The Mere Tide P83

Shiftless summer. Stirring in the long right dawns of the season. The bead lifted on its seat of mercury deep into the red. Steambathing with the pilot in the last of the floodwater. Oaring by backstroke to the lake in water so shallow her shoulders scraped the asphalt. And in the noon or after to keb with friends. Playing baseball or drinking in the woods. Watching Lelly take the gang in turns into the woods. One afternoon by some latent instinct she kissed Andy on the mouth as he was being led away. Lelly shooed her but it was too late. The virus swam in his saliva and by the end of the week the gang would be infected and in forty years that place would be devoid of man. How the savages exploited the stables of sluts.

Or kicking along the road watching a car an hour peel out of the fevery dementia of the horizon and dissemble by planes into the same. Pumping their arms to elicit a horn honk as they sped past leaving to flee out plumes of dust.

Once a photographer. Braked hard to snap pictures of them where they played durak on a plywood cable spool purloined from an abandoned construction site. He arranged them about in attitudes suggestive of poverty. He asked were they locals. The latest happenings. He tendered a twenty and asked them to look sad.

Whats the pictures for photo foe?

The photographer touched the fold of his sweat drenched beret. Im doing a documentary on living conditions in the territories. How many of you all have indoor plumbing?

Lonesome hands rose.

Dachni leaned to Andy.

Whats plummin?

Its like when you got a toilet and shower in your house.

Ah hellis ye can take a dump in a hole, she said adding her hand to those raised.

How many of you have a television or access to the G-net?

All arms but Sherman’s lowered.

How many of your parents drive?

My dad drives a Bazin.

Anaya hassa plane.

Sherman glared at Dachni in hostile surprise.

Im sorry what?

A plane. Or a big flyey winged.

Dachni spread her arms to shape the transport.

The photographer bestowed with glib inclination of the head a cocked smirk.

She does. Ets yeesally at the grad but it can fly over anytime.

You live in town?

Down the road at the cathedal.

The photographer looked towards the smeltry verge where the road cabbled in the heat. Squatting in a church. Id want a picture of that.

It was a testament to the region that they piled into the backseat of his car without security. He drove the few miles to the basilica and they unpiled and Dachni ran up to the gates and pulled them wide.

Holy shit, said the photographer. He removed his hat and wiped his brow of sweat and put it back on.

They wandered the hallways checking rooms. Salivated at the stock of the larder. Oohed then awed at the kitchen. The great cave of an oven whats halfton stone you must roll away. A collective heart attack nearly befell the group in the library but Dachni told the photographer permission needed granting before he could take pictures. He dropped the camera from eye to chest and left his finger hard down on the shutter release. Yeah yeah. They found what she hadnt before. A game room with billiards. An arcade, shuffleboard, darts. A projector mounted to the ceiling. The kids flew off.

We gotta find Anaya.

To hell with her.

To hell with me.

Anaya in their presence now bent so low to clear the lintel it seemed she were genuflecting. She backed Miley flat against the wall insomuch that he needs extend the distance between them by standing on his toes. The pilot splayed the talons of a hand and slid them in a movement knife fast flush along his jawline and lifted him. His extenuations were locked in his mouth.

And who art thou learned judge pronouncing beyond his greenery would so casually consign me to brumstane sovereignty? From whence is his judgeship’s authority derived? Should I behold thee avatar of the judge? Hold thee accountable? Present to thee my claims?

During this speech Dachni hunched over had circled with highsteps, hugging herself as though trying to contain some impulse. Her arms suddenly flew out. He deddent mean nothin!

The pilot burrowed her talons into the back of his jaw and in the upward tilt of his head his teeth unclenched. Sarry! Sarry!

She dropped him. Out the punctures in his jaw two strings of blood coursed to the floor.

Click.

Dachni looked up at the photographer and she leapt and slapped the camera on the lens.

The pilot turned to the cowering children. Sighing deeply to sustain her blouse. Alright.

She made sandwiches and brewed lemonade and they lounged in the empty atrium baths and wondered at doves crossing as a promise before the sun. They stirred shy as horses and moved with a circumspect economy as though not to be noticed. Miley despite his expectations received neither aid nor apology for excess. The photographer unpacked his interview equipment. The pilot weeded grout lines and shook the roots of dust.

You should do a story on Boyce, said Haybox.

Who is Boyce?

Nah Boyce is a town. Burned to the last stick. What I heard the plemena put everyone in a stables and set it on fire.

I could take a detour, said the photographer. My sites barebones right now. My portfolio consists of abandoned warehouses and a travelogue from a Polish biker. He started out in Lodz. Biked to Odessa. Narrowly managed to escape the moonbloods, got caught in an artillery bombardment had to scravage a new bike, gets arrested at the border, spends three weeks in prison, gets released, starts East again, is nearly blown up by a drone strike, captured by the plemena, released, is mugged by gypsies, has a boy slash his tires in the night, gets hit by a car in Altay and contracts meningitis in the hospital. Now he tells me hes getting married to the head nurse. I dont know about you but it sounds a lot more like a catalog of misfortunes and more and more Im thinking either Cisco the disco funky platypus should not be in the header of every post or hes the perfect fit.

Why?

You dont think it has some wross to it?

Whats wross? asked a boy named Hanse.

You know little man. Wrossal. Shelly Sparks at the layman’s dance taught the lay’s the wross.

Shut up, said the pilot. Youre corrupting language.

He laughed. Do you mind if I broadcast this live? He positioned a mic and three cameras mounted on a syncline. Instruments of her capture. Voice and likeness. He checked the framing. Croupiered his hand through the air as though she were already sitting before him. Scoot a little left.

The pilot rained her weeds into a pile. Tis a peculiar feature of this your camera that I and my observers should find ourselves in orbit around what can make no use of its observance. The apathy is akin to gods. Does the camera flinch? Does the employer of so indifferent an implement seek to usurp that godly quality?

Im sorry what?

Gwotta lissen, called Dachni spewing masticated flecks of mustarded turkey and rye, shell tobk yer airs ta cauwaflowers.

How needs you an audience?

Well I…

For your aggrandizement so richly deserved? How much you covet the status of a celebrity. Such a vanity is common but through me? And esteem me a whore?

Ok ok ok ok, I see how you think this is. Thats not my aim at all. Look this is for the solitary propagation of knowledge. Thats it. And to prove it Ill post this anonymously, no one will be credited for it. It wont get me fame by any ways. So just you know keep the mane. Dont overreact.

And what is the proper manner of act of one so impugned?

Anaya quit bein mean. Or ifn yer gonna givem the kill get et overed with.

Dear god please just quit being mean Im a fan of life.

The pilot settled on the bath bench. Speak fool.

The photographer made a cautious adjustment to his cameras so that she was in frame. He froze a moment to measure her reaction but she gave none. He came round and turned the mic on and turned the cameras on. So this is. He spared an over the shoulder glance at the pilot who was signless. This is…

Speak to me. Why do you never speak?

Dachni laughed. Tinks were in cats alleys. Whey ta dade tens gost dey ohnes.

This put the philistine at ease. This is Calcified:Nerves. Welcome friends, to my new viewers today you hit the jackpot. Im here in the east territories interviewing an ultra hyper guest from out of this world. A Ms…

Akiatcha.

Ms. Akiatcha and we are going to talk about life on the whole other slope of the stars. Subscribe your eyeballs let me know what you think and I will be checking periodically in for for questions from the audience. He spoke with great gesticulation. His hands darting in like judo feints. He moved to sit down, careful to stay in frame. Lets roll the boulder Ms. Akiatcha why not start by telling us about you. What were you doing when you came here? Were you a merchant marine or a tourist eating lobster and sipping martinis?

He shot his cockless gun hands at her and Dachni thought he would be killed on the spot. The pilot was a passable dissembler but she could conceal the spectrum of emotions only after their provocation and she showed now a sickish disbelief which she was a dark moment in recovering from. Her tendrils sleeked back, her ears darting like the tails of tomcats.

I was an anesthesiologist.

Wow so you anesthesiezized on the Nghorro?

No. I was aboard strictly as a passenger.

Gotcha. So anesthesiologist. Thats a Aienee word. Can you tell me a little about what you did? I mean Im not current with the lingos you know? Im out in the country most of the time. I cant keep up.

I provide pain management.

Right wow. How long have you been doing that?

Since I was young.

So you butter folk up or hose em down right? Before operations I mean.

Something cousin to that.

Are Aianee years more or less like human years?

No.

Whats the difference?

Our standard year is 187 days.

So you guys have crazy fast seasons.

A single season. Theres nearly no tilt to our world.

Winter?

Itd be more akin to summer but theres no word for it.

Why not?

Because we only have a single season. Do you have a season for breathing?

Thats a little woof. Right out there.

So how long do you guys typically live?

The earliest temporal measurements were calculated by breath. An eshga is a breath equal to about four seconds. Noshga is two hundred and twenty breaths. Yi-noshga is a hundred and eighty noshgii which equals a single day. Our days are very long.

So what is life like back on the homeworld? Whats a typical day like.

Obviously the typical day would vary greatly among the populace. Among profession and class. A riuk is a slave. From birth to death they labor. A shalki is of the trades usually. A shosti is analogous to an upper middle class. Managers. The dagestat administers the worlds. The priyagestat guides the general direction of the species.

And which class are you hailing from? He wobbled from the rump as he said this.

A shalki by birth. Shosti by merit.

So you can move up and down the rungs of society.

You may.

Howd you climb the ladder?

I was a loyalist in a militia army that helped overthrow an insurrection against the priyagestat that had taken over my home region.

Damn so you were in a war too. Did you get shot?

No.

Did you kill anyone?

Yes.

Must have been terrible.

The pilot sighed serpently into her tendrils.

Alright I dont need to be a xenolinguist to know what that means. Lets check what some of the viewers are asking. Lets see. Se$ert_Destroyer wants to know how you like it on earth.

Anareta of my hate.

Can you translate that?

No.

Ok. Sorry destroyer guess thats the best youre getting. Followup is there anything you do like about it?

No.

Not even me?

Im still not settled on whether or not to let you leave this rowhouse alive.

That bothers me but I am going to press on. So you know your people are pretty reticent about where you all come from and what your lives are like. Can you dispel some of the more fantastic rumors about yourselves?

Like what?

Well youre not born out of a neutron star right?

Thats not even possible.

Yeah because of you know the the the density of the stars is too great for matter to cohere but are you guys from like you know traditional stars? You know blue stars? Or dwarf stars?

The pilot gawped.

Prolly blue stars, chimed Dachni.

The pilot glared at her. Were going to talk later.

Why?

The photographer leaned to his camera. Thats a friend of ours offscreen. A homo luminosus. Well talk to her later.

Mark you your sure shall.

Riggght and back to Ms. Grouchy. Can you give us a scoop on your homeworld? Whats the most intriguing thing about it?

The flora.

World of flowers.

Carnivorous.

Right. Did you guys cultivate them like in agriculture?

Agriculture is more akin to husbandry for us.

So howd you do it?

An example would be we would take say uu’glopoya and feed them the armor plates of ohyagatta. Since they cant digest the plates properly they excrete a resinous sugar we use for spice.

You mean you spice your eggs with plant poop?

The pilot glared at him.

Hey Arius29 wants to know how do you guys shower.

In water?

Ha guess she was expecting some exotic response. Ok. From Angular_Jill: Is it true the Nghorro is really a colony ship meant to terraform the earth.

If twas we would have torpedoed the earth ere settling. Not crashed in the Merefa.

Disconcerting but alright.

Heres from 88FareCaT: Whats your favorite food?

Whiskey.

The photographer laughed and looked at the camera. Someone has a problem. Alright alright alright last question for now. PrianBatrick asks if the dagestai is going to stop freebooting and give support to the army.

Our position is as you can understand precarious and somewhat arbitrary. We could have crashed anywhere. As it happens we fell nearest the ICG whom have been gracious and accommodating hosts. As far as I know the dagestai does not maintain any ideological bend other than an illdefined immediatism and general propagation of truth and is content to stay neutral in human affairs. A distaste for hypocrisy prevents us from condemning the practice of slavery in the colonies as our riuks fulfill the same function. While I would not assume to be able to understand the historical complexities that have given rise to the latterday geopolitical tensions the reality of the situation dictates that any attack on the ICG must by virtue of proximity be interpreted as an attack on the priyagestat which we would then be duty bound to retaliate.

The photographer checked his feed. He follows up. Are there any priyagestat on earth?

Priyagestai is what the individual would be called. And no. But a dagestai is understood to be their representative. Any assault on such a person is understood to be a direct action against the edicts of the priyagestat and must be dealt with accordingly.

So what youre saying is if the Russians bomb us you guys are in the war by default.

By law.

Well so youve given us a ton of stuff to work out synapses over lets take a break and…

How long have been out of the capital?

Me?

Is there another you elsewhere?

Um. Yeah I left two months ago been working East.

Were you born or grown?

Born.

I see.

You see?

Yes. What more do I need to know of you? But go on.

The photographer checked the feed again. Yeah…yeah…um. Right lets call that the wrap.

When the cameras were off the pilot threw a pebble at him. Listen fool. Do you really want to do this?

Interviews?

Be a journalist.

Yeah. Yeah Im Im Im psyched for that. I wanna talk to people see the world.

Good. Get in your car and drive to the Del Marva recruiting station in Uralsk. Talk to Gunnery Sergeant Koirala. Hes been notified. He expects you. You will be inducted as a military journalist with a signing bonus of fourteen thousand dollars. To be assigned as the army sees fit.

The photographer placed his fingers on his chest. Im not really an army guy.

You have your options. Go now or you will be drafted into the infantry and sent to Saratov.

You cant do that.

And but I have. Therefore go and make thy fortune.

The photographer did go and was enlisted. In his seventy eighth year he committed suicide after the loss of his grandchildren in a plane crash and a diagnosis of cancer. He willed his estate to a cousin, wrote a final renowned essay condemning the Martian practice of coding political bias in vat grown humans, had a final dinner at a Louisiana steak house, and in his hotel some hours later put a gun against his heart. His body was shipped home. The motorcade required the shutdown of the I16 expressway. By a stipulation in his will the service was held on a Tuesday.