Out of Reach

       Time was on my side. Unlike the climate. The stifling heat made proper rest impossible. And now there was stomping near my ear. I pried my eyes open—ah, a native was tapping the ground with its foot, signalling that the sun was rising and everyone ought to retreat to the tunnels. The worst of the heat hadn’t passed yet. The clearing was nearly empty, most of the natives had scattered, though their beaks and flanks still flickered among the thickets. Curiosity kept them lingering to observe the outsiders. Only the three chief “fruits” remained, deep in conversation with the Prince at the entrance to the darkest tunnel. Were they ushering the guests off the planet? That would’ve been perfect, but knowing the Prince, unlikely. Well, I had done all I could. Now it was just a matter of thwarting whatever scheme he’d come up with. I started toward him. Something glinted where the councillors had sat last night. Making a show of yawning and swaying, I went to check it. Ah, the Geographer’s glasses had fallen off and hadn’t vanished with him. I glanced sidelong at the Prince. He was pouring the last drops from his canteen into the Rose’s pot; she stretched and blinked sleepily. Fox was nowhere to be seen. Good. And the Hunter? The Hunter stood with his eyes closed, snoring softly. Perfect. I crouched to “tie my laces"—why did my spine ache so? Must’ve been from sleeping on the hard ground—and pocketed the glasses. A shard of lens might be useful later. By the time I reached the tunnel, the Prince was already extolling the virtues of science as salvation from catastrophe. Naturally, spotting me in the background, the councillors remembered its dangers and flatly refused to listen. When asked about the machine’s remnants, the eldest councillor gestured vaguely. “Smashed. Scattered across the planet. Many dead vines were once part of it.” And it added that one more question about scholars or machines, and it would expel the strangers immediately, without letting them find their missing companion. Ah, right. The Businessman was nowhere in sight. No doubt the Prince was using his disappearance as an excuse to linger. The three councillors retreated a few paces, then settled among the stems, watching us with unblinking eyes. The Prince turned to me, clearly itching to say something pointed. “It won’t work,” I cut in loudly, for the natives’ benefit. “Are you planning to hunt for blueprints and rebuild that contraption? First, it was flawed. Second, you can’t scavenge parts unnoticed. The locals will dismantle it again. Third, how long d’you think Rose will last in this heat?” She did look wilted, but perked up instantly: “None of your business! We should’ve left you on the asteroid!” “Or in the notebook,” the Fox grumbled, reappearing. “And I’d gladly return to the asteroid with my dear pretty ‘salad’—there’s nothing edible here. They’ve got dried seedless fruit, but greed’s their real staple. One kindly bird offered me a dried worm, but I’m not that hungry yet. Besides, we have a fresh worm here.” I ignored his wit and addressed the real threat: “Me, alone in the notebook?” The Prince frowned, then spotted the Hunter and got my point. The oaf had apparently stood guard all night and was now nodding off again, his rifle more a crutch than a weapon, likely to shoot himself in the foot with a salt round or whatever he had loaded. I hadn’t gotten a proper look at the cartridge’s colour last night, but I was already somewhat versed in his arsenal: cartridges with a red stripe held dye rounds, yellow for stinkers, orange for itch powder. My nocturnal haul included five reds, two greens, and a purple. Interesting. “This guard is spent!” Hunter announced, jerking awake under scrutiny. “And that layabout reliever has vanished. No shame, that one.” “Sold it off, probably,” I smirked. “Notice how light life feels without high morals?” The Prince shot me a glare. “No one asked for your advice. Hunter, rest. Fox and I will watch the Snake.” “About time,” Hunter yawned and vanished off to nap in the Notebook’s milder climate. Meanwhile, the Prince shifted into parade uniform and summoned his sword from nowhere. Then… He returned to the clearing to draw. Familiar wing contour of a bird shone blue. “Rose, can you bear thirst a while longer? We’ll search for the Businessman from above,” he called out loud over his shoulder. For witnesses, clearly. Ah. A pretext to scout for the scholar’s legacy. If any remains. The sketched bird took off the ground. I objected for form’s sake: “From up there, you won’t see anyone though living and dead vines. Easier to track the Businessman by following natives hauling trinkets for trade.” “Yes, yes, of course,” the Prince winked. “Now get in the middle of the bird. No tricks. Fox, bite him if he tries anything.” I scowled for show and climbed aboard, edging back so the Prince and Rose wouldn’t topple off. From above, he saw nothing useful. Just grass, thicker in nest-nooks, thinner in passages. I played the naysayer merely to stall. And there was no shelter from the sun. My cap came in handy again; the Prince wrapped his scarf around his head. Rose got shade from our bodies and the Fox’s tail. Some use it was, at least. When I was seriously considering begging for water, the Prince gave up and landed on a sun-scorched patch. “You said the K’ivi trade trinkets…” he muttered, then set off questioning living vines. But the middle councillor intercepted him, dragging along as an unwelcome escort. The vines, eyeless, couldn’t tell if their “children” carried anything, so they simply pointed toward the nearest bird-fruits. One, about two hundred paces off, was lugging a thermos in its beak. Before reaching us, it veered into a denser thicket and buried its prize under dry grass. I could note this because our whole group promptly invaded its home. The creature jumped when it turned to find an audience. After some indignant squawking, it grudgingly directed the Prince toward the “outsider with the box.” Now I scanned for telltale grass clumps. All were tucked deep in dead-ends. No chance to slip away—Fox commented on every sidestep. “Sightseeing’s over. Now we should find that peddler before we all shrivel.” Another native scurried past clutching a matchbox. I barely kept my gaze neutral. What a prize! If only it had dropped the box in some tunnel… But it spat out a box of matches (holding it with a foot) to tell the Prince about its route, then dashed off before I could helpfully suggest testing if the matches still worked. In this dry season, knowing nothing about fire… Ah well. Maybe it’ll improvise. For some time, I was cursing inwardly the secretive, greedy fruit-birds hiding all their belongings deep in the private nests. Then, stuffing hands into my pockets, I realised I did have a firestarter. The glasses. Convex lenses. Let this wretched sun serve me once more. The rest was mechanics. Crunching stems masked the sound of snapping the frame. I “stumbled” near a wilted but still live vine near a sunbeam, shielded by roots, and planted half the glasses at the right angle to focus sunlight on the plant when the beam reached it in some time, when I would be far away or even off the planet. And if the natives noticed first whiffs of smoke… They did not know fire, its dangers or ways to extinguish it. I was going to use every chance. Stumbling for the second time would have raised suspicions, but the human form, namely its part called “shoelaces”, provided a veritable prop to squat long enough to position the other half of the glasses above tinder-dry small grass. The Businessman appeared on a small clearing, dragging his wheelbox over the stems and roots. Spotting us, he brightened. “What demand! What an untapped market!” he began instead of greeting. “I’ve nearly run out of cooling or warming wares. Their bead-flowers are lovely, but heavy. I’m done here, summon me on the next planet!” “Wait!” the Prince cried to stop him from flashing out. “Do you have water? Rose needs—” “Ah… I did,” The Businessman glanced furtively at the councillor and positioned his wheelbox between himself and the native. “Sold it all. Seltzer soda, sunflower oil, polish… Everything liquid goes fast in heat. All in all, I’ve hit all my business targets and need to go.” He dissolved into sparks. Gone to the notebook. Splendid. That was practically a victory. The most obvious path to saving the planet was cut off. The Prince might still improvise, but without water, he’d soon return to B613. The councillor confirmed rains wouldn’t come for a month yet.Then the fruit-bird whistled, walked over to the spot where the Businessman had just been standing, and poked the ground with its beak. “Where is he? How?” “Guess he ran out of goods for exchange,” the Prince suggested. “Or he got scared,” I blurted out before anyone could stop me, “that his wares would fail, break down, and the cheated K’ivis would give him a bit of a beak. So he has legged it to a safe place.” “Legged it?” the native hooted lowered. “And that scholar of yours, then, he has escaped too? A bit too much deception, isn’t it, other-worlders? We’ve had enough. Be on your way, and be quick about it.” “The one doing the deceiving here is the overgrown worm,” the Fox grumbled, but before the councillor could ask him about worms, the Prince gave in and busied himself with the bird. Good. But before he could finish the outline, the very same fledgling who had first greeted us came running out of a side tunnel and tripped over the wing of the drawn bird, because it was holding a stone flower wrapped in grass and wire in its beak and couldn’t see a thing under its feet, for the flower was large, of a rare golden hue… I remembered that particular specimen. And I barely suppressed a smile. How beautifully, how elegantly it had all worked out back then!.. The Prince, fortunately, was looking not at me but at helping the fledgling up. “Where is the other-worlder who gives cool things for dried flowers?” it chirped, shaking its whole body and spitting out grass that had fallen from its beak. It had dropped a gear, of course. “I found the most beautiful flower and I want the biggest cold-thing!” “He, uh…” The Prince was embarrassed. “He has already left because he had nothing more to give away.” “Pfft!” The fledgling stamped its foot. “Well, that’s just great! Did I climb through the deadfall for nothing?! Rooted around in the thorns and nearly got stuck!” And it started kicking its prize. The impulsiveness of the bird-fruits had once been very useful to me. “You went into the forbidden deadfall?!” the councillor now turned his outrage on it. The Prince grew alert; the Fox almost went on point like a dog. Quite right, it was a good lead. It would have been, but now, without the Geographer and the Businessman, it was of no use. “And stop trampling on the letters of our ancestors!” the senior native continued to rage. What letters… ah, those grass scraps on the gear look like the natives' knot-writing. Well, well, what manner of letter was found next to that specific flower? “It’s not a letter…” the little one scowled, picking up one wire stem. Indeed, it was covered in knots and kinks. “It’s just gibberish. 'One hundred one big one small'… 'threw a stone back'… Doesn’t mean anything.” “Ignorant fool!” The advisor stamped in outrage. “It’s an old weave! The youth don’t learn such weaving anymore, but I remember it! And these are just fragments. Where did you find them? Go and fetch all the pieces at once. It’s been a long time since I’ve read an elegant old letter. I wonder if it’s about love or something dreadful?” “Ah, so reading other people’s letters, not intended for outsiders, is perfectly acceptable?” I remarked, just in case. It was unlikely to contain anything useful, but I didn’t like the location where the letter was found. Best to cover my bases. “Rubbish!” The councillor spun round to face me. “If it’s not for others, then you go and tell the person yourself. But if you’ve tied it, that means you want it to be read. But this is none of your concern. Return from whence you came. Immediately.” The fledgling backed away and scurried back into the tunnel. The bird, meanwhile, had dissipated, and the Prince was in no hurry to draw a new one. He even dismissed the sword and returned to his civilian appearance, which again drew a disgruntled mutter from the native. “A… and might we also look at the letter? I’m very fond of poetry and tales, and yours are so beautiful, expressive, outright touching. Oh, please. It would be a shame to leave your planet without hearing your stories one more time…” Yes, he knew how to ingratiate himself. The native huffed and puffed, drilling the Prince with one eye and then the other, but finally started arranging the grass scraps on the ground, muttering under his beak. “So, what we have here… no beginning, just '…hundreds, one more, one less — no one…'. Tch, the youth, can’t read and won’t learn, think their elders will chew everything up and place it in their beaks for them. And this piece — '…descendants, but I shall cast this burden from my soul…'. Weaves it smoothly, as if they’ve rolled the words in their head a hundred times first.” Reading clearly soothed the fruit-bird: its fur settled, and its tone became cooing. “Here it says, ‘…understood—because of me, because of one…’. Then, ‘…with the youth Vyali from the flowers of the celestial scholar Nyun Tou and…’. What?!” it suddenly jumped up. “The very same Nyun Tou who broke our skies?!” The councillor bristled again. So did I, though figuratively. That wretched dried fruit, the one mentioned, couldn’t keep quiet? “And this line here? What’s it about?” Rose spoke as softly as she could and pointed to another bundle near the native’s paws. It snorted, smoothed the grass, ran its beak along the knots. Paused. Shook his head, traced the thread again. A true master of dramatic pauses. “As far as I can make out,” it went suddenly hoarse, “either ‘not Nyun Tou. Because of me’ or ‘this isn’t Nyun Tou, but I’m to blame for…’. There’s no way to tell for sure without the rest of the letter. Let’s wait until the fledgling brings the rest.” The Prince was practically glowing. He had clearly caught the thread. “You see! The scholar might not be to blame for your misfortune, and you’ve distrusted science for no reason.” “How are we to know what it’s about?” I interjected purely for the councillor’s benefit. The Prince wouldn’t have believed me anyway. “Maybe it’s not about the machine at all.” “Indeed!” the native eagerly supported me. No one likes to part with their familiar worldview, especially the elderly. If only the little one hadn’t found other fragments… It did, blast him. It barely dragged a lump of hay its own size, even ran back separately to pick up the fallen bundles while the councillor pieced together the bigger picture, whistling in surprise all the while. I considered whether it was possible to destroy the letter on the spot. No chance. First, I had no means: I hadn’t managed to procure a lighter or matches, and the dead grass was as tough as wire, impossible to tear by hand. Unravelling the knots would take too long, and the Prince kept glancing at me. Fine, I could still rely on the stubbornness of the rest of the council, the fear and confusion of the Geographer, the greed of the Businessman… There were still lines of defence. Meanwhile, the councillor laid out the puzzle and began to read. “Some bits are missing, too many turns of the sun have passed since then… But the gist is clear. So, ‘Soon it is time to me, Kyaru TiFi, to return to the roots, but… cannot remain silent, as I have all my life. Let posterity judge… but I will lift this stone off my back… in a letter… years ago, before the Accursed Shift, in my fledgling days, I was friends… with the youth Vyali from the flowers of the celestial scholar Nyun Tou and… we played together in the nest of his initiator, among schematics and models at first, then among the construction of the Spring… it mesmerised me—so vast, so harmoniously did the stone flowers spin and glide. It frightened me—these flowers could become small k’ivis like me, but hardened into dead stone. Yet even the dried flowers remained beautiful. Especially one, sun-coloured with a spark… not in plain sight, and I found it while playing hide-and-seek with Vyali among the springs… I admired the sun-coloured flower. And one day, an inner voice told me: gears… hundreds, one more, one less—no one… Take this flower, hide it, and then, after the Great Shift, gift it to your best friend as a token… they will grow, and you’ll gift a real flower, so you may become initiators together… a brilliant idea, I secretly took and hid the flower and began to wait… as is known. The Catastrophe. The machine failed, and I understood—because of me, because of one… gear. But as I gathered the courage to confess to Nyun Tou, the heat came, and the enraged k’ivi pecked him to death. And I was afraid. For my life, but even more that my friend Vyali would hate me, learning that his initiator was killed because of me… I remained silent, I tried to help Vyali, but seeing him with… grew harder—I was immediately reminded of what I’d done. And gradually, we stopped meeting. And we didn’t unite the flowers, as we’d wanted in… away from him, the weight didn’t lift. And I wove this… coward. I hid the letter so it would only be found after my… Forgive me, it’s not Nyun Tou, but I’m to blame for… hurtling toward ruin. Or don’t forgive, as I myself haven’t…” By the end, the councillor read slower, but from the last knot, he suddenly twitched, hummed softly, started the letter over, but quick and silent. Oh no, if one of the leaders began to doubt the story… I needed to find counterarguments and the right moment to introduce them. “You see!” the Prince hurried to steer him toward the desired conclusion. “The scholar wasn’t wrong; he was simply hindered, or else everything would have turned out as he’d calculated.” “Not necessarily,” I quickly interjected. I had to make the councillor doubt. “No one saw whether the machine would have worked as intended. What if it had malfunctioned anyway? We’ll never know, but the risk…” “An inner voice, it says?” the Prince cut me off. “I can guess whose. I’ll remember for the future to ask the locals not just about serpents but also about inner voices. And since you’re objecting, it must mean Nyun Tou wasn’t wrong. Please, “he turned to the councillor, “gather the entire council. This is important for you. After all, “ he nodded at me, “the Snake was right about one thing: it’s easy to make a mistake when you don’t see the whole picture. And it turns out you didn’t know the true cause of the catastrophe and thus misjudged the scholars. But it’s not too late to set things right while you’re still alive and the planet spins.” Blast you! Using my own words! And he guessed right about the inner voice. Well, as long as I’m alive and free, I can still interfere. “Let them decide for themselves what to do in their own world.” “True,” his voice carried irritation. “Enough of your scare tactics. You’re going back to the asteroid.” Drat! Without me, he’ll likely talk the natives around. So, I’ll at least have to drag other key players away with me. “Alone?” I raised an eyebrow. “No, with Rose…” “What?!” she bristled, but the Prince wasn’t finished yet: “With Fox and…” he reached for his notebook. “And the Hunter. He has had some rest by now.” No, not him! “Just one napping hunter?”I didn’t even need to feign sarcasm. “He’ll manage the journey.” The Prince blew on the page and, without waiting for the Hunter’s reaction to the sudden awakening, drew the bird anew with his sword. “The King and Shimmerling will help him on the other end. “I can summon Shimmerling right now! “the Fox perked up. He sat on his tail, spread his front paws as if meditating. In a couple of seconds later, a blue ex-gloomy appeared in the air. The natives whistled in surprise. The Hunter yawned and stretched but looked livelier than in the morning. How to get rid of the rest of the cavalry from the planet? “What about the others?” I squinted mockingly. “Shall they sit in the notebook without water?” “Since when do you care about others’ well-being?” the Fox retorted just as mockingly. “I don’t care; I revel in others’ suffering.” “Well, you won’t,” the Prince chimed in. “The Geographer mentioned that time works a bit differently inside the notebook, and the drawings don’t need food or water. You should know that yourself.” “I didn’t need anything either way,” I countered, “when you caught me on X000. And the second time, I wasn’t there long enough to notice. Besides, they were already exhausted when they got there.” No reaction. The bird’s outline closed; the carriage was ready. Fine, I had done all I could under the circumstances. Yes, it would’ve been good to scare the council further, but going to the asteroid with Rose and without the Prince wasn’t bad either. And finally, getting to the water. Let the Prince stew here as long as he can stand it. The bird barely turned to reach the nearest clearing and began spiralling upward. The Fox clung to its neck, begging it to be careful. B613 loomed ahead. Nothing had changed there. But the Rose kept looking back, so she was the first to gasp. “What’s that?” And what was that? On the side of the bird-fruit planet, now small in the distance, a dirty grey plume was unfolding, thicker near the surface, thinning at the height. A proper column of smoke. At last! Probably, while the fire was just starting, the smoke couldn’t break through the vines. Perfect… “Turn around!” the Fox panicked. “We must help!” Oh, not so fast. “Where to?” I snapped at him. “At least drop Rose off. Do you want to kill her with two more round trips? And it would be better if you just release the bird so the Prince can summon it again from his side. I’m sure he’ll manage without deadweight like us.” “But…” he hesitated, but B613 was already near, the King waving his arms in sight, and so the Fox didn’t turn back. “But we must warn him!” Rose still hadn’t taken her eyes off the smoke. “Hunter, do you have a piece of paper?” He patted his pockets, rummaged in his bag (never letting go of his rifle, which looked quite comical), and produced a few stiff sheets for handmade cartridges. By the time the bird landed on the path by the postbox, the Rose had already folded a paper butterfly out of a short note, and it fluttered back to the planet. I jumped off immediately and headed for the well. The Hunter, of course, got nervous, shouting something like “stop or I’ll shoot,” but I was already standing still. Fine, the warning wouldn’t help the Prince much. The fire must be strong if the smoke was visible from the moon’s orbit. Though it’d be a shame if the hero actually perished. He never leaves a dying planet until he has fixed everything. Well, I could talk the others into a rescue mission later, once the planet was properly charred. With a bucket and an escort, I returned to Rose. She deigned to glance at me but stayed silent as I carefully poured water around the edge of her pot. Some progress it was. After watering her, I drank myself, poured the rest over my head, and left the bucket on the ground. Anyone else thirsty could fetch their own. My mood improved, and to cement the progress I sat down beside the princess. No one paid attention, not even the Rose. She kept her eyes fixed on the planet, her leaves folded like binoculars. The smoke plume hadn’t dissipated and might’ve even grown. Hard to tell from afar, and the spyglass was still with the Geographer. The King was too busy interrogating the Fox about their adventures, and the Fox happily acted out a whole pantomime, embellishing wildly. The Hunter went back to sleep, handing over guard duty to the King, who didn’t seem to notice. As I plotted what else I could do unnoticed, Rose noticed something else first. “A letter!” she exclaimed, reaching up. Sure enough, a paper plane thudded into the ground by her pot a second later, and within half a second, she was unfolding the message. Everyone except the Hunter, snoring by the fence, gathered around. “’Thanks for the warning’,” the Rose read. “’The fire’s serious—can’t just stamp it out, and there’s no water. I’ve got an idea, but I need the Hunter’s help, urgent. Have him return to the notebook, and I’ll pull him out here. Faster than by the bird.” Got it. Where’s the Hunter? Quick! Naturally, he wasn’t thrilled about being woken again, but he didn’t protest, just hoisted his rifle and vanished with the usual light effects. Why him, I wondered? What was the Prince planning? Out loud, I said something else: “See, darling, no need to fret, your hero will cope. There’s no me or gloomies there, nothing to fear.” I shrugged (gesturing was really handy) and casually brushed her petals, just like on the Planet of the Roses when she hadn’t known who I was and thought me a friend. She shivered but didn’t look back. The traitor gloomy, though, was on alert. With an indistinct screech, it flew over and latched onto my sleeve, yanking me away from Rose. Oh, really? I didn’t resist but swatted it downward, slamming the wretch into the ground. With a pop, it vanished. The next moment, the ground flipped and slammed me onto the back of my head—the King repeated my trick with the ex-gloomy on me. Alas, I didn’t dissipate, though I’d have liked to… The sky was immediately blocked by the Fox’s snarling muzzle—he pounced on my chest, trying to growl and rant simultaneously. “You… my bubble!..” “Nothing happened to it!” I hurried to explain before he started biting. “It just returned to the dimension of thought-forms, that’s all. Summon it the usual way.” He growled for show but climbed off. Sitting up, I noticed the King carrying Rose into the house, the door closing behind them. Hmm. Was this his idea or hers? Had I rushed and scared her off? I needed to find out. But first, the Fox. “It wasn’t on purpose. Just a reflex to swat at something that grabs you suddenly. So remember that if you try to bite—I might accidentally kick and thin out your teeth…” “You, listen here,” he bared his teeth, “don’t get too fresh, or it’s a short way back to the giant oyster.” But I was already up and heading for the house. “Hey, where are you going?” the Fox barked from behind. He had already summoned the blue ball and, with backup, was ready for a fight. “To apologise.” He didn’t expect that coming from me and sat on his tail. And stayed silent. I didn’t bother with the porch, since the whole wall was missing, and ducked through the gap. But all I saw was the Rose on the table before the King noticed me and dragged me back by the collar. “The lady said not to disturb her, especially you.” The cheek! When I was my true self, he hadn’t been eager to fight, just rude. Now, nearly twice my size, he’d grown bold. Fine, I’d deal with him now. “So you just obey every order from a stranger’s bush?” I asked once he had dumped me on the grass behind the house. “Not very kingly.” “Fulfilling a lady’s wishes is any gentleman’s duty,” he condescended for a reply. “But you wouldn’t understand that.” He crossed his long legs and sat in the grass. The Fox joined from the other side. Great, a tight escort, no chance to hide the spare ammo. “Why not?” I shrugged and made myself comfortable. “But the Prince isn’t a lady. It’s awkward and sad to watch a whole king running errands for a mere prince.” “Nothing of the sort!” he lifted his nose in pride. “I It’s a voluntary assistance to an equal, a fellow royal, and my friend to boot.” “Hmm,” I feigned thought. “I thought kings outrank princes… Ah,” then I pretended to have an insight. “Is it because he seized someone else’s asteroid after losing his own, so he still has a domain, while you left your planet forever? I’m not arguing, just trying to understand the logic…” I softened the previous remark. “You could’ve remained a sovereign monarch on any other planet in this galaxy. Even the Planet of the Roses, since you like roses.” “But it already has rulers!” the King was so surprised he forgot to be indignant. “But they, especially the Rose King, were incompetent, making mistakes at every turn. You’re smarter, you wouldn’t repeat their errors.” “Oh yes,” he nodded. “I won’t make the Rose King’s mistake of listening to you. Flattery won’t work on me.” Well, that’s what he thought now. “And to assert my authority, I order you to be silent.” He tapped the ground with his sceptre. Long, metal, undoubtedly heavy and hard. I gauged the potential damage if he used it but decided to risk it. “No. I’m not your subject. You have no subjects at all, if you haven’t noticed. But as a friend (the Fox snorted), I must say what’s obvious from the outside: you’re being used. Think of it, has the Prince ever done anything at your request, or only ever asked? And now, thanks to him, you’re doing a jailer’s work. All you have left of royalty is your crown, and even that the so-called friend Businessman threatened to take for card debts—though he cheated, and you know it. And you can’t even punish that scoundrel…” The Fox couldn’t take it: “Your Majesty, don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to sow discord and shift blame as usual.” “If you disagree,” I turned to him, “refute with facts! Or do you think you’re right just because you can bite without consequences? So your authority is based on force and violence? Then I have no further questions.” On that high note, I lay back on the grass and gazed at the cosmic expanse. The Fox grumbled about demagogy, but the King was silent. Good. Seeds of doubt sown—let them grow on their own. The bird-fruit planet was gradually receding in orbit but seemed larger. I blinked, squinted… Ah, it wasn’t the planet itself but a shroud of smoke. Had the Hunter idea failed? Time to weigh anchor for a rescue mission? The Rose would wilt from grief if anything happened to her hero. Nah, he’d manage. And slowly, I dozed off. The remnants of the night on the planet weren’t enough for proper rest. *** Noise. Voices, joyful laughter—the Fox, the King, the Hunter. And the Prince, of course, unmistakable. I was drowsy, but I needed to wake up and find out what had happened. I sat up, rubbed my eyes. “…I loaded the rifle with cloud-condensing reagent cartridges,” ah, the Hunter was boasting. “Bang, bang, clouds lumping up, nearly emptied the whole box before I’d packed enough for a proper downpour. That’s how we put out the fire. And it was a proper blaze. But no matter, our ‘scholar’ said new plants sprout better in ashes…” Neither the Geographer nor the Businessman, however, were among the group. Were they sitting in the notebook to save space on the bird? The Fox and the King had lots of other questions. The latter remembered his guard duties but, unwilling to miss the news, simply dragged me by the collar into the house again: the Prince had gone to the Rose, and everyone followed. Good thing it wasn’t far, and the King walked quickly, or I might have suffocated. Inside, he tossed me under the window by the cupboard and settled on the sofa. The ex-gloomy even snickered, its face as smug as a proper gloomy’s. The Prince noticed me too. “You certainly did your best,” he addressed me with a mix of triumph and indignation. “Started the fire, turned the k’ivi against us, muddled the Geographer’s and the Businessman’s heads, stole the Geographer’s glasses… But we handled it all.” How could I leave that unchallenged? I didn’t. “Oh, sure you’d blame me for all your failures. What do the glasses have to do with it? You saw yourself how the natives mobbed your Geographer. He probably lost it there.” “Well, let’s assume it’s true,” the Fox began, but I cut him off. “And the fire? Did I go around selling lighters, matches, and kerosene to savages who’d never known fire? No, that was your Businessman. Where is he hiding, by the way?” “He stayed on the planet with the Geographer. Yes,” the Prince turned to the others. “With that letter, I convinced the elders’ council they’d been wrong to distrust scholars, and they agreed to accept the Geographer’s help. Only, the Geographer refused. He said he knew nothing about this galaxy and wasn’t sure his formulas and references would match the local physics. And he mentioned who had put the idea in his head.” He fixed his gaze on me again. “‘Put the idea’? Strong words. I merely pointed out the facts.” “No need to twist it,” that was the Fox, of course. “Everyone knows you’ll turn any fact inside out to suit yourself.” “But how did you persuade the poor Geographer to work on the machine?” The Rose steered the conversation back. She didn’t side with the Fox—small mercies. “Oh, that’s quite simple,” the Prince smiled, pleased. “He doubted whether the same laws of nature applied here, so I suggested he test it himself. Run experiments, determine everything needed for the shift machine. Density, masses, velocities… well, you know how he is, rattling off all sorts of peculiar terms, I didn’t catch tenth of it. But he perked right up; he’d been so glum lately. He said it would take time, though, so I left him on the planet. The k’ivi are eager to help. They have no hands, but they weave such intricate things from vines with their beaks and paws… They’ll manage.” “And why is the Businessman there?” the Rose asked after a pause. The Prince frowned. “With the Hunter and that k’ivi fledgling, we found the machine’s main components and records—well, knotted diagrams and models. It’s like a giant spring with a pincer at the end. The Geographer determined it needs many gears made of stone flowers. And the Businessman took those in trade for goods. He refused to give them back. Even to save the planet. He demanded payment… I wonder who put him up to it!” “But you convinced him, didn’t you?” The Rose was dead set on tracking the thread today. I didn’t argue either because I wanted to hear the answer. “Ah, no,” the Prince sagged. Good, but was there more to it? “And returning the goods wouldn’t have worked: the k’ivi ate, broke, or hid most of them.” “But you found a way, right?” The Fox practically squirmed with impatience. Never lacking patience, I didn’t squirm. “Yeah,” the Prince nodded. “We struck a deal: he’d lend the parts until the machine’s built and used, then they’d return everything and throw in some fruit-blanks for the, erm… rental. So the Businessman stayed too. Congratulations,” he turned back to me. “You’ve at least managed to thin our ranks for some time. Once they’ve saved the planet—or if something else happens—they’ll return via the notebook, and meanwhile we’ll move on to the next goal.” The Prince stood up, lifted the Rose from the table, and nodded at the door. “Show the way. You’ve not lied about this, at least. That’s the only reason I’m not stuffing you into the notebook for good, though you’re asking for it.” “I can’t even remember the last time I lied…” I grumbled for form’s sake and rose from my corner. The others headed for the door too, except the Hunter: with a groan of “finally!”, he sprawled on the newly vacated sofa. On my way out, I glanced back. On the table where the Rose had stood, tiny crumbs of soil remained. No, Little Prince, I have other, subtler victories to my credit today. The Rose caught the hint after all. She would act as I planned.