Banishment Bob

Epic tales often begin with "once upon a time" or "long ago" or "far away".  Depending upong your perspective and your position in space and time, all of them could apply.  But that doesn't matter right now.  What matters right now is running.  Lungs are bursting in an effort to breathe.  Eyes are seeing red.  But the legs must. keep. running.  Above all, for the sake of all the life this form contains, running must continue.

Dust would be hot and stinging as it flows in the air if not for the protective suit.  An arm flings to the side and catches the handle on the hatch as the running body bolts into its home shelter.  The hatch slams shut and is closed tightly.  A push of a button sees that a hydrolic drill drops into place in front of the hatch.

The shelter rocks as various other life forms knock into the shelter and scramble to speed under, over, and around in their own effort to continue the running motion that may or may not extend their lives.

The figure in the shelter sinks to the floor, panting.  A hand reaches up and pulls a lever near the head.  The pressurization of the cabin is audible as the filters struggle to strain breathable air out of the onslaught of dust and ash. 

The other hand fumbles with a compartment cover on the opposing wrist.  A control pannel is displayed.  Numb, clumbsy fingers jab at a big red button.  Low oxygen lights glare red on the display screen and wink out as the helmet is removed.  Both arms fall to the floor heavily. 

"Hibernate," a raspy voice breathes.

The cabin is instantly filled with a dose of fumes that tranquilize all organic life forms.  It is possible that this was a wise move.  Or perhaps lucky.  The oscarigan that had found its way inside and was hiding in its warm safe environment is also put into hibernation before it can realize that new prey has closed itself inside the shelter.

The lights dim drastically and all systems are reduced to very basic life support.  The storm of dust and ash continues for more than a week.  Ground level rises significantly.  Then the lava finally arrives.

The structure is hardy but the layers of sandy dust are a godsend.  The dust forms a protective glassy shell that keeps the lava from melting or weakening the hull.

Seventeen days after the hibernation order was given the oscarigan is beginning to reach a woozy state of wakefulness when a decision is finally made.  There had been several internal debates covering various related topics but the moment to decide had come.  Oddly enough, the decision required no thought. 

A shoe lace is carefully but quickly looped around its lung sac and pulled tight.  It takes a great deal of strength to keep the shoe lace tight for long enough but within a few minutes the threat has been removed.

"Computer, make a log please," the exasperated raspy voice requests.  A chime sounds and raspy voice continues, "Please note the time and date.  Also, not the date hibernation command was given." 

After a series of beeps that don't get counted there's the complaint, "They couldn't even give the computer a frickin' voice...  Okay, Honey.  I get it.  Complete isolation with no pretense at social interaction.  You want me to lose it so I can't figure out how to come back and screw things up.  I'm an embarrassment.  You're mad.  I get it.  But I also know curiosity drives you nuttier than cashews so I'd say it's a fair bet that you're listening in right now."

There's a sigh accompanied by a hand rubbing over a bald scalp.  "I notice that you sent me to EX589.  It's an unexplored planet as in no one has so much as sent a probe out here.  And you sent me out here with absolutely no weapons.  I hate to whine but that kinda sucks...  How am I supposed to butcher this?"

As he speaks the figure paces back and forth, sizing the large carcass up and down, wondering how much meat he might get from it.

"I'm counting today as day 2 on this planet since it's my second day of consciousness.  So far, I've survived a dust storm, an apparent volcanic eruption, and a stampede of a lot of animals I haven't had time to name.  And I've witnessed two of these mothers attacking other animals.  Thank goodness I saw one get killed or I wouldn't have known about its weakest spot.  I think evolution was too stoned to do these guys any favors...  Anyway, just thought you'd like to know I'm still alive out here.  Gotta go now, Baby.  I'm gonna hafta figure out how to make a knife so I can cook some dinner.  Love you.  End log."

Technically speaking, he'd meant every word right down to the "love you".  He also knows how loaded that log entry is.  Every word, every muscle twitch will be analyzed for alterior motives and meanings.  It would usually be said "it's nothing personal, it's just politics" but in this case he knows it really is personal.  He'd made a very powerful enemy much more easily than he'd wanted to.

Oh, he'd known she'd be upset if he tried to get her away from that awful planet.  But he'd also thought she'd see reason and eventually forgive him.  She'd gotten her stubbornness from her mother,  Still, he hadn't thought she'd be this bull headed.

He activates the drill and hopes he's steering in an upward direction.  He'll have to risk going outside in the hopes of finding something he can make into a tool.  He has a tiny pocket knife but it's small and dull.  It's more of a paperweight than anything.

He sits in his chair, chin resting in his hand.  He drums his fingers impatiently.  Occasionally, he glances at his kill.  It's been almost three weeks since his last meal.  He's ravenous!  He doesn't dare just tear bits off to shovel into his mouth without cooking.  He doesn't dare risk death by unknown pathogen.

As he nears the surface he notes a change in the read outs.  The temperature climbs high enough for mild alarm.  The mineral types and concentrations change.

Finally, the drill pierces the surface and the sky is visible.  Or it would be if not for the remaining ash clouds that haven't settled yet.  The air concentration read out is disappointing.

With a dissatisfied sigh he drives the vehicle, hoping to find a more suitable habitat.  "In about a million years this'll be a good place to find oil," he mutters under his breath.

After several dozen miles the sun becomes visible.  The read outs become more promising.  He extends the vessel's solar panels, hoping to conserve energy.

Finally, he decides to stop.  He puts the visor of his helmet back into place and quickly raises it again, coughing and sputtering.

"I've got to find a stream or something!  I smell awful!" he tells himself.

Before he leaves he tucks a small piece of soap into his pocket.  He takes a deep breath and snaps the visor back into place.

Outside he stands still for a second.  The sun dazzles his eyes even with the protection of the visor. 

He could take his helmet off.  The air here is breathable.  Doing so would mean the loss of instant read outs.  He debates for a second.  It would be easier to find water with his helmet on.  He takes the helmet off and attaches it to a hook on his back.

He closes his eyes and savors the sweet fresh air.  It smells so good! 

He opens his eyes and sets off.  As he walks he scans his surroundings.  He can't see as far without his helmet but he doesn't care.  He feels deliciously intoxicated with how good it feels to be outside.

A bird flies to a nearby tree.  Its plumage is brilliantly blue.  "Triumph bird," he says with a smile.

He's so busy watching the bird that he forgets to watch the ground.  He finds himself sprawled on the ground.  He forehead is bleeding.  He sees a flat sharp pebble.  He's certain it's what cut him.

He pries it out of the ground.  He is surprised!  It's a bit bigger than it'd first seemed.

He puts his helmet back on and closes the visor.  "Heal," he commands.  His forehead stings and burns but soon he hears a chime indicating the process is finished. 

"Analyze,"he commands as he holds his rock up to his visor.

The read outs reveal what he'd hoped to see.  This rock is hard enough to be a good tool that should last a while.  He tucks the rock into a pocket.

He looks around to see what he tripped on.  There's  tree root raised a little above the ground.  "Excuse me.  I didn't see you there," he mutters under his breath.

He continues his exploration.  He finds a sapling.  It's roughly about a hundred centimeters in height.  It's growing very close to a large tree that is likely to choke it out.  He analyzes the sapling.  It's a species of tree he's never heard of before.  His read out indicates it is not a cognitive life form.

He takes his rock out and strikes the sapling near its base.  He feels slightly guilty.  Back home you waited for a tree to die before you cut it down.  To do otherwise was murder.  He strikes again and again until the sapling was transformed into a large stick.

He tests the tree's durability along it's whole length.  It's perfect.  He does a hack job of sharpening one end.

He continues on, picking up sticks and twigs as he walks.  He turns back and heads toward camp when his arms are full.

He stacks the sticks carefully a short distance away from his vehicle.

He goes into his abode and wrinkles his nose.  It smells very lived in.  He drags the oscarigan outside and leaves the door open.

After a lot of patience, rubbing sticks together, he finally has a fire started.  He hacks at the oscarigan with his rock and rips off large chunks.  He sets the on the ground as close to the flames as he can without burning himself too badly.

He dismantles as much of the oscarigan as he can, putting it all near the fire.  Then he examines the oscarigan's head.

The animal has a very large head.  It seems out of proportion to what the body had been.  It's eyes are on the sides of it's head.  "Not a predator?" he muses.

The mouth is a long hooked beak with two rows of very sharp teeth.  He may need to borrow some of these...  The tongue is long and flexible but contains spikes.  He lifts a spike and moves it from facing front to facing back.  All of the spikes move with it.  "Very interesting..." he breathes.

He takes a break from the autopsy and uses his sharpened stick to pull out some meat.  It is all he can do to let it cool before devouring it and going back for another large piece.

Grease drips from his chin as he smacks happily.  He begins lading the meat into the cargo hold in his vehicle.  In between each trip he grabs another hunk to eat.  By the time all of the left overs are loaded he's miserably full.  He can see his belly sticking out further than it had been. 

He kicks dirt onto the fire to put it out and goes back inside.  He closes the door and falls into bed.  He's asleep instantly.

He is awakened by an incoming transmission. 

"EXT forty-two dash one, how are you liking your new home?" a familiar female voice asks coldly.

"Just peachy.  How are you, Sweetheart?" he asks groggily.

"I have usurped the throne successfully.  I am now Queen.  I suppose you could say all is well."

He sighs in disappointment.  He'd known her ambitions but until now had hopes that she would not attempt to follow through.

"I don't want to know how you killed him," he cuts her off quickly, trying not to let sickening disappointment set in.

"I've killed no one.  I married the king.  Politically, it was the strongest move available to both of us.  But this really is not why I am contacting you," the voice replies in annoyance.

He puts his helmet on and snaps the visor in place.  This allows him to see her.

His beautiful little girl, now only sixteen years old.  She'd inherited her mother's rich blue complexion.  Thanks to his genetics she is the only person on the planet with hair.  She is proud of it and keeps it long.

He sees her standing in her royal garb, her strawberry-blonde hair French braided on each side of her head and wrapped around her skull.  It makes the moon jewel hanging from her forehead look like part of a large complex crown.

"Gosh, you're beautiful!" he breathes in pride.

He realizes he's interrupted her when her mouth snaps shut and a flustered look crosses her face.  He can see that she is struggling to not smile.

With a relatively straight face and a very slightly more musical tone she says, "Thank you.  But I need you to listen.  It is important that you understand.  My husband died of old age this morning while out on his morning walk.  I've only just been informed about it.  This renders me absolute ruler for now."

"Did he...?  Did you let him...?  Could he?" he asks, distractedly.

"The blarn was one hundred, ninety-two!  Of course couldn't without breaking himself somehow!" she mutters.  She looks flustered again.

"You've been banished for good this time.  Your survival on EX 589 was never doubted.  I trust that no matter what that planet throws at you you'll live well into old age," she says slowly.

Then she closes her eyes for a second before continuing, "You've also been stripped of your number, EX42-1.  It is generally understood that you had a name on your home world but no one here remembers-"

"Stephen," he interrupts.

"So we've designated the title "Banishment Bob" to be your new name.  Silly, I know, but to keep you off world procedure had to be followed."

More quietly she adds, "You'll be much safer where you are.  I do not worry for your safety.  Please to do not worry for mine, either.  I've got the best genetics and training from both you and AR six dash ninety-four.  I'm the best possible person to lead the masses into a new future."

Even more quietly, just barely above a whisper, she continues, "This should be the last transmission you'll receive but I'll check your log entries from time to time.  Let me know in them if you need anything.  Goodbye, Daddy."

"Daddy" had hardly been audible.  He'd heard it clear as day, though.  He'd been begging her to call him that since she'd learned to say EX forty-two dash one.  It was a dangerous word for her to use.  He understands the "I love you back" hidden in that one word.

He sniffs as he takes his helmet off and wipes the tears from his face.

He understands everything she hadn't said.  She isn't upset.  This is her way of protecting him.  She's going to change the world!  Perhaps, in another generation or two, she could get the population to stop scheming against one another for political strength if she can keep the throne that long.  She's really learned to love in a world where love is a weakness that gets you killed!  He is brimming with pride!

As he opens the door to set out in search of water the morning sun streams into his shelter, reflecting off of almost every surface.  A deer with a proboscis looks at him and then darts off.  "How the hell does it eat?" Banishment Bob asks out loud.

He shrugs his shoulders and says, "Gardorph."

He steps outside into the day with confidence and begins his search.

A week later a box containing several sharp knives and a small sword arrive near his camp.  "Thanks, Hun," he tells the universe.