Ulduk Penney grabbed another apple and gnawed on it, content as a tsetse in the Rahn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so content. Of course, that wasn’t saying much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d built a fire, the last time he’d combed his hair, or the last time he’d sung a song. Twelve days ago, he’d been thrown into a cart and locked inside, just one of many unfortunate happenings in his short life that began in a swamp which, while seeming familiar, was at the same time completely unknown and wholly unpleasant. He wondered if his prior life had been this troublesome. Yet as the cart bumped along from the steady strain of two brown horses, he’d been pleased to discover that it was filled with exotic fruits: apples, kumquats, pomegranates, and the like. Ulduk fiddled with his unusual necklace absentmindedly as he gorged himself. Strange necklace. I wonder what it was for.

  The cart was one of hundreds in an immense army that slowly lumbered along, slashing its way through the deep jungle and making frequent stops. At these stops, he was let out and offered a pitiful amount of food, water, and a short break to walk around. Ulduk refused the food, as it looked like three-week-old scraps of compost. He wondered if the two soldiers who were in charge of him realized which cart it was that they’d thrown him in. Probably not, he figured.

  The soldiers spoke in a strange language thick with consonants and ischks. Ulduk had never heard anything like it. He wasn’t sure why he’d been taken, but it soon became apparent that there probably wasn’t any reason other than bad luck. The army went from village to village simply taking stuff. Several times, they’d camped outside of villages, or raided groups of huts. Each incident resulted in several more carts filled with random treasures. Ulduk had seen some of their captures… barrels of food, freshly hewn lumber, rugs, rare animals, kitchenware, and even shiny cabinets (hadn't he met a cabinet maker? His memory was fuzzy. In any case, Ulduk was very fond of the cabinets).

  Two days ago, the army had come across another in the middle of the jungle as they were traveling south. Ulduk wasn't sure whether the other army had intended to meet his party, or if it was simply unlucky. In any case, the other army was hopelessly outmatched, and most of its number slain, the rest captured and thrown into carts.

  There was a commotion outside; the procession had stopped again. Ulduk hastily hid his apple core underneath the pile of fruit as the cover to his cart was peeled away and a gruff barbarian peered in and gave an order in a strange language. Ulduk couldn’t understand the words, but knew by now their intent, and climbed out of the cart. He was grabbed by another fur-clad warrior and corralled into a herd of similarly frightened captives. Ulduk recognized many of them as local to the region, including those captured in the recent skirmish. Others displayed a wide variety of ethnicities, a history of the numerous lands the army had depredated while marching south.

  The captives were gathered into large tents that were thrown up with lightning speed, as had been the case each other time the army prepared for a siege. Ulduk peered ahead. Sure enough, through the jungle he could make out the unmistakable walls of a city. Panicked men and women bustled to and fro, pouring into the walls for protection. Apparently, the army had been unannounced. Ulduk wished he was back in his cart eating apples–he was growing tired of watching villages being pillaged and sacked. He heard one of the warriors talking, and a word caught his attention: 'Aketi'. Aketi! I grew up in a village named Aketi. Yes, that is where I was born!

  He knew this was not Aketi–the land was not swampy enough. Perhaps the warrior was referring to the river they'd been following? It could be the Aketi River. If so, then he was not far from his hometown. I am from this land, then! I grew up in a village not unlike this one! But it was all he could remember. Ulduk could not recall anything else but a dim memory of running along muddy trails playing tag with his friends. He looked again at the village with sorrow. He hoped its inhabitants were better prepared than the previous.

  * * * * * * * *

  Cold, artificial lights illuminated the long hallway on the second floor of Filstar Laboratories. Barth DeManth stood reverently in the center of the hall, admiring a glass case running along the wall. Inside the case were hundreds of memorials dedicated to those who’d lost their life for the pursuit of science. There were fotos, essays, and eulogies honoring both Hake and Sheek, all members of the Scientific Hall of Fame for their sacrifice. The display was thirty feet long and twelve feet high, though there was a good deal of empty space reserved for future members. Barth skimmed over the headings, fascinated at the stories…

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Gnoblar Brinak, of Eelvym–died at age 73 in an experiment with newly hypothesized virus vaccine…

  Yog Kanorr, Wanderer–lost life after volunteering to fly newly built flyr, which spontaneously combusted…

  Terranna Wellermeth of Kroga–died age 53 in experiment involving radiation conditioning. Had been an aspiring oboist…

  “Hi, there!” An eager voice broke off Barth’s reading. The detective looked up to see an unkempt Sheepel standing next to him. “I see you’re admiring the fotos. Check this out–what do you think?” The Sheepel offered Barth a shiny foto, still crisp and bright from the printer.

  Barth accepted the card. An inscription had been neatly typed near the top. It read: Daved Breggs, Wanderer–disappeared after being voluntarily vanished along with a flyr in new experiment. Will likely never be seen again, yet he is at rest–for a Wanderer to be wandering without a home through the halls of the eternal unknown is the fulfillment of a life's dream.

  Barth inspected the picture below the inscription and looked up, startled. “Why, it's you!”

  “One and the same; my appointment is at three o'clock today.”

  “And you willingly accept this doomed task? Not one of the vanished Sheeple has returned, I understand.”

  “It is true that I may never return. But, I am a Wanderer; I have been in difficult situations all my life. Where the vanished Sheeple go, I do not know. But I have had enough of this planet… its features are beautiful, yet its inhabitants leave a bitter taste on the land. For years I have wandered the eleven regions of Shamonj, and what have I seen? Greed, strife, poverty, indifference, and war. That is the worst–an endless war rages on since time immortal. We love war like we love Seoltin. It is a terrible city of prisons and palaces, of belching factories and countless Sheeple crammed into towers of iron. The capital of our land, we hold it up as a standard of democracy, equality and beauty, though the place itself is a hell to those who live there, both to the prisoners brought there against their will and the bureaucrats who dwell in comfortable power and do not see the place for what it is."

  Barth's claws clenched together (was he not one of those bureaucrats?), but he restrained his anger. The Wanderer was going to die in a few hours–let him speak his slander. In any case, Barth was not wholly unsympathetic. He had wanted to be a history teacher. He'd only taken the job as a junior policeman for the Sheek Authority to earn money for college. Now, years later, he was the Chief Detective of the Sheek Authority with a permanent office in Seoltin… but soon he would quit. Maybe even after this case. If he could solve it, the promised reward would buy him as many degrees as he liked.

  Daved was still talking, oblivious to the grim stare on Barth's face. “The interesting part is that instead of vanishing me, the scientists are going to vanish an airtight flyr with me inside. The flyr is stocked with enough supplies to last me a few weeks; it even has equipment to generate air and water. They believe it could keep me alive anywhere! Underwater, underground in the Pit, even in space, imagine that! So wherever I end up after I disappear, I should have time to figure out where I am and how to get out. I could be the first Sheepel to return from being vanished.”

  “Let us hope so,” said Barth without meaning it.

  “Yeah, but in any case, I'll go down in history. You should watch–three o'clock on the fifth floor!”

  “I'll be there.”

  “I even get to write my own eulogy, just in case. I’ve never had so much fun writing a eulogy.”

  “Ah, yes, that sounds… fun.”

  “So, what are you doing at Filstar?”

  I am here to watch you die. The scientists had promised a good show, and they thought their research might be helpful for the war effort. “I am investigating some patents for my company. Nothing tremendously interesting.” Barth's personal-information-center buzzed at him. “Excuse me a moment,” he apologized. “Barth DeManth here.” A pause. “You do? Are you certain? Well, well, that is some luck! And it is definitely the one, sort of a pea green, like the Green Sea on a Monday? Four silver legs? Excellent work–put it in my flyr. And you have Nyck as well? Yeah, that’s the one. Wonderful; keep them locked up. I have an ex… appointment this afternoon, and then I will deal with them.”

  Daved was giving Barth a strange look, but in his excitement the detective missed the clue. “Well Daved, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Yeah, uh, you too,” said Daved. Memories of a green chair he'd picked up while traveling through The Zone were coming to him. What had he done with that? Sold it in Central Plaza, hadn't he? And Nyck… Daved had just met a Hake-turned-Wanderer named Nyck Seekall a few days ago. Could it be the same Sheepel? And what did Barth have to do with these? Something about the light in Barth's eyes worried him. “I'd better get ready for my date,” he smiled, backing away awkwardly before turning to leave.

  Barth watched in amusement as the Wanderer hurried off, and took one last look at the wall. One of the fotos caught his eye. There was something very peculiar about it. An alarm bell buried within his detective mind went off. He blinked and the bell faded away, leaving him staring blankly at the image, yet unsure why. Odd. There is something going on here I do not quite understand. He pulled out a camera, took a foto of the foto, and thought.