On Point

by J. Clifton Slater

  My PID buzzed with a message from a Druid.

  ‘Messenger. Dock five,’ it read. I hoisted my bags and trudged to the Transport’s lift.

  ***

  There were four of them standing rigidly next to a shuttle. I assumed they were there for me and headed towards the pier. As I approached, I noticed, although their hoods were low, their eyes were visible. Not only visible, but shifting nervously around the dock. Maybe they’d had a run in with the locals. It wouldn’t be the first time a stoic Druid and a hotheaded station worker brawled. Usually, it went badly for the worker.

  “Ladies, gentlemen, I’m Lieutenant Piran,” I said with a wide smile. They didn’t care about my greeting. I just did it hoping to put a bur under their robes.

  Of course, the Druids didn’t speak or react. Two walked into the shuttle while the second pair waited for me. I walked in banging my sea bag on the hatch frame and bouncing it off the seats while struggling down the aisle. It was nice of the Druids to offer and help. If they had, which they didn’t.

  Our pilot sealed the hatch and the sled edged away from the pier and out into the taxiway. After we hit the third air curtain, I reclined the seat and let my eyelids droop. In the Marine Corps, you learned to sleep whenever possible and I planned to nap on the trip down.

  But I didn’t sleep. The Druids’ minds kept cycling thoughts. From anxiety to torment, concern to alarm, unease to caution and back to anxiety where the thoughts repeated. Although my mind reading was rudimentary, I could tell something was upsetting these four.

  ***

  The difference between artificial gravity and a planet’s gravity wasn’t that great. In space or on the dirt, it felt almost the same. However, the transition could be rough as your head spun and stomach turned. Plus, you had the sensation of being upside down and traveling backwards. None of it was comfortable.

  We touched down and the world around me dropped back into reality. Down was down and up was up then the hatch opened and an unbelievable aroma of fresh air flooded the cabin. I remained in my seat and inhaled the natural atmosphere until I was happily dizzy again.

  “Umber Piran. Umber Piran,” a voice called from the hatchway.

  I wrestled my eyes open and looked down the aisle. There stood Druid Pirkko. As far as I knew, the only other living Umber. He was a frail old man with a slight stoop to his shoulders. Despite his age and the demands on his mind from communicating with all four colors of Heart Plant, he remained kind, open and flexible. Maybe that was his secret, he didn’t embrace the closed minded and stoic isolation of most Druids. Not that he was happy-go-lucky, but he had a gentle way about him.

  “Asthore’ Umber Pirkko, give me a moment to untangle myself from the seat,” I called out.

  “Do you require assistance?” he asked.

  “No, thank you. Just time to gather my things,” I responded.

  ***

  I stepped out of the shuttle and stood mesmerized by the sight of the Heart plant domes. Beyond their spirals, mountains rose majestically and seemed to touch the sky.

  “Why do all returning from space go through that ritual?” inquired Pirkko.

  “Have you ever been to space?” I asked without looking at him. “Or out of the valley?”

  “I was chosen young by the plants,” he admitted. “I was born in the valley. Here I study and work.”

  I finally tore my eyes from the vista and looked down at the Druid. While I had traveled across the Galactic Realm, he had lived and would eventually die in one place. Feeling inadequate to explain the overwhelming emotions of the view and the air of the Druid homeland, I decided to change the subject.

  “Where did the shuttle crew go?” I asked.

  “They said you had troubling thoughts and left as soon as possible,” Pirkko advised. “Are you in destress?”

  “Me in destress? No Umber, I am fine,” I informed him. “It was the crew who had unsettled minds.”

  “For that I apologize,” he said. “Please come and I’ll explain.”

  We were halfway to the domes when a youngish Druid quick walked towards us.

  “Elder Gwendolin, the Elder of the White Temple,” Pirkko whispered from behind his hand. “She is newly risen to the position. And a little brash.”

  Pirkko and I kept walking and the Elder maintained her pace. Just before we reached the stone paths that circled the temples, she stopped in front of me.

  “Messenger, I will take the seed,” she announced without bothering to look out from under her hood.

  I glanced down at her outstretched arms. Instead of giving her the seed case, I reached out and shook her hand.

  “Senior Lieutenant Piran. Call sign J-Pop,” I said with my best glad-to-meet you smile. Then inquired, “And you are?”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I caught Pirkko step to the side and away from us.

  ‘Seed messenger,’ Elder Gwendolin pushed at my mind. ‘Give me the seed.’

  I inhaled deeply and fought back my usual aggressive response to Druid mind games. With my free hand, I snapped my fingers to get her attention. Then, I extended a finger and guided her eyes to the Knight’s pin on my collar.

  “Not a good idea poking at a Knight’s mind,” I stated dropping the smile. “Almost as bad as physically attacking one. Don’t draw your sticks or you will be hurt.”

  She hadn’t pulled back from the touch of our hands. For a second, my ego thought she was enjoying it. But when her other hand snaked into her robe, where Druids keep their fighting sticks, I realized she maintained the grip to use it for leverage.

  “Let’s try this again,” I barked at her. “I am Phelan Oscar Piran, a Knight Protector of the Clan, and the chosen courier of the ancient White Heart’s seed. And you are?”

  I’ll give her credit. The Elder didn’t back up. She released my hand and raise her eyes to study my face. A deadpan stare greeted her giving no idea of my intentions. Although from my mind, she sensed the Knight’s outrage at the confrontation.

  “Elder Gwendolin of the White Temple,” she said without inflection.

  “Asthore’ Gwendolin, you have words for me?” I asked.

  “I do, Knight Piran. I request the White’s seed,” she replied.

  “Well, there is a small problem. Actually, two issues,” I told her.

  “And they are?” she said dropping her eyes again.

  “One, I’m hungry,” I informed her. “And the other, home to the White means inside the temple. I’d be honored if you would escort me. After I eat, of course.”

  Elder Gwendolin was thrown by my declaration. Thoughts flashed in her mind and I sensed uncertainty. Not about me, but about her temple. No, not the temple, it had something to do with the White Heart plants.

  “Asthore’ Elder Pirkko, is there a chance of getting a bowl of stew?” I asked. “And maybe a heal of fresh bread?”

  “Yes, Umber Piran,” he said.

  At his statement, Gwendolin’s head snapped up and she looked harder at me. I guess the Umber thing caught her off guard.

  “Care to join us, Elder Gwendolin,” I invited her while letting a smile cross my face.

  “Yes,” she replied before spinning around and stomping away on the white stone path.

  “She is brash,” I said to Pirkko as we followed in her wake.

  “For a White Elder, she carries on like a Red” he replied.

  I wasn’t sure but I think Elder Pirkko had made a Druid joke.

  ***

  The stew was delicious and I was halfway through a loaf of bread before I noticed something odd. Every seat in the Elder’s dining hall was occupied. They were seated by color and from the looks of it, there couldn’t have been an Elder anywhere in the Druid school but here.

  “Looks crowded,” I commented as I sopped up some of the thick broth.

  “Yes,” was all Gwendolin said.

  “There are problems with the Heart plants,” Pirkko added.

  Gwendolin scowled at the old Druid. I continu
ed slurping down beef, potatoes, carrots and barley while secretly watching the exchange.

  “Enough talk,” declared Gwendolin. “Piran is not Druid.”

  “Yet, he is Umber chosen by all four colors,” Pirkko responded. “Do you deny the wisdom of our Heart plants?”

  “Of course not,” Gwendolin replied. “However, would one hand a weapon to an untrained child and expect it to protect a Heart plant?”

  This was a Druid school as well as a forestry installation. I just heard parts of an academic discussion which meant nothing to me. I picked up the bowl and drained the rest of the stew. Using the last of the bread, I mopped up the bottom.

  “Let’s go deliver a seed,” I announced.

  I was up and out of the dining hall before Gwendolin or Pirkko realized I was moving. A child with a gun? You can take your wisdom and…

  Gwendolin ran up and tugged on my sleeve. Stopping short, she ended up in front of me, blocking my way.

  “It is difficult,” she said.

  Druids were notoriously bad communicators. If they were communicating with a Heart plant or sending images to another Druid, it probably worked great. But, for verbal expressions, it was like pulling teeth to get the full story.

  “What is difficult?” I demanded.

  “To be overwhelmed by the plants,” she explained.

  “Now, was that so terribly hard?” I said. “Come with me and we’ll deliver the White’s seed.”

  “I will accompany,” she announced.

  “You,” I added.

  “You?” she asked.

  “I will accompany…Oh, forget it,” I stated.

  ***

  With Elder Gwendolin by my side, I pulled open the air-lock to the White’s dome. Before we could step inside, a wall of aromas rolled over us like a wet fog. Gwendolin cried out and her knees buckled. As she fell, I snatched her up and carried her clear of the cloud.

  “As a White Elder she is attuned to every nuance of the White plants,” Pirkko informed me. He’d followed but had fallen behind. “They have been like this for four weeks. None of the Elders can enter their domes.”

  “Who is caring for the young Heart plants?” I asked as Gwendolin rose up to a sitting position.

  “The students, yet to pass ritual,” Gwendolin said. “The ritual is…”

  “I know about the ritual,” I said too harshly. “I’m going in. If I’m not back in a few hours, send in the Marines.”

  “Excuse me?” asked Pirkko.

  “Never mind,” I replied as I marched back to the dome.

  ***

  ‘Warning, defense, on guard, caution, alarm…’

  The White Heart plants were putting out anxiety inducing messages. The haze of pollen was overwhelming and I tripped and almost fell like Gwendolin. My head lulled and my shoulders sagged from the cloud of messages. Then, I remembered my duty as a courier and my obligation to the dying White to deliver her seed. Using the memory of her scent, I forced myself to stand upright.

  When the Whites realized I wouldn’t pass out or flee, each plant began pumping out more pollen aromas. New messages swirled within the fog of the old messages.

  ‘Warning, defense, on guard, caution, alarm…’

  Already choking on the thick layers of pollen, I slowed my breathing and covered my nose and mouth with my sleeve. I got angry.

  “Stop! Stop this nonsense,” I screamed out loud while concentrating on the words. No matter how much I tried, my weak communication skills were drowned out by the smells of twenty White Heart plants.

  Bending as if walking into a gale force wind, I stomped forward through the blinding pollen. A memory from my past cut through the mental and physical fog. As a young Druid candidate, I walked into this dome and pulled a rebreather mask from a charging station. Back then a Druid Master had taken my mask and locked me in a box. Now, I was a fully-grown man and I had a job to complete.

  I reached the recharging station, grabbed a mask and slammed it on my face. The clutter of messages still pounded in my head but with the mask in place they were a rumble not a roar. Looking around, I located the domes control panel. For training purposes, the dome could be pressurized to expose the Druid students to different pressures and air volumes. It could also be vented.

  I opened the box and slammed the power bar then twisted the venting switch. As the air hissed out of the dome, I staggered to the air-lock and pushed through to the fresh air outside.

  ***

  “Elder Gwendolin. Quick, what is the venting system rate compared to the volume of air in the dome?” I demanded as I stumbled towards her.

  “Why?” she asked.

  The Elder sure loved her one-word questions and replies.

  “How long at full venting will it take to drain the air from the dome?” I insisted.

  “Fifteen to twenty,” Gwendolin replied.

  “Let’s go with twenty,” I suggested trying to keep my temper. “Twenty what? And to what pressure?”

  “Minutes. Vacuum,” Gwendolin stated.

  Twenty minutes was far too long. A full vacuum would harm the young plants. Apparently, the plants realized it as well. From the partially open air-lock door, aromas carrying powerful cries for help drifted to Gwendolin.

  “No,” she shouted and began to run for the dome.

  I was slow to catch on to what was happening. Gwendolin raced for the air-lock and I lagged several steps behind her. If she managed to get inside and close the door, she’d stop the venting. Then, she’d pass out before suffocating on the pollen.

  My personal opinions of the Druid Elder aside, I didn’t want her to die uselessly.

  If Gwendolin…suddenly I grew angry and indignant that a Druid would die on my watch. My legs churned faster and my chest heaved as I sucked in great volumes of air. My vision narrowed until the running Elder Gwendolin became the center of my focus. I judged her steps, her stride, and the movements of her arms. She reached the air-lock door, pulled it open and just as she stepped over the knee knocker, I launched myself.

  Halfway over the threshold, I tackled Elder Gwendolin. We rolled and she fought me trying to escape. When she scratched my face, I reached for her throat. To attack a Knight brought death.

  The Senior White, an old and powerful plant saved Gwendolin. Before I could close my fingers on her thin neck, a new scent washed over me.

  ‘Peace, Live, Gwendolin, Live, Peace’

  I slung her over my shoulder and walked out of the dome. After laying her beside the gravel path, I went back and slammed the air-lock door then spun down the locking mechanism. After securing the door, I set the timer on my PID for seventeen and a half minutes.

  Standing alone with my back to the door, I breathed like a bull ready to challenge any Druid who attempted to stop the venting. Gwendolin laid on the grass sobbing unconsolably. A group of Druids squatting to comfort her, glared at me.

  ***

  The timer sounded its alarm. I turned my back on the Druids and spun the air-lock door open. Inside, I found layers of the old messages but the most prominent were the aromas pleading for help.

  I switched off the venting system and turned on the air intake. Then I walked to the center of the dome.

  The young plants were silent in the thin air while the more mature waited for me. I pulled off the rebreather and tested the air.

  “I am here for the ancient White Heart on Construction station,” I gasped and had to replace the mask and suck on some air. Then I continued, “She is dead.”

  ‘Dead, Passed, Sadness, Mulch, Oblivion’

  “Yes. However, she sent me with a gift,” I said before replacing the mask.

  But the plants began to revert to their pervious state.

  ‘Warning, defense…’

  “Stop, cease, halt your communications,” I shouted. “This is her seed.”

  I reached down and unzipped the seed case. Cupping the seed in one hand, I lifted it above my head. A question occurred to me. Can Heart plants see?<
br />
  “The White Heart sends her seed,” I declared while walking to each plant and waving it in front of their trunks. “The ancient sends her seed.”

  After repeating the sentence twenty times a new aroma, gentle and soft, flooded the dome. From panic, the White Heart plants sent out parental caring aromas. It was the equivalent of humans oohing and aahing over a baby.

  “Dig, Knight,” one plant directed me.

  The hole ended being eighteen inches deep. I placed the seed and covered it with soil creating a low mound over the seed bed.

  “Open the door,” the same plant instructed me.

  Space cats raced in and two cats lay on the mound as if nesting. Odd behavior for felines, I thought.

  I attempted to question the plants about the previous drama but the plants were busy communicating about the seed. After a long time of trying to get them to communicate with me, I left the White Heart dome in frustration.

  “You’re good to go,” I said as I walked by Elder Gwendolin.

  She climbed stiffly to her feet and disappeared through the air-lock door. Based on her jerky movements, I must have been rougher on her than I remembered.

  For some reason, I was exhausted and my legs were weak. A long nap sounded good and I headed for a dorm. But Elder Pirkko stepped in front of me.

  “Umber Piran, are you hungry?” he asked.

  Food hadn’t occurred to me until he mentioned it. Now, my stomach rumbled.

  “Didn’t we just eat?” I asked.

  “That was two days ago, Piran,” he advised. “Unless you were dining on Heart plant.”

  “Food, yes please,” I said.

  Then I realized, Pirkko had made another Druid joke. Dining on Heart plant was so far from a Druid’s reality, it had to be humor.

  ***

  News of the calm plants in the White Heart dome spread. Elders from red, blue and yellow joined Pirkko and me at our table.

  “A seed is rare,” one stated.

  I ignored the obvious statement and cut into a ham slice. As I shoved it into my face, Pirkko spoke for me.

  “It was instructions from an Umber that created the calm environment,” he said.

  The announcement was partially true. By insisting an Umber had managed where the specific Elders had failed, Pirkko raised his own importance to the Druid community. It never occurred to me that Druids practiced political maneuvering. Yet here I sat enjoying a huge country breakfast while my fellow Umber bragged about our prowess at communicating with Heart plants.