Impossible Beings

Posted on June 1, 2018 by A. K. Frailey

Rome 450 AD

As Lidia plopped her hands into a heavy clay bowl of flour, a dusty spray plumed into the air, casting a million specks into the sunlight slanting across the room from a high rectangular window.

Her daughter, Marcia, stared up enchanted. Her lips parted in a soft smile, while her eyes danced in rhythm to the twirling, sparking mini-universe spreading wide throughout the kitchen. Her voice dropped to a reverent whisper. “Papa says the world goes on forever—is that true?”

After thoroughly dusting a ball of dough, Lidia pressed it flat on the kneading trough. She grunted, her eyes on her work, but her gaze turned inward. “Your father says a great many things—some he oughtn’t.” She flipped the dough over and shrugged. Her focus cleared, and she spared a glance at the little girl. “You know how he is.”

Laying an open palm on the table, Marcia waited in hopeful expectation.

With a snort, Lidia ripped off a hunk and dropped it into the child’s hands. “Don’t knead it too much, remember. The soldiers return today—by the gods’ mercy—and he’ll enjoy a nice soft bread for a change.”

Marcia eased her fingers onto the pliant dough and allowed her hands to undulate like deep-sea fronds waving in a gentle current. A studious frown etched across her brow. “Will he stay long this time?”

Placing the shaped dough onto a baking tray, Lidia wiped the excess flour from the edges. “These are a ruinous time for soldiers and high born alike. Rome has lost her footing, and the gods are not pleased. Invaders break in the front door while useless slaves run out the back.”

“But Papa says that Rome is invincible. We dare the impossible”

Lidia shoved a smaller tray in front of her daughter and watched her lay the dough straight. A flicker of a smile swept across her face and just as quickly vanished. She retreated to a large oven set in the back wall and slid the two trays on a shelf. Clapping the dust from her hands, she jutted her chin in the direction of a pail of water. “Wash up and go outside now. Keep an eye out for Papa.”

Marcia dunked her hands in the cold water and scrubbed away the shreds of sticky dough. After rinsing twice, she patted her hands dry and held them up for her mother’s inspection. “We are invincible—aren’t we?”

Bending with her hands on her thighs, Lidia fixed her daughter in the eye. “Truth is, no one born of a woman is invincible. Only the gods be invincible—and even they suffer loss and death.” She straightened and washed her hands, splashing drops on the dusty floor. “We dare the impossible—true—while we may.” She nodded to the threshold leading to a garden path. “But don’t worry your father with such notions. He’s suffered on every side, and I won’t have him lose his faith as well.”

Marcia’s gaze wandered back to the sunlit kitchen. The sparking universe had disappeared into shadows. She blinked and set her jaw. The entire Roman world might crumble—but a miniature universe floated in hidden mystery all around her—if only she dared the impossible.

~~~

Planet Helm—Bhuaci Capitol

*Bhuaci are a gelatinous race that can mold themselves into the likeness of a variety of races, both sentient and not. Bhuaci are often called the perfect race as they often mold themselves to the physical ideal of any race they encounter.

Sitting at a large ornate desk with a highly decorated border, Crimson dipped her quill in ink, wrote a long scrawling line, and grinned at the result.

A cherubic boy with a dimple in each cheek, golden curls, and twirling a blooming forsythia branch stopped before the red-hued, lanky Bhuaci beauty and grinned. “What ‘cha doing?”

Crimson peered from her parchment to the childish form in front of her and snarled. “Get away from me you—absurdity.”

The cherub’s eyes gleamed in anything-but-innocent delight. He swept his dainty fingers down his fulsome figure. “Don’t you like it? You’re always telling me to get a new look. Well, cherubs happen to be all the rage these days.”

Crimson let her pen fall from her fingers as her eyes widened in disgust. Her snarl morphed into a snort. “You always traipse after the newest fashion—never really live in any form—just change to keep up with the crowd.” Retrieving her pen, she punctuated the air. “You’d take an insect shape on a dare—and get stepped on before the day was out.”

The Cherub’s eyes glimmered and narrowed as his body grew, adding weight, muscle, color, and masculinity. Now towering above the Bhuaci female as a gleaming warrior wearing a sleeveless tunic—every fiber of his perfect form, from his deep-set blue, determined chin, squared shoulders, barrel chest, and muscular legs screamed classic male beauty.

Crimson tilted her head and considered the specimen before her. She sniffed. “You might have hit on something this time, Kane.” Her mouth twitched. “Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Kane sauntered to the high desk and leaned over Crimson’s shoulder. “You never answered my question.”

With a plaintive sigh, Crimson picked up her pen and dipped it in the inkpot. “I’m trying to work—if you don’t mind.”

“With a feather?”

“It’s a quill, idiot.” Crimson pointed to a sign over the door. “Record’s office—remember? I transcribe ships’ logs. Today I have to transcribe Longjur’s hasty notes and send them—”

A blush crept over Kane’s face. “Longjur? He’s been observing Earth—right?”

“Yep, and by the Divide, he has a lot to say! Mostly it’s as boring as watching a cactus grow in the dry season. But this part—”

Kane’s gaze scanned the nearly empty page. “Where?”

Crimson frowned. “Well, I was just getting to it when you interrupted. I have it here.” She tapped a panel embedded in the desk. “But I’m making a formal copy for the Kestrel Committee. I thought ink on parchment would do nicely to reflect the culture and add a bit of authenticity and charm. They’ll look it over before making recommendations—”

Kane shook his head. “Forget all that! What did he say? Is he going back?”

Crimson slapped her cheek and rolled her eyes. “He went on and on about silly details—Emperors and warriors and their never-ending battles, women and men sweating in the hot sun and toiling for their food, and the most ignorant ceremonies I’ve ever heard of! But, there was one point of interest…” She checked her notes, running her finger along the lines. “About a little girl, sunlight, and a hidden—”

Kane groaned, his shoulders sagging. “I want to go there—someday.” He shrugged. “It’s why I take on so many forms—for practice. I’d love to explore that system. Humanoids seem so—impossible.” He peered down at Crimson and their eyes met. “You know what I mean?”

Crimson tapped the panel, a lopsided smile wavering on her lips. “Don’t despair. You must have read Longjur’s mind. He said that exact thing—and I quote: ‘They are impossible beings, yet they bring their faith to fruition.’”

Kane leaned in and stared deep into Crimson’s eyes. “So, you think I might go—”

Crimson chuckled and returned to her work. “You’d fit right in.”

~~~

Novels by A. K. Frailey

Science Fiction

Last of Her Kind http://amzn.to/2y1HJvg

Newearth: Justine Awakens http://amzn.to/2pq0vWN

Historical Fiction

Melchior—Vengeance Is Mine http://amzn.to/2taeW2r

Historical Fiction & Science Fiction Blend

OldEarth ARAM Encounter https://amzn.to/2KLhlsN

OldEarth Ishtar Encounter https://amzn.to/2OAkDQF

OldEarth Neb Encounter (In production)

OldEarth Georgios Encounter (In production)

Children’s Book

The Adventures of Tally-Ho http://amzn.to/2sLfcI5

Inspirational Non-Fiction

The Road Goes Ever On—A Christian Journey Through The Lord of the Rings http://amzn.to/2lWBd00

Photo https://www.pexels.com/search/fantasy%20specks%20in%20air/

Beyond Primitive Need

Posted on May 4, 2018 by A. K. Frailey

Excerpt from OldEarth Georgios Encounter

Coming in 2018…

100 AD

As they traveled the coast toward Olympia and across the sea to Syracuse, Georgios adapted to the sweep of the ship’s movement, lifting and carrying cumbersome boxes and coiling up thick, snake-like ropes that would trip his feet if he was not careful, rolling heavy tarp—things he would never have done back home. He smiled at the thought of his grandparents seeing him now. He could fold a heavy canvas better than he could have managed a blanket back home or toss a knife, hitting a post at a distance that would have amazed his own father.

A frown etched across his forehead. Perhaps his father would return unexpectedly, and they would spend the rest of their lives looking for each other. With a sigh, he surveyed his new world again, and his anxiety vanished like a mist. Surely, if his father did arrive early, he would wait at Patmos. Then, when Georgios returned, they would be reunited, and he would be a free man once again.

Seanan assured him that summer was nearly over, and they would have to hurry if they wanted to be on their way past Rome before winter. “We’ll get in and out as fast as possible.”

At this announcement, Georgios’s shoulders slumped, his gaze scraping the planks of the ship.

Seanan read faces like some read the stars. “What ails you, boy? We need everyone alert and able to make the ship’s repairs and exchange supplies in quick time. If we don’t keep our wits about us, we’ll lose more than we gain. We must keep the Roman authorities from asking too many questions or prying into our private affairs.”

Georgios glanced up. “Why would the Romans investigate us? What do we have that they’d want?”

“Don’t be a fool. If we’re not broken into during the black hours of the night, we’ll be waylaid by Roman justice and watch our things carried off by some rich merchant or a powerful senator who thinks that what is in a Roman harbor naturally belongs to them. And they have a tendency to claim much!”

Georgios shook his head. “But Roman laws apply to everyone! The Senators are supposed to defend the rights of the people.”

“Are we Roman citizens, then? Do the laws apply to us? And even if they did, could we argue the law in front of those who wrote it?” Seanan shook his head, his lips pursed. “Don’t lie to yourself. Even being the son of a Roman soldier wouldn’t protect you from the villains who gladly take advantage of those who know neither written law nor the ways of courts.”

Georgios peered across the sea as a wave lifted them high. “It looks beautiful though, doesn’t it? I’ve never seen such green hills—so many magnificent buildings. What amazing things men create when they have a mind to.”

Seanan tapped Georgios’ shoulder and pointed to the shoreline. “Don’t forget the brutes that nearly beat you to death. This is where cutthroats learn their trade!”

~~~

Planet Crestar

Crestas have long, soft bodies and tentacles, which they use to manipulate objects. Their eyes are large and watery, and they have a “brain sack” hidden behind a spiral shell. They wear a mechanical exoskeleton when out of their native element—water.

Ungle pulled himself from the murky pool and waddled over to the comfort room where an attendant waited with a warm robe. Slipping his long tentacles around the soft fabric, he clutched it to his middle and let the attendant pat his legs and feet dry.

A tinkle rang from a side room.

Ungle frowned and slapped his attendant away. “Who’s that?”

The attendant bowed his head; silence his only answer.

“No use asking a fool.” Ungle jerked himself free and lumbered into the next room. The chime rang faster, louder, and at a higher pitch. “Dark waters! I’ve got to get my ringtone adjusted—enough to set in coronary palpitations.” He sidled over to a holo-pad and tapped a wall console.

A Cresta female in a bright yellow exoskeleton and wearing heavy green eyeshadow appeared on the pad, her gaze searching. Once she sighted Ungle, she bowed in formal salute. “Superior Ungle, Mygen reporting from the Observatory Incision, orbiting planet Earth.”

One of Ungle’s tentacles swiped a dribble of water from his face. “You’re a day early—” He waved her anxious expression away. “But no matter. Better early than late.” Backing up to a soft, white chair, which looked very much like a sea sponge, he flopped down and grinned. “So tell me all the news.”

With two tentacles laced before her ample middle, Mygen stared ahead in studied concentration. “I’ve observed several sites and even come across a slave trader who seems to have adopted his most recent acquisition as natural offspring.” She frowned. “These beings have no scientific training whatsoever. They believe in everything—and nothing. They take each other apart with no hope of ever putting each other back together again.” Allowing her gaze to meet Ungle’s, her lips puckered in distaste. “Honestly, Superior, humanity is beneath our notice.”

Ungle struggled to his feet. “Ah, but that’s why you are an Inferior taking notes, while I am a Superior making the assessments. I was the very first Crestonian to visit Earth—and it was my testimony that persuaded our leaders to send out observatory crews. The Ingal Court reviews the facts every cycle, of course, but from the reports I receive, humanity has made significant scientific and cultural progress.”

He slapped the wall panel and tapped a series of codes. “Look here.” He pointed to a series of holograms: cave drawings, island dwellers, farms, a Greek ship at sea, Roman soldiers in battle formation, a senator giving a speech before a vast crowd, and Cesar Augustus upon his throne. “This depicts but a fraction of the cultures you will discover upon further study. But trust me, humanity is more intelligent than they appear.”

Mygen’s chin wiggled as she worked her jaws. “The slave I saw appeared intelligent, yet he allowed himself to be taken captive. He will surely die, like thousands of his kind, and humanity will never grow beyond their primitive need to exalt the individual.”

Ungle’s eyes twinkled as he faced the young Cresta. “How long have you been assigned to Earth?”

“The usual. Ten of their solar cycles. I have three other systems to visit before I return home.”

“Fine.” He waved a tentacle in her direction, spraying a few droplets in her direction. “Let us make a small wager. I believe that before you leave Earth, the slave you mentioned will become a free man.” Ungle chuckled. “But if you are correct and he dies, then you may return home as soon as you like.”

Mygen’s eyes narrowed. “And if he is set free?”

“Then you finish out your tour and return home to me.”

Mygen blinked. “To you? For what purpose?”

Ungle’s four tentacles flew upwards, like a child ready to catch a ball. “If I am as smart as you say, I’ll take you apart—and we’ll see if I can put you together again.”