Chapter 8
Killjoy
...and unincorporated material


Eva had not tried to learn another language since she married Michel.  It was an endeavor she’d attempted an embarrassing number of times in her life—six or seven, by last count, and never with any success.  Her parents early on had noted her fascile use of English and had inferred that she might be good with some other tongue—German, they shrugged.  Eva’s tongue and mind were not built for German, however, and she gently nudged the pursuit aside in favor of other interests.  It was not until high school that she made the attempt again, in Spanish.  Given the proper attention to her studies, this might have been successful, but high school had ended up a major distraction from Eva’s real life and she had barely been able to graduate, let alone actually learn anything in her senior year.  The third try had been an act of supreme devotion to her craft, the production of an epic avant-garde Brazilian drama with elements of audience participation.  Eva had, along with the rest of the cast, tried to learn Portegeuse to enhance her understanding of her lines in that language and satisfy any audience members who might speak it—but none of that production was particularly successful or satisfying.  Some years later, faced with the combined enticements of a new wave of self-improvement programs available cheaply over the internet and a personal phase in which she felt capable of conquering any obstacle, she gave Japanese a try.  Rather than make time for her new pursuit, however, she found herself doing the opposite, whatever that is, and took this as a sign that she was not ready.  Later, while staying in the Czech Republic with little to do, she made the quite natural attempt to learn the language of her hosts, only to vindicate their warnings that it would prove quite impossible for an American of her age to learn.  Finally, after marrying a Frenchman later in life, Eva made the effort to connect with him more intimately through his native tongue, only to find that his constant corrections and frequent lack of interest were not the qualities she was looking for in an intimate relationship.  The effort fizzled in their first year of marriage.

This was the burden which she carried to her first lesson with Jemmiut in Carapacian.  How she could pick up a language that was literally alien, did not use sounds but puffs of localized heat, and that she could not even speak without a machine was too much to contemplate.  She was, as a result, already nigh drained of energy when she entered the dark room on the top floor of the FriendShip where Jemmiut was awaiting her.  He greeted her cheerfully and she only nodded—and sat down as soon as she could.

“Creature, you do look Tired.  How Are You?”

“I’m still working,” Eva answered.

“Well That is good I s’pose.  Are you eXcited to learn ‘bout the language of some Insane Beings?”

Eva mulled over the fact that Jemmiut, the one who understood them the best, was was immune from calling them insane.  “Who wouldn’t be?” she snapped.

“You do not Seem so much eXcited as you do upSet.  I hope that does change.  In truth these beasts are most Fascinating.  I have been Watching and Listening to them for quite some time.”

“Yet you somehow weren’t aware of the fact that they welcome death with open arms...or whatever that thing is they have on their tail.”

Jemmiut balled his hands into fists beneath him.  “It is SurPrisingly hard to tell a difference.  Besides, I did never learn their language all that Well.  After all it is Most inSane.”

Eva took an even breath.  “Because it’s in the form of heat bursts.”

“That is So.  Would you like to Look at a Chart of how a Carapacian is Shaped?”

Eva made an effort to be cooperative.  Using detailed anatomy charts that had been made from the previous attempt at contact, Jemmiut showed her how a Carapacian’s two legs can walk easily either forwards or backwards and fold under it in three different fashions, how the large mass of its body can tilt either way and rest comfortably either on its own knees or the base of its own tail, and how the two pairs of pincers on its tail, one nested within the crook of the other, could together be used for any simple feat of fine manipulation.  He then pointed out the millions of sensitive organs on both sides of its body, called signae, which gave it a wide range of environmental information, including temperature, humidity, airborne scent, extremely fine data on localized heat, and perhaps most remarkably, a sensitivity to air pressure so precise as to give the individual a decent sense of what movement was taking place within a range of several meters, along with its general shape and speed.  Aside from a relatively sparse layer of epidermal nerves throughout the body, these were the Carapacians’ only sense organs...but they did the trick admirably.

Eva’s first lesson did not extend beynd anatomy.  Even so, she went back to her room exhausted.  She was not tired of the subject, however, and in fact she found herself looking forward to her subsequent lessons.  Even a jarring and unexpected bout of zero gravity for twenty minutes did not quell her enthusiasm.  Perhaps, she reflected, there was something thrilling about the fact that this language was a longshot, with no standard curriculum and no benchmarks or expectations associated with her study of it.  That might just be enough of a motivational boost to make a difference.

She went to supper with no small measure of pride.  Exhausted she might be, but a good helping of food and lively company would allay that, and she felt that once she was fed she would turn out to have learned a great deal.  She arrived early in the eating room to implement a plan she’d had: finding an extra pair of empty crates in the adjoining supply room, she enlisted Kazeedl’s help in shoving them out and setting them up as a table for herself, to go with her chair.  Now she could feel as at ease during mealtimes as a pommit.

Eva found herself enchanted by the meals Kazeedl prepared for her, and tonight’s surprisingly spicy chowder was no exception.  She smiled at the beings she was coming to think of as her crewmates as they sauntered, chattering, into the room.  Eva amused herself by trying to identify them as soon as they entered, something she was now able to do without too much trouble.  She was rewarded by discovering that the short, roundish Ojiann was present again, Teriyum having presumably taken his place at the statistical console.

They were not short of conversation at mealtimes.  The more she interacted with the pommits, the more Eva found them like human beings.  She couldn’t name any particular group they reminded her of, but it was a comforting thought to know that she and hers had such lovable kindred across the stars.

It was at that supper that she found they even sang.  Derrapp’n led them in a baudy song about picking “chyangs,” which were apparently a common and somewhat overgrown plant on HomePlanet.  They then paused for a few bites of food, some of them eating with unrivaled gusto, and at this point several of them implored Angorim for a song.  Eva sat back and said nothing throughout; she felt like a character actress studying her subject.  Angorim politely stepped away from her mound and bowed.  Everyone fell silent after a moment.  The young pommit raised her wings with a graceful, precise motion and held them static for a moment, and in letting them drop to the floor she released the first note of her song.

Angorim’s voice was finer than Eva had expected.  Her song was not a straightforward thing.  It had no words and seemed to be something other than a voice, something more than an extenision of Angorim’s speech.  It was a vibration that must have come from somewhere inside her body, and she had the feeling it was someplace deep.  Certainly she was not simply humming or Eva would have seen her lips connect, but the sound nevertheless was comparable to a hum.

Angorim did not fold her wings, but raised them like a dancer before her as she “sang”.  She took a step forward and recessed the middle segments of her wings so that they were low in front, as if she were walking into a gale.  Eva was taken by the twin shows of music and movement.  Once Angorim had gone once around the entrancing melody, others began to join in.  Kazeedl was the first, with a fulsome tone to her voice that lent the song a whole new level of solidity.  Gomeo joined in, and Balallip, and Ojiann, and Prywroth.  It took her a moment to realize they were singing in harmony.  One by one they slipped away from their eating mounds and came to adjoin Angorim.  While they did not raise their wings, the whole group crept and peered as one at distant things far beyond the wall of the spaceship.  When their note faded and they all fell silent, it was unexpected but quite clearly the right time at which to do so.  Eva gave them a few moments of silence, and then clapped her hands in light applause.

Balallip looked at her oddly.  “Why are you making noises with your hands, Creature??”

 “Clearly she does Like to make noises,” answered Prywroth for her.  “Just as we do like to make Different noises.”

“What say that we All do make noises with our Hands!” suggested Derrapp’n, who had clearly been put in high spirits by the song.

“No, no, no,” Eva said, standing up.  “It was a way of showing my appreciation.  I liked your dance.”

“Oh!  Well I am pleased,” said Angorim.

“That was the theme song of Planet Astor,” explained Balallip.

Eva was dumbfounded.  “Theme...song?”

“Yes, silly!  Astor is the Only planet what has got a Theme Song.”

“Is it not Pred’y?” asked Prywroth whimsically.

“Yes...it was hauntingly pretty.  Whatever do you mean when you call it a theme song, though?”

“Well,” said Angorim, “that is the sound that the planet itself does make.  Or to be more accurate, that is what you do Get if you do Combine the Voices of all its Continents.

“I...That’s hard to believe.  I never heard of a singing planet.”

“Do doubt it has heard of You,” retorted Balallip.

“Astor is the planet that we are now orbiting ‘Round,” Prywroth explained.  “It is the planet we are most Eagerly looking into exPloring.  We have been conSidering all our Options.”

“Really?”  Eva didn’t know how to meet this annoucement.  She was just coming to grips with how truly amazing instantaneous travel was.  It really did make it possible to explore a wide range of options simultaneously.

“I’is a Beautiful Planet,” Prywroth crooned.  “I do look Forward to looking it Over.  I shall be the one to Do so if nobody does Object.”

“But—but tell me.  Has anyone else ever explored Astor?  And if not, why not?”

“Eeva.”  Prywroth blinked at her and tilted his head.  “There are more Multitudes of Planets in ‘xistence than Ever I could Dream for our People to‘xplore.  Do you know that that is what happens when you do invent Instant Travel?  It does create all the adventures in the World.”

Eva began trying to imagine how Earth would begin to deal with such a technological advance.  She could not.  “How many ships do you have out exploring, then?”

“Currently?”  Prywroth curved his body in contemplation, and then nodded.  “Probably’about a dozen.  But only three that are Authorized to Talk to anyone.  We did only inVent instant Travel ‘bout a lifetime ago and still we are Being Cautious.  There are still many Many bunches of Living Things to introDuce ourselves to and we must not do so All at Once or we will surely get into big trouble.”

“Just like the trouble you’re in for breaking rules and talking to my planet too early.”

“Yes that is right,” said Angorim.  “We pommits have introduced ourselves to probably sixteen or so different Talking Species and we have TimeTables in the works that they are continually Changing.  We did simply Lose Track.”

Eva grimaced, but then grinned.  “So the universe really is full of life,” she murmured.

“O’ Course it iss!” cried Kazeedl.  “Bluefur did preDict it would bee.”

Eva was flush with the thrill of discovery and spoke before she could check herself.  “But then, Bluefur also predicted that all living things would love life.  And now we have Craig.”

No one moved a muscle.  Balallip and Kazeedl’s wings were poised in midair.  Everyone looked stunned and hurt, and slowly turned to look to Eva.

“Eeva,” said Prywroth in a sad tone of voice.  “How could Bluefur be wrong.”

“I’ jusst does not make sensse,” griped Kazeedl.

Eva took a deep breath and spoke boldly, now that she knew she wasn’t going to be harmed.  “I’m sorry, but ancient philosophers are quite often proven wrong...no matter how revered they may be.  The world simply changes too much...for what’s wise in one century...to be wise for them all.”

The pommits rustled their wings now quite a bit.  Brogoii and Jerrapp’n joined the others and standing up.  Only Kazeedl remained at her mound, face down, seemingly lost in despair.

“Eva, it is not simply that Bluefur must not ever be Wrong.  Bluefur probably was wrong about a great Many things now and then, and that is no problem.  Chances are many of the things that are told about him did not truly occur at All,” said Brogoii.  He was interrupted by Angorim loudly insisting “Yes they did!”

“Please.”  Eva spread her hands in a symbolic effort to smooth things out.  “Regardless, if you accept that Bluefur is fallible, why is it impossible that he might have been wrong about the maxim that life loves to live?”

Kazeedl made a sudden plaintive sound.  Prywroth stepped over to the cook and put his wings over her body comfortingly.  Angorim turned up her nose and walked away sadly.  Brogoii sat down in the middle of the open area and tried, glancing awkwardly at the floor now and then, to describe what he felt.

“Eva, what is great about Life?  Do you Love to Live, even though you are a Human and not a Pommit?”

Eva didn’t know what the honest answer was, so she said “Yes, of course I do,” which felt right once she had said it.

“Very well then, Why?  For why and for what Reason do you love to live?”  His ears flailed forward and backward desperately.

“I...I couldn’t really say.  I’ve had my share of hard times.  I’d love to say it’s because I have so much left to accomplish, that I’d like to see come to fruition.”

“Then do you say so?”

“I suppose.  But really...was that true when I was a child?  Can a garter snake say that it wants to live because it has so much left to do with its life?  I just...I suspect the true answer is just that it’s only natural.”

“Only Natural?”

“Everything wants to live.  Because if it didn’t...it wouldn’t.”  Eva brushed her hands together and apart, signifying oblivion.

This did not seem to please the pommits.  Brogoii moaned as he spoke.  “Then you would say that we Only do love our Lives—which are assuredly our most Prized Possessions—because of Instinct.”

“I—I don’t know if instinct is the word I would choose,” said Eva.  But to her mind, it wasn’t a bad word for the purpose.

“Does the though’ no’dishearten You, Eva D’rant?” asked Prywroth, still crouched protectively over Kazeedl.

Eva set her jaw, then shook her head.  “It makes me think...but dishearten?  No.”

“Does it no’ then make you Sick to think that a Living Being does think so Lid’le of its own life that it does wish to Throw it ‘Way?!”

Eva shrugged glumly.  “We all get our kicks in different ways.  Pommits are life-lovers.  Carapacians are...death-lovers.  Killjoys.”

“KILLjoys?” shrieked Balallip.  “That is most NONsense.”

“Is there any joy in killing?” wondered Ojiann quietly.

“If I were a Killjoy,” mused Derrapp’n loudly, “I would simply Set out a Space for myself with Nothing to disturb me and Rest in it until I did DIE.  That way I would not need to deal with the great Distraction that is All of LIFE.”

The crowd of pommits all flapped their wings and squatted or put their heads down against the ground.  Eva was startled; she didn’t know if they were laughing or crying.

Prywroth came over to Eva once the fuss had settled down.  “I’is all right.  We will come to Terms.  When one does work on a Diplomatic Starship one does Learn to come to Terms.  You may go back to your room.”  Eva thanked him, took one last bite of her meal, and left in emotional disarray.

She was surprised at breakfast the next day to learn that her term “Killjoy” had come to replace the pommit term “Carapacian.”  Apparently the process of coming to terms had already begun.

The next morning, Eva received her first lesson in the Carapacian language.  (She couldn’t bring herself to call it the Killjoy language, no matter what Jemmiut said.)  Interestingly enough, the previous evening’s supper had strengthened her resolve to learn and understand the language of  these unthinkable beings.  She reasoned that with the pommits in denial of the evidence in front of their faces, she was the one with the best chance to comprehend what was behind their bizarre psychology.  And having thought this, she realized it was just what Prywroth had told her.  And she smiled.

“You might THINK that the more Hot is a puff the more Strong is the Sentiment.  But you would be WRONG.  When a fifth degree blast comes Fast and Focused on a single SensiTivity range, it is then only a casual Note or Greeting.  Feel!”

Jemmiut turned a dial with one hand and squeezed his miniature bellows aptly between his forelegs.  A sharp blast of heat struck Eva’s cheek.

Eva was reluctant to take off her clothing when Jemmiut ordered her to, but she accepted the order as she would that of a trusted director.  She knew that it was necessary if she was to learn the Carapacian way of speaking that she should be able to feel it on her own body.  She would never experience anywhere near the subtlely that an actual Carapacian would, but she owed it to anybody she might end up talking to that she experience the language as nearly as she practically could.

Jemmiut seemed to know an amazing amount for someone who had had very limited contact with the subjects of his study.  He had learned most of what he knew of the language in the few days that the FriendShip, when he had been part of its old crew, had hosted a group of six Carapacians.  Eva found herself marveling, even while she took her lessons, at what a quick study Jemmiut was.  She asked him in a forward moment once why he did not use proper and concise English grammar, given that he was clearly capabale of learning how.  His answer: “If you do underStand me, then the only Other thing I do care about is that you do deTect a Piece of my Character.  Do you Detect it?”  Eva could only nod appreciatively.

Eva had one lesson with Jemmiut in the morning and one in the afternoon.  She ate meals with the pommits and kept to herself in the evenings.  During the in-between hours, she took to exploring those parts of the ship she had not yet seen.  She knew that there must be a Playroom and was enchanted when she found it.  She wondered at the fact that she hadn’t heard so many round rubber balls rumbling from elsewhere on the ship.

She spent time with Eliihmn, the pilot, who never came to meals with the crew.  As far as Eva could tell, Eliihmn was the only member of the crew with a well-defined position (although everyone aboard had their strengths).  Even when the Friendship had been stationary above the Earth, Eliihmn had had to remain on duty.  She learned that Ojiann took the controls and made sure nothing went wrong at night while Eliihmn slept.  Eliihmn was a cautious soul, reclusive and hard to get to know, but this made her all the more appealing to Eva.  Eva made a chair for herself and set it in the control room.  She found that when she had an hour to kill she could be confident that whoever was on duty would appreciate her company, quiet or otherwise.

She had just returned from lunch one day with a tranquil heart, ready to take a short nap before her lesson, and discovered that her room was occupied.  Jemmiut’s jovial face peered out at her when she opened the door.  She sighed and smirked.  “Jemmiut, don’t I get even a short while to myself?”

Jemmiut stepped out into the hallway.  “I am Sorry, Eva, but Some guests are only Ready when they are Ready.”

“What do you mean?” Eva asked.  And then she looked into her room.  Craig Grayfield was waiting for her.

“Oh,” she whispered.

The Carapacian—the Killjoy—was reclined back on its tail.  It rose at Eva’s approach.  Eva found herself growing terrified—more terrified than she had been at the first sight of Balallip’s head protruding from the hatch of the FriendShip; more terrified than she had been at her first and only other encounter with Craig the Killjoy.  She dared not even approach, lest he blow hot air at her and expect her to respond.

“You know how to Talk to him,” said Jemmiut.  Here.”  And he handed her the machine.  “I will see you later.”

“Wait!  Don’t leave me alone with him!”  And then the creature crept froward on its sizable, flexible feet, and blew hot air on her from his blowhole, just as she had feared.  But she recognized this air: “Hello.” Eva smiled a cautious smile.

“Good luck, Eva.  You are Good with languages,” said Jemmiut before he disappeared into the hallway.



Eva was not the sort to quail when entering a room full of unfamiliar faces, however out of place she might feel or be.  She was an old hand at blending in and making small talk on the appropriate wavelength.  She therefore was doubly vulnerable when that metal door closed behind her: she was afraid of talking to Craig, and she had no idea how to cope with this fear.  Yet all of it miraculously melted away as soon as their first awkward exchanges were deciphered and Eva realized that they were both in the same boat.

“I am nervous about this.  I hope that we can take our time,” Craig told her.  Eva let out a little laugh, not of humor but of sheer relief.  She worked her tool, little more than a glorified bellows, with measured ease.

“Absolutely, Mr. Grayfield.”

It was an incredible experience for Eva.  Her sense of time left her.  She was not seen at supper.  Her sense of context vanished, as she felt removed from all the world, as if she had met Craig in a quiet cave or basement buried somewhere deep beneath a gentle wilderness, a place devoid of responsibility.  The room grew warm as the machine she bore created hot air and the surrounding air was gradually filtered through Craig’s body.  It felt fitting.  When Eva passed him a large wedge-shaped cushion which he gratefully accepted, the picture of coziness was complete.  There was no longer anything to fear.

If there was any surprise to the course of their conversation, it was that they had so much in common.  Their worlds were quite different on the surface, but had many common elements it was a treat to unearth.  The culture of Craig’s homeworld, the people, the variety of life, all colored with his own species’ topsy-turvy desire to die—all of it was amazing, but the amazement had already registered with Eva, and all she was there to do was learn.  And provide.  For odd as it seemed, Craig was also intent on learning.

“What I can’t fathom,” said Eva, proud of the fact that she was able to incorporate the rather nifty word for “fathom”, “is the fact that you seem to valuable the experience that life gives you, and yet you do not value life itself.”

“Why is it so hard to understand?” asked Craig gently, his muscles relaxed.  “The only reason it is necessary to value life’s experience is because the burden of life is placed upon us.  Experience has no value apart from life—but that is so obvious I feel a fool for saying it.”

“Why is it necessary to value a...a thing made by...a product...of something you hate?”

Craig trembled.  “The word ‘hate’ is not used with life as its object.  We do not hate life.  We labor to overcome it.”

“I’m sorry, Craig.  You know that I don’t mean to upset you.”

“Of course not.  Do not be upset by my emotions.  After all these years, I think I may have no anger left in me.”

“Well.”  Shifting to a sitting position against the wall, Eva stretched out her legs.  She had a pillow under her back and nothing under her seat.  Normally her joints would ache in such a position, but on this occasion she was relaxed enough to avoid that ailment.

“Why is necessary to value experience?” repeated Craig.  “Because only through experience can we improve ourselves.  Only through experience can we hone our skills.  Other factors besides experience can help, but no progress without experience can be made.”

Eva didn’t understand all of what he said, but asked another question anyway.

“Why bother to improve yourself, if you don’t care for your own existence?”

“Why bother?  Do you know how long it takes to die of old age?”

Eva didn’t, and the question spooked her.  “How long?”  She squeezed softly, evoking a thermal whisper.




Sadly, as I was writing these words, midnight arrived on Noverber 30th, 2003.  I left this chapter unfinished.  The following excerpts consist of text that I intended eventually to incorporate into the story.


Traveling through the wilderness seemed to hold no fear for Prywroth.  With his pinions swung boldly forward like torpedoes, he tromped ahead unhesitatingly, seeming to be tortured by the thought he might have to wait to see what was around some tree or below some sink in the land.  His wide, clawed feet confined the prickly undergrowth to the ground on each step with the intense love of a mother pushing her child from harm’s way, and released it just as lovingly on the upstep; his sharp inverted pinions deflected branches adeptly; but the chief character of his progress was his outstretched head, confined to a neck too short, with eyes too small to service all he wanted to see.

     He seemed so at home in the jungle that Eva asked him if he had traveled through it before.  She knew that a “yes” answer should be impossible, but what mattered more was that she knew Prywroth would not find her question silly.  “There are some among my kind who find every question silly,” he had told her on the first leg of their journey, “and some who think no question is silly.  I am that second kind, if it matters,” he had conceded distractedly, ‘but I think it does not.’

     “I have never been in terrain like this,” he mused in response to her question, admiring the land from a slanted angle and gripping the ground for one hesitant step as though he was determined to pounce the first bright shape to appear.  When none did, he walked on.  “I do not think you have either!”

     “That’s true, but I’ve had more of a chance than you,” said Eva with a smile engendered by relief.  “I’ve had many a chance.  I never took them.”

     “You left behind your chances,” echoed the pommit with his customary vacant interest.

     “No, I just didn’t take them!  I could have gone to the wilderness...in nineteen ninety-eight.  Right after I left school.  What was I thinking, that I had better things to do?  The jungle.  South American.  Yes.”  She nodded, gazing up at fleet triangles of sunlight, and confirmed the wisdom of her plan that never was.  “That would have been best.  They have tours there.  To lost monuments and such.”

     “You had better things to do!” exclaimed the pommit, still echoing her selectively.  He often got like that when they traveled.  Half the time he didn’t mean it, and she took this as such a time.

     “No, I didn’t.  What did I do?  I latched onto the local theater.  I drove my stakes in as deeply as I could to a theater that didn’t want me.  I...I courted the workers, the lighting man in particular, but everyone, regardless of sex—I courted them non-romantically, until I had half a dozen friends who didn’t take me seriously, and I cajoled the hiring manager once I had my friends, until he had to hire me.  And even then, it was only five months, and it was only costumes.  I think I was hoping to get on the stage, or at least be seen by the audiences, somehow.  Even if I wasn’t acting.  I don’t really remember my silly ambitions.”

     “You wanted to be seen?” asked the pommit, swiveling his wide-eyed head around.  “I see you now!  But I’m only one!”

     She turned up her mouth and gave her breathy chuckle, which was largely as close she ever came to a laugh.  “You’re only one, trooper!  I need thousands if I’m going to be satisfied.”

     The pommit took her half-seriously and paused.  He relaxed his wings and looked around, awed, at the midgrowth and at the canopy.  Here and there both travelers spotted movement, and heard isolated rustles more concentrated than the wind.  “There are thousands,” he said.  He was silent for a moment more to let this sink in.  There were no eyes to be seen watching them, but a green streak ran between the crown of one tree and another; a brown mass oozed out of the hole in a different tree and began to climb its trunk; living specks rose from a bush nearby and sank, fluttering back into hiding.  “Are you satisfied?” he asked.

     “I’m being watched by thousands,” Eva whispered.  She looked around and didn’t believe it: these creatures undoubtedly had better things to keep their eyes on, if they had eyes, than every passerby.  But many were aware of her, no doubt, whether through sight or another means, and surely the number since he had begun their walk tallied several thousand.  For some reason she did not equate this experience to simply passing through a crowd, in which more creatures were more reliably made aware of one’s presence.  In the jungle on this alien planet she was a spectacle.  Unlike she ever did on Earth, she was performing.  And though her audience was not perhaps prestigious, and certainly not familar, it was worthy.  That she knew.

     “I’m satisfied, she said.  Prywroth flipped his wings in satisfaction and walked on, and Eva followed.  Her thoughts of wanting once to be an actor, or to share in the actor’s glamour, fell away and she was left thinking over the other various chances she’d had in her life to go to the South American jungle, or the wilds of China, or the Philipines.  Or just to travel.  She’d led a life with many gaps and was not happy with how she had filled all of them in.  Now, however, that didn’t matter.  What she felt was embarrassed relief—the knowledge that she could have ended up leading a pointless life, had she not been rescued by circumstances unpredictable.


 “You say that experience is valuable, Craig.  I don’t quite understand.  How is it that you can despise life, and yet value the experience that it is made up of?”

“I would think it should be obvious, Eva.  The character and abilities of my kind improve with experience.  We enhance and enrich ourselves, as I gather you do also.  Then, when we are ready, we look for cresters.  Mates.  Is it any different for you?”

“So then that skill would be something you would have to learn in life, wouldn't it?  If so, I understand.”

“Yes, it is.  I always take pride when I learn a new skill.  Really, many of my kind enjoy learning for learning's own sake.  Such a basic need it is.  And yet, one cannot forget that the ultimate aim of learning, whatever other uses it may have, is to find a compatible mate.”

“I find no problem in this. It must be very satisfying to eventually find a mate.”

“Will you be my mate?”

“Certainly not.”

“Sorry.  I get carried away.”

“Death, then, is ironically to continue life. It is a natural cycle.”

“It is an irony, yes!  the great irony!  Existence is a Beautiful Irony.”

“I see.  What happens if you don't impregnate your mate the first time?”

“But all the same, if I had a shortcut with which I could kill myself without a mate, I would take it.”

 “Why is this? You would waste the chance to reproduce?”

“Well, sure.  I mean, it would be nice to reproduce, but I may never have the chance.  Besides which, I won't be alive to see my children grow, so what's the point, really?”

“You have a very negative outlook on your role!”

“What do you mean?  I'm just realistic.”

“I see.”

“You have to understand.  Reproduction is just icing on the cake.  Death is the real goal of life.  It's nice to see children growing up.  Being they're sweet, of course, but also because they represent a happy couple that went on into death together.”

“That is touching, yes.”

“I've never worked in a Child Care center myself, but we have many very nice ones.  Some children's parents leave them money to be enrolled in high class education and recreation programs, or under the tutelage of trusted individuals.  I wasn't so lucky.  I grew up in the public center, with eighty others.”

“Do you feel less of of whatever you are because of it?”

“Not really.  I'm an ordinary joe.  Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes.  What do children think...of the concept of death?”

“When a child first learns about death, everything changes.  Life, which was carefree until that point, becomes heavy and exhausting.  I personally have always thought that young childhood, especially before you even begin to learn how your actions affect your world, must be just like it was for the First Circle just after they were created.  They were the only ones who got to experience the sensation of not knowing anything, and especially, not knowing death—when they were adults.”

“It seems to me that if anyone could remedy that, it would be the pommits,” Eva confided.  “They all seem to me like overgrown children.  Their adulthood lacks nothing a child has.”

Craig bunched forward.  “That’s true.  I wonder how they do it,” he pondered, surprised.

“I wonder too.  Somehow, they manage to gain knowledge of the dark, cruel parts of life without losing...that gaity.  No, not gaity.  That blitheness.  As if they just don’t care.”

“I wish I’d been born as a pommit.  Even if they’re inscrutable.  Even if their philosophy is...unfathomable.”

“I don’t know what you find unfathomable about them.  They seem straightforward enough to me.”

Get help from any living thing around you.

There are friends in the sea!

There are friends in the wild!

There are even friends in the desert!

There are no friends in space...but there could be!

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