said. "Enhanced as we are, that microwave energy won't do us any good."

Su examined the results so far. "We have most of the concrete concepts and...oh,"

Will recognized the tone of disappointment in her voice. "You have a date?"

Su nodded glumly. "A quarter of a billion years,"

Will gazed in awe at the bowl. "But the mountain!" he protested.

"It's artificial, tough, probably the same material as the crystal."

They stared in silence. Finally, Will shrugged. "The closest so far," he said weakly. "Did it pinpoint their homeworld? Say where they went?"

"This was their homeworld. They came back here to die. They were trying to contact us and we weren't even there."

Will sighed. "I'm not ready to give up yet. We'll send a probe back to Earth, try and play up the positive side and give them something to strive for. That might buy us a few thousand years to find the real thing."

"And if we don't?"

"Then, perhaps, a few million years is all we get. Our species will join those who came before and be joined by those who come after."

They packed up their equipment and left as the mountaintop flared.

Yes, sir. I realize that I'm late for work. If you'd just let me -

Yes sir, I realize that this is the tenth time, but -

Yes sir, but you must understand there were extenuating circumstances. I assure you that if you'd just listen to my reasons I could explain myself and . . .

You'll listen? You're eager to hear this one, you say? Well . . . good. I'm eager to tell it.

You see, sir, Saturday was my third cousin Roberta's wedding. It wasn't a big ceremony, just family and friends celebrating new found love, but that's not to say it was without it's perks. There was live music, exquisitely prepared food, and an open bar. Determined to keep these lavish expenses from going to waste I partook and long story short, I ended up imbibing a bit more of the festivities than I could handle.

Now, I see that look in your eye, sir. That half-cocked expression that says you've already made your decision, but please, just let me finish. It's not because of my indulgences that I'm late today. It's because of aliens.

Yes sir, aliens. I assure you that I am being entirely serious here. They were a steely shade of gray, short, with long elegant fingers, and bulbous black eyes that crowded their equally bulbous heads. Yeah, like the aliens from 'Close Encounters'. It's like you're reading my mind, sir! Anyway, they must have abducted me, because the next morning I woke up lying face down amidst a thicket of purple, tree-sized mushrooms. Weird doesn't even begin to describe it.

How often do you see forests of giant purple mushrooms stretching towards the heavens? How about florescent green skies that always seem to smell like vanilla and camphor? How about multiple bright white suns that constantly circles overhead, never setting. Now, imagine what it would be like to experience all of this through the haze of a massive hangover. Just imagine stumbling through this new world trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn't have any familiar pieces. What would you do? Me, I'm not so brave. I curled up into a little ball, as far away from the mushrooms as I could manage, and tried to talk myself back into reality. I would have stayed that way, too, if it hadn't have been for the alpaca.

Yes sir, the alpaca.

I was just as bewildered as you, sir. It just wandered in from who-knows-where and stood beside me with this knowing look in it's eye. Still, weird as that alpaca was, it was also the only familiar thing in a very unfamiliar place; when it started walking, I followed.

Luckily, this turned out to be the right move. After only a few hours of walking we arrived at what appeared to be an alien city. Thousands of cramped together buildings painted in a myriad of colors towered over me and my long-necked guide. Spires, columns, arches, and all sorts of decorative baubles came together in a cacophony of otherworldly design. I tell you sir, if I hadn't of had the good sense to take a picture of that strange place I wouldn't have believed it myself.

What was I saying again? Oh yes, the alien city. The alpaca started trotting off in the city's direction and I'll be honest, I was a bit hesitant. How was I supposed to know that the inhabitants didn't consider me to be some sort of delicacy? However, I realized that the only way back home was through whoever lived in that city. Preparing myself for the worst I walked straight in.

As it turned out, I didn't have to walk far. A small group of my abductors was waiting for my arrival in a plaza just inside the city limits. Fear briefly overtook me and a stampede of terrible possibilities tore through my skull. Luckily, before I could act on my fears, one of the creatures spoke. “Go home.” It said in a weak raspy voice, one long finger extended at me. It swung its digit around to a silver pedestal in the middle of the plaza. “Go home!” It said again louder. That was all the prodding that was necessary; I'd had enough of this unfamiliar place. Without a second thought I walked straight to the pedestal, stepped on, and waited. An instant later there was a bright flash and I appeared back on earth, eight feet above my apartment's skylight. Gravity took over and my unfortunately placed liquor cabinet ended up breaking my fall.

Why, yes sir, that is why I smell somewhat strongly of tequila. Yes sir, it is miraculous that I didn't get so much as a scratch from the accident. What can I say? I have the devil's luck.

Anyway, by the time I got my gear together and navigated through traffic it was already this late. As you can see, it's through no fault of my own. I only wish that I had some sort of evidence to show you that would -

What's that? You'd like to see the picture I took?

Well, that's only natural, sir. After hearing such an unusual story, I'd like to see proof too. I mean who can tell what people are up to these days? Values just aren't the same as they used to be! Uh, here, let me just look through my phone real quick and see . . . ah yes, here we are! Take a look at that and be amazed.

No sir, I assure you, that is an alien civilization. Not a picture of Chinatown.

Yes sir, the similarities are uncanny.

I don't understand sir. Fired?

The old ones speak of a time from our distant past when the world that we know never existed in the minds of our ancestors. A time beyond memory that has been told and retold, passed down for generations through tales of our world before the gods of the forests and the fiends of darkness waged their wars below the lands of Emiregio.
They speak in details so great that one could imagine that the old ones had once ran and played through the forests as children. So lush and fertile were these lands that they seemed to stretch forever in all directions, and the Magu fruits were in such abundance that one could eat their fill for days on end from a single tree.
The old ones say that the fiends grew jealous of the way our ancestors adored and worshiped the forest gods. Wanting this devotion for themselves the fiends attacked the forests with silent rivers of fire that crept out from deep beneath the lands, devouring everything in its path with flame and smoke.
The Gods, appalled by this attack, rallied upon the plains of Khossadem. The war cries of the Gods echoed across the land as they charged headlong into the dark depths of the fiend’s lair. The lands rumbled and shook from the battle with such violence that the plains of Khossadem split open, spewing forth liquid fire and the fouled air of the fiend’s dark pit. The battles have raged for generations; spreading across the lands, consuming the forests that the Gods have fought so feverously to protect. I fear that the Gods are all but gone, and their cause has become one as lost as the fading memory of the world that they sought to protect.

The forests have nearly vanished from existence, and my people with them. The lands are scorched and lifeless, nothing more than desolate wastes. Only a handful of mountain top oases remain as evidence of the once majestic forests that flourished with all manner of life. The skies, once green and brilliant are now clouded with the sickly yellow-brown stench of the fiend’s lair. Tentacles of thick acrid smoke rise high into the heavens from the depths of the darkness, blocking out the light of Hecorvor, our benevolent sun god. The leisurely idle days of the past when my people would bask in the warmth of Hecorvors glorious light have now succumbed to the near darkness of perpetual twilight.
The rains still arrive for a brief period each year, an anticipated time that all look forward to, a time when my people revitalize their souls in preparation for the pending onslaught of scorching winds that will drive us deep into the safety of our warren. Even the rains speak of a hopeless future for my people; the rains appear suddenly as a torrential downpour then end as abruptly as they had began, only they seem to arrive with a weakened strength that fades away more rapidly with each passing year.

We struggle for survival on our mountaintop refuges, enduring for months in dark seclusion within the clan warrens, hidden away from the yearly barrage of scorching winds that race up the mountainsides from fissures in the valley floor far below. Flames dance and blaze, consuming everything caught within the winds path. As each year passes our mountain oasis slowly recedes, the forests are diminishing along with our hope of survival. Even the great Nepenthes plants, with their stone like outer shells are not immune to this annual assault; their stores of water gone, leaving only a charred stony husk where they had once proudly stood.
This dreary plight is not only ours to bear. The Faron, Meron, and Sidon clans reside on nearby mountain peaks; they survive and suffer atop their mountain refuges just as we, the Abeon do, sharing equally in the same bleak fate as our own should the gods fail in their crusade.

When the muted light of day fades away, relinquishing itself to the darkness of the night, the clan will return to the warren. Both young and old alike will hurriedly make their way to the clan gathering hollow deep within the warren. Here the clan will remain during the time of the winds, encircling the symbolic heart of the clan, the sacred clan flame. The flame, which sits at the center of the clan hollow, rests atop a small stone mound of hewn blood obsidian, its light illuminating the chamber in a softly warm purple hue. The light of the flame will dance lazily upon its perch as it has for generations, eerily reflecting in the polished surface of the obsidian mound. The streaks of red within the surface of the stone will appear to ooze the blood of the land in the flickering light of the flame, imbuing the old ones words with a supernatural quality.
I reflect on these tales as I watch the massive plumes of searing dust race across the valley floor far below. The scorching winds approach unhindered this year as the rains have failed to return, a sure sign of victory for the fiends of the darkness. All but the youngest know that this will most likely be our last retreat into the safety of the warren, the last time that we will hear the tales of old and give reverence to the Gods of the forests. The Elder of our clan stands prostrate at the entrance to the warren, receiving each member of our small family into the warren with a blessing. A single tear trails down his aged cheek, his face, habitually glowing with a joyful smile, is now frozen into something more akin to that of morbid acknowledgement. As I approach the Elder I bow in reverence to his years and wisdom, he nods somberly, his hand brushes my shoulder as I enter the mouth of the warren, the Elder following close behind, “As a family, we will become one with our Gods.”

Harland sat bolt upright, bad dreams had been plaguing him the last few nights, making him shudder. The first rays of dawn were beginning to leak into the deep sky of his rural mountain countryside. A strange misshapen tint hung upon the familiar landscape this morning, he noticed. He suspected it was probably lack of sleep.
Cold sweat drenched his muddied white jacket and he grudgingly heaved himself onto all fours in a low crouch. Where was he now? His head was still blurred with sleep when he heard a groan behind him. He pivoted on his heels, toppling over in his haste. The groan came again, accompanied this time by a shuffling thud. Harland stared up numbly at the groaning creature ambling towards him it was following.
Leave me alone, he spoke in a clear, well spoken voice. This was the result of his five years of etiquette tuition, forced upon him by wealthy relatives. I wasn't thinking... he was halted mid-sentence by a growl from the silhouette of a figure before him. It was suddenly towering above him. He was surprised at the haste with which it had managed to catch up to him. It stank; he numbly noted scrambling to his feet from his sprawled position on the floor. Blood, mud, chemicals, fires
Harland turned and sprinted away, he felt a deep fear within him of whatever that creature had been. The creature didn't pursue him. It didn't even seem to be there when he glanced nervously back over an aching shoulder. He needed to find a decent shelter soon, the mild summer meant he wasn''t really bothered by finding shelter at the moment, but august was drawing to an untimely close, and he was sure September would not be so kind to him.
Harland was a coward. He was a failure and disgrace. But he didn't care what lengths he had to go to, anything to avoid the trenches again. There was honour and there was stupidity. That was how he found himself sleeping rough. His wounded arm still tightly wrapped in tattered, bloodstained bandages.
Something was wrong this particular morning however, the air felt thicker, damper. A funny stink hung in the air. He shook his head, he was imagining it. He had a tendency to ... imagine things. He turned over his shoulder, the thing had disappeared. He continued to walk. The earth shook beneath his feet, to such an extent that he was flung to the floor, heat flared around him, earth rained down over his head and he huddled up in a ball hoping and praying he would avoid the searing rain of twisted metal. The heat disappeared, replaced by the wet grass under his nose. The shrapnel never fell. After a matter of seconds and he rolled over onto his back.
Idiot.
He told himself over and over. Idiot, idiot, IDIOT! He punched the sky before him angrily,
Get a bloody grip man. He spat quietly to himself. What the hell do you think you're playing at? his foot hurt. He had landed badly on it and was sure it was damaged. Now look what you've done. He whispered. He didn't move however. His mind played so many tricks, it mightn't even be real.
He could trust nothing, not even himself. What with the quagmire his shock numbed mind had decayed to become. He heard the moan again, close. Very close, it was never far though. Moving softly, steadily. Ready to pounce; to drag Harland back with it. He shuddered. He didn't move however, he was tired, he hadn't eaten in days and the water he had found in a nearby stream tasted so gritty with silt it was barely drinkable. He stared up at the sky, wishing nothing more than to topple forward into its blissful abyss. The moaning reached him and he realised with horror what it was.
Trickling through numbed nerves tingling in his spine, adrenaline laced panic began to diffuse through his blood. He stared pale faced into the warped figure towering above him, the burned, peeling skin. Streaked with the tears of blood that ran from pink eyes rolled right back into the ruined head. Flecks of blood speckled its upper lip and dribbled down the chin was a morbid stream of gore, lung tissue and other insides churned up by the corrosive gasses, dried and black on its still screaming face.
I won't leave with you. He whimpered. I'm not going back there. He clenched his eyes together, his ears straining to shut out the terrible frothy gargling that was coming from the things gaping mouth. It leaned in to touch him, reaching for his face. Guilt flared within him; despite his terror he couldn't help but feel that inescapable horrible uncompromising guilt. It wasn't his gas mask that saved him from drowning in his own blood. It wasn't his tongue that was riddled with disgusting sores. It wasn't him who was dead.

They always had said that coming back from war was like entering a new world, but Harland had never expected that would be negative thing. He'd heard of the ghosts of dead friends, survivor's guilt. But he had never expected this.