Tra-Con-Per-Ski! Read online



  Tra-Con-Per-Ski!

  By H. M. Reynolds

  Ω

  Tra-Con-Per-Ski!

  H. M. Reynolds

  © 2014 H.M. Reynolds 2014

  Contents:

  Travelogue Of An Alien World

  A Conversation In Modern Myths

  The Sniper’s Apprentice

  The Shedding Of The Skin

  Travelogue Of An Alien World:

  The door of the shuttle juddered up and a wave of heat barged in over the passengers, neutralising the effect of the air conditioning, which had been super cool for my tastes anyway.

  Bewildered and not quite believing the experience was real, I shuffled off the spacecraft, following the crowd, a mix of locals and other, even more wide-eyed, visitors.

  One boot on the tarmac of the landing space and my presence on this extraterrestrial world could no longer be denied – I was actually here, on Fricasan soil. All my life I had known this other world existed, so far across the void of space, at the other end of the known universe from Earth. Yet, I had never imagined I would find myself here, experiencing the trials and tribulations of the daily life that Fricasans took for granted.

  The journey had been made on a whim – a mere three month’s impulse. A whirlwind of genetic adaptations and viral inoculations had carried me through from that moment’s decision to now. It seemed I had barely had time to shop for what I needed for the journey. What had appeared a shuttle-load of equipment was now compressed into one rucksack, whose slightly uncomfortable weight pressed down on my shoulders and back as I surveyed my surroundings.

  The spaceport was shorn of characteristic Fricasan tentacle trees, but it was unmistakably Fricasan nonetheless, in the same way that every country on Earth has its own unique flavour, even when comparing those places only separated by a few dozen metres of border.

  I could have stood there for hours, drinking in the feeling, smell, sight and sound of my first metre of Fricasa, but I was being left behind by the other travellers as they bustled on to the terminal, and so, regretfully I trudged after them, my boots kicking up yellow dust , which had been everywhere in pictures I had seen of Fricasa.

  My enthusiasm was not dented by an hour passing through customs, but I did begin to feel the effects of the flight – the seats on the space shuttle had been designed to pack us in like embryos at a birthing factory. I might have managed fifteen minutes sleep here and there, but it certainly did not add up to the eight hours a night I require.

  Outside, my boots now firmly planted in the yellow soil, I watched the locals dispersing at the end of their journey, no doubt glad to be back from whatever holiday or business had taken them away. Buses picked up other travellers, probably some of the many package holidays following well-travelled routes across Fricasa. I however, had more of an adventure in mind. As anywhere else in the galaxy, the travelling experience becomes more synthetic the more travellers follow the same route. I was looking for something more authentic and had come here with a specific objective in mind. My vision darted around the disappearing shapes of the Fricasans and I wondered: could any of them have guessed my true purposes here and what would their reaction have been? No doubt anger amongst the more conservative of them, for what I was here to seek was taboo to many Fricasans and more so to those not born amongst the tentacle trees.

  My Vast Universe guide directed me along a dusty street to an out of the way hotel, which, it assured me, was a hidden gem. Most holidaymakers here were quickly shuffled out of town toward their sterile luxury resorts, but I needed to find my feet before heading on.

  The owner stood in his booth, experiencing something on a spongy device that was sat on his shoulder. Not having had time to peruse my guide, I could only guess it was some sort of entertainment, akin to music or a movie, but played out through another sense.

  With a degree of what appeared disinterest, he took from my credit stick and slid a key toward me. Again, I might have benefited from the Vast Universe guide in interpreting the meaning behind my host’s body language.

  Making no further attempt at conversation, exhausted as I was from the space journey, I took the key, tramped to the room and entered, closing the door firmly behind me. Dropping my heavy rucksack on the floor next to the bed, I sat down, leaned back and looked around, still trying to absorb the reality of my presence here. Within moments my eyes closed and I relaxed into sleep.

  Fricasans didn’t stand on breakfast. They seemed to gain some sustenance from a deep sleep. I wasn’t bothered; I was too excited by the adventure ahead to delay it with eating. Besides what passed for food on Fricasa did not sound appetising to me.

  Making a cursory attempt at grooming, I washed and dressed, chiefly relying on fresh clothes for cleanliness.

  After a brief pause to reorder my baggage and sort some things out into my pockets, I shouldered the rucksack again and headed out to find the balloon station. Once again, the Vast Universe was my navigator.

  At that time, the sun was low in the sky and the night’s winds were only just beginning to die down. The light illuminated the swirling yellow dust creating an eerie atmosphere that was enhanced by the lack of by-passers on the street. Fricasans did not rise at this hour.

  I knew I could wait at the balloon station if necessary, possibly find some food there and listen to the Vast Universe whilst I waited. I felt energised by my first successful steps on this journey and strode excitedly toward my destination. I wondered again what the Fricasans might think of me if they looked out their window holes into the street. Or were they used to visitors by now, and the unusual hours they kept?

  The balloon station stood at the top of a hill in a clearing. Around the outskirts, the balloon creatures grazed like cows on the smaller bushes beneath the tentacle trees, their tendrils brushing the ground as they drifted above it.

  Other creatures were already being harnessed with baskets that the passengers would ride. A few locals had gathered ready for the first journey of the morning; they stared at me and whispered amongst themselves, but none approached. This was not a tourist area, so I could at least feel safe from salesmen offering inauthentic souvenirs.

  The time passed swiftly as the Vast Universe regaled me with general facts about the planet, its inhabitants and their culture. Before long, the attendants arrived, made ready and began to help the travellers into the baskets. I paid my fee and joined them.

  The balloon train rose into the air so smoothly, I did not feel that we had departed from the ground. It was only through sight that I could see this indeed was so. We rose above the level of the dust, the sun now illuminating the land and a panoramic view unfurled. We began to swim forward, the first tentacle strokes toward my destination.

  I shared my basket with a family of Fricasans – two parents and a child too young to determine its sex. The Fricasans shared my enthusiasm for watching what was around and immersed themselves in the experience. For now, they paid me no attention.

  Gradually, the town began to subside and the countryside to emerge around it; the buildings grew more and more sparse. I could not contain my wonder for the flora and fauna that was so different from the experience of a journey at home. I remember questioning then whether I would ever get used to what was passing me by.

  As the initial excitement died down, we began to pass through sporadic villages. I gathered what fragmented insights I could from the speeding images, piecing together little glimpses of Fricasan village life.

  Politely, the Fricasans paid me little attention and chatted amongst themselves in their own tongue. Outside the train, others were less reserved. Some stopped in their daily routine to stare or point; children shouted greetings in their own tongue, waving and jumping up and down. With limited linguis
tic skill, I attempted to return the greeting, using what the Vast Universe had indicated was the correct response.

  After an hour, the balloon train slowed gracefully to a halt and drifted to the ground, with the smoothness I was beginning to believe was characteristic. The Fricasan family departed with a friendly smile and I was left to enjoy a carriage to myself, as the train journey began once more. I engaged the Vast Universe again, interrupted only by a peddler of snacks with a professional manner. I gamely bought a few I had been informed to try.

  Had I been asked, I would have said that twelve hours on the train would have been an eternity, but between naps, snoozing against the seat back and admiring the view, the hours swam by. As the light began to fade, the train pulled to a halt in Tcklitz, a small town with little to recommend it, other than its presence on a crossroads. There was a resthouse and a bar serving snacks from a steaming trough, with a few houses dotted around them. I checked my bag into the resthouse, too tired to worry about its security, and went straight back out for a bowl of whatever crunchy soup was spooned out of the trough. The locals might have been watching me as I ate, but I was too weary to notice. I sat cross-legged and quiet, spooning