On their way back to Newton Intergalactic, Greg had the small vessel summoned from the private hangar ‘somewhere in Macon’ so they could depart as quickly as possible. To his relief Nash informed him they would make one stop before returning to that strange and hostile world. The Vercoden rods in her ship’s reactor compartment were nearing the end of their usefulness, and it just didn’t make good economic sense to get overpriced ones from Earth when a Gild partner station was on the way.

  This had always been the point of the voyage, leaving Sohrab somewhere else was purely incidental. At the very least all of their target planets were close enough to the galactic center to accommodate convenient travel. Earth, the next stop – Cuanerel, Celhesru, and even the bad little red world were all located within the ideal mid-band of the Milky Way; not so close to the core that light and gravity were unbearable, but not so far that perceptions of time became an issue either. The outermost systems, like Sohrab’s, were so infrequently visited that few seemed to understand the unique discomfort associated with travelling to them. Even those seasoned planet hoppers like Kory and Nash only had to put up with voyages of at most three standard days, yet the first place on their itinerary had taken weeks.

  What no one talked about was the resonance. It crept in gently the further out they flew until it was a deadening roar vibrating every molecule of their spirits like some sort of microwave for the soul. On a technical level, it didn’t exist. Equipment would falter here and there, maybe more so than in the mid-zone, but nothing quantifiable would be recorded. It ebbed and flowed and grew greater with each passing light year. Each of them had maddening dreams of giant beasts, floating between the stars, consuming whole worlds. None spoke a word about it, or about anything. The ship only had two hydro-stasis pods, so the three took turns, subsisting on silence, stale snacks, and powdered beverages during their assigned times awake. When Nash told Greg how the first journey had been he took every word to heart and then thanked God that these upcoming trips would not be the same. Unlike much of Humanity, Iolites were not religious, so Nash did not.

  #

  The traffic approaching the whole of Cuanerel was non-existent compared to the specific part of Earth from which they’d left. As the serene, aquatic planet came into view, a wave of tranquility passed over them, an unspoken but welcome reprieve from the mounting tension of recent days. Only a few small spaceports sat upon the planet’s sparse landmasses. A few more dotted the shallow oceans, reminiscent of the offshore oil rigs of centuries past. It was on the latter type that the four landed today, much to the chagrin of the Human, always the explorer. The isles were said by many to be the second-best viticultural region in the galaxy. A little cottage industry transplanted from Earth over a century ago produced some very drinkable Viogniers and Cab Francs.

  On the descent, the pale blue light reflecting off the seas gradually suffused the cabin with its calm glow. Zol stood a few steps behind Nash as she lowered the craft to the surface while Kory sat beside her, ‘helping.’ He was supposed to be sitting down for this part, but he didn’t always listen. “And besides,” Nash mused. “His balance is so good; he’s not even hanging onto anything.” Greg, by contrast, was practically taped to the wall in the back. Standing up for landings, or any other athletic feat for that matter, was where the Toravai bested the Human in every measure. In that moment Nash couldn’t help but feel his eyes in the back of her head. She knew who he was really looking at, but sometimes she imagined it was her. Conversely, Kory acted like she couldn’t be bothered to notice him half the time. “How does she not see?” Nash shook herself of the brief distraction and turned her attention back to the task at hand. Thankfully, there was no dispatcher or space traffic controller to listen for this time.

  Down below on the sea-borne landing station, it was midday. Though it felt warm in the sunlight, the breeze carried a familiar crispness. Coincidentally, autumn was near on this part of this world too. The small ship was the only scheduled vessel today and therefore enjoyed attentive service from the usually bored ground crew. At regular intervals, one of the people working on the craft would dive off of the platform into the ocean to be replaced soon after by someone different, fresh from the sea. The Teyshma of Cuanerel were amphibious and lived most of their lives below the water. Theirs was one of the first semi-civilized worlds with whom early Iolite explorers established trade, almost five centuries ago now. They were content to participate in a little economic activity here and there and would often welcome outsiders to their few islands, but for the most part they kept to themselves in their cities below the waves.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Though they played almost no role in larger galactic society, due to their aquatic life, the Teyshma were not impervious to outside cultural influences, Earth’s in particular. For some time now, Earth names were considered attractive and cosmopolitan, even if the words chosen as names were inherently nonsensical to Human ears. Nowhere was that effect more pronounced than Cuanerel, and Greg made no attempt to hide his amusement when two men with blue skin and gills approached them on the platform and introduced themselves.

  “Good afternoon, my name is Grapefruit Morocco.” Said the first one cheerfully.

  “Dude,” Greg laughed hysterically. “I hope you have a good lawyer!”

  “I don’t understand,” said Grapefruit. He was new to the job and hadn’t met many Humans yet, or else he would have been used to this treatment by now.

  “You know,” Greg continued. “To sue your parents for naming you Grapefruit Morocco.” Grapefruit failed to get the humor.

  “…but my brother, uncle, and mother are all named Grapefruit Morocco,” the poor man mumbled. He turned to his counterpart, unsure of what he had done wrong. By now Greg had lost any pretense of decorum and excused himself from the group to catch his breath for a minute. Luckily, it wasn’t his professionalism the interaction relied upon.

  At this time, the second man, who appeared to have more seniority then the first, based on the tiredness in his eyes alone, decided to intervene and get the exchange over with. “I’m Dale Painapple.” He said, spraying himself at intervals with a little bottle of salt water. Somewhere in the distance they heard Greg start to wheeze again. “Is there a uhh… Encarnacion here to sign for the two, size nine, V-Rods?” Dale said, squinting at the damp invoice in his hand.

  “That’s me,” answered Nash.

  “We verified your Gild partner credit, so once you sign this, you’re free to go.” He handed the invoice to Nash who signed it as best she could, in spite of the water. She detested any mention of her full name even more than these antiquated exchange procedures. Iolites had a tradition of abbreviating from the end or middle of a name, even if the names chosen weren’t themselves traditional. It made her jaw clench to be reminded of how susceptible her own people, her own parents, had been to Earth influence. Far be it for her to criticize the Teyshma when her alleged ‘superior’ kind fell victim to the same thing. She only hoped Greg hadn’t heard.

  As they turned back towards the ship, they heard two distant splashes as Grapefruit and Dale dove off the station’s edge and into the ocean. Nash was glad to be leaving quickly. Their following business was more pressing, and as an added bonus, she didn’t like what the salt air was doing to her hair.

  They rejoined Greg at the foot of the ramp and caught him loading a case of the local reds on board. He must have called in an order straight to the platform. “I’ll give him that” Nash thought. “He has a knack for making things appear. Maybe he can be good for something else too – learn how to fly this thing so I can have a break sometime.”

  “This’ll have to do for now, guys.” Said Greg as he took out a bottle to show them. The sun flashed off the exposed portion just above the label, illuminating the signature dark blue glass that distinguished the wines from Cuanerel. “It’s the least I could do. You know, we left Earth in such a hurry I didn’t get a chance to get you the good stuff from Shenandoah.”

  “It’s great, Greg.” Nash said flatly, walking past him up the ramp. Zol followed silently, wishing they had more time to spend here.

  “Thanks,” Kory added, taking the bottle from his hand as she passed him by. He smiled and carried the rest of the case into the ship.

  “Wait, what did that guy say your full name was?” He asked Nash. She didn’t answer. That was quite enough for now.