Starship Home

by Morphett, Tony

  Once these essential facts had been established, they made themselves comfortable on the long seats at the back of the bus. ‘Don’t you think the women are being irrational about this?’ yawned Harold.

  ‘Slept in far worse places,’ said Zachary. He raised his voice. ‘You can turn the lights out now thanks, Guinevere.’

  The lights went out, there was a moment’s pause, and then Harold’s voice said: ‘Leave maybe just one on?’ Somewhere in the hold a light came on, casting a dim radiance into the school bus. ‘I’ve always kind of slept with one light on, you know?’ Harold explained to Zachary.

  ‘Me too,’ said Zachary.

  ‘You too?’ Harold sounded amazed.

  ‘In case of Alien attacks during the night? That kind of thing?’ Zachary paused, and grinned. ‘I’m scared of the dark, but don’t tell the women, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’ Harold was not sure whether to believe him, but let it pass.

  As the two males settled down, Zoe and Meg had finished showering, and were dressed in Slarn longjohns, standing in an ablutions room connected to the bridge, washing their clothes. Zoe was saying, ‘We’re going to have to introduce Harold and Zachary to this room.’

  ‘Thou lookest more decent now,’ Guinevere said.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Meg.

  ‘Now that thou hast scrubbed thy whore’s paint from thy face,’ added Guinevere in a perfectly friendly manner.

  Meg stiffened with anger. ‘All women, in the time and place I come from, paint their faces. It is called make-up and is a normal part of living.’

  ‘tis paint,’ said Guinevere smugly, ‘and ‘tis a slut’s trick to ensnare poor foolish men. Do’st thou want deluded Zachary to think thee young?’

  ‘No I don’t! Yes I am young! Forget it!’ Meg said by way of explanation.

  In the school bus, Zachary was almost asleep, but Harold was still wide awake, staring at the ceiling. ‘Zachary?’

  ‘Mmmm?’

  ‘I guess I’ll never see my Mum and Dad again.’

  ‘Guess not.’ Zachary would have liked to tell Harold a comforting lie, but for once he could not think of one. He rolled over on the bus seat and looked at Harold, lying across the aisle from him. ‘You’re … what? Thirteen, right? I was 14 when I saw mine last, I … most people leave home when they’re a bit older but… you’re going to be okay. Look at me. I turned out perfect.’ He paused. ‘We’re going to make it, kid. I mean we all made it 43 light years together. That’d be 88 if you counted there and back…’

  ‘Eighty six.’

  ‘Right. Eighty six. If we can do that we can do anything. We’re going to make it.’

  ‘Make it … to what?’

  ‘To whatever?’

  ‘I had it all mapped out. I always figured I’d do a PhD in Physics or Maths and then go into research.’

  ‘Uh huh. Well there’s, uh … there’s sure to be other things. I always thought I’d play pro football. Didn’t work out. There’s always other things. Hell, I … I can’t even be a bus driver any more.’

  Harold nodded, wondering what other things there might be in store for him in a world like this. ‘It’s kind of primitive out there isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ said Zachary, ‘so maybe they need someone who can get computers working again. Maybe like a wizard or something.’

  ‘A wizard?’ Harold was both amused and interested. One of his favorite personas in role playing games was that of Wizard.

  ‘Why not?’ said Zachary. ‘Anything you don’t understand looks like magic. This ship looks like magic to me. Come to think of it, pocket calculators look like magic to me.’

  ‘Guess so.’ Harold closed his eyes for a bit to rest them. He drifted off to sleep for a moment. Then he said: ‘You mind if I have that light out? It’s in my eyes.’

  ‘Suppose I can take it if you can,’ Zachary said, then, ‘Ah … Guinevere?’ The light went out. ‘See what I mean?’ Zachary’s voice went on in the darkness. ‘Just like magic.’

  As the males fell asleep, the women were rigging a washing line in the bridge, using some Slarn rope that Guinevere had found for them in a storeroom, securing it between two handholds. Once the line was rigged, they hung up their wet clothes, and went to their couches. The Wyzen sprang up to join Zoe on hers. As she scratched the Wyzen’s ears, she said: ‘I keep thinking about my family. Floating around in space somewhere. My little sister Helena, she’s only three years old…’

  ‘Better not to think about things like that.’

  ‘Can’t help it.’

  ‘Think about things we can do something about,’ said Meg. ‘We’ve got to deal with all this a day at a time, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Zoe. She was thinking of her little sister Helena, clutching her teddybear and waving her off to school. It was only a week ago. It seemed like a faded picture from another age.

  On the other couch, Meg had turned her back to Zoe and was silently weeping, shedding tears of loneliness and fear.

  Adults were vulnerable too, something Guinevere understood full well. Slowly she turned down the lights of the bridge, so the young woman would not see the older woman’s fear, and then, taking pity on her four lost companions, she began to tell them a tale of long ago, of two starships who loved each other so much that one braved the very doors of Death itself to return his sweetheart to the world of the living. “They were named Phoebe and Cassius …” she began.

  25: SHORT STRAWS

  The next morning over a nutritious breakfast of khaki ship’s biscuits and blue gruel, they drew straws to see who would go out exploring and who would stay home to mind the ship. Zachary cheated. In fairness, it must be said that although Zachary cheated often, he never cheated without a good, sometimes even a righteous reason.

  In this case, his good reason was that Harold had woken up several times in the night with bad dreams which he could not remember on waking. Zachary decided, as he picked some dead grass stalks in the clearing outside the starship, that if the one short straw went to Harold, the kid might be able to get some sleep and rest his giant brain.

  ‘It’s not fair,’ said Harold, when he drew the short straw. ‘It’s the men who ought to go exploring.’

  Zachary was not going to discuss it. ‘We drew straws, you drew the short one, you stay back and look after the ship.’

  ‘She doesn’t need looking after.’

  ‘The time for this discussion was before we drew the straws.’

  ‘I didn’t know then I was going to lose. The possibilities were one in four and it didn’t seem worth talking about. Now the possibilities are one in one and I want to discuss the principle!’

  ‘The principle is you lost,’ Zoe said. ‘Now stick with Guinevere, we’ll be back.’

  She moved toward the forest, and Zachary and Meg followed as Harold disconsolately went back up the ramp into the ship. As the forest closed around them, Zoe said to Zachary: ‘You cheated him, Zachary. You palmed the straws. I saw you.’

  ‘If I’d had three short straws you’d have all got one. I’d be better doing this on my own.’ He paused. ‘He didn’t sleep too well.’

  ‘I keep forgetting he’s only 13,’ Zoe said. ‘He knows so much.’

  ‘You’re only 15 yourself.’

  ‘There’s a big difference. Fifteen’s grown up.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Will you two stop arguing?’ It was getting on Meg’s nerves. ‘Zachary … did what he thought was the right thing.’ Zachary smiled and nodded. ‘On the other hand,’ Meg added, ‘I’d be grateful if you’d cut out the pathetic macho “me Tarzan” routine. We’re all perfectly capable of going out and looking for food and water.’ Zachary lost his smile. There was no way he could win with this woman.

  Back on the bridge of the starship, Harold was sitting on a couch, watching the screen. What he was watching was a replay Guinevere was giving him of the moment when they had drawn straws to see who would go exploring. ‘Show
me again,’ he said. ‘closer this time.’ He watched the picture on the screen. Zachary was offering Meg a straw, Zoe a straw, and there were two left. Then there were no straws, and then there were two again. Harold watched his own hand pick one of the new straws. A short one. Then Zachary folded his hands together and then his right hand was holding up a long straw. There been a switch. Harold had been offered the choice of one of two short straws while Zachary had palmed two long ones.

  Harold leant back in his couch, disgusted. ‘He cheated! He thought I’d be in the way! He not only calls me a kid, he thinks I am one!’ Suddenly the tiredness he had been feeling was driven out of him by anger. He rolled onto his feet, and ran for the open hatchway. ‘Don’t stop me, Guinevere, don’t dare try and stop me!’

  Guinevere had no intention of stopping him. In her England, the England of the 16th century, people were adult at 13. Thirteen-year-old men went to war, 13-year-old women married. Nevertheless, ‘Wyzen? Follow!’ she said, and felt easier in her conscience when the Wyzen loped out in pursuit of Harold. He found that the Wyzen was following him when she caught him up on the ramp and nearly tripped him. ‘Go home!’ he said, but she continued to follow him. He stopped. ‘Go home!’ She looked down and half turned, but clearly had no intention of obeying. ‘Guinevere, call her!’ There was no answer. Guinevere was not cooperating. The Wyzen turned and walked slowly back toward the ramp. Harold ran into the forest. Joyfully, the Wyzen spun about and ran after him. There were many new and interesting smells in this forest and she intended to sample every one of them.

  26: EXPLORING

  Zoe led Meg and Zachary to the Ponds which had given Dalrymple Ponds their name. Originally they had been part of the river, more of a large creek, but then the river had changed its course, and the ponds had for a time been a billabong, an arm reaching off the river. And then the entrance had silted up and the billabong had become a series of ponds.

  They had been on private land in the 21st century, but now the fences had fallen, and the forest had regrown and they were part of the landscape again. As they neared the Ponds, they crossed a well-worn path. They could not be sure whether the path had been worn by animals or people, but, on Zachary’s instructions, they avoided it, for Zachary, from his Army training, knew that the easiest way was never the safest way, and a path was something you got ambushed on.

  So it was that they took a track through the bush parallel to the path, moving as easily and as quietly as possible until they came in sight of the Ponds. They could see where the path led down to the water and broadened out into a drinking place. Emerging from cover now, they went down to the drinking place and found the wet earth there patterned by all kinds of hoof and paw marks.

  ‘Cattle drink here,’ said Meg, pointing to cloven hoof marks. ‘A horse,’ she added, pointing to the marks of an uncloven hoof. ‘Shod. Someone’s riding a shod horse.’

  ‘Kangaroo,’ said Zachary, ‘big wallaby maybe.’

  Zoe was now pointing to another sets of prints. ‘Please tell me those are dog prints.’

  ‘It’s not a dog,’ said Meg. ‘It looks more like…’ And then she looked up and around. ‘A big cat,’ she added in a strangled voice. She was staring across the pond, and the others looked up to see what she was staring at. The lioness looked back at them. She was a female, and very big. Other lions lay sunning themselves in the grass near her.

  ‘We don’t scream,’ said Zachary, ‘and we move very slowly, no fuss, no panic…’

  ‘I read somewhere that if you fix a lion in the eye with a really mean stare,’ Zoe began and then stopped.

  ‘We just quietly move off,’ said Zachary. The lioness began to move round the pond in their direction. ‘And run!’ Zachary added. And they turned and ran, taking the path, not caring about ambush and concealment any more. The lioness loped after them.

  They were doing very well for a while.

  Then Meg tripped and fell. At the cost of some dignity, she let out an inarticulate cry for help, and Zachary and Zoe stopped, turned, ran back and dragged her to her feet and they ran on.

  As far as the lioness was concerned, this meant that she had gained ground. The possibilities of lunch were looking better all the time.

  Meanwhile, Harold and the Wyzen were wriggling through long grass. They had smelled the wood smoke before they saw it, and had followed the smell through the forest until they heard the ringing sound of metal on metal and then followed that sound to the village. They had then circled the village until they came to the high side of it where they could look down and see what was going on.

  What they saw was a set of twenty or thirty round huts scattered in among the trees, with garden plots between them. The huts were made of upright poles hammered into the earth, with the lower part of their walls composed of thin branches woven together and then covered with mud. Harold knew from his history lessons that this building technique was called “wattle and daub”. In some huts, the upper part of the wall was left open, and in others, it was composed of the same sort of tree bark that formed the roofs, a bark which Harold recognized as coming from the stringybark gum tree.

  There were people working or moving about the village, people who looked as if they were a blend of Aboriginal, Pacific Island, European and Asian ancestry, the blend evening out as the people got younger. Among the very old, Harold could spot people who stood out as one or the other, but the smallest children very often looked like a blending of all races.

  They were dressed in a mixture of cloth and leather, the cloth ranging in color through browns and mustards, with some yellows. Harold had an aunt who did natural dyeing with native plants, and he recognized the color range as being the basic set of colors obtained from eucalyptus leaves.

  Everyone seemed to have something to do. There was a blacksmith working at an open air forge, hammering out what looked like a spade. Up at the far end of the village, away from everyone else, some tanners had stretched a cowhide and were scraping the flesh side of it. Women were weaving cloth in strips about two feet wide. They were using what his craftswoman aunt called a backstrap loom. Several other women sat on the steps of one of the huts, spinning woollen thread on spindles, and others stirred dyepots over fires.

  Children were bringing in dead wood and stacking it for the fires, and others were weeding the garden plots. Nobody was idle. Harold was trying to think what it reminded him of. He had seen this sort of thing somewhere before. Then it hit him. He had not seen it in the flesh. He had seen it in National Geographics and in television documentary programs about the Third World. A few miles from the ruins of his First World home, he was watching the ordered rhythms of life of a Third World village.

  As he lay watching, he began to see differences between the huts. There was a big one facing what he took to be the village square. Someone important must live there. Opposite the big hut was another, also facing the square. This one, he saw, with a cold tingle running up his spine, had skulls hanging from its poles.

  The cold tingle was still in his spine when he thought he heard a slight noise behind him. He turned to look, but there was no one there. He turned back to continue looking at the village. He had to remember everything in order to tell the others.

  Behind him, in cover, Maze watched the stranger who was spying on her village. He was one of the ones from the Slarn-demon iron castle. She watched to see what he would do.

  Meanwhile, in a tree halfway between the Ponds and the starship, sat Zoe, Zachary and Meg. The lioness walked round and round the bottom of the tree. ‘There usen’t to be any lions around here,’ said Zoe.

  ‘That’s very observant of you,’ said Meg.

  ‘But yes there were,’ said Zachary. The other two looked at him. ‘In Safari Parks. Open range zoos.’

  Zoe snapped her fingers. ‘Like roads and planes. You take all but 2% of the population, and time spent maintaining fences in zoos is a luxury, right?’

  Meg cleared her throat. ‘Are we saying that the bush is
now full of lions and tigers and jaguars?’

  ‘Could be. Though the lions’d be better off on the plains. That’s where they come from isn’t it? African veldt? But if there’s kangaroos, wallabies, wild sheep and cattle to eat…’

  ‘Not to mention passing tourists…’

  Zoe suddenly shuddered. ‘The snakes could’ve escaped. Kraits, mambas, cobras, rattlesnakes.’

  ‘That’ll be all, Zoe!’ Though a countrybred woman, Meg did not care for snakes.

  ‘Pit vipers.’ Zoe smiled and paused. ‘Though, come to think of it, Australian snakes are the most venomous in the world anyway, so who cares?’

  The lioness just kept pacing. She had all the time in the world.

  27: CAPTURED

  Harold was wriggling back from his vantage point and the Wyzen was moving with him when they both heard the noise again. The Wyzen’s hearing was more acute than Harold’s, and she had been hearing tiny noises all the time, but to up this point her interest in the sights and smells of the village below had been occupying her full attention.

  Now, however, she turned her attention to the feral human whom she could smell in the bushes behind them, and she decided to play with it. To begin the game, she leapt into the bushes. The effect, to the Wyzen’s way of thinking, was entirely satisfactory. The small feral human let out a loud yell, and ran.

  Maze took the path away from the village. The man and the animal were between her and home, and besides, good forest child that she was, she was trained to lead danger away from her clan not toward it. If one died, even if that one were a female, that was sad, but if the clan died, that was disaster.

  She glanced back, and saw that the weird animal and the strange male with it were running after her.

  ‘Wait!’ Harold yelled, ‘We won’t hurt you!’

  The shout simply made Maze run faster with Harold and the Wyzen in pursuit. The Wyzen was enjoying herself. Bounding through a forest again brought back memories of cubhood on her home planet. Harold for his part, just wanted to talk to the small girl who was running from them.