Out of Reach

       Beautifully alone, B613 drifted through a desolate and featureless sector of space. The catchers themselves had flatly refused to join the expedition. The pterosaur insisted they urgently needed to capture the remaining shards and repair their ship first, with no time to waste on dubious adventures. Nor would he risk his crew’s lives, as two overly curious catchers' boats had vanished without trace in this very sector years ago. The late monkey captain had strictly forbidden any ventures there, and her crew still honoured that decree. But if the Prince could uncover or even fix something, hooray for him. The uncertainty didn’t faze the Prince; he had his own source of intel. I had agreed to navigate, curious myself about what had gone wrong. Buoyed by their success on the yarn ball planet, the Prince and the others were eager to investigate firsthand, though their ranks had thinned: the Geographer and the Businessman had chosen to travel with the catchers. The King remained aboard B613 but scanned the cosmos every five minutes for a reply from his wife. The Hunter, anticipating unknown quarry, meticulously checked his rifle and ammunition. Though the ex-gloomy hovered nearby, thwarting my attempts to replenish my cartridge supply. I retreated to a ceiling beam to revise strategies, but the house soon grew crowded. As stars dwindled outside, the crew congregated in the lit room, forcing me onto the roof. Fewer people there: just the Prince steering the paper cattle. “Did you need something?” he asked when I climbed the slope to the ridge and perched sideways along the direction of travel. “No,” I grunted, pointing at the roof. “Darker and quieter up here than below.” Alas, he missed the hint. “Since we have time—care to share what you did to the marriks' homeworld? Captain Gran suspected you were involved in what happened there. And I suspect she was right.” Why not, indeed. “Long ago, when the late pirate captain was just a cub, she lived with her kin on the planet we’re approaching… After that crescent moon, adjust two points to port at nine o’clock. Her mother, the marrik queen, adored controlling everything. I didn’t even need to deceive her; she was already throttling anyone who didn’t fit her notions of order. I merely provided the technology to make it… economically efficient. Rearranging rebellious organic matter into simpler polymers—well, only the Geographer would grasp that. The output was the same creature, just docile and bleached. Post-conversion, it performed basic tasks like opening doors or sweeping floors until its energy depleted and it froze permanently. Irreversible, mind you. Not like petrified roses or desiccated caterpillars. But as with the Roses and diatoms, I never forced the queen to use the converter. She could’ve stopped anytime. She didn’t, no matter how her subjects begged. So upon arrival, we should find a forest of plastic monkeys.” “If that’s so,” the Prince replied tonelessly, not turning, though I heard the dismay in his voice, “what became of those catchers who vanished in this galactic sector?” “No idea. If something dangerous lurks in the ruins, it has nothing to do with me.” “Are you sure?” He glanced back, squinting suspiciously. Let him try detecting lies in unadulterated truth. “Quite. So do be careful. Incidentally, that glowing dot should be the right star—unless I’m mistaken.” The Prince looked where indicated and summoned the others. They spilled from the house but, thankfully, didn’t clamber onto the roof. The dot expanded into a cold, pocket-sized star, flat and five-pointed. Its light gradually revealed a jagged grey smudge: the lone planet. Without the spyglass left with the Geographer on the catchers' ship, the Prince had to approach closer and slow down. The smudge swelled until it occupied nearly a quarter of the sky. The Prince set my asteroid adrift around the enigmatic mass. The planet I’d driven to extinction here had been large, yes, but not this large. And spherical. This resembled two grubby grey trash balls clamped together, one rough-textured, the other a tangle of spheres, tubes, and membranes. No movement. No sound. “Where’s this forest, then?” the Prince asked the space. “Misjudged it. Happens to the best of us.” I fully admitted the possibility. Few landmarks in this galactic stretch. Then a small pearlescent sphere emerged slowly from the planetoid’s wake. Ah, yes, the moon was the right size and colour and right in its place. As B613 drew nearer, the lighting angle shifted, and I finally spotted the forest: intact, but instead of green, it was now a dull white material from crown to root. “Ah no, wasn’t wrong after all,” I called to the Prince. “Seems someone converted the entire planet to plastic. Trees, rocks, dwellings—all of it.” “Well, had I ruled here,” the King piped up, craning his neck at the puzzle, “I’d have built my palace higher up there, with the grand entrance under that dome by the circular platform.” I looked, and true enough: add a few towers and a fence, and it might pass for a palace. A familiar one, even. Once, it had perched atop trees, built of wood and straw, with smaller nest-huts visible in the branches. But why the planet had lost its spherical shape remained unclear. “Right, let’s land there,” the Prince declared cheerfully, steering the horses toward the plastic palace. “Let’s not,” I raised my voice. “My asteroid might not escape such a massive body. And if we need a hasty retreat?” “If you shut up and keep your hands to yourself, no retreat will be necessary,” the Fox interjected. The Prince added: “We’ll just anchor at full anchor line length.” I tried dissuading him from bringing the Rose, but to no avail. She was determined to scout exits herself, on foot. The laurels of saving the nutshell planet still haunted her. Or was she trying to cram all possible experience into her remaining lifespan? The anchor caught on a root-like tube on the second attempt. Landing proceeded without incident. Ground level revealed details invisible from above: ribbed hemispheres replaced straw huts; columns stood where tree trunks once were; knee-high ridges marked former branches and roots; spiralled discs of twisted strands were unmistakably vines, once the planet’s most abundant plant species. Near one such disc, a pallid, rigid marmoset figure stood, its tail coiled. The Fox sniffed at it, and I couldn’t resist: “Not statues. Former natives.” The Fox leapt back in panic—the Prince hadn’t yet briefed the others on my tale. The Hunter unslung his rifle and began circling; the Fox darted around a hollow hemisphere, emerging triumphant to beckon the Prince toward strange internal struts—"Like your boat’s!” The Prince peered inside, assessed it, stepped back, then re-examined the structure, scratching his head. “Doesn’t this resemble a catchers' skiff? The rounded hull, benches, railings, triangular mast, here, lying on the floor.” Cradling the Rose’s pot, he bent to touch the ground. She peered over the rim. “Even the texture matches sail-leaf weave!” With context, the structure did resemble a pirate landing craft, just entirely plastic now. Pity the catchers hadn’t specified when their comrades (and subsequent rescue party) had vanished. Could the queen have theoretically survived…? No, with only simple polymers around, she’d have starved within months. But where had enough plastic for twice the planet size come from? A gust of not quite wind, more an air tremor rippled through. Everyone turned. In the smooth slope of the largest hemisphere (correctly identified by the King as the palace), a spiral disc split open slowly, revealing a dimly lit circular passage. “Perhaps we shouldn’t?” The Fox tucked his tail, hesitating as the Prince strode toward the unknown. “For once, I agree with the flea-bag,” I added. “We’ve established that the planet is uninhabitable. Message the catchers and move on.” “Nope.” The Prince paused at the threshold, waving the others forward. The Rose folded her leaves proudly. “Past experience shows even 'dead' planets can be reignited. And something here is clearly functional. Who was last alive here?” “The queen. But she couldn’t have survived. Nothing here to eat. Either the mad monkey converted everything so no one else could have it, or outsiders accidentally activated the converter. Most likely, the palace mechanisms are automated, and not depleted since they weren’t used much.” I tried again to dissuade the Prince. Or at least frighten the adults. The King, utterly fearless, was already heading for the tunnel when the Hunter restrained him, muttering something along the lines that the expendable should enter first. The Prince, ever conscientious, proposed the Rose wait outside by the anchor with the Firefly for protection. Her fear, however, was misplaced. She refused, terrified of being alone on the surface (she didn’t count the ex-gloomy), and said the statues reminded her of her petrified kin. With the Prince, she feared nothing. She even offered to walk unaided (finally, a sensible thought). Instead, the Prince drew a shoulder-slung bag for her pot in his Notebook, a compromise she accepted. Then they ventured in. As the exit vanished around a bend, unease prickled my skin. The others went on calm, guided by glowing white floor and ceiling strips. The Fox stepped on one such strip, but nothing happened. He skirted the plastic monkey figures littering the corridor. All matched my memories, save that the “statues” had once sprinted through these halls, and the low-ceilinged passages now bulged with much more root-like plastic piping than before. The spiral ascent was familiar, at least. The throne room should crown the dome. The corridor dead-ended until another spiral door parted, admitting the guests to a circular chamber with two sealed passages at opposite ends, more ridge-roots underfoot and… “Welcome, strangers. How long it’s been since visitors graced my perfect world… Who are you, and what brings you here?” The speaker appeared at first to be another statue, but this one didn’t stand against the wall. It squatted on a central stump-like pedestal, plastic tubes radiating outward into walls and floor, five spiral tendrils coiled at its base. The voice, hollow, slightly mechanical, emanated from the figure, though its semi-translucent face showed no visible movement. Definitely an automaton, crafted from a living monkey. But how had it not depleted its energy over the years? None of those questions troubled the Prince. “Hello. I’m the Little Prince. These are my friends: the Fox, the Rose, the King, the Hunter, and…” He faltered. “I’m no friend,” I cut in before the Fox could glare meaningfully. “Louis, at your service.” Who knew what grudges the queen’s plastic counterpart harboured? Best not risk the name of “Snake.” “As for our purpose,” the Prince hurried on, “we sought the marriks' homeworld to restore it. But first, we must understand what happened here. Why is everything so… colourless?” Ah, testing my version. Fine, he’d hear nothing contradicting it. “Restore to life?!” The mechanism grated and coughed as a poor imitation of laughter. “No, there’s no returning to that flawed, uncontrollable existence. Though salvation from it initially became a curse, I’ve found a way to transform it back into deliverance. And you will help me.” “I hate riddles,” the Fox muttered behind his tail, then addressed the speaking doll with forced politeness. “Could you explain more plainly for simple creatures? Please.” “Then make yourselves comfortable. This will take time.” It gestured to small platforms of varying heights around the floor. The spiral tendrils of her throne unfurled into five lengthy tentacles tapping pointedly on the nearest perches. I positioned myself behind the Prince (and the Rose, as he had removed the shoulder bag and set it down). What a monstrosity. Did it genuinely believe itself to be the original queen? A deranged machine was the last thing I needed. “Apologies for offering no refreshments,” it droned on. “Nothing living remains in my world, and I require no sustenance. Once, I was a marrik, a creature of flesh and blood like you. My rule was stern but just, I was punishing crimes to protect the peace…” “Doesn’t it sound familiar?” I whispered to the Prince’s back. “We’ve heard this 'sacrifice for the greater good' before. From the daughter of this thing’soriginal copy.” He only shrugged. The plastic puppet didn’t stop; its hearing was clearly imperfect, as it had missed both my jab and earlier “mad monkey” remark. I wondered if it had opened the palace gates herself, tracking the intruders, or was it mere automation? “But one day, a dark being came to me, resembling a young vine shoot…” “The Snake?” the Fox supplied. “Oh, you know of him? You’ve seen him?” The doll clutched the pedestal, leaning forward. “Seen him? He’s a bloody nuisance,” the Fox began, but the Prince nudged him, quite clumsy, though the queen feigned obliviousness. “Slithers everywhere, that worm.” “Yes, we’ve crossed paths,” the Prince cut in. Wise of him; no need to provoke the marmot. “We’ve been saving planets where he sowed discord.” “Really?!” The queen figurine clapped its hands, tail bracing against the seat. “Then you’ll understand! I know how to stop the Snake, and you’ll want to help! Unlike previous travellers.” I couldn’t intercept the Prince fast enough before he dug into the last remark. Not that he’d have listened to me… “Outside, we saw a skiff of the creatures calling themselves Catchers of Fire Crystals,” he said, “made of the same strange material as everything. Did you mean them? What happened?” “Yes, them.” Her tail coiled sharply, a trademark monkey irritation. “They refused to believe the Snake was deadlier than meteors. As of their fate… I repurposed them. Not as intended, but… But I’ll get to that point soon. As for the beginning, the Snake showed me how to transform criminals into peaceful, useful machines of plast—this material around you. Flesh simplified to its essence. The process also… refines the villain’s personality. It erases vices, leaves only memories of utilitarian acts. Yet dissent persisted. My people couldn’t grasp my vision. Rebellions arose… Until my daughter and the remaining guard fled on a secretly built craft. The Snake never warned me the converted persons would deplete their life-energy within moons. By the time I knew it from experience, it was too late.” Time to probe a critical point and divert the Prince from the catchers' fate. “But how have you endured so long?” I interjected. It preened, clearly fond of this topic. “By mastering the converter’s mechanisms. The simplification degree is adjustable. One can transform a creature exactly, down to the smallest particle. Though such copies deplete faster and retain all original flaws. To evade death, hunger, thirst, I converted myself perfectly. All the old temptations and weaknesses remain, but I remember my purpose and can override them. And to sustain myself…” It patted the pedestal, “I simplified the entire planet and fused it to me. Its energy sustains me.” Ah, she couldn’t leave this room! Splendid. But also… did that mean this—she—wasthe original monkey queen! That explained why her daughter’s death hadn’t counted as genocide—because this abomination remained. Perhaps I should destroy her now, especially if the Prince escalated tensions. “What about the Snake?” the Hunter interrupted bluntly, stroking his rifle. “How d’you plan to, well—” The queen’s claws scraped the pedestal (no ruler enjoys interruptions), but she composed herself. “Alone, I saw how cruelly I’d been deceived. I pondered revenge and found the solution. You rescue worlds the Snake has touched, but I know how to prevent his corruption.” “Is that possible?!” The King blurted. Even the Fox perked up. Fascinating… “Oh yes. He’s less omnipotent than he seems. Were destruction his sole aim, he’d do it himself, for he can erase objects with a glance.” “Right enough!” The Fox spun in excitement. “Vanished our baobabs in seconds, he did.” “Really?” Her plastic voice feigned surprise poorly. “He destroyed something unprompted?” “Well, I asked him to…” The Fox wilted under the Prince’s stare. “Precisely!” The plastic doll was outright ecstatic. “He cannot annihilate anything on his own accord, so he deceives inhabitants into destroying their own homes.” Damn her. How had she deduced this? Her planet’s fate alone wouldn’t suffice. “You’re right…” The Prince scratched his chin. “I thought he merely enjoyed tormenting living beings.” “I did not realise that at once, too,” the queen conceded. “Until a scorched, lifeless planet drifted near mine. It was too slow to dislodge my home from orbit. I stretched vision-vines to survey it…” So she could observe distant parts of the planet? Possible, if the vines had been converted into fibre optics. Or was her control more extensive? Had the doors opened by her command earlier? Troubling. Best plan an escape route now. If the Prince accused her of cruelty, she might attack. Worse, he now saw her as “alive” and wouldn’t strike to kill. I gauged the distance to all three doors versus the throne’s reach—she could strike anywhere except the ceiling. The old palace’s roof opening was now sealed with translucent plastic. Inconvenient. “…but I found no remains except for crude stone carvings. Perhaps warnings or records. The inhabitants differed vastly from marriks. The carvings showed tall stalks with tufted tops blooming under a large sun, hiding from a small one…” What could that be? I wracked my memory. At least the Prince was listening intently and didn’t speak up. “…Then, among them, a familiar black figure appeared. The Snake. Subsequent carvings showed the stalk-beings constructing a new device. I realised he’d 'helped' them too. Soon, they stopped hiding from the small sun. But when the large sun returned and brought some catastrophe. A global fire, judging by the traces.” Ah, yes. Not plants they had been, but simple, nearly unicellular animals. The Geographer would call them hydras. They communicated via electromagnetic signals and rudimentary sight. Explaining concepts to them had been… challenging. Their single sun orbited at varying distances, creating extreme seasons. The hydras lived in shallow water, burrowing into mud during freezing winters, producing ethanol as antifreeze for their body fluids. I’d simply taught them to mass-produce it to prevent the entire ocean from freezing. Glucose or glycerol would’ve worked, but lacked ethanol’s other… useful property. Flammability. And when next summer had come, the water warmed up sufficiently, and— It was spectacular. The queen found no bones because hydras had none. They had burned to dust. “Classic Snake,” the Fox agreed. “Textbook, really.” “Once is chance, twice is pattern,” the queen declared. “The rule is clear: he cannot destroy worlds directly. He manipulates inhabitants through their own desires. All so-called living things have desires and thus, all are vulnerable. But he miscalculated when he gave me the means to make them invulnerable. My converter. Transform all worlds into plast, and their inhabitants will lack desires to exploit. Time and decay will never touch them.” By the holy void! Her logic was sound, but… the plast had clearly rotted her mind. The Fox gaped at me, then at her, muttering: “Well… same shit, different angle.” The Prince, however, voiced his dissent recklessly loud: “No!” He sprang up. Oh, here we go, righteous indignation in a tyrant’s lair. “That’s just as wrong as what the Snake does! You’re destroying all life!” Precisely. For a moment, I almost didn’t want to kill her. Let her do my work for me. But no, reclaiming my former self outweighed polymerising a few planets. Still, the idea had potential. Other despots might adopt it. Let them amass hundreds of plast-worlds, then “rescue” a lone survivor, guide them to assassinate the tyrant via suicide strike. Then erase the entire agglomeration. But first, how to handle this mess? “True monarchs do not act thus,” the King intoned pompously. “A ruler must prioritise their people’s welfare, not the punishment of their enemies.” “Destroying all life?” The monkey’s tone alone, with her plastic face immobile, conveyed utter contempt. “I destroy nothing. I preserve it in purity! What you call life is mere chaos and slime. You claim to have saved worlds from the Snake. Didn’t you also force their inhabitants to abandon their plans—” “Never!” The Prince refused to yield. “I don’t force anyone! Every conflict can be resolved through calm discussion! Yes, we make mistakes, but while alive, we can repent, correct the wrongs, be happy, create beauty, love—” “And are you certain those you left unchanged won’t repeat their errors?” The Prince opened his mouth—and then shut it. Precisely. After my first liberation, I had made him revisit those very planets, brought on the verge of destruction often through the same intermediaries. But this debate needed urgent redirecting. “But how will you reach other worlds,” I cut in, “chained to this planet? Wait for random collisions?” Bullseye. The Prince turned to me, startled into silence. The plastic monkey creaked for several seconds before replying: “Right, that’s an… impediment. Only that scorched planet and formless debris have drifted close. I converted those for extra energy. But the intruders you’ve called catchers spoke of their ship. With sails like those, I could gather and protect other worlds myself! And you will help me. Your craft is too small to move my united world, but you’ll bring the catchers' great ship to me. It shall be my transport, my home’s tug!” Her spiral tendrils unfurled. The Hunter was overcome with fear and fired. More noise than effect: yellow paint splattered the pedestal as a tendril dodged, snatched his rifle, and snapped it in two with a whip-like motion before hurling him across the hall. That was not bad, but not now! The Prince, already in blue, sword drawn, lunged at the tendril but missed; the throne’s vines moved faster. And they outnumbered us: one tripped the charging King and swatted the ex-gloomy mid-flight, three others pinned the Prince against a wall. I stayed still and scanned the surroundings but found nothing usable. Bullets sat in my pocket, but no rifle to fire them. Fire wasn’t an option: I had matches, and plastic was perfectly flammable, but the sealed doors left no escape, and the tendrils covered every angle, no chance to build the fire promptly. A fifth tendril slithered from behind the throne, coiling around the Rose. “None of you move, or else—” The monkey constricted the spiral slightly. The Prince cried out as if he were being crushed, freezing as two tendrils seized his arms. His sword vanished. “Now you see. Love is as crippling as rage,” the monkey crowed. “I observed your tenderness en route. This talking flower matters to you. It will be returned unharmed after you deliver the catchers' ship. Understood? Now leave.” She flung the Prince toward the entry door, now open. He scrambled up, poised to attack again, but the Rose’s whimper from within the plastic coils halted him. “This is unjust and cruel!” He brandished his primary weapon: words. “How are you better than the Snake? Reconsider, I beg you! Your concept of protecting worlds is fascinating, but the execution could be better. Let’s discuss it in peace—” “Another word,” the plastic beast interrupted, “and I’ll snap off a piece of her as a memento to hasten your return. Five. Four…” The Prince stepped back. The Hunter, crawling along the wall toward him, and the King scrabbling for his lost crown were clearly done fighting. I needed a plan, right now. Three, two, one… Got it. “Does it matter if they all go, or someone stays?” I shrugged, remaining seated. “I’ll wait here. Don’t fret,” I told the Prince, “I’ll tend the Rose, water her if needed. If you don’t trust me, leave the Hunter. He’s a splendid guard.” “I care not,” the monkey said, “how many depart, only that my descendants' ship arrives swiftly. Best hurry.” “Fine.” The Prince bowed his head. “Your Majesty, you stay too!” Blast it, I needed the Hunter for his ammo! I had some stock, but extra firepower never hurt. More crucially, he’d be easier to manipulate into following my instructions. The King, however, currently loathed me, and was too tall for discreet conversations with him. “Wait!” The King, equally displeased, yanked the Prince’s scarf and addressed the Queen. “Our dispute has a simpler solution.” He gestured at me, his sceptre snagged my collar, hurling me toward the throne. A few paces short, but the intent was clear. “You seek vengeance on the Snake? Here he is, no sails required. Do as you will with him, and release us.” Brilliant, truly. If the Prince wavered earlier between sparing me or the monkey hybrid, this situation erased all ambiguity. Sacrificing me for the Rose? No problem at all. He’d mourn for half a day. But there still was one snag. The Prince gaped silently while the Fox’s tail bristled with approval. The plastic beast leisurely extended a couple of manipulators. “No, don’t—” The Prince lunged, but too late. Two tendrils whipped out: one coiled horizontally around the King, shaking him like a rug; the other shoved the Prince back toward the exit. “Very funny,” the monkey grated. “I met the Snake face-to-face. This one bears no resemblance to him. Did you think to deceive me with this poor substitute?” Exactly. Prove otherwise. The Prince, silent again, bundled up the Fox, muzzling him mid-protest (likely about my shapeshifting). The monkey dumped the King unceremoniously. “Your Majesty, please,” the Prince stressed, helping him up. “I thought you’d show more… diplomacy. Just watch over—” He shot me a desperate glance. “—the Rose and Louis. That’s all. I’ll return soon.” Scooping up the Fox, he vanished into the corridor. The Hunter left a canteen by the door before scurrying after them. The spiral door hissed shut. Could’ve left some food.