---Sand---
Something that always strikes me about deathworlds are the smells.
Not entirely malodourous… rather, many are aromatic… fragrant… but all definitely pungent!
I can only imagine how strong the scents must be outside of my field… what proportion of the deathworld bouquet am I not able to appreciate because it would result in rapid infection, necessitating drastic medical intervention?
Neonesia has a distinct scent profile from Xīn de Qín and Zanzibar Mpya.
Zanzibar smelled much more like my recollection of Earth… which, I suppose, sort of makes sense, given that it had no native ecology and all its species were Terran introductions… (even if those species came from a completely different Terran biome than those I am familiar with, they still have enough in common, scentwise, to be identifiable as coming from the same cradleworld).
The smells of deathworlds, logically, should smell like death to me: The smells of every organism fighting desperately to survive, the smells of those that fail that task having their nutriment greedily reabsorbed into the ecosystem by a million and one decomposers and detritivores, the smells of those, who’ve been (thus far) successful, attempting to procreatively replace themselves before their luck runs out.
Somehow (despite comprehending the nature of the all-out war for survival, raging all around us as we make our way from the ship, through the forest, to the beach) it doesn’t smell like death to me, the way it once would have…
There’s a vibrancy to it that I’m aware of now… a verve… an ebullience that I didn’t comprehend as a younger woman….
I land from that flight-of-thought and, from atop Victor’s shoulder, turn my head to Jennie, wryly asking “Are you satisfied that you’re finally getting your ‘beach day’?”
She blushes and answers “I was happy to wait… wouldn’t have been in very good taste to run off to the beach when thousands of refugees were aboard, would it…”
Brunhilda puts an arm around her girlfriend, resting her hand on the far side of her waist, pulls her close and smiles down “You can be disappointed about the beach days we lost, Dormouse(!) That’s allowed(!)… None of us will think you’re saying you’d have preferred to trade lives for beach days(!)”
The small Terran woman smiles back and says “OK… I’m a little disappointed by the days we lost but I’m happy we’re getting our beach day now… Plus, being given permission to land the ship on the planet, walking distance from a gorgeous beach, sort of gives it a… ‘resort feeling’, you know? We wouldn’t have got that if we’d been staying at the ODR and taking transports to beaches… silver linings, I suppo-Kyah!” her musings are cut short as her girlfriend effortlessly hoists her into a [bridal carry].
The golden haired [amazonian] gives the flustered brunette a contented kiss before saying “You’re extremely cute when you try to be positive, you know!… Also, how come I’ve never seen this outfit before? It’s… surprisingly conservative, for you… Knowing you, I was expecting a swimsuit made out of slightly wide pieces of string(!)”
“How dare you(!)” laughs the small woman, with mock indignation “You would impugn my honour as a lady(?!)”
“Your what now(?)” retorts the larger woman, her glacier blue eyes crinkled in a smile.
“Ugh(!)” scoffs the brunette, playfully batting the side of her girlfriend’s face “If you must know, I fabbed it recently, based on some photos I looked up for reference; Mauve two piece, with a strapless top and a sheer, gold sarong…” she gestures to the respective parts “…as to why it’s not just ‘slightly wide pieces of string’…” she smirks “…I find that a little mystery is sexier than none… I see you went for ‘sporty’, huh(?)”
The athletic blonde cocks an eyebrow, sardonically, before responding “These are my swimclothes… you don’t like them?”
Looking away, the small woman answers “I didn’t say that(!)… I was definitely thinking it super hard, though(!)”
Here I interject “There’s so much nuance baked into the choice of swim attire for you Terrans! It seems like a tremendously stressful thing to subject yourselves to! Why not just go entirely nude, given that your species’ normal inhibitions, regarding exposure of skin, appear to be suspended in this social context?” I gesture to the convoy of Terrans, displaying several times the normal quantity of skin.
They all laugh and Victor (one of the least dressed Terrans present) corrects “It ain’t ‘suspended’ more just, sorta, ‘modified’. We’re happy showin’ a bit more skin than we would in, for instance, a town centre high street but that don’t mean it’s a free-for-all!… There’s personal taste to consider… but we’ve a pretty consistent sense of when a swimming costume gets a bit too provocative. While public nudity ain’t illegal or anythin’, most folk’d consider it in bad taste, even at a beach.”
“Yes… that is, indeed, too much nuance for me… I still can’t comprehend the notion that, if the garments you’re all wearing right now weren’t made of waterproof material, that would make them ‘underwear’ and you would, suddenly, be embarrassed to be out in them, despite them being exactly as revealing!” I answer.
A chuckle ripples up the convoy.
I turn to Hasiakh, who’s nonchalantly traversing the path between the blue foliage, dressed in a [two piece] similar to the ones worn by Tuun, Emiko and Jennie (only, with no legs to pass between, the lower part is just a band).
“Hasiakh, you don’t seem to be taking due care with the path?… Am I missing something or did you forget the lecture that Kas gave you on Zanzibar?” I ask, concerned.
The attentive expression, she wore when I addressed her, breaks into an amused smile as she explains “You are missing something, Captain; Zanzibar was a deadworld, terraformed with life from a, Class 12, deathworld! This is a lower end Class 10. Pathogens on this planet won’t be that much worse than ones from Sahak and Neonesian thorns are much less likely to be able to pierce the scales of a Sahas than Terran ones! I can be a bit more relaxed.”
“I’m sorry… Class 10?!” I say, incredulously “The planet that swallowed an entire island from beneath us within hours of our arrival… is barely a deathworld?!”
Victor answers, laughing “Yeah, it ain’t a great look for this planet… but, you gotta remember, most days it ain’t drownin’ islands with tectonic activity(!)… In fact, I’d guess the only reason they were happy to send their rescue fleet outta system for trainin’, without a substitute, is ’cause they reckoned the chances of them bein’ needed was so negligible!”
“Well… I would make a quip about even deathworlders underestimating the deadliness of deathworlds… but I feel like there are many ways in which that could be turned around on me… so I shall say nothing(!)” I chitter.
At that moment we reach the edge of the forest.
Stepping from beneath the azure leaves of the canopy, we find ourselves on a spectacularly white sandy beach, around [500m] long, [50m] wide, surrounded on three sides by cerulean palms and on the fourth by a crystal blue ocean.
There are many delighted gasps, whoops and hollers from the group, clearly admiring of the breathtaking beauty of this scene.
“Whole beach to ourselves!” exclaims Victor, with satisfaction “Let’s find a spot near the water…”
A suitable spot (judged by criteria I can’t discern) is located.
Victor places down the metal spheroid on stilts and the stasis box he’s been carrying, which must weigh around [40kg] between them!
Opening the spheroid, he reveals a cage shelf with a hollow space beneath it.
“You realise…” I say, wryly, causing his head to turn upwards to look at me “…if you had cooked your [burgers] on the ship, you could have put them in the same stasis box you brought them in anyway and spared yourself the need to lug that antiquated cooking apparatus and sacks of solid fuel for it here? Also, why, oh why, is my head of health and safety cooking with combustion rather than just using a heating element to cook the food?”
He smirks “Yeah, Cap… I realise… reason I didn’t use the stasis box to transport ’em precooked or use a heatin’ element is ’cause it ain’t the authentic experience. Cookin’ ’em on the beach is the done thing!”
Giving a Terran shrug I respond “Doesn’t matter to me… you’re the one who had to carry them here(!)”
“Yeah… and it was a doddle thanks to your gravity field!” he answers, smugly.
“Easier than it would have been… but not as easy as it could have been…” I retort.
“I told you, it ain’t the way(!)” he says with both amusement and finality.
I hop down from his shoulder and the group begins setting up.
---later---
“It wouldn’t work!” insists Jennie, cross legged in the sand, Qīnglóng curled around her shoulders in such a way as he forms a backrest.
“But… if it’s the strongest material…?” muses Krish, as he tends her [burger] along with his own and Yuán’s [garlic bread], on the ‘dietry requirements’ grill.
“Diamond isn’t the ‘strongest’ material, it’s the hardest!” she asserts “If you tried to build armour out of it, it would shatter like glass the moment it suffered an impact! Hardness isn’t what you want for impact protection, you want toughness! Durasteel is tough, that’s why battle-armour is built from that with nary a diamond in sight!”
“But…?” says the slender man, screwing up his face in thought.
“I’ll tell you what… if you still don’t believe me, I’ll print a 30cm×30cm×2cm sheet of diamond and another of steel (it’ll have to do, as civilian nanoforges can’t do durasteel), I’ll bring them to the beach with me tomorrow and we’ll get Hildy to take a crack at both of them with a sledgehammer… you’ll see… the steel will dent, the diamond will shatter!”
Here Victor interrupts, sternly, looking up from the main grill on which he’s tending the [burgers] that Krish isn’t able to for religious reasons “You are not shatterin’ diamond on the beach!!! I know it don’t look like many people come here but how’d you feel if you found out that some kid had had to call a medivac from here ’cause they’d cut their foot on a shard of diamond you’d missed! Find somewhere to run your experiments on the ship and clean up after yourselves, afterwards!”
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Rolling her eyes she answers “Alright, Grandad(!)” with an amused, mocking tone.
Brunhilda interjects “You think you can mock the ‘sportiness’ of my swimclothes one minute and the next volunteer me for sporty tasks that you’re not up to(!)” with a wry smile.
“Can’t I(?)” asks the smaller woman, raising her eyebrows and fluttering her eyelashes.
Pursing her lips, the blonde responds “You definitely wouldn’t be able to if you were just… like… 1% less charming… Someday, you’re going to meet someone who’s not affected by your cuteness!”
“Already happened!” volunteers Xon “I, personally, think you’re the cuter one, Samus!”
Turning her attention to the rangy Tshwane woman, her eyebrow raised sceptically, she responds “That so?”
Jutting out her chin with a mischievous grin and putting her arm around her singularly bulky girlfriend, Xon answers “I have a type(!)”
“Burgers’re ready, come get ’em!” shouts Victor, breaking off the interlineage flirtation.
As Brunhilda, Thran and Xon rise to retrieve their [beefburgers] from Victor, I see Jennie’s attention following the tall, slender woman, her face unreadable. It only lasts a moment before she looks back to Krish’s smaller [grill] and takes a swig of her cold, dew covered [tepache].
As Krish begins serving up the [veggie burgers] Emiko sits next to Jennie and asks “Hey, Jennie, I hope you won’t think I’m being rude but…?”
“You want to know why I’m a vegetarian?” she answers, coolly.
“Why, yes… how did you…?”
“Always comes up sooner or later(!) You want to know why on earth I would deny myself meat when, being lab grown, it’s not like the cows had to suffer?”
Emiko nods, thoughtfully “Yes… I mean… I understand that for these two…” she gestures at Krish and Yuán “…it’s religious but it’s not religious for you, is it?”
“It’s not… and it’s not environmental either, given that energy is effectively free…” she turns to the purple eyed woman “…I hope you won’t think I’m being rude but would you eat a burger made of lab grown Human if I told you it was super delicious?”
Emiko’s eyes narrow as she calmly but immediately answers “No.”
“Why not?” answers the smaller woman, stroking the head of the contented dragon.
“Well it would be cannibalism, for one thing…” she smiles.
“No it wouldn’t… you wouldn’t be eating the flesh of a living breathing Human, you’d be eating meat grown specifically to be eaten, ∴ there should be no ethical issue with eating it, right?”
Taking a bite of her [beefburger], I’m guessing to subtly buy herself a few moments to consider, the glamourous woman responds “There are many health issues with cannibalism…” as if that fact is both common knowledge and common sense! “…I’m not particularly interested in needing to drag myself to the medroom and explain what ‘kuru’ is or how I acquired it(!)”
“OK, then… what about a R’qali burger? No health issues with that, are there?”
Emiko looks to me, appraisingly.
“Leave me out of your thought experiments!” I chitter “As an obligate frugivore, I shall be no help in unteasing Terran ethical quandaries regarding the consumption of lab grown flesh!”
Emiko nods, turns back to Jennie and answers “I understand what you’re saying… but Humans and R’qali are both sentient, sapient, sophont species… cows… aren’t…”
“So you’d eat a dog burger?” queries Jennie, pointedly but not accusingly.
Here Sam interjects “Not eating! Fancy mummy… smol mummy… please!” his translated tone indicating that he isn’t sure whether being eaten is actually a possibility but not carrying the appropriate amount of concern for that scenario, in my view.
Both women turn broad genuine smiles on the loveable semisapient and reassure him that him being eaten is not at all what’s being discussed.
Satisfied, he resumes begging Victor to allow him to have sauce on his plain [burger]… lack of sapience not allowing him to recognise an utterly lost cause.
Returning her attention to her interlocutor, Jennie says “The squeamishness you just felt about eating Human, R’qali and dog burgers is how I feel about all meat… it’s just that simple… haven’t eaten meat in nearly a decade.”
Contemplatively, Emiko responds “I see… thank you for engaging with that… even though it’s obviously a very boring subject for you.”
“No probs.” smiles Jennie, reassuringly, (though in a way that entirely avoids touching her upper face) before turning her attention back to the [1.9m] blonde and [2.2m] Tshwane at the grill.
---many [burgers], some [sunbathing] and a game of [volleyball] later---
“You’re certain? Absolutely certain?!” I address the man, more than twice my age, with concern.
“Never been more certain of anything… he’s exceedingly well trained, Captain. I give you my word…” responds the warrior cleric.
I sigh “…If Victor approves then I won’t prohibit it…”
The elder man turns to his young student.
“I’m really glad you thought about it at all, Cap, but… if Shīfu says it’s fine then I think it’s fine… plus he’s tracked right?”
The warrior nods “Naturally.”
“Then I say go for it.”
The teacher smiles before turning his face to the azure dragon and saying “Qīnglóng…” and raising his hand.
The creature lazily opens it’s eyes and rolls them toward his owner before stopping and widening them… there’s a subtle shift as the [4.5m] tube of deathworld muscle tautens, near imperceptibly.
“…go!” says the monk with a corresponding gesture to the water.
I thought I was ready for the speed with which that monster would streak away… I was wrong!
The shock of how quickly that animal goes from being coiled in a [naptime] pile to being in the water, [14m] away, actually induces autonomic fight/flight/freeze reactions in me as I’m unable to tear my attention from the undulating motion with which he’s now propelling himself through the water and my hearts race into the quadruple digits.
The speed with which he is able to move through the water is comparable to that which I’m able to achieve, during flight, in a shallow dive!
In a spectacular display, the serpentine animal breaches the water and his entire body clears the surface in a breathtaking arc before reentering with barely a splash.
“Remember to breathe, Captain(!)” chuckles the monk “Though, I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees how magnificent he is(!)”
Cocking a browtuft, I answer “Magnificent or not, if your pet decides to stray away you may be responsible for introducing an, ecosystem decimating, invasive species…”
He smiles “He won’t… plus, if I did, we could track him down with his tag’s data… he’s also a lone male… he wouldn’t be able to reproduce on this planet…”
“Unless he turns out to have been a she… with a litter in her belly… wouldn’t be the first time(!)… Or unless someone else brought a female to this planet, thinking the same thing you did…”
He laughs “You can rest secure in the knowledge that, biologically at least, he is male. Female Shuǐlóng are around forty percent bigger and a bright vermillion colour. Though, you are right about the, however remote, possibility of him running into an escaped female… or you would be… if I weren’t absolutely sure he will come back to me when I call him… Just relax, Captain… enjoy the display.”
I turn my attention back to the frolicking animal…
“Shame Fluffy turns out to be as saltwater averse as she is freshwater!” frowns Victor.
Dr Mink disdainfully responds “Water is much less fun when your entire body is covered in waterlogging fur.” gesturing to indicate that this is also why she has refrained from immersing herself.
Victor shrugs a shrug of ‘fair enough’ before looking to me “How come Qorrie turned down the beach trip?”
I sigh “…[Carcinisation].”
Dumbstruck a moment, Victor eventually manages to laugh “I’m sorry, what!?” incredulously.
“You heard me.” I answer, wearily.
“He’s worried he’s going to evolve into a crab, from a trip to a deathworld beach!?” he replies, not containing his mirth, at all!
“No…” I correct “…he was worried he would be attacked by something that had evolved into a [crab] and being surrounded by deathworlders would mean nothing… the culprit would have snipped off a foot before anything could be done(!)”
A slightly abashed look crosses Victor’s face as he says “That’s… actually… not quite as ridiculous as I thought… Still pretty ridiculous, though. Crabs ain’t gonna just snip off a foot of an animal they ain’t evolved to predate!”
“You’re [preaching to the choir], Victor, I told him he was being ludicrous but he wouldn’t budge about it.”
Victor frowns “You guys gonna be OK?”
I wave my wing, placatorily “We’ll be fine, dear boy. I’ll have a calm discussion with him when I get back.”
At this point, Brunhilda interjects “Hey guys… the Shings are here… the Fischers, too. Must have been for a walk together since they’re not coming from the ship.”
I turn to see that, indeed, the auburn furred Fulgensian couple are walking beside the newest additions to my crew.
Alchyinad ‘Dimitrescu’ Fischer and Marc ‘King-of-the-Squirrels’ Fischer.
The [3m] tall woman stands in a black [one piece] (backless to allow her enormous chiropteran wings, normally concealed in her Terran style sleeves, free motion).
The man stands over [a metre] shorter than his wife, in a pair of [trunks], his build and musculature comparable to Msia’s and a shock of modded scarlet hair at his fringe.
“Ha!” crows Dr Mink, with gleeful venom, at Msia “Looks like your girlfriend and boyfriend have become bored of you! They’re shopping for replacements!”
Calmly, placidly and with a nonchalant smile, Msia answers “They’re not my girlfriend and boyfriend… we have a casual arrangement… if they want to pursue options outside of it, I’m very happy for them to do so.”
I see Mink’s eyes narrow suspiciously, behind her [sunglasses], as she apparently tries to discern any deception.
I’m just contentedly thinking that it’s a good thing that the new hires can finally get to know the rest of the Terran contingent, whose mental health they have been hired to maintain, when I turn back around and see only the Shings making their way across the sand, the Fischers' backs disappearing as they continue to make their way (presumably) back to the ship!
“Oh, [hell] no!” I mumble, under my breath, as I get up to follow after them.
“Where you goin’, Cap?” queries Victor after me.
“Oh, I just want to have a little chat…” I say, containing my anger “…no need to follow…”
I beat my wings and am (just about) able to get airborne due to the atmosphere being unusually thick for gravity so low (not that it’s low enough to allow me to go without a compensator)(!)
I give a brief downward greeting as I pass overhead of the Shings.
I angle upwards to clear the canopy top, then, through the cyan palm fronds, I see them.
I bring in my wings to pass through a gap that would otherwise not be wide enough and alight on the path behind them.
Still a little out of breath from the effort of flying on a deathworld (if just barely) I call out “Drs Fischer…” causing them to turn in surprise “…on the beach… we’re having a little social gathering to celebrate the successful transfer of the last of the refugees… I invite you to join us…”
The pair share an awkward frown with eachother before the woman nods (as if giving permission for something) the man turns back to me and says “We… uhh… we won’t be joining you guys…” in his voice so baritone that it’s in danger of falling off the bottom end of my hearing register.
Anger flares up in me and I’m about to shout at them; just my luck to settle on antisocial therapists! Ones who, upon hire, demand a room away from the rest of the Terran enclave and never visit socially! Why do they think I’ll allow them to counsel people they obviously don’t like or, at least, don’t wish to form friendships with!? If they don’t want to be near their future patients then perhaps they ought to seek employment elsewhere…
I’m about to say all that… when I stop myself, take a deep breath and say instead “Alright… what am I missing?”
“Huh…?” says the deep voiced man with the scarlet on raven hair.
“I’m clearly missing something so, rather than me making a fool of myself, why don’t the two of you just tell me: What am I missing!?”
The two of them share another look before the woman answers this time “You… seem to be labouring under the misapprehension that… therapists should be friends with their clients… that it’s best for us to consort, socially. This is not so.”
I balk “So therapists are meant to be adversarial with their patients?! That seems quite odd to my way of thinking… surely, you should be friends with those you’re meant to help?”
The ivory skinned woman shakes her head and corrects “No, we’re not supposed to be enemies… we’re allowed to be friendly… it’s just being friends presents a boundary issue…”
“A boundary issue? Could you explain, Dr Fischer?” I ask, skeptically.
“I can…” she confirms “…Terran therapy relies, for maximum effect, on talking… openly, honestly… Ideally, they should feel like they can tell us anything!… If we’re friends, that immediately alters the dynamic… our opinions are suddenly ones that matter… there are things they feel they can’t tell us… it gets in the way of counselling them effectively… I mean there’s definitely a minor boundary issue, already, with the fact that we have so many people, from the same social group, to be split between just me and Marc, leading to the possibility that one of them might tell one of us something, about another, that the other wasn’t ready to have us know… but given that it’s simply not practical for you to hire enough therapists for every one of them to get their own exclusive one (plus, we shouldn’t and won’t be divulging things said by person A, to person B, in the first place) the ethics committee rubber stamped the arrangement… but we won’t socialise outside of sessions… it would unnecessarily impede our ability to provide effective counselling.”
There is a long pause as my brain works to parse all of that information, then I sigh “…I should have known you would have method behind your apparent madness… there always is when it comes to Terrans… and Terraphiles, it seems… You had better not disappoint me… you had better turn out to be the first rate graduates you seemed to be when I interviewed you…”
“Oh, we will…” says the man, affecting cocksure selfconfidence.
Slapping his shoulder with her hand/wingclaw the Spelvuk woman says “Marc!” with mock horror “…Ignore him, Captain. What he meant to say was; we will do our best and thank you again for this amazing opportunity!"
I give a wry smirk before saying “I’m sure…(!) Anyway, off you go before you create a ‘boundary issue’(!)”
The two smile and turn back to the direction of the ship.
I turn back to the beach.
As I cross back over the threshold of the forest, I see Yuán cupping the cheeks of his water dragon with his hands, playing affectionately as the flexible, convoluting body of the excited animal roils this way and that in, what is readily apparent to be, a play version of the test he administered on my crew the first time we met.
As I approach I raise my voice to say “It seems you were right, Master Yuán… he did come back!”