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At 10:30am, the air is buzzing with excitement. As the first race is going to start soon. There has been no signs of a dust storm and everyone seem to have forgotten about it. The participants are cheering and getting ready for the race while groups of tourists are wandering about, taking pictures of the teams and the folks in costume. People came from as far as Mexico, Italy and Macedonia.

Because of the harsh conditions, miners were usually males back in the days. But there have always been teams at our little town’s festival ready to include women and children because they were usually lighter and it was easier to push the carts around on the tracks. Since a few years, there even have been full female teams, and they were pretty good too.

Prune arrives with her new fancy reflex camera she got at her last birthday. She wants to take our picture in front of our cart. At Joe and Callum’s surprise, I try to talk her into joining our team and be part of the fun. I get out of the cart a spare hat and a wig I had prepared for her, but she says today she’s doing a reportage about the festival. I know she wants to be on the lookout for our father, and keep an eye on the Inn’s guests. She told me yesterday something was off with that Liana Parker who kept snooping around and asking questions to townsfolk about Howard and Fred. And, she heard the two other girls talking about Liana being a Finli and a nun.

I frown. I haven’t told the boys anything about my father or suspicious guests with false names. Prune knows I’m not too keen about letting my little sister following people around on her own. I told her something could go wrong, but she brushed it aside explaining it was the perfect occasion because people wouldn’t pay attention to someone taking random pictures during a festival. She’s got a point, but I’m still her big brother. I had to try.

She asks us to strike a pose in front of our cart and tells a few jokes. When we laugh she takes a picture of our all male team, I’m the one in the center, Callum’s on the left and Joe on the right. I’m glad despite all the concern, I look like I’m having fun.

Checking her camera screen, Prune says: “You guys remind me of the Clockwork Orange with your hats, but more colourful and less creepy.”

Callum and Joe look at each other, each having one eyebrow raised. I snort. I’m sure they don’t understand the reference.

“You’re ok,” she tells them. “It means people will notice and remember you.”

“Spread the word! We’ll crush them all!” Callum shouts.

Prune looks at me. “You’re still frowning,” she says. “It’ll be fine.”

“Ok,” I say. “But at least take the hat. You can’t dress as yourself during a Cart and Lager festival, or you’ll pop out of the crowd.”

She raises her eyes to the sky and sighs. Then, she takes the orange hat from my hands and puts it on her head.

“There, happy? Consider that an endorsement of your team,” she says with a wink.

Joe and Callum hoot and whistle loudly. “Miss serious is running wild! Anything can happen today.”

We all laugh. Their enthusiasm is contagious.

“Hey! You’re mother is about to talk,” says Joe to Callum. “She’s hot.”

“Don’t speak about my mother like that.”

The mayor has climbed on the central stage and she’s talking with an all dressed up woman with a big hat that makes her look like the Queen of England. She sure seems out of place in our little town’s festival. Flanked by two bodyguards in black, I guess it’s Botty Banworth who’s provided that expensive sound system the mayor’s trying to use. “One, two, three… Is it working? Yes. Ok. All the participants are expected to bring their cart to the depart lane. We’re about to start. In the meantime let me introduce Miss Banworth who’s been very generous and allowed our festival to get to another level. She’s going to help us rehabilitate the abandoned mines and open a museum.”

A roar from the crowd. The woman’s lips are so thin and red that the smile she puts on her face looks like it’s just been made with a razor blade. I shiver. She’s the Queen of England turned by a vampire.

Someone bumps into my back and knocks the air out of my lungs. I almost fall on my sister.

“Hey! Watch out!” says Callum.

I catch my breath and look up. It’s Betsy, dressed as a miner too, with extra sequins and gummy stars on her dungarees. She looks confused and mutters some excuses but doesn’t stop. She walks as if she has had a few lagers already.

“Hey, Betsy,” calls Prune. “You seem like you just saw a ghost.”

“Someone… near the mines… It can’t be…” says Betsy.

“Who did you see near the mines?” shouts my sister.

With the noise around us, I almost didn’t hear Betsy’s answer.

“Fred… Howard… It can’t be. I need Idle’s cakes,” she says before disappearing in the crowd.

I look at Prune. I see in her eyes we’re thinking the same thing. Dad’s really here. We nod at the same time and I move my lips: “Be careful.” She nods.

“You three, win,” she tells us before leaving.

“You heard her?” I asked Callum and Joe. “Let’s move our limo.”  As we approach the tracks with the other participants, a gush of wind almost knock my hat off my head. There is some commotion coming from the central stage. A guy climbed up and is shouting something  that I don’t understand, pointing at the sky behind us. When I look back like everyone, tourists and teams, I understand.

“Dust! Dust’s coming!”

And right from the direction of the abandoned mines. Dad what did you get yourself into?

It’s 10:55am and I’m pretty sure we’ll have to put off the race.

Zara the game character was standing in the entrance hallway in the old wooden inn.  There was nobody around except for her three friends, and the light inside was strangely dim and an eerie orange glow was coming from the windows.  She and the others wandered around opening doors and looking in rooms in the deserted building.  There were a dozen or so bedrooms along both sides of a corridor, and a kitchen, dining room and lounge room leading off the entrance hall.  Zara looked up the wide staircase, but as a cellar entrance was unlikely to be upstairs, she didn’t go up. The inn was surrounded by a wrap around verandah; perhaps the cellar entrance was outside underneath it. Zara checked for a personal clue:

“Amidst the foliage and bark, A feather and a beak in the dark.”

Foliage and bark suggested that the entrance was indeed outside, given the absence of houseplants inside. She stepped out the door and down the steps, walking around the perimeter of the raised vernadah, looking for a hatch or anything to suggest a way under the building.  Before she had completed the circuit she noticed an outbuilding at the back underneath a eucalyptus tree and made her way over to it. She pushed the door open and peered into the dim interior.  A single unmade bed, some jeans and t shirts thrown over the back of a chair, a couple of pairs of mens shoes….Zara was just about to retreat and close the door behind her when she noticed the little wooden desk in the corner with an untidy pile of papers and notebooks on it.

Wait though, Zara reminded herself, This is supposed to be a group quest. I better call the others over here.

Nevertheless, she went over to the desk to look first. There was an old fashioned feather quill and an ink pot on the desk, and a gold pocket watch and chain.  Or was it a compass?  Strangely, it seemed like neither, but what was it then? Zara picked one of the notebooks up but it was too dark inside the hut to read.

A loud knock made them jump. Youssef tensed.

“Quick! Under the bed!” hissed Zara. Before he could move, the door flung open. It was Finly and she looked irritated.

“I’ve come to service the room,” she said.

“It’s so early!” said Yasmin. She smiled in what she hoped was a friendly manner. “It’s fine … really!”

Finly’s nose twitched as she cast her eyes around the room. “I’ve got a ton of work today and I prefer to clean when the room is vacated … ”

Yasmin thought of the package under her bed and wondered if she dared retrieve it. The cleaning lady scared her. She always seemed to be lurking somewhere nearby  … dusting and watching. She reminded Yasmin a little of Sister Finli, or Liani, as apparently she preferred to call herself now … maybe not so much in appearance but certainly in her surly manner. What a mad coincidence it was that there should be two of them! Apparently Finly was from New Zealand and Yasmin wondered what the enigmatic cleaning lady’s story was — a hidden talent for poetry? A tragic love affair that had left her heartbroken?  Yasmin daren’t ask.

“Well if you could just give me a minute so I can get up …  ”

“Sure,” said Finly, thumping her cleaning bucket on the ground and folding her arms. “I can wait.”

“Come on, Guys!” said Zara leaping up from the bed. “Lets go wake up Xavier. Maybe we could play the game to fill in some time before the race. It’s such a shit day out there.”

I can’t believe the cart race is tomorrow. Joe, Callum and I have worked so hard this year to incorporate solar panels and wind propellers to our little bijou. The cart race rules are clear, apart from thermal engines and fossil fuels, your imagination is your limit. Our only worry was that dust storm. We feared the Mayor would cancelled the race, but I think she won’t. She desperately needs the money.

Some folks thought to revive the festival as a prank fifteen years ago, but people had so much fun the council agreed to renew it the next year, and the year after that it was made official. It’s been a small town festival for ten years, and would have stayed like that if it hadn’t been for a bus full of Italian tourist on their way to Uluru. It broke down as they drove through main street – I remember it because I just started my job at the garage and couldn’t attend the race. Those Italians, a bunch of crazy people, posted videos of the race on the Internet and it went viral, propelling our ghost town to worldwide fame. We thought it would subside but some folks created a FishBone group and we’re almost as famous as Punxsutawney once a year. We even have a team of old ladies from Tikfijikoo Island.

All that attention attracted sponsors, mostly booze brands. But this year we’ve got a special one from Sidney. Aunt Idle who’s got a special friend at the city council told us the council members couldn’t believe it when the tart called and offered money. Botty Banworth, head of a big news company made famous by her blog: Prudish Beauty.

Aunt Idle, who heard it from one of her special friends at the town’s council, started a protest because she thought the Banworth tart would force the council to ban all recreational substances. But I have it from Callum, who’s the Mayor’s son, that the tart is not interested in making us an example of sobriety. She’s asked to lease the land where the old mines are and the Mayor haven’t told anybody about it.

After Callum told me about the lease, it reminded me about the riddle.

A mine, a tile, dust piled high,
Together they rest, yet always outside.
One misstep, and you’ll surely fall,
Into the depths, where danger lies all.

Then something else happened. Another woman stopped at the gas station earlier today. I recognised one of the Inn’s guests, the one with the Mercedes. With her mirror sunglasses and her headscarf wrapped around her hair, she already looked suspicious. But as it happened, she asked me about the mines and how to go there. For abandoned mines, they sure attract a lot of attention.

It reminded me of something. So after work, I went to the Inn and asked the twins permission to go up to their lair. When dad disappeared, Mater went mad, she threw everything to the garbage. The twins waited til she got back inside and moved everything back in the attic and called it their lair. It looks just like dad’s old office with the boxes full of papers, the mahogany desk and even his typewriter. For whatever reason, Mater just ignores it and if she needs something from the attic, she asks someone else to get it, pretexting she can’t climb all those stairs.

I was right. Dad left the old manuscript he was working on at the time. A sci-fi novel about strange occurrences in an abandoned mine that looked just like the one outside of town. Prune said it’s badly written, and it doesn’t even have a title. But I remember having nightmares after reading some of the passages.

Perhaps it was the approaching storm that was the cause of the annoying inability to fall asleep, and when Zara had had enough of the bizarre juxtapositions of the hypnagogic images flashing before her closed eyelids,  she gave up trying and switched the bedside light on.  Often she felt restless before a storm, not really a fear of danger but an alertness to the power and the agitation of it.  A bit like having one strong coffee too many and wishing you hadn’t.

Zara padded over to the door barefoot, and opened it a crack.  Silence, and dark but for a night light in the hall and a distant light on the porch.  Quietly Zara made her way to the verandah. The night air washed over her face and made her smile and breathe deeply. She felt her self relaxing, and reminded herself that she was supposed to be relaxing, it was a holiday after all.  There was something in the air though, something she couldn’t nail down. A restlessness in the air.  It was as if something wanted to come to light, come out in the open, and yet an approaching dust storm threatened to obscure even the most obvious of things.

“May as well sit up and have a glass of wine when it’s like this,” Aunt Idle said when Zara had finished her deep breathing relaxing mental turmoil exercises and had eventually turned to sit down at one of the tables.  “Fetch a glass over there and come and join me. Ever been in a dust storm in a lager and cart race?”

Zara welcomed the distraction and smiled encouragingly and said that she had not.

“Oh, I could tell you a tale or two about dust storms and cart races,”  Aunt Idle said, and then drifted off into silent reverie. Zara refilled their glasses with wine. “Do tell,” she said, “Tell me a tale about dust storms and cart races.”

Aunt Idle

Contention 

Endless legal squabbling,
Eventually it comes to blows.
Zhang Ji has a speech defect,
Hair loose, turning northward.

I don’t know what the dickens that I Ching is supposed to mean, I was hoping it would give me a clue about that new guest.  There’s something about her but I can’t put my finger on it. I must remember to ask Bert about her, see if he’s noticed anything funny. Not that she’s acting funny, not unusual for a guest who’s travelled far to get here ~ and anyone getting here has travelled, let’s face it ~ to stay in their room catching up on sleep, but I don’t know, there is something niggling me about her. I barely caught a glimpse of her but she seemed familiar somehow.  I’ll ask Bert, but we’re all so busy now what with the lager and cart race coming up, and those four friends staying, and god only knows when that dust storm comes what we’re supposed to do to entertain them all when they can’t go outside, and they’ll be expecting poor old Finly to keep the place dusted and the windows cleaned.   I sometimes think I prefered it here when nobody hardly came.

Hardly got a moment to myself and our Prune is up to something but god knows I don’t have time to follow her around, and there’s no weaseling anything out of her when she’s got one of her secret missions going on.  Mater’s pulled her finger out, it has to be said, she’s been as good as gold with the guests, she can turn the old dear charm on when she wants to, and she’s pulled out all the stops playing the gracious hostess, and I can’t say a word against good old Finly. She’s a cheeky minx when we’re not busy but she’s been a real trooper.  I think I’ll speak to Mater about a little bonus for her.   Yes, I think that might sweeten her up for when I ask her to do my roots tomorrow which reminds me to put pink dye on Berts list for when he goes to Alice in the morning.

Honestly there’s too much to think about, I haven’t had a minute to get a costume ready for the cart race, maybe I’ll ask the twins.  Gotta say it, they’ve been brilliant organizing the cart decorating with the four friends. They’re a lovely group, I just wish I had more time to hang out with them, especially the big guy, oh my.  Maybe after the cart race, anything can happen after a cart race, lord knows ~ it was after a cart race in a dust storm that Howard and I had a fling and thank god Betsy never found out, she’s have had my guts for garters and nobody would have blamed her.  I still wonder what happened to Howard. We always had a soft spot for each other, but he felt so guilty he never strayed from Betsy again. I’d have been game, I’ll be honest, but I didn’t push it.  Betsy was a big girl back in those days, but nowhere near as big as she is now. Must be hard for her wondering what happened to her husband all these years, no wonder she got sucked into all that mumbo jumbo and stuffing her chops all day long.

And not being able to claim the inheritance that would have been Howards, that must have been hard.  They could have lived in the lap of luxury for the rest of their lives when Howard’s father died, and he hasn’t died yet, must be pushing 90 by now.  I know she’s hoping Howard didn’t die in the mines ~ obviously ~ and that he’ll come back one day somehow, and you can bet your bottom dollar she’s hoping he comes back before the old man dies and it all gets left to someone else.

That new guest went in Betsy’s before she even checked in here,  Corrie saw her, I guess she’s into mumbo jumbo in a big way if she had to get supplies of crystals or amulets or whatever they sell in there, before checking in to the hotel.

The trio entered the medical bay, Barney proudly perched on Salomé’s shoulder. Léonard was sitting on the edge of his bed in a blue hospital dress, looking around him, confused. He turned his head toward them and squinted.

“Georges?” he asked. “Salomé? Where…” He winced and slapped his forehead.

“Are you ok?” asked Salomé, moving toward him.

Léonard stretched his arm in front of him and Salomé felt her body pushed backward. Barney squeaked and the wave subsided.

“I’m ok,” Léonard said a few seconds later, breathing with difficulties, “just a headache. Where…”

Georges exchanged a look and a brief telepathic communication with Salomé. He had felt the wave too, and he was also feeling some kind of shield around his mind. It was different from all they had encountered before. They might have to fall back to the old ways.

“We’re back on Duane,” he said with a cheerful tone, hoping it would help their friend relax. Léonard had explored this system extensively, and it was there he had introduced Georges and Salomé to the reality of multidimensional travels and Elemental magic. It was a place full of memories and Georges was looking closely at his friend’s face and at the same time prodding his mind. But Léonard’s face didn’t show any reaction and his mind appeared empty.

“Actually, way back… in time,” Georges continued. “Jorid’s navigation array was gravely disturbed by this little creature… where is Barney?”

A weak chirp came out of Salomé’s luscious raven black hair.

“Come on, Barney,” she said, trying to take him out. “Come meet our friend Léonard.”

The creature was trembling like a leaf and clinging to strands of her hair, clearly not wanting to leave his hiding place.

“I think he likes your shampoo,” said Georges with a smirk. “Well, we just found this little sand Rin on Jorid’s hull, and the little culprit is generating interferences in the Boodenbaum quantum field. So until we find a way to neutralise whatever he’s doing, we’re stuck.”

Léonard looked annoyed. He tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t support him and he fell back on the bed.

“Why did the Zathu put you in that sand egg on Bluhm’Oxl?” asked Salomé, trying not to sound too concerned.

Léonard opened his mouth and froze, looking surprised. He frowned.

“I don’t recall,” he said.

“What do you recall?”

“I recall… receiving a tip from an old friend.”

“Who?”

“…”

“Jorid, can you read us the message from his friend?” asked Georges with a smile, as if he had found a simple solution.

“I can’t access the data,” said the ship. “Léonard deleted it, and the backups before he left.”

Georges’ smile faded. He looked at Salomé. She was thinking the same thing he was thinking and nodded.

“Why don’t we let you have some rest, you’ll join us for lunch when you’re dressed up and ready.”

Some connecting ideas for this thread so far — doesn’t make yet complete sense, but we’ll see… :

As it turns out, Aaron and Tibu are the same person. After Aaron attached his watch to the Wall of Watches, he suddenly found himself transported to a different time and place. Disoriented and confused, he stumbled upon a time-traveling device and accidentally activated it, sending him hurtling through time and space.

As Tibu, Aaron found himself in a strange new world, unable to remember anything about his past life as Aaron. He struggled to adapt to his new surroundings, living on the streets and relying on the kindness of strangers to survive.

One day, while wandering the streets of a small Spanish town, Tibu stumbled upon a lost little girl named Lily. Recognizing the fear and confusion in her eyes, Tibu felt an instant connection to her. He promised to help her find her way home and they set off together, embarking on a journey to discover Lily’s true identity.

As they traveled together, Lily began to open up to Tibu, sharing her dreams and fears with him. Tibu, in turn, began to share his own story with her, remembering parts about his life as Aaron and finally the accident that had left him in a coma.

It was only through his travels with Lily that Tibu began to piece together the fragments of his past and come to terms with his true identity. And it was through his connection with Lily that he found the strength and courage to confront the truth about his past and move forward with his life.

As for how Aaron ended up in a coma, it was revealed that he had been involved in a car accident while on his way to an important meeting. The accident left him in a coma, and it was only through his journey as Tibu that he was finally able to wake up and remember his past life as Aaron.

As they trekked through the endless dunes, Lord Gustard could barely contain his excitement. The thought of discovering the bones of the legendary giant filled him with a childlike wonder, and he eagerly scanned the horizon for any sign of their destination. As the fearless leader of the group, he had a deep-seated passion for adventure and exploration, a love for pith helmets. However, his tendency to get lost in his own thoughts at the most inconvenient times could sometimes get him in tricky situations. Despite this, he has an unshakable determination to succeed and a deep respect for the cultures and traditions of the places he visits.

Lady Floribunda, on the other hand, was the picture of patience and duty. She knew that this journey was important to her husband and she supported him unwaveringly, even as she silently longed for the comforts of home. Her first passion was for gossips and the life of socialites —but there was hardly any gossip material in the desert, so she fell back to her second passion, botany, that would often get her lost in her own world, examining and cataloging the scant flora and fauna they encountered on their journey. It wasn’t unusual to hear her at time talking to plants as if they were her dolls or children.

Cranky, meanwhile, couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Lord Gustard’s exuberance. “I swear, if I have to listen to one more of his whimsical ramblings, I’ll go mad,” she muttered to herself. Her tendency to grumble about the hardships of their journey had taken a turn for the worse, considering the lack of comfort from the past nights. She was as sharp-tongued as she was pragmatic, with a love for tea and crumpets that bordered on obsessive. Despite her grumpiness, she has a heart of gold and a deep affection for her companions, and especially young Illi.

Illi, on the other hand, was thrilled by every new discovery along the way. Whether it was a curious beetle scuttling across the sand or a shimmering oasis in the distance, she couldn’t help but express her excitement with a constant stream of questions and exclamations. Illi was a bright and enthusiastic young girl, with a passion for adventure and a wide-eyed wonder at the world around her. She had a tendency to burst into song at the most unexpected moments.

Tibn Zig and Tanlil Ubt remained loyal and steadfast, shrugging off any incongruous spur of the moment extravagant outburst from Gustard. Their experience in the desert had taught them to stay calm and focused, no matter what obstacles they might encounter. But behind the stoic façade, they had a penchant for telling tall tales and playing practical jokes on their companions. Their mischievousness was however only for good fun, and they had become fiercely loyal to Lord Gustard after he’d rescued them from sand bandits who were planning to sell them as slave. Needless to say, they would have done whatever it takes to keep the Fergusson family safe.

Illi was hoping for eccentric traders and desert nomads to fortune-seeking treasure hunters and conniving bandits, but for miles it was just plain unending desert. The worst they found on their path were unending sand dunes, a few minuscule deadly scorpions, and mostly contending with the harsh desert sun beating down upon them. Finally, after days of wandering through the desert, they reached their destination.

As they approached Tsnit n’Agger, the landscape began to change. The sand dunes gave way to rocky cliffs and towering red sandstone formations, and the air grew cooler and more refreshing. The group pressed on, their spirits renewed by the prospect of discovering the secrets of the legendary giant’s bones.

At last, they arrived at the entrance to the giant’s cave. Lord Gustard led the way, his torch casting flickering shadows on the walls as they descended deeper into the earth. The air grew colder and damper, and the sounds of dripping water echoed around them.

As they turned a corner, they suddenly found themselves face to face with the giant’s bones. Towering above them, the massive skeletal structure filled the cavern from floor to ceiling. The sight of the giant’s bones towering above them was awe-inspiring, and Lord Gustard was practically bouncing with excitement. The group behind him was in awe, even Cranky, as they were taking in the enormity and majesty of the ancient creature.

Floribunda and Cranky exchanged a weary but amused look, while Illi gazed up at the bones with wide-eyed wonder.

“Let’s get to work,” Lord Gustard declared, his enthusiasm undimmed. And with that, they set to the task of uncovering the secrets of the legendary giant, each in their own way.

When Salomé got closer to examine the creature, it jumped towards her. She caught it by reflex.

“Wow!” said Georges. “Sand Rin clearly has a death wish.”

“Thank you,” said Salomé. “Again.”

“I didn’t mean…”

She smiled. He was so easy to tease.

“Why did you call it Sand Rin?” she asked.

“I think our little friend has telepathic abilities. She showed this scene to me and I heard myself call her that.”

“You might want to revise your diagnostic concerning its gender. It seems he’s got balls.”

“Does that necessarily make it a male ?” asked Georges with a grumpf.

Salomé looked at her friend and raised one eyebrow.

“Does it indeed,” she said.

Georges snorted. Salomé’s attention moved back to the creature. The fur was soft, and produced little blue sparks when she stroke it with her hands. It wasn’t static electricity because Salomé didn’t feel anything except a desire to stroke it again.

“Interesting,” she said. “You clearly want us to like you. What’s your name little guy?”

“I told you, it’s Sand Rin,” said Georges.

“You told me you saw a scene in which you called it Sand Rin. That doesn’t make it his name. It might just have shown you your own mistake.”

Salomé looked into the eyes of the creature. It wiggled its nose.

“Hello, Barney,” she said.

“What? I can’t believe I find an alien creature on Jorid’s hull, and it’s called Barney,” said Georges.

“Rectification,” said Jorid, “The creature found you. He jumped onto your helmet and licked it. It’s most probable if you had tried to catch him, you’d still be tickling my hull with your boots.”

Salomé grinned.

“You told me SHE liked me,” said Georges.

“I also told you the creature was causing interferences with my sensors and navigational arrays.”

“Why do you always have to take her side?”

“She’s most often…”

“Nope, I don’t need that answer.”

“…right.”

Salomé laughed as Georges rolled his eyes. She turned her attention to Barney when he started squiggling like he was talking.

“He’s agitated,” she said. “Something foreboding, urgent.”

“You’ll be happy to know Léonard’s vitals are showing he’s about to wake up,” said Jorid.

“Wehoo! At last”, said Georges. “He’ll be able to tell us what the Zathu did to him.”

“I’m more curious about what he did to them to deserve being treated like that,” said Salomé with a frown.

I hear the greenhouse airlock open. I don’t look up and keep my focus on the alien sweat pea plant I have been working on. I’m trying to get it to bind itself to the carbon mesh I printed to help it spread instead of grow like a ball. My hands are precise and my movement efficient. I’ve been practicing everyday since I embarked on this ship some fourteen years ago. I don’t allow distraction when I’m in the greenhouse, and Georges was often one.

He plants himself on my left.

“I found the beast,” he says.

“One moment. I’m almost done.”

I have to be careful with the tendrils. An abrupt gesture would cause them to wind around my fingers and pierce my lab gloves with their myriad of teeth. As sharp and poisonous as black mamba teeth, I’d be dead in seconds.

“Here, little thing. That’s good,” I say, encouraging the plant.

After the first three tendrils find their bearing on the carbon mesh, the rest of the plant follows.

“That’s gross,” Georges says. “I don’t know why you always pick the most dangerous ones.”

I don’t answer and observe the plant wraps its tendrils around the carbon wires like it found a prey. I spent weeks trying to find the right combination of softness and tension for the alien plant to accept it.

“I’m done,” I say.

I look up and I see the creature in Georges’ hands.

“Isn’t she cute?” Georges asks.

“She? Should I worry next time you tell me I’m cute?”

The creature’s cute, as much as a rodent with protruding eyes can be. It’s clearly neither from Earth, nor from Alienor. The eyes are looking straight at me and its muzzle wiggles as if getting some information through its sense of smell. It isn’t dangerous, since Georges is still alive. He’s the opposite of careful and after all those years together, I have to wonder how he’s still alive.