For whatever reason, all the screens in the cockpit were deep blue in color.

“Why do I smell burnt toast,” Pernie blurted out. “Should I be smelling burnt toast?”

“That is a normal side effect of being in intra-space.”

“Am I having a stroke?”

“If you were, you’d have already had it.”

“O-Oh.”

“Fortunately for you, we’ll be dropping into our destination in a few moments.”

With a sound similar to that of a loud clap, the dropship rumbled as its many screens went from the eerie deep blue, to the blue-orange of a morning sky. One screen, presumably linked to a camera capable of moving, displayed a rippling landscape of trees, trees, and more trees. Among them though, was a small pond.

“If memory serves me right, then that pond’s where we need to be.”

“So you’re familiar?”

“I read a lot.”

“Then that makes our job that much easier,” Dr. Case chimed in over the not-watch. “How was your first trip?”

“Uhh… toasty?”

“Not the warm kind I presume?”

“Mhmm.”

“You’ll get used to it. In fact, smelling it will become so second nature that you’ll have a hard time making toast. Unburnt anyway.”

“Flip of the coin whether he burns his morning breakfast these days,” added N-3.

“At least I can have breakfast,” he retorted.

It ignored his remark.

“I will find a clearing to land.”

Fortunately for them, there was a clearing just over a hill from the pond. The dropship groaned as it finally put its weight back on the ground. With the engines still quietly idling, the loading ramp dropped down and N-3 and Pernie walked out.

“Which way’s the pond? She asked. “I got all turned around.”

“I think it's this way,” N-3 pointed to one of many hills. “But I can’t be sure. Check your booklet.”

Pernie pulled out her booklet and flipped to the index. The forty-second entry on the first page read: “The First Destination.” It directed her, once again, to page forty-two, where it read: “159°. Campsite. Lone man.”

“It says 159 degrees?”

“That's the bearing. Anything else?”

“‘Campsite’ and ‘lone man.’”

“Then we’re set.”

N-3 spun around in place, stopped then began stomping through the brush. Notably not in the direction it had initially pointed out. Pernie followed.

“What is this thing, anyway? I can’t say I’ve ever had a GPS take the form of a book.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“In official agency documentation it is referred to as the ‘Verifiable Real-time Geopredicting Logbook,’ VRGL for short.”

“Like the poet?”

“Like the poet. It gives the reader the direction, target area, and target in that order.”

“Any idea why it likes the number forty-two so much?”

“No. You’d have to ask the people who made it. Which isn’t me or Dr. Case.”

“I figured.”

The brush and low hanging branches of the forest were no match for N-3 who plowed through it like snow. After plowing over the pine-snowed hill, the pilot came to a stop.

“I see the campsite.”

Through the trees, one could see the flicker of a dancing flame, but just barely.

“I think you should wait here N-3,” said Pernie. “I don’t want to scare the poor guy too much.”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll wait here until you need me.”

She soon found herself at the edge of an artificial clearing. The space was now taken up by tents and the like. Among them was a campfire, a pile of wood, and a man hunched over both. Soon enough, he turned around and spotted Pernie.

“Not only are you only one person, but you are a woman as well.

His eyes met hers with a perplexed gaze.

“Who are you?”

“My name’s Pernie.”

“Pernie, eh? You don’t lend yourself as someone from around here, but to be fair, neither am I.”

She scratched her head, attempting to string together the proper set of words.

“This is going to sound awfully weird, but I need your help.”

The man rubbed his chin, regarding the thousands of possibilities of what “help” truly meant.

“Well,” he said, “I haven’t ever said ‘no’ to someone asking for help and I am a tad bit bored of holding this camp. That and the bears, already ran into one so I’d prefer not to once more.”

Pernie blinked.

“I was expecting you to take more convincing than that,” she mumbled.

“Others tell me I’m a bit too trusting. Hasn’t cost me anything yet, besides time that is. Speaking of, how long will this take? I’m expecting some people here soon.”

“Time isn’t something you need to worry about. You’ll be back in time,” said a voice.

N-3 stepped out from the wall of brush. The man made a noise when greeted by the sight of the machine.

“What’s wrong with this dog, moreover, why does it talk?”

“N-3 is not a dog, but a… friendly automaton.”

“I wasn’t aware they made automatons that could talk,” he said, inspecting it.

“Well they do,” replied N-3. “Let’s get going.”

Pernie didn’t need her VRGL for the pilot knew exactly where its ship was, largely in part because it knew all the places it wasn’t.

When the newly formed group of three arrived back at the dropship, the man immediately gasped at the sight of it.

“Does this one talk too?” he asked.

“No, just the one,” answered Pernie

The loading ramp swung open once again letting the party enter. Once inside, Pernie tapped at her not-watch.

“Dr. Case you there?”

He popped into the screen.

“Sure am.”

“We’ve gotten the first of two people.”

As if on cue, the man leaned over her shoulder.

“How did such a translucent man end up in such a small box?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he waved dismissively. “We’re glad to have you aboard.”

The not-watch clicked off.

“Oh!” Bellowed the man, “I haven’t even told you my name. I’m Norman, but most people call me ‘Little Man’ on account of my height compared to the fish I catch.”

“You aren’t even that short,” Pernie said, looking him up and down.

“Short compared to those fish,” he shrugged.

“Formalities can wait,” interjected N-3. “What's our next destination?”

She opened up the bag of books, grabbed the second destination and handed it off to the pilot. They made their way to the cockpit and while their pilot prepared for flight, Pernie showed Little man his seat and complementary helmet.

“Is this a rough ride?” he asked.

“No, actually. It's pretty smooth, just loud.”

The engines spun up to speed and the chorus of loud noises began, some louder than others. A look of concern spread across Little Man’s face. A look similar to that of Pernie’s when she first boarded the dropship.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “That's a normal noise.”