Out of Reach

       “So it is you! How did you get onto this page, and what did you do to the Geographer?” I looked up. My greatest enemy seemed displeased. Seemed—because I couldn’t see the shadows of his emotions, only furrowed brows in the tangential light of his tilted headlamp. The background was dark, but not the void of space. No stars, not quite black, more of a murky grey. That’s interesting. But right now, something else demanded my attention. “And what did you do to me?” “Me? To you? What do you mean?” The Prince looked slightly puzzled. “I sent you back where you couldn’t harm anyone. But I underestimated you. So I’ll ask again—” “I’m not talking about the notebook. Before that.” “Before what?” Now he was properly confused, but only for a moment. “Ah, right, I did think it odd that you didn’t vanish into thin air like usual. But I forgot to think of it, what with everything else… No, I have no idea how that happened. I’m curious myself. So, you can’t disappear and reappear at will anymore? And…” He smirked. “You can’t turn back into a serpent?” “Nor summon the gloomies,” I admitted. It irked me to confess weaknesses, but now it might be an advantage. Let him think me relatively harmless. Maybe he’d relax, drop his guard, and even let me out. So, he had nothing to do with it. Assuming he wasn’t lying. He was an honest sort, but I supposed he might make an exception for me. “If this isn’t another one of his tricks,” the Fox grumbled somewhere outside. “I’d bet my whiskers he’s faking.” “Well, your companions kindly showed me how to move between pages,” I nodded at the Hunter beside me, who immediately started making excuses. Good. He had indeed demonstrated the method; no need to mention I’d failed to apply it. “As for the poor Geographer, I didn’t realise he’d take widely known scientific facts so personally.” “What facts?” “Oh, the usual. Continental drift, evolution, the unlikelihood of him ever returning to his home galaxy. Let me stress, it was all true. Speaking of, why did you even call him? He knows nothing about this galaxy. Out of all of you, only I’ve been here before.” The Fox kept muttering off-screen. The Prince fell silent, glanced at the dark backdrop, then back at me. Whatever he’d seen hadn’t pleased him—his frown deepened. “Well, since you’ve been here before, care to explain what this is and why it has shut?” I propped my head on my hand, feigning disinterest. “No. First, believe it or not, some troubles happen without me involved. Second, from my ‘here,’ I can’t see where your ‘here’ is. I’ve been to thousands of planets. How should I know which one you mean?” “It’s a planet,” the Prince began eagerly, “that looks like—” “And third,” I cut him off, “while I’m stuck here, I’ve no desire to share information with you. You got yourself into this—now get yourself out. And I’m already in the notebook. You have no further leverage over me.” “Is that what you think, parasite?” The Hunter’s voice came from behind, something hard prodding my back. I turned carefully. Sure enough, he held his rifle up. “Answer when you’re spoken to!” “Or what?” I deliberately turned away from him to face the Prince. “Found some proper ammunition, have you? If not, don’t waste my time. And if you’re planning more stink pellets, remember that this is your page. You’ll be stuck with the stench.” The Hunter huffed, muttered something about a flare to the ear at close range, but didn’t shoot. “Fine,” the Prince conceded. “Seems you really are stuck in human form and can’t escape easily. I could let you out. But you’ll actually tell me about this planet, or back you go. Understood?” The Fox immediately protested. But before I could agree, the Hunter butted in. “Then, mate, let me out too. I’ll keep an eye—and the barrel sight—on this monster.” “Us too!” came muffled voices from other pages. “Let us out, I mean.” Ah, so they had decided to test their freedom of movement. The Prince seemed taken aback by this rebellion but had no rebuttal. Space rippled white again, inverted—and I was outside. Freedom! Limited, revocable at any moment, but better than being a moving sketch. Just in case, I tried slipping into the shadows or summoning the gloomies. Nothing. The scratch under the plaster stung again, and the air was disgustingly clammy. What kind of planet was this? Was the atmosphere even breathable for humans? ‘Outside’ was no clearer. A dark grey-beige surface, rubbery and slick, stretched into the distance on one side, lost in darkness. The Prince’s and Fox’s headlamps cast wet glints on smooth boulders ranging from elephant- to egg-sized. A vault of the same material instead of the sky, details obscured by the human eye’s limitations. Darkness, and bare brown branching veins in the air, sparse at the edges, denser further in. On the other side, the ceiling met the floor in an uneven, tightly shut fissure. The King, the Businessman, and the Hunter looked around bewildered; only the Geographer stood slumped, hugging his book and heaving sighs now and then. The Fox snarled at me, baring fangs, his tail flicking aside to reveal the potted Rose. Ah, the whole gang was here. “My regards, darling,” I mock-bowed. “Glad to see you in good health. This time, you decided to tag along with your Prince into the first dump he found?” She glared but didn’t dignify me with a reply. “So how did you end up here?” I turned to the Prince. He’d been watching me intently, notebook at the ready, and now, still wary, began explaining. After leaving the Planet of Roses (how were they travelling? B612 was no longer spaceworthy), they’d come across a massive planet. Smaller than Earth, but far larger than typical asteroids, so like the Planet of Roses, it had no doors to inner subspaces. Its surface was featureless but for parallel stone ridges. Following a gully between them, the travellers reached a bottomless transverse chasm where something pearlescent gleamed. From outside, it had seemed mysterious and beautiful, shimmering like— “Holy profits!” The Businessman, who hadn’t been listening, was examining the surroundings, particularly the smaller stones. “These are pearls! Proper pearls! The largest deposit in the world!” He began stuffing his pockets and suitcase with them. Right. Could I even figure out where this was? My memory capacity exceeded human limits by far, after all. Mental images did link in a sluggish but steady progression: a barren, hollow planet, a chasm, pearls… Within a minute, the full picture formed. I turned to the Prince, raising my voice over the Businessman’s chatter. “And you went inside, found a vast cavity, but it snapped shut behind you? Even your sketched beasts couldn’t pry it open? Am I right?” “Exactly!” The Prince nodded, smiling. Had he actually welcomed my answer? Not so fast, I wasn’t about just to play encyclopaedia. “By the Void! Why did you drag her along?” I jabbed a finger at the Rose. “Why risk her life? Thought that with me sidelined, the universe had turned into a harmless playground? Well, you’re wrong. It’s dangerous even without my help, and this is a prime example. Thanks to your thirst for adventure, we’re all being slowly digested by a planet-sized oyster!” Guilt-tripping the conscientious was easy. The Prince lowered his notebook, glancing around. I pressed on. “Mr. Geographer, would you kindly explain how pearls form? Lest the public here doubts my words.” He flinched, then flipped through his book, slow and clumsy, as if he’d forgotten how. “As far as science knows,” he said haltingly, “pearl formation is a mollusc’s defence mechanism against foreign irritants lodged in its mantle. It secretes nacre to smooth sharp edges. But this applies to species from our galaxy. I can’t confirm the same evolutionary path here.” “This particular oyster followed it,” I assured the group. “Feel that heavy, damp air? The moisture clinging to your skin? That’s it. If you don’t want to become pearl statues, keep moving and wipe it off constantly. At least make a glass case for the Rose—unless you fancy the world’s most exquisite pink pearl. Why do you think I saved her? For you to get her killed in the first bog you stumble into?” Everyone instinctively scratched. Good. They believed me. The Prince hastily sketched a transparent dome for the Rose and materialised it. Excellent. “And these stones around us are probably space debris or even past travellers,” I couldn’t resist adding. “This one, for instance, looks like a… a fly.” A boulder of complex shape did resemble an insect—head, winged torso, albeit human-sized. Not a fly, some other bug from another local planet. Hopefully extinct. My handiwork. The Businessman dropped a pigeon-sized pearl and scrambled back. The King and even the Hunter shuddered; only the Geographer kept listlessly flipping his atlas. The Businessman, not even pretending bravery, muttered about being at their service any other time and vanished in a sparkle. Pity. His suitcase was useful, his nerves weak. Could’ve pitted him against the oyster. Ah well, there was still the Hunter. Acting myself was too risky. Any attempt to harm would land me back on paper. Survival came first, preferably with the Rose, since this place was dangerous for her. Escape wasn’t hard if the locals hadn’t died off yet. The mollusc would die on its own, slow and quiet, as I’d arranged long ago. But if I subtly escalated things, the Prince would have no choice but to destroy the planet to save everyone. But what if he failed? On the Planet of Roses, he hadn’t saved a soul. And this time, I had no means to back him up. No, the situation wasn’t as dire… He’d manage. Time to act, prevent the oyster from opening prematurely. But I needed props. I slipped a hand into my knickerbockers, felt the Geographer’s torn pages. I tried not to rustle, but the Fox heard anyway and spun around. His torch beam stabbed my eyes. “What are you plotting?” “Nothing,” I snapped, showing empty palms. “Just checking for a handkerchief.” Right, had to mask the paper’s sound. Say, with a small talk: “There’s only one way out. Sever the oyster’s adductor muscles holding the shell shut.” The Prince shook his head. “That’s where I stop trusting you. I’m sure if I can talk to the planet, I can persuade it to release us.” Just as expected. But while he spoke, I crumpled the page. The Fox twitched an ear, torch swinging back to me. I turned, pegged a disposal spot, then stared into the darkness elsewhere. The Fox, predictably, followed my gaze. Perfect time to toss the paper unseen, let the litter irritate the oyster. Paper was light, though, it’d soak up nacre quickly. Better pinch something heavier or sharper from the Hunter’s bag. I kept distracting them. “I repeat, it’s an oyster! A mollusc. No brain, no heart, just gills and muscles. You can’t reason with what doesn’t exist.” I avoided looking at the Geographer, not to provoke him, but he didn’t contradict me. Oysters did have hearts, primitive ones. But no, he was too busy staring at his book’s cover. My work had paid off. “As if anyone would believe you,” the Fox grumbled between scratches. “We won’t know until we try,” the Prince finally pocketed the notebook, ruffled his hair, and clapped. “Simple! If the oyster dislikes us walking on it, we’ll just take to the air! It’ll calm down and open.” That sounded logical, so I needed a counterargument, fast. What flying contraptions did he have? “But there are no clouds to hook a boat onto, nor winds to hold up an umbrella.” An anti-grav platform would help, but I wasn’t about to suggest useful ideas. Instead of reopening the notebook, the Prince tucked it into his belt (good news) and pressed a hand to his chest. Moments later, he wore a shimmering blue doublet, a light-sword in hand. Ah, sketching a bird. I’d counter that, but it’d still be useful, so I stayed silent as the blue-winged silhouette rose, only then remarking: “First, wingbeats will still irritate the mollusc, and the ceiling’s low. Second, shells snap shut fast but open slowly. By the time it calms, the bird will’ve absorbed moisture and fallen. Plus, too many passengers. But it could quickly reach the shell’s hinges to cut them—no need to risk your friends’ lives pointlessly.” He paused, but alas, not for long. The ‘endanger your friends’ argument used to stop him cold. Was he growing immune? “First,” he had the gall to mock me! “I. Won’t. Cut. Anything. But reaching the oyster’s body is a good idea, thanks. I’ll still talk to it, whatever you say. Second, as for passengers…” He turned to the group. “Friends, I’ll call if needed, but you’re safer in the notebook for now.” The Geographer vanished silently. The King bowed out without comment. The Hunter dug in his heels. He was compact and light (with that gut?!), he insisted. Glaring at me, he added that the Prince could use extra hands, especially armed ones, and he’d faced worse bogs. Ah, my cowardice jab had stung, and now he’d show off. Excellent. If only he had a knife… Among the remaining, hands were scarce. The Rose had leaves, the Fox paws, the Prince carried the Rose—and then there was me. The Prince, however, countered that I could be watched inside the notebook. “Be my guest,” I cut in. “But are you sure I’m not withholding crucial details?” The Prince frowned but still reached for the notebook. I needed more leverage. “Or I’ll chat with your friends out of boredom. You know how adults revere ‘common sense.’ Or I may play with your sketches. Might break a few. Or maybe the animated paper creatures will stop being animate…” I didn’t know if destroying a drawn sheep was possible, but it sounded convincing. “Vile little worm!” The Fox bared his teeth. The Prince hesitated, notebook half-open, glanced inside, at me, at the Hunter. One last push, then. “Come on, what’s the worst I could do? It’s not like I can escape.” “Fine, I’ll think of something later,” he sighed, putting the notebook away and resuming the bird. “Get in the middle. And shut up.” The bird lifted sluggishly but carried all five. The Prince steered with one hand, the Rose’s pot in the other, following the shell’s curve and veering the gill-branches. Good they were flying slowly. Time to plan how to force the Prince to kill this blasted mollusc. Unlikely I could manage finishing it off unarmed. Unlikely anyone would lend me a chainsaw. Infuriating it was, to have the capacity for destruction but lack the tools. Normally, I could annihilate planets and stars with a glance—but only if they were unclaimed. I’d have erased the universe long ago if not for one wretched rule: whatever sentient beings considered theirs—a planet, sun, tree, object—I couldn’t damage it without the ‘owner’s’ consent. And the ‘owner’ couldn’t be removed unless they attacked first. Few were brave enough to tangle with a giant serpent. Even fewer would willingly ask a scaly stranger to destroy their world. But sentient beings rarely used their sentience, rarely thought ahead. With the right chain of cause and effect, fulfilling their immediate desires could doom entire planets. And oh, the joy of watching from afar as inhabitants rolled their world into the abyss after a dozen of well-placed words! The gloomies could take and break things without permission—they were made from the inhabitants’ own emotions—but they were weak and stupid, dissolving easily. Everything had been fine while I had just pretended to be human, but now… The Geographer’s torn page in my pocket reminded me: I could now harm things directly! And it was alarming, in one sense. It showed how deep this incarnation went. Unlikely anyone would let me wreak havoc. Unlikely the Prince would leave me free if I killed anyone. And I needed freedom, even limited. Starting with the Prince wasn’t an option because… well, the Rose. She needed him, loved him, and if something happened to him, she might do something suicidal, as she had demonstrated on her home planet. Or just wither from grief. That’s unacceptable. So no matter how much I hated him, I’d have to leave him be. Just consider him a nuisance attached to the Rose until I found a way to sever their bond. That I hadn’t succeed in doing it yet didn’t mean it was impossible. And I’d need to deal with her knack for rooting herself so fast that uprooting her would break her. I stayed quiet but scanned the darkness. Though it was too dim to be of use. The bird’s faint blue glow only outlined its edges. The surroundings remained impenetrable. Once, darkness, literal or mental, had been my essence. I had seen and heard all it concealed. Now there was nothing. I could barely make out shapes where the Prince’s or Fox’s torches swung. At least they kept looking around. The Prince marvelled at the ‘beauty.’ So what if everything shimmered nacreous, if boulders gleamed rainbow? The glare was sending ripples in my vision. Hard to tell if those flickers were torch reflections or approaching locals. “You dragged me out to interrogate me,” I risked speaking, “then told me to shut up. Flawless logic. What if I spot danger first? Should I stay silent?” “What danger?” The Fox tensed, pausing his scratching. I turned away from his torch. To say or not to say? Better say, so that anticipatory fear tightened nerves. “The natives,” I intoned grimly. “They don’t like the dark. No light means no microscopic algae, no food. So they strongly dislike guests disturbing their planet. If they find intruders, they immobilise them and speed up the petrification so the shell reopens.” Not entirely a lie. The locals’ food supply had dwindled after the oyster’s axis shift (thanks to a conveniently placed meteor and my help). Post-cataclysm, they had treated intruders thus, but soon found a politer ejection method. Well, no need to mention that. Maybe they’d starved to extinction. The Fox tucked his tail, the Rose shrank in her pot. The Hunter, of course, pretended no fear. “What do these natives look like?” he asked, waving his rifle at every shadow. That is, randomly. Good attitude. Might shoot the first thing that moved, create a conflict, and force the Prince to use his sword. “Semi-transparent slime blobs, about knee-high. Our knees I mean. That is, they could swallow and digest the Fox whole.” The Fox snarled—at me. “What are they afraid of?” the Hunter pressed, less bravado now. Excellent leading question. “Starvation and death, like all living things. But from your arsenal… You mentioned salt rounds. Common soda or any other carbonate? The stuff should rupture their membranes. Speaking of—do hunters carry knives?” “No one’s shooting anyone!” the Prince cut in. “I’m sure we can talk this through.” So much for acquiring a blade. Then again… I was taller than the Hunter. Glancing back, I saw his hat first, with feathers stuck under a ribbon. Pointy, semi-rigid shafts. Would do. “They’re amoebas,” I countered. “No brains, no hearts. Just vacuoles and mitochondria. No minds, no desires. Nothing to manipulate, hence why I never got anywhere here.” “What’s that?” The Hunter aimed ahead. In the torchlight, something like a thick tree trunk loomed, floor to gill-strewn ceiling, dark brown for variety. “The adductor muscle,” I said. “The one to cut.” “I repeat,” the Prince began, tapping the bird’s wing to steer around it. I interrupted. “And I repeat: act fast, or we’re all done for. Will you really risk the Rose or the Fox for a lump of snail meat?” He didn’t get to reply. The bird lurched, failed to bank, and grazed the trunk with its wing hard enough to overturn. Naturally, everyone tumbled down. The bird dissolved in an instant, together with its feeble light. The ground came up fast with impact on hands and knees. Oh please, don’t break anything, humans are so fragile… The Fox’s torch beam flailed wildly as he yowled, the Hunter cursed, the Rose yelped. Where was she? Ah, the Prince still clutched her, twisting mid-fall to shield her. Even the dome stayed intact. I caught my breath, tried to stand. Ow. How I missed ignoring gravity… Legs held, though they felt ready to give out. The ground was wetter here than at the entrance. Took two attempts to rise. The Prince sprang up easily, setting the Rose down to free his hands. Or avoid dropping her. The Hunter floundered, clinging to his rifle, farther off. His hat lay nearer. Perfect timing. While the Prince pried the Fox from a gill-branch, I groped for the hat, returned it minus one sturdy feather, which slipped up my sleeve. In the dark, the Hunter noticed nothing. The rest was even simpler. I ‘slipped’ near a muscle-root vein. My knees protested the second fall, the hiss of pain genuine. With all the frustration of injury, I drove the feather deep under the vein, unseen. Done. Now the oyster wouldn’t open without extreme measures. Back to the others before their torches found me. “As I said, the bird wouldn’t last,” I told the Prince, nodding at the slimy pillar, thick as a baobab. “But we’ve reached the target.” He raised his hand, and a bright blue blade appeared. For a second, I thought he’d do the sensible thing, but he swept past, the blade skimming the ground. Sketching? Not a bird. Either way, he’d need space, would pass me by, and then… Then I could provoke the Hunter into firing and damaging the mollusc for extra irritation. To avoid catching a shot myself (quite an unpleasant prospect), I’d wait until the Prince, rounding a curve in the sketch, turned his torch toward the Hunter, blinding him momentarily. The glowing outline took shape. Not a bird, but a gorilla-like beast. The suitable point of curve would be… there. Pretending to study the gills, I stepped into position. It was hard to gauge distances from a single vantage point, peripheral vision lacking. The Prince worked on the other side. But the others were equally hampered by darkness and glare. Almost there, the turn— I lunged. Precision and speed. Twist the sword from his grip—surprise factor worked! Shove him toward the Hunter as a shield. I didn’t expect to keep the sword—it could vanish anytime—but had to feign an attack… I bolted for the muscle, adjusting my grip, swung. The blade could slice stone like a laser. Behind me, the Rose shrieked, a mere click followed instead of a bang, the Hunter and Fox swearing. Blast. Powder must’ve dampened. The sword vanished, of course. Time to turn. The unfinished beast’s outline faded, but the Prince didn’t redraw the sword, though he’d had time. Instead, frowning, he watched me—or rather, his face was unreadable in shadow. The Fox scrabbled to his feet, growling. The Prince, back in civilian green, reached for his belt. Time to act— “What?” I spread my hands as he grabbed the notebook. “I was trying to save us. Faster, simpler, surer than you! Look at the Fox, he’s halfway to soap by the time you play pacifist!” He hesitated, glanced at the Fox. Mentioning his friends still worked, but weakly. “And notice I didn’t attack any of you, though I could’ve started with you.” “Sure, and then we’d find out,” the Fox cut in, “you’d fed us another pack of lies, tricked us into doing your dirty work. No thanks—the Little Prince and I have always cleaned up your messes without your ‘help.’” Ah, he shouldn’t have said that. “Always?” I raised a brow. “Funny, just recently on the Planet of Roses, you rather… failed—” Arguing with the Fox was endlessly entertaining, but I watched the Prince. He still held the notebook, clearly torn. Remembering my threat to his paper menagerie, no doubt. “Just shove him back in,” panted the Hunter behind them, leaning on his rifle as a prop. “I’ll guard him there and won’t let him not a peep, not a twitch!” The Prince brightened, about to comply, when one of the best sounds in the whole Universe clanged. The Rose shrieked. Me and the Prince turned to her as one. I rather enjoyed watching her fear, anger, sadness, doubt. But as I’d learned, she was too fragile and easily broken. What now? She stood where she’d been, pointing a leaf at the gill-thickets. And there… I knew what to look for and easily spotted clusters of torch-glints too bright, too sharp. “The natives have arrived,” I announced. At the travellers’ stares, I pointed at the most obvious clusters, Fox-sized. “Well, Prince, take your white flag and good luck. Never befriended single-celled organisms, have you? If you fail, sketch the Hunter a halberd or saw since you don’t trust me. So we can escape without you.” “Enough of that nonsense already…” the Prince muttered, heading for the approaching lights while I edged toward the Rose. The Fox snapped at me as I passed, meaning to bite me but missing on the unreliable ground. The Hunter wavered between watching me or the locals. The Prince would, of course, befriend them. He was already crouching among the rainbow-pulsing amoebas, touching the largest, murmuring. The amoebas around him shifted blue-green. But a few slithered past him toward the rest. To sell the ‘hostile natives’ act, I feigned panic, stepping closer to the Rose. The Hunter’s nerves broke, and he cocked his rifle. The Fox turned at the sound, snarling. “Who’ll carry her out if negotiations fail?” I challenged. “You, Fox? Go on, I’ll laugh. Or you?” I eyed the Hunter. “Shoot the mantle, and the nacre secretion accelerates.” “Could’ve mentioned that sooner!” the Fox snapped. “I’m not going anywhere!” the Rose interjected. “My Prince will certainly reason with these lovely colourful creatures, and—” She looked behind. “Eek! Fox! Behind you!” While they’d focused on me, three stray amoebas had closed in. One oozed over the Fox’s hind legs, another plopped onto his back, the third missed as he yelped and bolted—or tried to. His paws skidded, sending him spinning. I let myself laugh—a natural thing when an enemy flounders. No need for him to know the ‘attack’ was actually a rescue. The Hunter swung his rifle at the fuzzy slimeball but didn’t shoot. The Prince, hearing the commotion, stood beaming. Clearly, he’d ‘understood’ the amoebas and now would tell the Fox to relax. The Rose was faster. As the Fox slid near, she lifted her dome and whacked the amoeba on his back with her tendril with all her might. Her meagre strength sufficed to catch the jelly-like lump and cut it in halves. Two slime-blobs plopped down, pulsed yellow, and dimmed. The Rose gasped, dropping the dome. “Well done, darling,” I murmured. She didn’t look at me, curling under the glass. “Even I couldn’t have ruined things so brilliantly.”