Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Sylvestris
Right now, I'd give anything to be inside a grove of Pinus Sylvestris. At least it would protect me a bit from the hailstorms.
But this planet is entirely mineral and covered in icy snow. And I'm going to have to stay there until help arrives.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Whiskers
At the end of my watch, I woke up Felix (his name is unpronounceable for an Earthling), who stretched and went outside without uttering a sound. Granted, his species can't see much further away than their whiskers, but with the snow squalls, you couldn't see much further anyway.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Mammal
Then again, Felix is a mammal. Emil is a cold-blooded myriapod. Its shell provides mechanical, not thermal, protection. Outside, that would be coma for it in ten minutes, fatal injury in twenty. So it stays in the tent. Rolled into a ball, in case it's any help.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Toy
That being said, Emil may be useless for watches, but when we're on the move, it climbs where neither Felix nor me can go, and the machine its carries around is anything but a toy. I saw it carve a staircase through a stone wall as if it was butter.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Feulement
When you've got primates as ancestors, you need to get used to not waking up with a start when you hear hissing close to your ear. With time, I didn't even need the translator to understand. Félix had just told me "Nothing to report, your turn, monkey, I'm going for a nap."
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Food
As far as food goes, I've got survival rations, Félix has what look like packets of mash, and Emil eats... some stuff. Seriously, I don't know what it is and I don't want to know.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#witever Litter
Félix wakes us up in the morning with low mewing sounds. I turn on the translator.
"Some bloody icy litter fell on me from above."
… Ok, so while I was sleeping, we had hail.
Which means temperatures are rising.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Kibble
Felix grumbles in the translator.
"Mash keeps well in the cold but with this heat it'll soon go bad. I should have taken kibble."
Alright, Felix, but we're thirty miles away from the capsule wreck now.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Pelage
Felix's mash had indeed gone bad: he vomited his next ration on himself.
"How will I clean my pelage? We have no running water here."
Without a sound, Emil coiled around him and started... tidying him up.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Purring
At first I thought the purring was coming from Felix.
It came, in fact, from the portable beacon buzzer. That sound indicates either that a rescue team is close, or that the beacon's battery is starting to run low.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Socialization
Tenth day. A hundred klicks from the capsule wreck now. Fifty-odd still to go to reach the ship, or what's left of it. We keep the beacon on fifteen minutes every day. The translator is running on fumes. Doesn't help socialization.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Hunting
In three days of temperate weather, we've seen vegetation starting to grow, and even small animals appearing. Surprise : Emil seems to be better than Felix at hunting them. I'd lie if I said they taste like chicken, but they're edible.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Meow
We came across a spring. Felix rushed to drink from it. And the idiot would have, too, if he hadn't heard the meow. No need for the translator any more for that one: "stop now, you goofball!"
The meow had come from Emil.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Ethologist
Day sixteen. No more translator. We communicate as best we can. I mime, Felix takes us from point to point waiting for us to understand, and Emil undulates and vibrates its legs. It's enough to make an ethologist swoon.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Cat
By the way, I realize that Emil hasn't meowed since last time. Perhaps it knows only one phrase in Cat. I wouldn't blame it, I don't speak any Critter. And neither it nor Felix speak Monkey.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Bowl
Day seventeen. Emil suddenly stopped walking, ran thirty yards on the left, and came back with a tin bowl stamped with the ship's name between its first limbs.
Other survivors, then.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Griffe
I'm about to put the bowl in my rucksack, but Felix grabs it from me and, with a claw, scratches a bumpy spot.
Something falls out, leaving a hole in the tin.
It's a small-calibre weapon bullet.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Wool
Either a surviving, armed, dyed-in-the-wool, trigger-happy passenger suddenly felt like taking up sport shooting, or…
In any case, the ship's Security Officer is going to have a situation to untangle.
I'd pity that SO…
Only that SO is me.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Feline
On a reflex, I check that my own pistol is loaded and that its safety catch is on.
Emil does the same, or so I assume, with its rock-cutting gadget.
While watching us, Felix makes the feline choice of sharpening his claws.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Domesticate
Come to think of it, that's weird: Felix's species had domesticated nuclear fission when we we still scratching our heads looking at flintstones, but they never took to individual weaponry.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Copycat
If there's a trigger-happy passenger, and if he gets any copycats, things are going to get complicated. I lengthen the pace and the duration of the walk for the rest of the day, and the next morning, I wake up Felix and Emil in the wee hours.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
Merci ! Je vais regarder pourquoi diable ça n'est pas parti...
Nemo
@aaribaud Je sais pas si c'est moi mais il n'y a pas eu la version française ce matin
(Et j'en profite pour remercier, c'est un plaisir de retrouver chaque matin un petit bout d'histoire 😁)
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Veterinary
And of course, none of the ship's crew has any training in exomedicine. If any stray bullets hit non-Earth passengers, I can't picture myself asking "does anyone here have any veterinary background?"
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Hair
Day twenty, and third day of forced march.
Emil points at the bottom of a valley in the distance.
A metallic glint.
In about two days, we'll have reached the ship.
And maybe someone with a gun.
The hair on the back of my neck bristle.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
Thanks for your comment. However, I would respectfully disagree: here, "hair" is a singular collective noun (even though an area is specified, there is still a lot of hair involved) and as such, can use the plural, a use similar to e.g. "The Milton Keynes police are investigating".
PeachMcD
Either the hair bristles or the hairs bristle.
Not trying to be nasty - I can't proofread my own work either. I'm happy to delete this if you edit
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Playful
We're two klicks away from the ship.
I'm trying to get Felix and Emil to understand that we're going to have to be ready for anything.
Miming is a playful activity as long as you don't have to get a vital safety message across.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
It's night when we get close to the ship.
A bang stops us dead.
Someone shouts.
"You and the kitten put your hands up!"
Okay, so he's got infra-red binoculars.
"Now go join the others near the ship!"
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Tree
At the ship, I count about thirty passengers and crew members. In hushed voices, they explain to me that the guy has taken refuge in a tree, with food, his gun and infrared binoculars. That's how he saw us arrive.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Lick
Quietly, everyone tries to sleep.
I can hear Felix next to me, giving a ritual lick to his claws.
On the other hand, Emil is not gathering leaves for its bed. In fact, its's not with us at all.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Behaviourist
No need to be a behaviourist to understand why Emil kept its cool and just slithered away when the shot was fired.
And now, a sudden scream confirms that it did sneak up the tree and has now immobilised our jailer.
Albert ARIBAUD ✎
#writever Washing
Two crewmen have taken over and take the agitated man to an isolation cabin inside the ship.
And Felix is now "washing" Emil's face enthusiastically. Emil keeps meowing "stop now, you goofball!" without much result... or conviction.
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