Test of Magnitude (The Torian Reclamation) (16 page)

“Two tall glasses of argim, please,” Brandon said to the bartender after coaxing Derek upstairs. The bar was empty, as it always was in the daytime.

The Banorian bartender looked at them suspiciously, then placed both his large hands on the bar and said, “How will you be paying for them?”

Brandon hadn’t thought about that. The three previous times he had come in were always with Mip7. For all he knew—up until now—everything was free in this place. Then again, he had noticed certain vendors tapping little electronic boxes, at such places as the fishing pole rental hut and the yuquil stalls.

“Listen man,” Derek said. “We don’t have any money. We’re poor. You know why? Because we were kidnapped from our own planet, dragged across the galaxy against our will, and then kept trapped inside a sleeping chamber for decades.”

“That’s good for exactly one round,” the bartender said. He served them two argims.

“Good thinking,” Brandon said as they clinked a toast. “I’d hate to hear what a second round costs.”

“That’s something else you don’t know, because you spend all your time playing war games. He didn’t give us these beers because he feels sorry for us,” Derek scowled at the bartender and added, “although he
should
have.” He looked back at Brandon and continued. “But because I told him we were poor. It’s like a law they have here, actually on both planets, I think. Nobody can be refused food, drink, shelter, or basic transportation if they are broke. Isn’t that righteous, brother?” He raised his glass.

Brandon thought for a moment. “Yeah, that is …righteous. It’s certainly nice to know, in case we ever find ourselves having to get around on our own.”

Derek gazed out the window. “Getting around, right. I tell you brother, that’s one thing I don’t feel like doing any more of for a while.”

“Getting around?”

“Yeah. I like the view from in here. The beer’s not bad, either. What did you call it—argim?”

“Argim, right. Derek, can ask you something?”

“Ask away, brother.”

“What were you talking to Yob3 about, outside at the spaceport, just before we left Amulen?”

“Oh, that. Well, I thanked him for his help. That lizard-man is with it, you know. I mean, he’s all right. He said he liked us.”

“He did?”

“Yep. I tried to reach his heart. I think we connected.  I just said there were hundreds more of us in captivity in that horror chamber back there, and you and I were helpless and had to leave and all, but he was in a position to do something about it. He promised he would watch over our brethren, take care of them, and do everything he could to get them revived like us.”

“Huh,” Brandon said. “You know, with that little talk you had with him, you might have done more good than any of the rest of us were able to do.”

“Just wanting to do my part, brother—especially since I have no desire to go back there. I mean, if I have it my way, I won’t go near that place again. It freaks me out and drags me down, man. So I said my peace with the lizard professor, and that’s that. Wish I could do more.”

“Maybe we can do more,” Brandon said. “You never know. I don’t feel like going back there, either. But we might have to.”

Derek looked a little stressed over that remark.

 “I heard the fish were biting today,” a voice from behind them said.

They both spun around. It was Mip7.

“We got a few, lizard-brother,” Derek said. “Mostly your warmonger-in-training, here. He had the hot stick.”

Mip7 looked at Brandon and nodded. “You gave four big candeer fish to the camp cook. That beats my best day. It’s one of the better fishing days I ever even heard of. Those fish are tough, especially the larger ones.”

“And one to the kid at the hut, and we let three go,” Brandon said.

At that point, the bartender set three fresh glasses of argim on the bar and said, “And that’s good for one more round. Five big candies is an impressive catch. I can’t wait for dinner now. Good thing my shift ends early so I can get some before it’s all gone.”

Mip7 lifted his glass. “You Earthlings are starting to earn your keep.”

* * *

The campfire area next to the halcyon arc was especially crowded with Sheen that evening. Brandon and Derek put in their usual hour sitting in front of the arc with Mip7 and Arkan9. Afterwards, they all found their own spots by the fire pit.

“It’s getting dimmer on us, have you noticed?” Mip7 asked Arkan9.

“Yes,” he responded, “and it didn’t light up like a supernova when Brandon approached it tonight.”

They all laughed, but it was true. Brandon had noticed it as well, and was, in fact, quite pleased with himself. Fishing was going to be his new hobby. He planned on going back tomorrow, early.

Arkan9 continued as if he had just read Brandon’s thoughts:  “The key to achieving balance is to purposefully live a balanced life in the first place, day by day, decision by decision. Not to be obsessed with one particular pursuit to the point of ignoring other important aspects of life. Work, play, and rest must all be balanced, yes—but one must balance their work with different functions, their play with different hobbies, and even their rest with different relaxation techniques.”

Brandon felt convicted over those words. Arkan9 was right, of course. Brandon was well aware of his own compulsiveness. Perhaps he would find something else to do tomorrow, and go fishing again the day after instead. Now that he was finally making some progress on the arc light, he didn’t want to blow it.

A Sheen child with a basket came around and began passing out brown, tube-shaped objects. Many of the Sheen took one from the basket when it came by. Brandon recognized them as the cigar-things the scientists had been smoking in the courtyards of RL-71. When the basket was held in front of him, he eagerly took one. So did Derek and Mip7.

Small laser-lighters were passed around. They functioned in much the same manner as Brandon’s torch lighter back home, but emitted a small yellow laser beam. You really had to be careful with some of the common tools they used around here. The cigar was good, though.

Derek didn’t agree. He started coughing and snuffed his out in the dirt immediately.

“You don’t inhale cigars,” Brandon said to him. “Just puff on them.”

“No thanks, man. Here.” He handed Brandon his, which Brandon gladly accepted and placed in the pocket of his puffy white shirt.

Two teenage Sheen then approached Derek. One of them said, “You want to smoke something you can inhale, Earth man?”

“What is it?” Derek asked.

They opened a small wooden box and let Derek sniff the contents. Whatever it was must have smelled good to Derek, because he sprang up and followed them into the woods.

“Great,” Brandon said. “There goes his balance. Does that stuff make you act stupid?”

Mip7 rolled his eyes and nodded.

Arkan9 spoke to Mip7. “My government funding has been suspended. Markin1’s doing, no doubt. I can regain access to the Sheen counsel credit line, but only if…”

“Only if what?” Mip7 asked.

“They insist upon me taking the prophet tests. This is something I am averse to. I have managed to avoid it until now, but if we are to become funded for our project again, it is something I can no longer escape. See all these here tonight? They gather because they can sense I have been pushed into a corner, and wish to be spectators of the event.”

“Is there even still a project to fund?” Mip7 asked. “We’ve been eradicated from the Science Complex, and I can’t figure a way to get back in there. Not while Markin1 is in charge at RL-71, anyway.”

“We are responsible for these two,” Arkan9 said. “That alone is a project. However, my senses are returning and I feel a great disturbance on Amulen now, which I fear could spread quickly. Ironically, I feel it could also prove to be an opportunity for us to free the remainder of the research subjects.”

“I think you know I wish to volunteer my services in full support of that pursuit,” Mip7 said. “There’s just one problem.”

“Your governor has called you back to the station?”

“Not exactly, but he may as well have. My official leave has expired for some reason. I have been messaging the governor, asking for an explanation and an extension, but his answers so far have been vague. It’s …strange. I was supposed to be cleared for special assignment leave, for as long as necessary. So, my financial situation has also become a concern. Governor Stugin2 will probably be willing to help us, especially if you can regain cooperation from the Amulen chancellor—but I think I need to go speak to him in person.”

Mip7 and Brandon smoked their cigars in silence while Arkan9 thought for quite some time. When Brandon’s cigar was almost down to a stub, Arkan9 spoke to Mip7 again.

“Yes, I believe you are right. It seems we must now part ways and attend to our own affairs for a time, before our next task reveals itself. I cannot care for the Earthlings if I am to submit to the tests, so take them with you to Cardinal-4. They should enjoy that.”

* * *

“I’m not going,” Derek said. “I like it here, so I’m staying.”

Brandon looked to Mip7, seeking clarification on whether Derek even had this option. The sunlight reflecting off Mip7’s skin was especially bright this morning as the three of them stood outside Derek’s hut.

“Arkan9 will be busy and cannot attend to you,” Mip7 replied. “He explained this last night at the campfire just after you went off to get …philosophical with those kids. You will be on your own here if you stay—without financial support.”

“I’m cool with that,” Derek said. “I’ve made a few friends. Sheen are good people, and I can take care of myself. Besides, they’re planning on using me as some kind of freak-show for the little lizard-kids, who start coming next week you know. Should be fun. I can fish—maybe not as good as Robin Hood here, but I get a few—and a couple of the Sheen boys are teaching me to forage as well. Plus, I’ve just started learning to read Torian. This is my kind of lifestyle, living off the land and all. I’m sure that space station is trippy, but I think I’d feel caged-in there. No, I’m not going.”

“The survival of your race may be at stake,” Mip7 said.

Derek looked at Brandon. “You believe that, brother?”

“I believe Mip7 is on our side,” Brandon said. “I go where he goes, especially if he says he says he needs our help in getting the rest of us freed.”

“What can we do from up there?” Derek asked Mip7.

“I don’t know,” Mip7 said. “Maybe nothing. I hope it’s a short stay, actually. I’ll have to wait for instructions from Arkan9.”

“Well there you go,” Derek said. “Arkan9 is staying here, and I’ll be here, too. When you guys figure out what to do, he’ll let me know.”

Mip7 nodded. “All right. Makes sense. Maybe this is best, now that I think about it. Tulros.”

“Tulros, lizard-brother.” Derek grabbed Mip7’s hand and tried to form it into a special hippie hand-shake, the best he could with that big leather hand. Brandon knew the handshake and performed it readily when Derek turned to him, clasping his hand with both of his.

“It’ll be all right,” Derek said. “I’ll think about you when I see that big light up there at night.”

“Okay Derek,” Brandon said. “I really do want to see the space station.”

“I know you do, brother.”

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon.” That wasn’t really true. Brandon was more than a little unsettled at the prospect of leaving the only other human behind, but he wasn’t sure which one of them was actually doing the right thing—so he had to let him go.

Derek held up the peace sign. “Later, Brando.”

They parted.

Brandon looked back at Uden one last time after he and Mip7 had ridden to top of the ridge. They stopped there to let the yuquil grab a few mouthfuls of leaves. Brandon supposed the feeling he had at this moment must be what a mother experiences immediately after dropping her kid off for the first day of kindergarten.

They rode downward, and the view of the colony vanished behind the hilltop.

Mip7 then pointed upward and said, “That’s not a good sign.”

Brandon looked up and saw streaks across the sky.

“Meteor shower,” Mip7 said.

“What do you mean by bad sign? As in, bad omen?”

“For travelling. Not good for travelling. Bad luck, yes, because flights may be cancelled.”

“We’re not taking another charter?” Brandon asked.

“No. Financial issues. We’ll take the public shuttle, if they are operating.”

Sure enough, when they arrived at the small spaceport the video screens were mostly red. Mip7 explained that those signified cancelled flights. They sat down in a waiting area.

“The showers must be localized,” Mip7 said as he tapped on his lightpad. “The shuttles from Amulen to Cardinal-4 are still running. Unfortunately, the only shuttle still running from here to Amulen would take us to C2P1.”

“That’s the same spaceport we came in from, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I would rather not risk connecting through there. Maybe we should just wait and have a few argims in the lounge, and see if some other flights open up as the showers subside.”

“How long to these meteor showers usually last?” Brandon asked.

“Sometimes hours, sometimes days. We may end up needing lodging for a night or two if we stay.”

“Aren’t meteors a hazard for the space station?”

“They certainly would be, if there were no defenses.”

“Oh,” Brandon said. “So, there are weapons mounted there which can fend off meteors?’

Mip7 thought for a few seconds and then broke into a soft laughter. “It’s odd you should ask me that. The last time I answered that question, I ended up reviving sleeping aliens as a result of the answer I chose to give.”

At that moment, a shining figure appeared on the floor of the spaceport terminal and began walking towards the area where Brandon and Mip7 were seated. Brandon recognized it as a Sheen who was carrying his cloak instead of wearing it.

Brandon squinted and said, “I wish those guys would keep their cloaks on.”

The Sheen came right up and stood before them. His brightness dimmed some, or maybe Brandon’s eyes adjusted.