\nThere was no point in tapping the acceleration stud again. I had the jitney maxed, or close to it, and speed was not what the designers had in mind. We were explorers, supposed to be calmly, casually examining the surroundings wherever we went. Not two guys rushing back to base from an accident.\n<\/p>\n
\nI silently swore and cursed at everything. Damn the execs who wouldn\u2019t give us the flyer for a trip this far out. Damn the mediocre precautions against known dangers. Damn this planet. Damn the distance. Damn, damn, damn.\n<\/p>\n
\nI glanced again over at Roy, sitting impassively strapped in the other seat and watching the view ahead. He hates my constantly looking over at him, but I was scared and frustrated and angry, and I justified myself that I was just keeping an eye on his condition.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI hope there\u2019s no traffic cops around,\u201d said Roy, his words coming out low, soft, and slow. \u201cAnd I know you\u2019re checking on me again, Peter. I\u2019m okay — just focus on your driving. No use piling up this fancy buggy and spilling us both.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYeah,\u201d I agreed, and tried to force a joke. \u201cThe paperwork alone would be murder. Who wants to die twice?\u201d The corner of Roy\u2019s mouth edged up slightly.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nWe\u2019d been working together for the company a few years when we got the assignment offer for Carter\u2019s Planet. A routine assay to be made of the planet\u2019s useful minerals and plant life, nothing unusual. Out about a year, three months on-planet, sign the releases, kiss the wife and kids goodbye, then come home to a fat paycheck and retire easy. Simple plan.\n<\/p>\n
\nTwo weeks before we came out of transition stasis, the advance team on the planet discovered the critters. More specifically, the critters discovered the team.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe planet already hosted a variety of flora and fauna, all of which seemed fairly bucolic, according to the reports. Interestingly, anything over about 55 kilos just sort of ambled around, ignoring the newcomers. Maybe one or two showed teeth, but then they\u2019d get over what they were trying to express and slowly wander off. No human counterparts. Quiet little world.\n<\/p>\n
\nOne of the team, Simkins, had been outside, working a small research square of soil so they could see how Earth plants did in that environment. There was no concern about contaminating the planet — the soil was in containers, and the shields were still operating at the base, committed to the task of keeping CO2 low and our breathables comfortable. Nothing else was supposed to pass through.\n<\/p>\n
\nWe still aren\u2019t sure how they got in, but we surmise Simkins had a tear in his encounter suit. As they say, that\u2019s all it takes. Beatty, who was watching Simkins the entire time from inside the lab (standard precaution), said later that a dark translucent fog settled around Simkins for a minute, then dissipated. Simkins didn\u2019t say anything, didn\u2019t shout, just slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.\n<\/p>\n
\nAll hell broke loose in the lab, however. Everyone dived into their suits and readied the iso lab which, fortunately, had a door to the outside. Several went out to pick up Simkins who, to everyone\u2019s surprise, got his feet under him as they stood him up, thanked everyone, and slowly made his way to the iso lab door. Under escort, of course.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe iso lab gear was good, as good as you can get set up on a remote planet, but it still took a week to find them in Simkins. They were miniscule — you needed magnification to see them well. They probably started as a few, but they reproduced quickly, and they were apparently organized. They had started at Simkins\u2019 extremities and were working their way to his core, slowly, inexorably. And they were feeding, not on the meat, not on the blood components. They were consuming axons and dendrites, particularly along those nerves that twitched the muscles, the same pathways that Galvani\u2019s electricity made the legs of dead frogs move. They were like gourmets at a fete, slowly gobbling up everything on the buffet. Simkins grew steadily more paralyzed, conscious the entire time, until they found the non-muscled inner organs and took a liking to the nerve cells there. The critters were chewing up all the energy, taking it for their own needs, and didn\u2019t stop or leave until they were done — they were pretty dedicated to their grisly task. The swarm exited the host only after the host died from the massive organ failure. Apparently they lost interest in a food supply gone stale. Not unlike parasitic wasps, I was told.\n<\/p>\n
\nThey named the damned things for Simkins. Obscene way to be memorialized. \u201cThat which does kill us, makes us immortal.\u201d Something like that. Simkins, himself, tried to make light of the situation and called them ZomBees. Stupid joke. The name stuck.\n<\/p>\n
\nIt also explained the behavior of the larger native animals beyond the shields, the ones that just wandered around seemingly aimlessly. Brain was firing, but the body was just carrying it around and not feeling much else. Run? No. Feel pain? Maybe. Feed? Oh, sure, why not? This looks okay. And, repeat, until your insides stopped getting instructions, the connections vacuumed away by the Bees, and you laid down and stopped living. Except it was different for us Earthers, as Simkins demonstrated. They liked us — we didn\u2019t malinger so long.\n<\/p>\n
\nSo, yeah. Roy got Bee\u2019d. I\u2019d heard a soft hum as we worked opposite corners of a target spot, no more than a couple meters apart. I turned, saw the cloud around him, watched him drop and the cloud clear. Without thinking about much else, even my own safety, I scooped up Roy, carried him to the jitney, strapped him in and punched the controls to life, screaming to the base over the radio every ten minutes the entire way out of the zone.\n<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHow much further do you figure?\u201d asked Roy.\n<\/p>\n
\nI gave him an estimate.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou should just chuck it into autopilot and get some sleep.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI told him what I thought of that.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSuit yourself. \u2018I have miles to go before I sleep.\u2019 Robert Frost \u2013 ever read poetry, Peter?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cCouldn\u2019t get into it,\u201d I replied, \u201cbut maybe I\u2019ll try again some time.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s really kinda remarkable. Our species has developed so many languages in its span of existence, and so many ways to express itself within those languages. Different styles of music, different ways to tell stories\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou should save your strength, Roy. You want some water, or something?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo, I\u2019m good. Funny, my body is kinda numb, but my mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYeah? Like what? Something dirty, maybe?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNah, that\u2019s all shut down. No drive. But I\u2019ve got a fix for the base power distribution that should work a neat trick.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nSee, that was Roy, the kind of guy who could juggle plant identification, quantum physics, and Italian poetry in his head, all at the same time. While working a crossword puzzle. And cooking a perfect omelet. Just a little touch of the madman, perhaps, but a hell of a partner when things were going off the rails.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cY\u2019know, Peter,\u201d he said a little while later, \u201cI\u2019ve always read and heard about people who become quadriplegics by an accident, or an illness. I\u2019ve wondered what that could be like. And now I feel like that insect, millions of years ago on the stem of some tree, caught in a bit of sap. And that sap will turn to amber, over time, preserving that insect\u2019s body through the ages but, y\u2019know, that insect, over the last, slow minutes of his dying, was just going \u2018Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.\u2019 He more than likely didn\u2019t want to go yet, either. But this is another kind of nature that we have to come to accept.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nHe turned his head to look at me, like a 19th century clockwork automaton \u2013 a steady, slow, mechanical rotation revealing an expressionless face. You could almost hear the mesh of gears. The eyes, unblinking, were shining and alert \u2013 more than alert, they were lively, simultaneously semaphoring both acute frustration and the high activity of the brain behind them. He was screaming rage through his eyes. I wanted to just reach in and yank my friend free of his besieged body.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNothing you could do, Pete,\u201d he said, his words working their way from his thoughts like troops marching a muddy road. One syllable up, one syllable down\u2026 \u201cNothing you can do. The job is dangerous, we knew that from the get-go. My turn to be a report. Now turn on the recorder. I can\u2019t get to the button.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nFor the next 20 minutes, I got to sit there watching him record a message to home. I had to stay at the jitney\u2019s controls, and we weren\u2019t stopping so he could have privacy while I stepped off to catch a smoke. Nothing like listening to your buddy tell his loved ones all the sorrys, the I-love-yous, the I-wishes, the take-care-ofs. And all of it in the slow, muted cadence of his suffering. Odysseus lashed himself to the mast of his ship against the maddening song of the Sirens. I had no mast, and no wax for my ears. No alluring Sirens, either.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cSorry, buddy. You know I had to do that.\u201d He turned his head to me, again. Whirrr\u2026\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYeah, no problem, Roy. You do what\u2019cha gotta\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBullshit. I can still see, and your eyes are damp. I appreciate the sentiment.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s just so fucking\u2026\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201c\u2026unfair? Yeah. Same words spoken a zillion times throughout history. Usually by kids younger than us. We\u2019re the other side of halfway-in, halfway-out and, I dunno \u2018bout you, but I\u2019ve seen a fair share of unfair, already. Not that I wouldn\u2019t agree with you — there\u2019s a few things I wanted to do in my time I hadn\u2019t yet done.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cLike what?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAw, heck\u2026 the usual. Travel, maybe write about my experiences\u2026 I was going to give you at least a paragraph.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cThanks a lot.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cDon\u2019t grouse. And keep your eyes on the road. \u2018Miles from nowhere, guess I\u2019ll take my time\u2026\u2019 You know that old tune, Peter?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNo.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cFellow named Yusuf Islam. Let\u2019s see\u2026 \u2018Lord, my body, has been a good friend, but I won\u2019t need it, when I reach the end.\u2019 Wow, that feels appropriate. All these \u2018road\u2019 themes popping into my head. Stories of journeys, too\u2026\u201d His voice trailed off, and he turned his head forward again. Slow, mechanical.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cEasy metaphor, Roy. Life is a journey. That goes back to the ancients.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cMm-hmm.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nI shut up. Roy needed a rest.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nHe had me pegged, told me later how he knew what I was thinking, all that guy-with-all-his-talents stuff. Roy said he\u2019d heard that all his life, ever since he was a kid winning science fairs and such. And you know? It bored him, winning awards and all the praises. He was just having fun, making things, studying science, and making his kind of magic for his friends.\n<\/p>\n
\nAt one point he mustered up enough energy to get pissed at me and snarl, \u201cGet over it already, Pete. I\u2019m going. Not now, or today, maybe not even tomorrow. You\u2019ve been a good friend on this leg of my journey, but it had to end sometime. If you really need, I\u2019ll promise I\u2019ll write.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nAnd then we came out of the dense forested hills in which we\u2019d spent the last bunch of hours, and saw the flyer parked a klick away. I admit, my first thought was that I could finally get out of my encounter suit, which I had kept on the entire time and, thankfully, kept tight. Primal thoughts first, when you\u2019re an itching, hungry, rank-smelling mess. But, in a larger sense, this was the end of a road.\n<\/p>\n
\n
\nI won\u2019t say how long they kept Roy alive after that. I think he lasted more than a month, but I was long gone. The company handed me my check, made sure all my reports were turned in, and pushed me though the door. Home I went, to my family and my thoughts.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019ve been reading poetry, Roy. I don\u2019t get all of it, but some of it I kinda like. I thought it was supposed to be all rhyme-y but, like you told me another time, unless one does even the smallest bit of research, they don\u2019t know nuthin\u2019. And the research comes easily now. Even pleasant. Haiku is interesting, especially. I like how many ideas can be expressed in that structure.\n<\/p>\n
\nI\u2019m even learning to play guitar. Not good, by any means, but it\u2019s nice.\n<\/p>\n
\nThanks, Roy. Vaya con dios.\n<\/p>\n
Richard Mandel is a retired electronics technician, and technical writer and editor for engineering trade magazines. He lives in a suburb of Cleveland, Ohio, with his wife and an array of four-legged critters.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There was no point in tapping the acceleration stud again. I had the jitney maxed, or close to it, and speed was not what the designers had in mind. We were explorers, supposed to be calmly, casually examining the surroundings wherever we went. Not two guys rushing back to base from an accident. I silently …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107920,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,14,20109],"tags":[20120],"class_list":["post-140232","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-publications","category-tcl-46-winter-2023","tag-the-colored-lens-46-winter-2023","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140232","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107920"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=140232"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140232\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":140233,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/140232\/revisions\/140233"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=140232"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=140232"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=140232"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}