Ephemeral: Chapter 7
By some miracle of time and space, Clara caught up with the others just as Eden was leading them through the Sapphire Hotel doors. She hoped the makeup kit she'd grabbed from her suite contained extra deodorant as she'd run out of time to apply any while in her suite.
Eden led the interns in front of the hotel and gestured toward a row of sleek, black hovercraft lined up beside the potted plants. Each had handle bars, two wheels, and a single seat; they reminded Clara of motorcycles.
“These are your transports for the duration of the internship.”
Darian let out a low whistle. “Now, that's what I'm talking about!”
Tristan's Adam's apple rose and fell; he looked decidedly uncomfortable. Perhaps he'd never ridden a motorcycle before.
Eden continued, “These craft have UVA panels that fold outward from the base of the seat. See?” She walked up to one of the vehicles, pressed a button behind the saddle, and released two metallic panels. “You'll want to unfold these panels after each use to recharge your batteries. I've already input the route both to your mentor destination and return to the hotel. After hours, you're welcome to explore the city on your own. Simply use the scan-stone I gave you to activate the hovercraft, rotate the handles away from you to go forward, back toward yourself to slow and stop. Any questions?”
Tristan slowly raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“I don't see any belts or harnesses. Don't we at least need helmets? Or a training course?” Tristan asked.
“You won't fall off, Mr. Cunningham. Once you're seated, ankle bindings automatically secure you to the machine. Plus each hovercraft comes with gyroscopic stabilization; you couldn't fall off if you wanted to.”
“Now, that's a relief. Isn't it, Tris?” Darian said with a jab at the environmentalist's side.
Tristan looked up at the cylindrical roads branching fifty feet in the air and paled.
“Try not to look down,” Raven said quietly as she passed the men to get closer to Eden. “Quick question: is it polite in Agilis for women to … um … straddle their seats?” Raven held out her gray skirt.
Eden smiled. “No worries. If you push this button here ...” She pressed a purple button to the left of the navigation screen. The seat moved backward toward the rear wheel and the metallic neck which supported the handlebars lengthened as well,. “... it adjusts the settings so you can sit with your feet in front of you and still reach the handle bars.”
Till now, Clara had watched in silent fascination. Solar panels? Seat adjustments? Agilis could make a killing selling such craft back on Earth. But then she noticed something and raised her hand slightly. “Excuse me, Ms. Eden?”
“Yes?” the secretary asked with an obvious glance at her wrist band.
“Are we to share our hovercraft?”
“Share?” Eden looked puzzled. “No, these are single-seaters.”
“Well … I just noticed …” Clara felt sheepish pointing out the obvious. “I only see four hovercraft.”
“Not to worry, Miss Milton. Your team mates require city-craft which work specifically off Agilis roads. But city craft can't fly over dirt. I'll now take you to a vehicle more appropriate to your destination.”
“We'll look forward to hearing about the other tribe tonight,” Raven said as she and the others mounted their vehicles. The upright hovercraft wheels pivoted to a horizontal position and swirled to life, their azure lights casting a blue glow against the road's smooth, black surface. In less than two blinks, her teammates flew off to their city-bound assignments, leaving Clara alone with His Eminence's personal secretary.
“This way,” Eden said as her heels clicked against the stone street.
Clara followed her to the back of the hotel. Eden suddenly stopped and pointed to what Clara had first thought was a hefty piece of scrap metal – perhaps a dilapidated rowboat which had run aground.
“There's your transport, Miss Milton,” Eden indicated with an upturned palm.
“That?!” Clara had trouble hiding her astonishment as she stared at the dingy dinghy and wondered if Eden had some vendetta against her. The “hovercraft” looked nothing like the aerodynamic models her teammates had used. This one looked about as mobile as a rusty doghouse.
Eden noted Clara's disappointment. “I know it doesn't look like much. It was the only one the military could spare. But it's got a proven history – used by the original colonists, you know.”
Clara willed herself not to cringe. Proven history? That's code for “old.” “Does it still work?” Clara caught the caustic look in Eden's eye and quickly added, “... like the other hovercraft?”
Eden glanced at her wristband. “More or less. Except the seats don't adjust.”
“Seats” was a generous title for the two hard plastic benches with no back support situated in the craft's center – much too far away for Clara to comfortably reach the handlebars.
“And you'll need this,” Eden said as she plunged a silver key into the ignition and revved up the engine like an ancient gas-powered automobile. She pointed between the handle bars to a green screen with block lettering. “I've already input your Almitas destination and return address to the Sapphire Hotel. The UVA panels fold out from under your seat like the others did, except these may take more time to charge. So don't forget to unfold them, or you could get stranded. If for some reason the red fuel light comes on, there's a small reserve canister in the back. You pour it in that hole over here by the navigational screen. Any questions?”
Clara could think of half a dozen – not least of which was an explanation for Eden's throwaway phrase, “original colonists.” Captain Karnak was an original colonist. Weren't the other thirty-nine still in Agilis somewhere? She opened her mouth to speak when ...
Ding! Ding!
Eden silenced her wristband. “Well, got to run. If you have any problems, use your scan-stone to contact Raven. She'll be with me, and I can give you remote assistance. Enjoy your internship!” With that, Eden turned and strode away, leaving Clara eyeing her transport as if it were a leaky canoe.
Clara stepped into the craft and leaned forward to reach the control panel. She punched the “Start” button next to the green screen and waited for flight. The craft rumbled and groaned as it slowly elevated with some disconcerting starts and stops until it hovered about twenty-five feet off the ground. A retractable windshield rose in front of the control panel with a squeaking sound that made Clara's toes curl. Then, once the grating noise ended, the hovercraft jettisoned forward, nearly throwing Clara off her seat. She clung to the craft's sides with white knuckles as it dodged both road and building in its beeline to the Almitas tribe. Twice, she thought she'd collide with the other hovercraft snaking their ways along Agilis' black, tubular streets. And at least three times, Clara wondered whether she'd been too hasty in accepting an mentor outside the city.
#
The estimated travel time from the Sapphire Hotel to the address of one Ms. Alden of the Almitas tribe was approximately twelve degrees or forty-eight minutes by Earth reckoning. At least that's what the block letters said on the green screen glowing faintly between the hovercraft's brown-smudged handlebars. Although exiting the city had initially felt like riding a roller-coaster through an asteroid field, the craft flew much smoother after reaching the open hills beyond Agilis. Gradually, the rolling hills grew smaller and smaller until grassy fields replaced them entirely. Clara breathed in the sweetness of the rushing wind and felt her tension slowly melt away in the pleasant warmth of Elpis' rays. Things certainly seemed calmer out under the blue sky without soldiers holding their pulsing battle staffs. Clara occasionally caught a flash of orange or purple as winged musicians flew to new perches to serenade the morning and preen their brilliant feathers.
Clara almost forgot about the information Eden had prepared until she was within four degrees of reaching her destination. She opened the black binder and cast her eye over Eden's colonial history: “Elpis 7 was founded by forty colonists of various professions from planet Earth. The initial probes reported the planet to be rich in natural resources including water, timber, fertile soil, breathable air, valuable minerals, and diverse wildlife …” Clara skimmed over the next two paragraphs detailing the various environmental statistics. She'd always preferred words to numbers.
“... Shortly after landing, the original colonists signed the Triad Agreement which applied the right of self-government to three distinct clans according to the colonists' personal goals and areas of expertise. Those primarily interested in agriculture and animal husbandry settled in the grasslands toward the south and set up a village called Almitas. This tribe produces most of the food supply for Agilis and functions as a small oligarchy with a group of Elders overseeing the clan's quaint affairs. About 28% of Elpis 7's colonists live in the Almitas clan.
“North of Almitas lies the Silex tribe – the largest clan on the planet comprising about 56% of the total population. Agilis is the capital city of the Silex tribe and specializes in education and manufacturing. The Agilis quarry is also the prime source of the planet's photopetrium – a remarkable mineral which is transparent from certain angles, flexible, and durable with a tensile strength of ...” Here, Clara scanned through another paragraph of numbers.
“... A model of democracy, the Silex clan elects a governor and legislative body every twenty Elpis revolutions.”
Clara raised an eyebrow. Every twenty revolutions? Eden couldn't mean the clan elected a new legislative body every twenty days. Nothing would ever get done in so little time, especially if one factored in the constant campaigning for retaining or gaining an office. A revolution must refer to Elpis 7's orbit around its star – not its rotation on its axis, Clara concluded. But why talk about something happening every twenty years when the colony's only nine months old?
“The Grand Assembly (comprising of said governor and legislative body) relies heavily upon His Eminence's guidance. Originally Captain Karnak of the first fleet to Elpis 7, His Eminence had been leading a scouting party when a meteorite struck the planet's surface, tragically killing his companion and knocking him unconscious. When he awoke, he discovered the meteorite within arm's reach and only a scar where he should have had a mortal wound. Scientists analyzed the meteorite and discovered it to be an extremely dense element about twice as hard as Earth's diamonds. They also realized the stone emitted low-level radiation which had cellular regenerative and mentally-enhancing properties. Given his unique experience and sharpened mental acumen, the Silex tribe appointed Captain Karnak to a special government position so he might use his abilities for the clan's perpetual benefit. His Eminence now wears the meteorite – nicknamed the Fire Stone – about his neck as a talisman against misfortune.
“Little is known of the estimated remaining 16% of Elpis 7's population. The Silvan people generally keep to the forests west of Almitas and Silex across the photopetrium canyon and prefer the mountain wilderness to civilized society. A disagreement between colonists shortly after settlement led to their separation from the other two clans. However, it is rumored they occasionally trade with the Almitians.”
Clara flipped to the next page only to find it blank. She frowned and turned back to the title, “A Brief History of the Elpis 7 Colony.” Aptly named, she thought. And it's clear enough to tell which tribe Eden comes from. But life is never as straight-forward as it appears on paper … I wonder what the Silvan people disagreed about.
Clara closed the black binder and gazed outside the hovercraft windshield. She noticed wooden fences demarcating pastures and farmland. Narrow, dirt-packed roads bordered their verdant perimeters. Automated truck-sized machines cruised up and down newly plowed turf and slowly tilled furrows the color of coffee grounds. Other machines mowed down fields of gold with whirring turbines or carefully cleared weeds from rows of half-grown leafy crops. Clara was surprised not to see people working ground with their own hands as Earth's settlers had done in ancient colonial days.
Then Clara saw something black streak across a pasture. She gaped in awe as a sleek animal tore over the grass with its glossy neck stretched out as if to breathe in the sky. Its back hooves kicked up clods while its tail stretched out like a banner of triumph. Power, strength, speed, and beauty raced through its pulsing veins. It was music in motion.
Clara had never seen a horse in person. She stood to get a better view, but before she could glimpse anymore of the captivating beast, the hovercraft turned sharply to the left, nearly flinging her over its edge. Clara resumed her hard seat and frowned at the antiquated green monitor. For the fifth time that morning, she wished her teammates' hover bikes could travel over dirt.
Finally, the hovercraft stopped in front of a two-story yellow house. White gingerbread trim lined the gables overhanging the windows laced with gauzy white curtains. The front porch hosted two white rocking chairs, a sage-colored front door, and numerous vines with pink flowers which climbed up the side of the house nearly to the stone chimney. The home's curving pebbled path, white picket fence, and arching arbor decked with violet-yellow flowers exuded welcome and reminded Clara of the cottages she'd seen in illustrated fairy tales. Clara paused as a vision of her mother reading a storybook to her younger sister flooded her memory and moistened her eyes. She sniffed back her emotions as the hovercraft released its landing gear and slowly descended to the ground. Unfortunately, its archaic sensors misjudged the distance, and the machine shut off about thirteen inches too early.
WHUMP!
Clara gasped as the flying dinghy made an abrupt landing. That was just rude! She scowled at the bucket of bolts and waited for her heart to return to a more reasonable rate before rising to her feet. She reached down to get her black binder and remembered she needed to unfold the UVA charging panels. Even though this thing doesn't deserve it! When she pushed the red button in front of the bench, the heavy metal panel banged into her shins. “Ow!” Clara jumped backward and clenched her fists as a litany of unholy words flew through her mind. But she thought better of vocalizing them when she saw one of the white curtains flutter; first impressions can never be repeated. She sucked in a deep breath instead, snatched the black binder from her seat, and limped her way along the winding path to the front steps.
Clara raised her hand to knock on the sage wooden door when she noticed the brass door-knocker in the shape of a horse head held a handwritten note:
Dear Miss Milton,
I hope you had a safe trip. If I didn't greet you by the arbor, I'm probably in the barn. Please come 'round back.
~ Mother Alden
Clara took the note and held it like a passport as she descended the porch steps and headed around the corner of the house – still limping. She spied the classic red barn with its painted quilt accent panel under the hayloft door – the geometric interpretation of the pink flowers growing on the house. A flock of black and white barred chickens scratched happily in the farmyard while a ginger tabby cat lounged in a warm Elpis beam atop a rectangular feed bin. Next to the barn stood a large paddock where a woman wearing a faded sky blue shirt and dirt-splattered denim stood with with her boot up on one of the wooden rails, her back toward Clara. Her wide-brimmed straw hat hid her face, but Clara heard her voice clear enough.
“Hold on, Aaric! He’s almost given in!” the woman cried to someone beyond Clara’s line of sight.
Clara took four more steps, then stopped short when she saw the bucking bay-colored stallion. A young man clung to its back while it snorted, stamped, reared, and kicked like an animal insane. Its massive hooves pawed the air. Its nostrils flared with malice. Its black mane flicked in all directions like tiny whips lashing the rider's face. The rider, his body streaked with sweat and dirt, jerked this way and that as he held his seat despite the raging steed. The horse looked no where near “giving in,” as the woman had put it.
Clara paled, but could not peel her eyes from the spectacle; her feet felt rooted to the ground.
The young man's formerly green shirt was torn and filthy — evidence of getting thrown earlier. He studied his brown mount like a boxer, studying each shift of position, ready to counterbalance. The horse tossed its head and practically snarled.
Clara didn’t know how long she stared. But by and by, the bucking grew less frequent, then ceased altogether as horse and rider stood in the middle of the paddock panting. Then the young man reached down and stroked the stallion's damp neck. “It’s over, boy.”
The horse flicked its ears back and forth and turned its head toward its conqueror with a snort of resignation.
The young man continued stroking the horse’s neck and spoke in a low, steady voice. “Want some water, rascal?”
The horse whinnied. The young man clicked his tongue, took the reins and guided the weary animal to a trough of fresh water near the woman.
“Well done, Aaric!” she exclaimed with a slap on the roughly-hewn fence post. “You finally broke him in, the stubborn beast! Now he’ll be good for more than just decorating the landscape.”
The rider rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a dun-colored smear behind. “I almost lost my cool the last time he threw me. But better to get all his steam out at once than repeat this later. Speaking of later, that’s when I’m going to feel all this.” He put a hand to his back and leaned to one side in a stretch.
“I say you’ve earned a good rest! Go home and take a nice soak. I’ll give you a soothing tonic for afterward.”
“Not till I rub him down first.”
Clara exhaled and felt light-headed; she hadn’t realized how long she’d been holding her breath.
Aaric looked up, noticed Clara for the first time, and sat more straightly in his saddle. He cleared his throat.
The woman caught Aaric’s gaze, put a hand to the top of her hat, and turned to face Clara.
Clara froze. Her insides tensed. Her black binder tumbled from her fingers onto the ground. White!? Clara blinked. Is her hair actually white!? She blinked again and shielded her eyes with her hand. Nope, it was not a trick of the light. The woman who stood before her had hair the color of cotton. Clara noted the crow's feet at the corners of the woman's sea-green eyes, faint lines crossing her brow, and a smattering of faded brownish spots adorning her nose and cheeks. She'd seen photos of people in this condition in her Pre-V.C. history classes, but had never seen a real, live human of such antiquity. Her blood pulsed in her ears. This woman is far beyond the age of Passing! How … why … is this allowed?
The woman saw the distress in Clara’s face and tried to diffuse it with her own warm smile. “Hello, there! You must be Miss Milton, the interstellar research intern?”
Clara cleared her throat and held up Mother Alden's note in her hand. “N-number 6,456,324,158, Vitae Conglomerate Sociology Grad Student, Clara Leigh Milton, age twenty-four, ma’am.” She reached down for her binder and clutched it to her chest like a security blanket.
“Oh?” The older woman's eyes twinkled in amusement. “I’m Magdelena Rose Alden, daughter of Sigmund and Rose Marie Alden of Almitas. But everyone just calls me Mother Alden. And this is my grandson, Aaric Alden, son of Thomas Alden.”
The young man sat tall in his saddle and nodded to her.
“Grandson?” Clara felt like an ignorant fool. “Sorry, but … what's a grandson?”
“You don't know what a grandson is?” Mother Alden raised her silvered eyebrows – then looked sad. “Let me clarify, then; Aaric is the son of my son, Thomas.”
“Your son’s son?” Awestruck, Clara looked from the woman to the rider and back again.
Aaric frowned slightly – perhaps he did not like being gawked at.
Clara stood straighter and dipped her head in an apologetic bow. “I beg your pardon. I mean no offense. It’s just … I’ve never met two people three generations apart.”
Mother Alden and Aaric glanced silently at one another. Then the older woman turned back to Clara. “I see we have much to learn from each other. Why don't we go inside where we can continue this conversation over a cup of tea. Is that acceptable?”
Clara nodded. “That sounds nice, thank you.”
“Good.” Mother Alden turned her attention back to her grandson. “Aaric? When you get home, could you remind your mother to bring her silk pie to next mid-day meal? It's her turn to do dessert. And let her know Miss Milton will be joining us.”
Aaric met eyes with Clara briefly before nodding. Then he studied the leather reins in his hands.
Clara wasn't sure he wanted her to come. “Are you certain?” Clara asked. “I would hate to impose upon a private gathering. The internship coordinator provided me with means to purchase my own food.” She patted the circular smooth stone pinned above her heart.
“Nonsense,” Mother Alden swatted away Clara’s words like mosquitoes. “We Almitians pride ourselves on hospitality. You are our honored guest. Besides, I'm sure the family will want to ask you a million questions. We've never met anyone from Earth before.”
“Never?” Clara asked as she shifted her weight from one black kitten heel to the other. “But what about His Eminence?”
Mother Alden's smile faded. “I've not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.”
“What about the other thirty-nine colonists?” Clara asked. “Surely you know them, right?”
Again, Mother Alden and Aaric looked at each other significantly. Then Mother Alden gestured toward the back door of the yellow house. “Why don’t we discuss this inside?” she said pleasantly enough.
But Clara saw the pronounced wrinkles across Mother Alden’s brow and the furtive way she scanned the horizon behind Clara, as if looking for something. Or someone.
“I'll mention the pies to Mother,” Aaric said from his perch atop the sweaty stallion. “Nice to meet you, Miss Milton.” Aaric nodded to Clara, then lifted a leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. He opened the paddock gate and, holding the reins with the horse on his right, limped into the barn.
Clara stared after him. Poor guy!
“What’s the problem, Miss Milton?” Mother Alden asked, catching her gaze.
Clara pointed to Aaric whose shoulders rose and fell in a see-saw motion with every step. “Is he injured?” she asked quietly.
“Injured?”
“From riding the horse?”
“Oh!” Mother Alden chuckled to herself. “I’m so used to the way Aaric walks, I’d forgotten how unusual it might seem to strangers. He's not injured, dear. He was born that way. One of his legs is shorter than the other.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yes. Not unheard of. Normally he wears an orthodic in his boot when he walks for long distances, but when he rides, he just singes one stirrup higher than the other – and he rides a lot.”
“I see …” Clara said, beginning to think she might end up with enough intercultural research for ten theses. She realized she was staring again and looked down at her shiny black shoes which were as out of place on this farm as Clara felt herself.
Mother Alden smiled kindly as she led the way toward the house. “It appears our society is very different from yours. Do people on Earth not have such physical … idiosyncrasies?”
“It’s not allowed,” Clara said as she padded on the dirt path after her hostess. “The V.C. heavily monitors all expectant mothers and grants a right-to-birth only to fetuses which meet certain developmental standards. It’s to spare those who might not cope well with life ex-utero.”
“Oh …” Mother Alden said, slowing as they reached the door. “Well, I can’t imagine life without my Aaric or a dozen other people who might not have met V.C. standards.” She held the door open for her guest.
Clara blushed. Seeing Aaric tame a bucking bronco in spite of his deformity made her feel suddenly ashamed at the arbitrary nature of a standard she’d never before questioned. “Aaric seems to be quite capable, despite his leg,” she said as she approached the threshold.
“He is indeed,” Mother Alden agreed. “Now come along. It's time for tea.”
With all the morning's excitement, Clara could certainly use a cup. She stepped into the house, completely unaware of Aaric gazing after her from the barn doorway with a mixture of curiosity and concern in his deep, gray eyes.
So what do you think?
Have you ever met someone with a disability who bucked all your preconceived notions? Share in the comments below.
I like the introduction of new characters and more questions about the different cultures.
👍