The Search for Cleo

by Aaron J. Ethridge

  “I cut my hair, Rob,” she pointed out. “What was it that I did that was stupid?”

  “You’ve never cut it like this,” he said. “Since you've been grown, you've always made sure that it stays within the 'three inches of perfection'. As a child, the worst thing you ever did was color your hair pink. You were fifteen-and-a-half or so. It was so bad, I had to avoid you for over a month.”

  “So, that's why...” she began with some heat.

  “You've never noticed that Rob is insane when it comes to hair, small girl?” Vox chuckled. “When I was around twenty, I decided to grow mine out...”

  “You looked like a girl,” Robert interrupted. “On top of which, that pink didn't even go with your skin color.”

  “He colored his hair pink?” Azure asked.

  “Cleo, Azure,” the traveler said, shaking his head. “Cleo's hair didn't go with her body. Why would Vox color his hair pink? You've been spending too much time with Morgan.”

  “It went together,” Vox opined.

  That statement caused Robert to glare at him.

  “I mean: it would have if you'd been painting a room or something,” he clarified. “Obviously, it didn't work for Cleo.”

  “Thanks, Vox,” the green maiden said, shifting her gaze to him.

  In reply, he simply shrugged.

  “What really gets to me is the hypocrisy,” Robert said. “I happen to take a very minor risk without consulting you first and I have to go through days of slappage. You hack half your hair off, not even bothering to warn me that you're going to do it, and I'm supposed to just stand here and take it.”

  “You are not trying to compare...” she began.

  “You like me alive,” he interrupted. “so, I shouldn't end up 'not alive' without asking you first. I accept that. I like your hair a certain length...”

  “You are barking mad,” Cleo laughed, despite her annoyance.

  “I am?!” he exclaimed. “On top of everything else, you're going to insult me? Are you just testing my limits, or what?”

  “What do you plan to do about it if I am?” she asked, taking a step nearer him and pretending to gaze at him defiantly.

  “I know what I should do about it,” he snapped.

  “Do you?” she asked with a coy smile.

  “I do, actually,” he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?”

  “Your hair, of course. Morgan, go grab the MCB.”

  “You plan to put my hair back on?” she asked.

  The question caused the entire crew to burst out laughing.

  “One strand at a time,” he replied undeterred.

  “You can't un-risk you and Morgan's lives,” she pointed out. “Or un-cut my hair. You'll just have to do what I do and forgive and forget.”

  “It won't be easy.”

  “Sometimes, it isn't,” she replied. “I'll tell you what, I'll sell you some rewards at a discounted price. What would you like?”

  “To run my fingers through your hair,” he said. “Where is it?”

  “Funny,” she smiled.

  “We have a game to play, Rob,” Doc interjected. “As I assume we need to know how to speak Bratwurstian by the time we reach the planet, I think we'd better not waste any more time.”

  As much as he wanted to, Robert couldn't find a way to argue with this. For close to an hour, he managed to maintain his annoyance. His resolve was eventually worn away, however, by Cleo giving him an 'across the board' discount for the remainder of the night. Before the evening was over, he got used to her hairstyle enough to accidentally get himself tranq-ed. This seemed like the perfect way to end the day – especially as Robert wouldn't be awake for hours – so they called it a night.

  Days later, their destination appeared in the distance, and Robert decided that it was time to more fully brief his crew.

  “The Bratwurstians are a primitive people living on the outskirts of the Farlinic Empire,” he explained. “The planet itself contains a slightly radioactive metal called berlanium. As it's easily workable and a very attractive silver color, the natives often use it to make jewelry.

  “Although we could certainly find a source of our own and work it to get what we need, it will be a great deal faster if we collect already processed metal from the locals.”

  “Quick question,” Morgan said. “If Bratwurst is part of the Farlinic Empire why are the people primitives?”

  “The empire has what amounts to a prime directive,” Robert explained. “Until the natives discover space travel, the law says they have to be left in isolation.”

  “The prime directive is insane,” Morgan opined.

  “Eh...” the traveler replied, rotating his hand back and forth. “Technology isn't magic, Morgan. It can't, in and of itself, make people happy.”

  “I don't see your point.”

  “Happiness is one of the goals of this life,” Doc replied. “It's not a stepping stone to anything else, or part of some greater plan. It is one of the few ends that is not itself a means. Historically, just handing a culture technology that they haven't developed, leads to war more often than it leads to anything else. At its earliest stages, culture is people working together for survival. As a result, they often think in terms of 'how will this help us overcome our adversaries?' which, in turn, often leads to war.”

  “There was a reason the prime directive was introduced into fiction,” Robert added. “Handing an individual advanced technology is usually harmless enough. Offering an entire planet that same thing has led to the destruction of entire worlds.”

  “I'll take your word for it,” he nodded. “At the moment, the important thing is that the Bratwurstians are primitive.”

  “They are,” Robert asserted. “They have, however, developed a rather advanced system of trade. The entire planet currently has a unified currency system based on rare planetary metals.”

  “Like berlanium?” Morgan speculated.

  “Berlanium, gold, silver, even lead,” Robert replied. “Of course, I'm rather attached to the gold we brought from Thundera, what with it being hairbrushes and commemorative coins, so I don't plan to use it for trade.”

  “Then, what do we trade?”

  “Some of Celeste's cloth,” he smiled, “if she can spare it.”

  “I can,” she assured him.

  “Dried fish, and fruits, and other things we have packed in the hold,” he continued, “along with whatever else we can safely offer them without risking altering the time lines.”

  “Is it safe to offer them anything at all?” Morgan asked.

  “Underwear elastic,” he pointed out. “They already have cloth, and dried foods, and things like that.”

  “I hate to even mention it,” the young man said, “but, wouldn't it be safer to just stealth up and take what we need?”

  “Almost certainly,” Robert nodded.

  “That would also be stealing, however,” Azure pointed out.

  “I'm not saying we should do it,” he explained. “You know I can't stand the idea of taking things that aren't ours. I didn't even want to steal that stove.”

  “We didn't steal it,” the traveler interjected.

  “I was just pointing out that doing so might be safer in this case,” Morgan said, finishing his thought.

  “If we do accidentally mess anything up,” the traveler said, “we should be able to come back later and swap out what we traded with replacement berlanium. It might confuse them, but I don't see it destroying the future.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Morgan smiled. “Where do we start?”

  “I think the first thing we should do is get a cart,” Robert replied with a wide smile.

  The captain rose and led his crew to the new armory (which was in the first of the two sidecars Vox had added to the ship).

  “Fortunately, due to a combination of luck and forethought, this job should be a piece of cake,” he said as he handed both Cleo and A
zure a stealth generator. “Vox just happened to grab two personal holo-emitters during our escape from The Cleo...”

  “Not 'just happened to', boss,” Vox corrected. “I figured they might come in handy at some point.”

  “You were right,” Robert nodded. “The Bratwurstians are one of the few reptilian peoples in this part of this galaxy.”

  “We only have two holo-emitters, Rob,” Cleo pointed out.

  “So, as you can imagine, we look nothing like them,” he continued.

  “Are they violent, Rob?”

  “A majority of primitive reptilian cultures are what we would consider extremely violent,” he replied. “One of the main reasons for this is their natural armor, their resistance to infection, their ability to regrow severed limbs, etc, etc, etc.”

  “Are the Bratwurstians extremely violent, Robert?” the green maiden asked with a tone of warning.

  “Are there any ion storms around here, Robert?” Morgan asked with a tone of concern.

  “Robert?” Robert asked.

  “Rob,” the young man conceded.

  “Give me one of the holo-emitters,” Cleo almost snapped.

  “You are really suspicious,” the traveler said, gazing at his love. “I hope you realize that.”

  “I have to be,” she replied. “I'm engaged to the most prolific liar the universe has ever produced.”

  “It seems like someone else called me that once,” Robert said, rubbing his chin. “I think they meant it as a compliment, though. Either way, would you please at least give me the chance to be honest.”

  “Go ahead,” she replied with half-a-laugh, “if you think you can.”

  “Yes,” he nodded. “The Bratwurstians can be extremely violent.”

  “I should have known,” she said, gazing at the ceiling and shaking her head as her jaw muscles tried to break her teeth.

  “I'm telling you now,” he pointed out, “in advance.”

  “Only because...”

  “Why do you think I handed you a stealth-belt as soon as we stepped in the room, dear?” he asked. “If you hadn't stood here interrupting me incessantly, I'd have been able to tell you that I wanted you and Azure to go with us.”

  “Oh,” she said, turning her attention to the belt in her hand. “I'm sorry, love.”

  “There's no need to be,” he said, offering her a smile. “No, Morgan, we're nowhere near any ion storms or anything else that would foul up our equipment. As a result, two of us will be able to use the holo-emitters to look like the locals, two of us will be wearing stealth-belts, and all four of us will be covered in shields and carrying weapons.”

  “What will the other three of us be doing?” Vox asked.

  “Standing guard,” he replied. “I'm basically positive that Sturm has no idea where we are, but if he somehow managed to steal my ship for a second time, I might just lose it.”

  “I can see that,” Doc nodded.

  “Which two of us are going to be wearing what?” Azure asked.

  “I figured Morgan and I would use the holo-emitters and...”

  “That's what I thought,” she said, shaking her head. “I don't like it.”

  “Why not?” he chuckled.

  “I've spent two weeks learning to speak Bratwurstian, and it turns out there was no point.”

  “On top of which,” Cleo added. “If you're going to risk extreme violence, I'm going to be at your side.”

  “Honestly, I think Cleo and I...” Azure began.

  “I don't like that,” Robert interrupted. “If a fight were to break out, we'd have to use the tranq-guns. You girls are extremely skilled at unarmed combat, but you don't have the weight to face a Bratwurstian warrior.”

  “On top of which, you're worried that we'll get hurt,” the blue maiden speculated.

  “We are,” Morgan replied.

  “Which is insane,” Cleo opined, “considering the fact that we'll all be wearing shields.”

  “Morgan and I aren't going to have ours turned on unless weapons get involved,” Robert explained. “Sometimes non-lethal fights break out during trading. It would be hard to explain why we didn't feel it when they hit us.”

  “I'm not about to let you...” the green maiden began.

  “Let's compromise,” Azure suggested. “Morgan and I will handle the trading, while you and Rob act as our invisible backup. I take it that female Bratwurstians don't generally get involved in trade fights.”

  “They don't,” the traveler admitted.

  “That's settled, then,” she smiled, handing him the stealth-belt in her hand.

  “You can have your way this time,” the traveler said, pretending to be annoyed. “But don't think this means you can go bucking orders whenever you like.”

  “No, sir,” she smiled.

  “I want you to keep your shield on the whole time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Vox,” he said, turning his attention to the chief engineer, “do you think you could make up a hundred or so arrowheads really quick?”

  “I'm sure I could,” Vox assured him. “I brought more than enough steel with us for that.”

  “Perfect,” Robert replied. “Those will have some trade value. We'll be back as soon as we've got a cart.”

  The four companions quickly completed their preparations, grabbed a few things to trade, and headed out. Robert had set the ship down just over a mile from the nearest village in an area filled with farms. Something about this struck Morgan as odd.

  “These guys are reptilian?” he asked.

  “We would think of them that way,” invisible-Robert answered.

  “Why do they farm? Komodo Dragons don't eat a lot of carrots and potatoes.”

  “They're people, Morgan, not lizards. Just like us, they're omnivorous.”

  “So, they don't eat each other after a battle or anything.”

  “I didn't say that,” Robert replied. “I was just pointing out that they're not animals. Even the cannibals cook their food before they eat it.”

  “Are there any cannibals?” Azure asked.

  “Not on this planet,” the traveler chuckled.

  Just over an hour after this conversation, Morgan and Azure had approached a farm house, been informed that they didn't have a cart they could trade, been directed to someone who might have one, and traded several sacks of various items and several yards of cloth for the small cart they wanted. They hauled this back to the ship, where they loaded it with trade goods (including the arrow heads Vox had made). Having done this, they headed for the village.

  “Are you still glad you chose this part of the mission,” Morgan asked as he and Azure were pulling the cart down the road.

  “I am,” she smiled. “I enjoy the art of trading.”

  “I suppose it's a lot like shopping.”

  “You don't like shopping?”

  “I like watching you shop,” he replied. “Maybe you and I could practice a little trading of our own, once we get back to the ship. It'll help keep you in practice.”

  “Maybe we could,” she smiled. “You certainly have things that I want.”

  “Like what?”

  “Your Rubik's Cube.”

  “You can have it.”

  “That's no way to trade,” she pointed out.

  “You're right,” he sighed. “I just can't seem to keep myself from wanting to fulfill your every desire.”

  “That's one of the more acceptable character flaws,” she replied. “So, you haven't said; what do you think of me as a Bratwurstian?”

  “I love you.”

  “You do?” she laughed. “I wouldn't have thought this was your style at all.”

  “I was doing what Rob does,” he explained. “Answering a question you didn't ask.”

  “Answer the one I did ask.”

  “Normally,” he said, “you're something out of my wildest dreams. At the moment, you're something out of my wildest nightmares.”

  “I feel the same way,” she laugh
ed. “Still, it's alright because I know you're in there.”

  “Could we focus on the mission, please?” invisible-Robert asked. “You two have almost all day almost every day to flirt.”

  “Could you help push the cart, please?” Morgan replied, glancing in the general direction of his captain's voice. “Also, flirting is a good way to spend any spare moment.”

  “He's right,” the currently-invisible green maiden giggled.

  “Cleo!” Robert basically exclaimed.

  “Oh, sorry,” she replied making it obvious that she wasn't really sorry at all. “We're both invisible, you know?”

  “Not to each other.”

  “We're nothing but glowing auras, Rob. It's easy to get confused.”

  For several seconds, silence filled the air.

  “Rob,” the young man said at last.

  “Yes, Morgan?”

  “What did she touch?”

  “Shut up, Morgan!”

  Minutes after this, the pair had parked their cart in the village market and begun trading their goods with the locals. After roughly an hour, they were approached by a large lizard-man who carefully considered their remaining goods.

  “What would you accept for all of your wares, my friends?” he asked.

  “Sixteen ounces of berlanium would be sufficient, my master,” Azure replied with a slight bow, having familiarized herself with the Bratwurstian manner of speech, as well as their language, over the last two weeks.

  “Surely your hopes are not truly so high, my sister.”

  “They are, my lord,” she said. “Quality such as this, your eyes have never fallen on.”

  “I see fish, fruits, a few yards of material that could serve as tent cloth, and a handful of arrowheads, nothing more.”

  “Then, I would suggest you look again,” the maiden replied. “Never before have you beheld fish of this kind, or your eyes fallen on fruits that have journeyed so far. Not in all of your days – may the gods grant you many more – have you felt cloth more suited to caress the flesh of a maiden. No shaft has brought a beast to earth tipped with a finer point than those before you.”

  “Do you question my vision?”

  “Only when it seeks to deceive you, my master.”