Out of Reach

       At least in the notebook’s peculiar subspace, the laws of physics and biology were thoroughly disregarded: the need for food and air had vanished. The light was blinding, with no points of reference or blemishes. I’d already tried imagining my way out, or that the invisible barrier was gone, or that the white was black. But the Prince, damn him, was absolutely right: imagination isn’t my specialty. That left only my actual specialty—reviews, conclusions, and plans. But my thoughts kept circling. It seemed the hypothesis about genocide or murder had collapsed. Either the reason lay elsewhere, and destroying worlds wouldn’t achieve anything. Or my condition was irreversible, but that’s a dead end not worth considering. Or there were still native monkey-Marriks out there, but that was impossible; the last time I’d seen their home planet, it was already uninhabitable, and the only remaining individual was far older than the crystal catchers’ captain. No way she could have survived… Or maybe it was about the number of victims, and mass extinction was the key. Or perhaps the act had to be personal, hands-on, not orchestrated through chains of circumstance? Who knew if I’d even get another chance to test all the variables. A flicker of hope: with a couple of star shards still loose, they might reach an inhabited planet before the catchers repaired their ship and moved on. Would that count? And how would I even know if it did? I tried slipping out of the sarcophagus, but nothing happened, and the sensation of my body remained unchanged. …But why had the old hag sacrificed herself? She’d been so proud of saving worlds, so adamant about small evils allowable for greater goods. And here, all she’d needed to do was catch the last shards and free the galaxy of the threat at the cost of one ship and one brat. After that, the catchers wouldn’t even need a ship. Now the shards would wreak more havoc. Or was she, as she had said of others, also preferring to do good to her kin at the expense of the strangers? Was her own crew (and descendant) dearer to her than abstract, unfamiliar victims? Who knew. The lack of visible emotional shadows made interpreting the antics of fauna impossible. I had misjudged the Prince, and now I’d have to wait for him to cool off and remember the other planets on the brink of destruction. Even then, I doubted I’d regain the same degree of freedom. I’d thought things couldn’t get worse. Well, anything was possible. After an indeterminate stretch, the bright background flickered, followed by a familiar but utterly unwelcome sound. Nearby, the Fox was grumbling. Soon, a reddish blur darted at the edge of my vision. I glanced sideways. Yes. There he was, in the flesh, tail and nose high, squinting at me. Wait—what was that? Part of his form seemed to bend at a slight angle, the distortion rippling from muzzle to tail as he walked. Then it happened again, further left. Like… refraction through glass. Or crystal. Yes, most likely crystal: straight strokes, transparency… Drat. The Prince had figured out how to neutralise me inside the notebook. “Lucky for you, worm,” the Fox finally spoke, stepping closer though I couldn’t look down that far anymore, “that I can’t take a bite out of you right now. At least I can say my piece. And I don’t care that the Little Prince asked me not to stoop to your level or mock prisoners. But I don’t care. Because of you, those lot nearly turned me into mincemeat! They found my fur and tooth marks on a rope that was untied when it should’ve been tied! I didn’t even get to explain what really happened! Good thing the Little Prince hid me in the notebook before they made me into a steak and a fur hat. Hope he can make them see sense about who’s to blame.” He paced around my crystal encasement, droning on and on. His voice grated on my nerves, but I listened carefully, just in case he let slip something useful. And he did. Sort of. He never once mentioned mass poisonings or sedations. Had the hybrid brat been too scared to confess another misdeed? Had the others blamed the soporific effects on unfamiliar vegetables, as I had intended? They couldn’t pin it on me since I had never gone near the galley or stores. And the Fox said nothing about the Businessman either, not about the sedative, nor the sabotaged rigging. Probably the handkerchief I had planted had fallen out or burned. “What, cat got your tongue? Brilliant. Silence suits you. But I’ll carry on, with your permission. At least the sailor boy, Kai, told them who put him up to stealing the glue-ship. You got off lightly, I’d say. That boy was dying to have your guts for garters. Swore he’d rip your throat out if he ever saw you again. The others had… creative ideas too. Even I was a bit shocked, and I’m a predator. So I don’t envy you if the Little Prince ever decides to let you out, though I have no idea why he’d bother. The fire star catchers know the galaxy inside out; they’ll point us to troubled planets. You’re useless to us now.” Now that was bad. All I could do was wait another eternity for a chance to escape. Patience was one resource I’d never lacked. The Fox couldn’t boast the same, though. His monologue soon bored even himself, and he vanished. Nothing happened for a long, long time. Absolutely nothing. *** Outside, an hour or several years might’ve passed when the background flickered once, twice, and then, without warning, shifted into normal shadows, colours, shapes. A pale blue flash streaked by before I could process what was happening. The image cracked, glass shattered, and the next moment I was gasping for air and trying to sit up amid the shards of a crystal shattered by a sword. Thankfully, they vanished. Now I could look around. The house on B612. The Little Prince in parade uniform, sword sheathed, but still not fading to green, glowering at me warily. The Fox bared his teeth from under the table; the Rose sat on the edge, turned away. Their shadows were utterly flat, no emotional underlayers. The Hunter stood by the missing wall, peering outside. From the floor, the window showed only black sky. Just in case, I tried slipping into the shadows. No luck, of course. “As you can see,” the Prince’s tone was impeccably icy, “inside the notebook, you can’t harm anyone. And we didn’t even need to return to the pearl planet. Keep that in mind if you think of playing more tricks. Is that clear?” I ought to swallow my anger, agree, but a simple “yes” would admit guilt. And if I protested outright, he’d never believe me anyway. Meanwhile, the question wasn’t rhetorical; it demanded an answer. Hm, what had the Prince said? Find a third way when the obvious two don’t suit? Fine, I’d look for the third way. “Thank you,” I said, letting my voice tremble slightly. I stayed seated to seem vulnerable and harmless. The Prince stared, baffled. Good, I did throw him off. Now to explain. “I assume you saved my life. Otherwise, as usual, I’d be blamed for everything, and those pirates wouldn’t bother with formalities.” “Corrhect,” a raspy voice croaked. I turned. The pterosaur perched on a stool by the door like a roost, head cocked, one eye fixed and darting between the Prince and me. His avian expression was unreadable, but the feathers weren’t puffed, meaning he was not enraged. He looked battered, some feathers broken or singed from salvaging the ship’s remains. So not much time had passed; a couple of days at most. Suddenly, he flapped wings. I barely registered the claws, raising my arms as if that might help against the sheer mass and speed of the pterosaur. But he just knocked me flat and loomed over, talons digging into the wooden floor. In one motion of the wing with clawed digits, he unhooked and unsheathed his belt-sabre. The Prince moved to intervene but froze as the blade hovered near my nose. “Krrchi, don’t! You promised!” But I wasn’t particularly nervous: first, if he meant to strike, he’d have drawn back for momentum, and this was just intimidation. Second, there must be some reason they had pulled me out. Also, the unfolded wing revealed several feathers cut or plucked. Not fire damage. A fight? “I’m not touching him,” the pterosaur replied calmly, one eye locked on me. “Just need to make clearr what he told Kai.” Oh? Interesting. “What,” I ventured, “didn’t he try to pin it all on me?” “He did,” the pterosaur didn’t budge. “But, luckily for you, the Little Prrince claimed you had discourraged Kai frrom stealing the ship. That made Kai nerrvous, and he wouldn’t confirrm or deny it. So now I ask: what did you say to him?” Ah, so that’s how it was. Well, then. “Waste of breath,” the Fox called from under the table. “The Snake’s a liar of a whole other level. Just look how neatly he framed me.” “I’ll hearr the lie. And you should be glad you arre in one piece,” the pterosaur shot back without looking. “Things look differrhent frrom the side.” Exactly. I’m a professional. Let him try detecting my lies, especially when they’re woven from truth. Just had to maintain eye contact. “I can only repeat. I never told Kai to hunt the fire crystals alone.” “But who first brrought up stealing the ship?” Ah, a more dangerous question. Evade the direct answer, but subtly, by rambling on the same topic. Or name who mentioned the ship, not its theft. “As if you didn’t know what he dreamed of! He’d been shouting his plans across half the outer space. Anyone with ears and a brain between them knew! Including me. Seeing him upset, I mentioned the fire crystals—what else would interest him? And he was the one who brought up the ship and rigging, bragged he handled ropes as deft as any adult. I advised against stupidity, but I never thought he’d overestimate himself so badly. Or that your security was so lax.” There. I couldn’t possibly know why he’d failed. And since the Fox hadn’t mentioned poison, neither would I, just in case the hybrid brat had kept quiet out of fear too. “Well…” the pterosaur didn’t lower his weapon. “I suspected as much. But Kai also said he’d have managed if some rrhopes hadn’t snagged orr snapped as if they’d been tamperred with. And you werre on the ship.” It left the accusation hanging. Predictable follow-up, entirely predictable. “Yes, I was,” I kept up the staring contest. “Along with half the crew. I even noticed one sail-fastening rope had come loose where, by the logic of the design, it should’ve been tied. So I tightened it, and the Fox untied it again for some reason.” The Fox growled under the table but had the sense to stay quiet. Facts weren’t on his side. “Ask him what he was doing, scurrying around after the little y’s. I didn’t inspect for other defects—your ship is your responsibility. And did Kai say when we spoke? It was after my forced tour of your ship. How was I to know the brat would corner me, let alone steal the ship without checking the rigging?” How convenient that Kai had indeed crossed my path after the sabotage, not before… “And,” I wasn’t done yet, “how would I even damage ropes? I don’t have fangs like the marriks or claws like yours, or any weapons—the Prince sees to that. I won’t accuse outsiders, but it could’ve been one of the little y’s. Or even our Businessman. He’d been itching to sell you parts. The Geographer did discuss it with you, no? So the Businessman might have sabotaged your rigging to make your old gear seem unreliable next to his new stock.” “No, he wouldn’t!” the Prince cut in. “Yes, he cheats and exaggerates, but he’d never endanger others!” “We’ll see,” the pterosaur rasped, finally sheathing his sabre and releasing me. “Luckily for you, the Little Prrince thinks you might still be useful.” Oh, would they finally get to the point? Just in case, I stayed on the floor, only tucking my legs under me, and looked at the Prince. “Yes,” the Prince finally shifted back to his civil form and walked past me toward the wall opening. “Just in case you know what happened to this planet and how to fix it.” “What planet?” I got to my feet to follow him. Below, a greyish, undulating surface of a large planet stretched. Here and there, thin, pale columns of varying heights jutted out. On the right horizon, the familiar silhouette of the pirate catchers' residential module loomed. Had I even been here before? No memories or associations surfaced. Best to take a proper look. I squeezed between the sofa and the wall into the opening and turned left around the corner. With a full escort, naturally, except for the Rose. “Can’t identify it yet,” I said when the other side revealed an identical landscape. Logically, after a catastrophic accident, the pirates should be crawling toward their source of rope and sail materials, but I saw no resources. “Don’t wanderr in open,” the pterosaur rasped as I headed to the asteroid’s underside to inspect the ground below. “Y sentrries are posted near yourr anchorr. No, I don’t accuse you outrright. Trruth demands imparrtiality. But not all hunterrs listen to rrheason. Many follow theirr hearrts. And though I’m the captain now, I can’t watch everrhyone. So don’t show yourrself. Especially to the y’s. Especially to Kai.” Interesting. The Fox had warned me, but still. So the pterosaur couldn’t order them to leave me alone? His authority wasn’t as absolute as the old monkey’s? “Fine,” I shrugged. “Then you tell me what else is here.” “Krrchi said,” the Prince prattled, “there used to be many trees called seibas, with colourful leaves. The catchers have cut most of the woods down. Less than ten remain, invisible from here. Trunks tall and thin, only a few branches at the top. Those sticks are the dead, bare trees. The problem is, new forests won’t grow. They let me near one dead tree briefly, with escort. But I couldn’t figure out why it was withering or what it lacked.” Ah, the pirates still didn’t fully trust him, keeping him away from valuable resources. Colourful leaves… Better. Things were clearing up. “And they take rigging materials from here too?” I inquired. “Yes, exactly!” The Prince brightened. “The whole ground is woven with thick threads, some large, some small. They look grey from afar, but actually are—” “Also colourful?” I finished for him. Memory finally supplied an image, far brighter than the view below. I turned to the pterosaur. “Tell me, have you ever encountered anything alive here?” “Trees are alive!” the Prince protested when the pterosaur shook his head. “They grow, move, just too slowly. And they speak, if you know how to listen. If you’d just let me talk to one…” Ah, right. He was a master at chatting with flora and fauna. Speaking of flora. The Rose sat on the windowsill, listening intently. “And you cut them down,” the Prince accused the pterosaur. “We need materrhials. Planks. Sails,” the new captain replied grimly. “To save otherr worrlds. Sacrrifices arre unavoidable, though I dislike it too. Everry rulerr must eventually choose between evils. Orr would you have the old Grran’s sacrrifice be in vain?” The Prince wilted. Clever bird, hitting idealistic youngsters where it hurt. “Orr have you forrgotten you’rre all still alive thanks to me? I underrstand you. I, too, dislike violence. But had I not challenged Yu to a duel and wounded herr, she would be captain now, and she’d have had you all executed without trrial.” Ah, so that’swhy he looked so battered. Fascinating election protocols. “And this instead of gratitude for helping drag you here with our flying beasts…” the Fox muttered. “I remember, but… It’s still wrong. There’s always another way,” the Prince shook his head stubbornly but offered no alternatives. “Alright, let me rephrase,” I cut off the philosophical debate. “Have you seen any animals here? Flying, running, crawling?” “Neverr,” the pterosaur croaked. “Only mummies. They have not moved since we firrst landed.” “A pity you wouldn’t let me near them either,” the Prince sighed. “What if they’re still alive?” “I explained,” the pterosaur lowered its voice, feathers twitching. “Yes, yes,” the Fox sighed, keeping his distance from both of us. “Your first mate and the other octopuses don’t trust us. They guard the last living trees. But we don’t need leaves or wood, we have our horses.” The pterosaur ignored him. Just as I thought. I had left this world to rot long ago. A keystone species went extinct, and the catchers, it seemed, had accelerated the trees’ demise. The planet was already dead, so sharing the intel was safe. The Prince could do nothing, and I had no targets left to reclaim my true form. Best to leave before the vengeful squids noticed. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint, but this planet is beyond saving. Don’t worry, you’re not killing the trees, just hastening decay.” “But you said they’re alive, with leaves, so we could propagate them, cuttings or seeds…” the Prince appealed to the pterosaur. “We have trried,” the latter said. “Brrhanches won’t rroot. Flowerrs bloom fewerr, bearr no fruit, witherr and fall barrhen.” I added cheerfully: “Precisely. They reproduce by seeds when pollinated by native moth-like creatures. But you heard, they’re extinct. The trees are doomed.” “The Geographer said he’d investigate,” the Prince still insisted. “The catchers are staying awhile anyway.” So the Geographer had joined the pirates? My data-collection ruse had worked, one fewer ally to the Prince. Speaking of allies… “Where’s the Businessman?” “The tailless one with the box rremains with us,” the pterosaur replied first. “He has many useful items. We have grrhanted him passage to all worrlds.” Another one gone. Only the Hunter remained, and he had buttons to push. Splendid. “Rright,” the pterosaur jerked his head and hopped toward the porch. “You’rre frree to leave. We’ll handle the last trrees. Ourr ship must returrn to duty.” “No, wait!” The Prince grabbed its wing feathers. “Give me a few days, please! If your crew won’t let us near the trees, I’ll sneak there with friends, and maybe we’ll spot something. We’ll just examine the trees and the mummies. You see yourself that I don’t need the black leaves and won’t steal them.” The pterosaur froze, not shaking him off. Slowly, he turned. His black eye was half-shuttered by a pale nictitating membrane. It blinked. “I, too, dislike destrroying them. I know what it is to be the last of one’s kind. Fine. You have one night, day, and night. I’ll tell my crrew yourr Starrwatcherr is investigating. Rrheach the mummy plateau unseen. Head against the sunset. But if you get caught, rrememberr: I neverr perrmitted this. Underrstood?” Then he glanced at me, adding softly: “Yu didn’t want you told. The crrew distrrusts you and won’t mourrn yourr loss. But I believe in you, Little Prrince. So I warrn you: don’t set foot on the grround. It’s dangerrous.” With that, he flapped onto the roof and glided toward the hunter’s ship. “Dangerous? What’s dangerous? Where?” the Fox panicked, eyeing me. “No idea,” I said. “Last time I was here, the surface looked different. Wait, where do the catchers get black leaves if they’re colourful?” The Prince heaved a heavy sigh. “That’s what I argued with Krrcih: they tap the bark to collect black sap for the ship’s core. Without sap, leaves blacken and fall. Once, the whole planet was forest. Now it’s a desert. And even these last trees will be cut down, as you heard.” “What did the planet look like? And where did the moths go?” the Rose piped up from the sill. “And fetch my pot, I have had enough sun for today.” “It looked motley,” I said. “Moth larvae ate fallen leaves of different colours and spun multicoloured thread on the ground. The catchers now harvest it for rigging, I guess. The whole surface was covered with that thread. Psychodelic yarn ball. The larvae loved their art. So one day, they stopped eating leaves to avoid becoming moths, lest new larvae spin new thread over this fairy-tale beauty. Soon, adult moths died naturally, and the starving larvae went dormant and withered.” There. No need to mention the Gloomies helped by tossing fallen leaves into space so larvae couldn’t break their diet. They couldn’t climb trees by themselves. “Let me guess who suggested them that fairy-tale idea,” the Fox, emboldened by the pterosaur’s departure, circled me. “As for the ‘danger’, I propose we toss you down and see what happens.” “From this height? Nothing pleasant, even without external threats. And if I survive, I’ll meet the squid sentries who’ll love that you released me. Speaking of, have you seen what they’re perched on?” “No one is tossing anyone,” the Prince cut in. “The y’s patrol near our anchor. Their skiff is there too. Nothing suspicious, if that’s what you mean. We’ll deal with the ground later. First, we need to leave this asteroid unseen. Wait—don’t you know the danger?” I shook my head. He pressed on: “How well do y’s see in the dark?” “They never relied on sight, more on hearing and pressure fluctuations. So keep quiet. But they seem to have evolved since their aquatic days. Thanks to mass-spawning and culling the unfit.” I fought a smirk at his pet peeve. “I wouldn’t test their vision now.” The Prince frowned, but the Fox interrupted: “You wanted ideas? Here’s one: slip them more pumpkins. It would knock them out for a day.” Pumpkins? Ah, something had gone to plan! The sedative effect was blamed on unfamiliar produce since the half-monkey hadn’t confessed to poisoning his kin. But I had to deflect this before the pumpkin ruse unraveled. “No need for pumpkins,” I countered. “The Hunter has soporific rounds—unless he gave all to the ant queen. He doesn’t even need to fire them, just scatter the powder upwind of the sentries.” “Well, well. A useful suggestion,” the Fox’s ear flicked skeptically. “Makes one wonder about the catch.” The Hunter rummaged through his bag. “Check the cloud-making rounds too,” the Prince added. “I’ll fetch the boat. We’ll reach the mummy valley without landing. At sunset, I’ll note the direction. We’ll leave at night to stay unnoticed.” He blew a boat from his notebook. “But what will we see in the dark? What if we get lost?” the Rose asked. The Prince scratched his head but decided to delay slightly and reach the valley at dawn. Less time, but they could enjoy the sunset now. He lifted the Rose, pot and all, from the sill to sit with her under a tree. Here they go. How were they not bored of gawking at atmospheric refraction? The planet’s sky held no clouds, not even haze. The Hunter promised a few leftover condensation rounds left from the fire-extinguishing operation at the Kiwi planet operation. But he was still digging through his bag, eventually dumping its contents onto the path. The Prince went to help. Perfect. If I could “accidentally” kick a few rounds, preferably purple ones, into the grass and “find” them later… “Snake, come here a moment, please,” the Rose’s delicate voice suddenly piped up from under the tree. Always at the worst time, but fine. I stepped over and crouched beside her. “What is it, princess?” A short whistle of air, and her thorny tendril lashed around my neck. “I don’t need anything, but you have no business near the ammunition,” her tone turned scratchy and irritable. Clever little—ah. The Prince laughed, squatting by the scattered rounds. “What colour are they?” he asked the Hunter. “Green… I don’t understand, a couple should still be—” he muttered, sifting through the dust. Green? Ah. Those “couple” were in my pocket. Well, now I knew my trophy: five dye rounds, one explosive, two condensation charges. And matches. The Prince, meanwhile, gave up on artillery and flipped through his notebook. Dusk fell fast, and the electric light from the window made it impossible to distinguish purple from yellow. Twenty pages in, he jumped up, declaring he had found a cloud-free solution, and produced a bundle of balloons. Colourful, again. He tethered them to the boat, ensured it wouldn’t float away, and consoled the Hunter, who was sulking over his uselessness and upended bag. But the sedative rounds had been found. Only when he had repacked his gear did the Rose deign to release me. And while the Hunter went to deploy the rounds, I decided to sting the Prince for my own inconspicuous mood-boosting. “Why the fuss?” I feigned confusion. “Last time, you managed to traffic the same lot with just a bird.” The Prince froze mid-balloon-tie, head dropping. “You really don’t understand?” he whispered. Of course I did, but I wanted him to say it aloud. “One drawing got destroyed,” I shrugged. “It’s just a sketch. What’s stopping you from making another?” “It wasn’t just a drawing!” he shouted, then quieter: “It was my friend…” He knelt by the boat. The Fox rushed over, nuzzling his palm on his antidote duty. “I can’t draw it now without remembering it burning. And the worst part… I could’ve let the bird dissipate unharmed. Captain Gran would’ve survived, just floated in space. But then Kai and the ship would’ve perished. I couldn’t find a third way. I had to choose…” A sob. “I didn’t save them. The bird or Gran. So I… I as good as killed them.” Still I didn’t see emotion shadows, though the Gloomies should’ve been thick around him. But his despair was plain to see through trembling voice, tears, slumped shoulders. I barely bit back the coup de grâce: Choosing between evils isn’t so hard. Anything to watch his eyes then, reflecting the torment, to drink my fill of that blackness. But no, I was playing reformed. Swallow the itch. “I see,” I murmured. While the Prince grieved and the Fox cozed in his ear, I scanned the ground where the Hunter had dumped the rounds, What if anything was left? But the Rose was vigilant, demanding I carry her to the boat in silence. Was she jealous of the Fox? For this truce, I could oblige. And I walked slow, too, to inhale and savour her scent four times over, not one.