by Karl Beecher
He had learned, however, that the slate was extremely durable and could easily withstand high levels of abuse, such as being thrown against a wall.
By now, he should have asked for help, but it had become a matter of pride. No mere appliance was going to get the better of him. He was going to solve this problem himself. Besides, too much time had passed to ask for help now. It would have been far too embarrassing to admit he’d spent the whole day getting nowhere and remaining silent. Avoiding further embarrassment was foremost in his mind after his drunken escapade.
After he’d woken on Ceti hungover, Tyresa had curtly reminded him of his unseemly behaviour in a museum of all places. Mortified since boarding the Turtle and getting underway, he had done his best to keep to himself. A typical Brit, Colin’s chief aim in life was to make it from cradle to grave with as little fuss and embarrassment as possible. Had he been an eighteenth-century, high-society gentleman, he would already have dutifully withdrawn to his study and blown his brains out with a pistol immediately after sobering up.
The slate almost seemed to mock him for being a useless, outdated caveman. He was mulling over whether to try again with the infernal device, when Ade’s voice came over the ship’s intercom.
“Mister Douglass, sir. Would you kindly join us in the galley? Dinner is about to be served.”
Colin would’ve preferred to eat by himself, but he’d already taken breakfast and lunch alone in his quarters. He couldn’t go the whole trip like that. He couldn’t avoid Tyresa and Ade forever.
When Colin arrived in the galley, Tyresa was already there, sitting at the table fiddling with a metal box that resembled a high-tech biscuit tin. Several hand-held tools were scattered on the table in front of her. Ade was busy at the counter preparing the food. They exchanged brief pleasantries as Colin sat quietly in his chair.
Tyresa, on the other hand, looked chirpy. Ever since setting off for Procya, she’d suddenly become very visible onboard, popping up in his quarters now and again to awkwardly check up on him. The surly sarcasm had been replaced by a rabid friendliness and broad, beaming smiles. It really didn’t suit her. It gave him a vague sense of being stalked by a sociopathic pre-school teacher. This was all miles away from her behaviour during their previous journey together, when she had been rude and avoided him like a leper. But that was when she thought him to be a lunatic. Maybe, now that he seemed useful to her, Tyresa was keeping a close eye on her prize.
They sat in uncomfortable silence as Ade finished dishing up the food. Tyresa kept looking at Colin and seemed to be struggling for something to say. Finally, she held up the device and looked at Colin.
“Triphase inverter,” she said.
Colin silently acknowledged her.
She took one of her tools, something resembling a salt pot with a pair of glowing pincers on the end, and stuck it into the box. “Just repairing it. In case you were wondering.”
Ade meanwhile brought over two dishes of some sweet-smelling vegetable stew, set them down on the table and then went back behind the counter to tidy up. Colin took a spoon and began to eat.
Tyresa carried on with her repairs, scraping, twisting, and jabbing with the tools. Grating metallic noises echoed around the walls. Every time she put a tool down, she didn’t place it onto the table, she dropped it with a clunk, as though moving her hand that final inch was just too much effort. Every so often, she grabbed her spoon and slurped up a mouthful of stew, then put it back into the bowl with a clang.
After a few moments of watching this from the corner of his eye, Colin coughed. “Do you, um… do you normally do that at the dinner table?”
“No,” she said. “It needed fixing, so thought I’d do it here. That way, we can, you know… talk and things.”
Colin looked back at his bowl. “Indeed.”
They continued in silence for a few more moments. Finally, from behind the counter, Ade cleared his throat. Tyresa and the android exchanged a quick glance.
“Oh right, thanks for the reminder, Ade,” she said, sounding as grateful as an amputee who’d received socks for Christmas.
She put down her tools and turned to Colin. She huffed and puffed, trying to form her words, and looked everywhere except at Colin’s face.
“I have something to say to you, Colin,” she said at last to the galley wall.
It sounded ominous. Colin didn’t know whether he should continue eating, or if the conversation now warranted him to stop. Frozen by indecision, his spoon hovered a few inches from his open mouth.
“Since our, ahem, discussion at the museum,” she began, “I’ve thought about what you might be going through in light of your unusual experiences… well, I did some research into it, that is. And I’ve examined my own… behaviour as compared with what you… what you might need from someone… that’s to say someone who…” She stopped rambling for a moment. “You know what? Hold on a sec.”
She dug into her jacket and pulled out a slate, then proceeding to read robotically from it.
“I’ve examined my own behaviour as compared with what you might need from someone who’s been cast in the role of a guide or care worker. I’ve concluded that my prior performance in that role was… insufficient…” Her free hand tightened into a fist as that last word struggled through her gritted teeth. “… but I fully intend to embrace my role more whole-heartedly. I will be a more hospitable and attentive guide throughout your rehabilitation into our times and/or society. Pause for response.”
With that, she laid down the slate and looked expectantly at Colin. The spoon was still hovering before his mouth. What the heck was all that? An apology in book report form? A heartfelt, spontaneous, prepared statement?
“Well,” said Colin, setting the spoon back down and struggling to say something nice in response. “That was very… scholarly and efficient, as apologies go.”
“It wasn’t an apology,” Tyresa hastened to point out. “It was an explanation.”
“It sounded like an apology to me,” said Colin. “Didn’t it to you, Ade?”
“Indeed, sir,” replied Ade from behind the counter.
“All right,” snapped Tyresa. “Take it as an apology too, if you want. The point is: I was a little… standoffish before. Maybe a bit impatient.”
“More rude, I would say,” corrected Colin.
“Okay…”
“And dismissive.”
“Fine…”
“And then mercenary once you started believing my story.”
“Look!” Tyresa blurted. “I’m trying to be friendly here, asshole. Are you going to take my olive branch or am I going to whack you over the head with it? I’m trying to tell you, I realise I might have come across as insensitive, but I really didn’t mean to.”
It finally dawned on Colin. “So that’s why you’re suddenly hovering over me all the time? That was all your attempt at being friendly?”
“Yeah. Didn’t it come across as such?”
Colin thought about her unscheduled visits, her awkward small talk, her forced smiles that would have unsettled a psychopathic clown. “Not friendly, so much. More freaky.”
“Oh,” she murmured, looking vaguely disappointed. “Are you sure? I checked some of the best sources on this.”
He took a moment to parse what Tyresa just said. “You mean… you read up in a book how to be friendly?”
Tyresa nodded. “Research papers actually. I thought it would be better than anything I could come up with by myself.”
She clearly wasn’t fishing for sympathy, but nevertheless, Colin almost felt sorry for her.
“So,” she continued. “Are we both on the same page now?”
Colin sighed. Whether he believed her or not, it didn’t much matter. He was in a new and unfamiliar galaxy. Tyresa was the closest thing he had to a friend who could guide him and get him back on his feet again. He gave her a nod.
“Good,” she said. “But hey, look on the bright side. All that time alone must have given you a
mple time to read. You must be an expert on Abrama by now, yeah?”
Ah, thought Colin, the reading. He laughed nervously and took another mouthful of food.
“So,” she said. “What have you learned?”
Colin muffled some nonsense through his full mouth and gestured to his food, trying to show he was busy eating.
She persisted. “Did you at least read the summary article on Procya?”
In truth, he had read the first couple of dozen words explaining how to pronounce ‘Procya.’ The other five thousand words, which undoubtedly described the planet in more detail than how to speak its name, Colin hadn’t seen.
He gave her a firm nod.
“That’s good,” she replied. “Did you get as far as the article on Abraman societal hierarchy? That’s a very important one.”
He had seen it. Well, he’d seen the opening line, which read ’Note: This article is about current hierarchies in Abraman society. For information on historical hierarchies, see “Abraman societal hierarchy (historical).”’ Beyond that, his knowledge was fuzzy.
Instead of answering, Colin turned to Ade, who was cleaning the counter. “This is very tasty stew, Ade,” he raved. “What do you call it?”
“‘Stew,’ sir,” the android replied.
“Ah,” said Colin. “Good name.”
Before he could refill his mouth, Tyresa leaned forward, put her hand on his arm, and asked for his opinion on the article. Colin saw the quizzical look on her face. Maybe he wasn’t as being as convincing as he’d thought.
“Well… I haven’t quite formed an opinion yet.”
Now she looked downright unimpressed. “You mean you didn’t understand it?”
“Not so much didn’t understand it. More like…” Colin hung his head like a pupil who’d forgotten his homework. “Didn’t read it, as such.”
He confessed his failure to use the slates and how his pride and embarrassment had prevented him from asking for help.
Tyresa looked ready to explode. “I told you to do this hours ago. You mean to say, you’ve been in your quarters all day and gotten nowhere? Even five-year-olds get the hang of slates within minutes! Why didn’t you ask for help, you moron?”
“Now, wait a minute,” said Colin, already chafing at how Tyresa had appointed herself his taskmaster. “What happened to the new, caring, touchy-feely Tyresa?”
“She’s taking a break!” she cried. “What the hell have I got to do to get through to you? I mean, what a—”
Tyresa suddenly broke off and clasped her hands together, then took a deep breath.
“Yes, you’re right, sorry,” she said. “Looks like I need to practice this being nice thing. It’s just that this is important. Human societies are very different from each other, sometimes radically so. If you want to survive in them, you’ve got to learn their rules. Anyhow, I’ll help you figure out the slates later.”
She huffed and took up her spoon. Colin meanwhile put his down and slid his half-empty bowl aside. He never relished conflict, and although that last exchange was hardly a blazing row, it had nevertheless killed his appetite.
Tyresa looked at him thoughtfully for a moment.
“Tell me something,” she said. “What’s really bugging you? I know you’ve got this illness and all, but we’re on the way to getting it fixed. So, if you think about it, what other real problem do you have? You get to make a new life, and a new life in the future to boot. From what you say, humanity is now so much more advanced today than in your time. So, why the permanent long face?”
Colin rubbed his head, feeling a headache coming on. “I appreciate what you’re saying. I wish I could see it like that. But right now, I don’t. I went to sleep one night and then woke up to find my home destroyed, everyone I knew dead, and my world transformed beyond all recognition. I’ve lost everything I had: my friends, my house, my wine collection, everything that’s familiar and gives me my bearings. And now, I’m trapped in this… science fiction story. Maybe that sounds ungrateful. God knows I knew people who would give their right arms to switch places with me. My friends Jeremy and Martin back in… um… back in… in…”
Colin felt suddenly thrown off balance. He was trying to recall the name of his home town.
He couldn’t.
The place he’d been born and raised. The place he’d lived for thirty years. He simply couldn’t remember its name. A wave of panic overcame him.
“I can’t… I can’t remember it.”
“Remember what?”
“Its name. The name of my home town.” He summoned up images of the place in his mind. His house, his street, his old workplace, his favourite bakery. But the name wouldn’t come. “My God, Tyresa, help me.”
“Woah, calm,” she said. “Stay calm. It was Pepperton.”
Yes! Pepperton, that was it.
“Remember?” continued Tyresa. “You were born in Pepperton. That’s in the United Kingdom, formed after England absorbed the life energies of the inhabitants of Wales and Scotland.”
Colin rubbed his forehead, feeling the fresh sweat that had broken out. In the corner of his vision, a tiny purple splodge had appeared. “Seriously now,” he gasped, “how can I forget the name of my home town? I lived my entire life there. That’s not normal.”
“You think it’s something to do with your disease?”
He thought back to receiving his diagnosis, seemingly just a couple of months ago from his perspective. “Could be. My doctor told me that not long before the end, I’d start losing memories at random. Then… within a couple of weeks, they’d all be gone. I’d be a vegetable at death’s door.” His hands began to shake.
Tyresa sat forward and carefully put a hand on his. “All right, don’t panic. We’ll be on Procya long before that happens. The minute we land, we’re into that hospital, and you get cured. Yeah?”
He nodded.
Tyresa gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. “I tell you what. Let’s take our mind off it. Instead of worrying about losing knowledge, let’s fill that mind of yours up with new knowledge, right?”
Colin nodded. He was still shaking, but his panic was subsiding. It made a world of difference to have somebody, even Tyresa, reassuring him.
“Here,” she said, handing him the slate. “I’ll test you. I’ll ask you questions about Abrama, and you can look up the answers.”
He took the slate. “Okay, sounds good.” He looked at the clear, blank sheet. “Um… how do you switch them on again?”
24
Colin stared at the planet through the bridge’s viewport window. This was their destination, the planet Procya.
It wasn’t pretty.
The world resembled a dirty, grey snowball in space, almost totally covered by oppressive-looking clouds aside from a few gaps which exposed the surface beneath. A dark, cold-looking ocean and bleak lands of yellow and brown all peeked through.
“Hey,” said Tyresa, snapping her fingers. “You still there?”
Colin recalled that they’d been in the middle of a conversation.
“Sorry,” he said. “What was the question again?”
“Abrama. Political classification?”
“Oh yeah. Conservative, fundamentalist republic.”
“Head of government?”
“The Prime Deacon.”
“Which is now a ceremonial position, because real power resides in…?”
Colin thought for a moment. “In… the Council of Older Elders, who are also the head honchos of the state religion.”
“Very good. State religion: what are the two names of the Abraman deity?”
“The Creator or The Pr… um… Progenitor.”
“What must you say after referring to him as The Creator?”
“Glory… no, wait. ‘Grant Unto Him Glory.’”
“And after calling him The Progenitor?”
“‘He Who Created All Thou Can See and Not See.’”
“Very good. Okay, which are—”
/> A bumptious-sounding voice came over the bridge speaker. “Port control to SS Turtle. Come in Turtle.”
“Hang on,” said Tyresa. She turned back to her console and activated comms. “Turtle here, port control. Go ahead.”
Tyresa coordinated with the port controller on Procya to arrange the Turtle’s landing, pausing the latest round of testing.
Tyresa had kept her promise to help Colin. In spare moments throughout the journey, she’d guided Colin in his learning, filling his mind with important information about the place they were about to visit. In all honesty, he’d quite enjoyed doing it; it had been like participating in a quiz, albeit one where the specialist subject was depressingly regressive societies.
Tyresa completed her business and closed the comms. “A few more minutes and we’ll begin descent,” she said, turning back to Colin. “Let’s finish up here. Where were we?”
“Politics,” said Colin.
“Oh yeah,” said Tyresa. “Which are the main political parties in Abrama?”
“There are two: the ‘Wishee’ party…”
“Also known as the Moderates.”
“… and the ‘Brayn’ party.”
“Also known as the Conservatives1. Which one of them is currently in power?”
“The Conservatives.”
“Good. Don’t forget we’re now in a very traditional, reactionary society. Even the Moderates are reactionary, so you can imagine how extreme the Conservatives are. Respect their traditions and their beliefs, don’t mock or question their god. They’re pretty old-fashioned so be prepared for some odd behaviour. Just go along with it.”
Colin had found Tyresa’s depiction of Abrama quite extreme. Some of the things she’d said in the last few days had been beyond belief. He suspected she was exaggerating. “After seeing how permissive you liberals on Ceti are, I’ll bet that what you call ‘old-fashioned’ is what I consider normal.”
“We’ll see about that,” she replied with a raised eyebrow. “These people tend to be pretty insular. Don’t talk to strangers in the street. They’ll probably ignore you anyway because you’re obviously an outsider. People like shopkeepers and your doctors will talk to you because they have to, but don’t expect them to be anything other than curt and to-the-point.”