Flower-of-Sands_The Extraordinary Adventures of a Female Astronaut

by Grahame R. Smith

Is this the cartel that is responsible for us being here? Astral-La asked.

  A branch of it, yes.

  So, you are saying that we are in the hands of criminals?

  ‘Yes, I am afraid so. This system is remote, far away from the main part of our civilization. My people are in defiance of natural law. I have reminded them of this. I have told them of the terrible crime they are committing, that they must return to the path of legitimate food. But my people rejected my words and tortured me terribly and tried to fling me here to suffer with the people of this planet. My brother, Prince, tried to help me, but I decided to come here after all and help in whatever way I can. Prince escaped and is attempting to contact the Inquisition and inform them of the deviant indulgences of my people.

  Can you get us out of here? Jalaal asked.

  I can only influence indirectly. I did that when you jumped from the flying machine. I saw the fireball coming. It was crude but effective. I entered the one who calls herself Astral and wished hard that she removes you. I did the same again when you jumped to the place that eventually led to here. It took all my strength; I am still recovering from that effort.

  Well, thank you for that Arabella, you saved us twice, if not more. We are alive because of you.

  I am weary now. These unnatural events severely weaken me. Connecting to you, exhausts me. Your dimension is dense to me, I can pass through it, but it hurts. I need to rest and ascend to the upper atmosphere and float there awhile.

  Will you contact us again? Astral-La asked.

  I will, when I have grown strong again. I am fading.

  They felt the gentle receding of Arabella’s presence. Then, just as she was about to disappear, she engaged their minds again.

  There is another like you on this world. You must find her.

  The three were astonished. Astral-La radiated agitation. Yes, we know. We are searching for her. Where is she?

  Arabella was rapidly fading. Near. That one is near.

  Arabella’s voice was a mere thread, a memory. Then came a faint after thought. Danger.

  Chapter 34

  Flower-of-Sands sat with Alois at their spot overlooking the frozen aspect of the Black Mountains. She was smoking from a sleek wooden pipe containing a substance the nature of which she was still not entirely clear. Marginally, it made her feel better, and better, however slight, was how she needed to feel, considering the hopelessness of her situation. It was impossible for her to see how she could stay alive much longer, or for her to imagine how she could rescue Daff from the slavery of military service and an early death in combat.

  She rested on Alois’s broad shoulders and sighed. What next? What new horror was the general dreaming up? A small mercy had occurred, of course. After the dogs and Bellona, the general had done something extraordinary for him; he had given Alois and her time off; just a day to be followed by intensive training in preparation for an unknown challenge, but it was welcome. He had given this, not out of compassion, but by necessity. From his standpoint, the last two episodes with the Sand Queen had been supremely successful. The Sand Queen was famous and so was he for sponsoring her. He needed to keep his asset fresh and healthy. His business was doing well and he wanted it to last.

  There were questions around the general, however. For example, he seemed peculiarly attached to Helena. It was true that she was a slave and that he used her for his own ends. Yet he took her with him as his personal aide – he seemed drawn to her waifish, fragile persona. What the poor woman was required to do for him, Flower-of-Sands shuddered to think.

  She had also determined that the general’s race had more than two sexes, not variations on either male or female, but something different. She had seen shipments arrive of weird and wonderful beings, humanoid, strangely attractive, with oval shaped heads, and eyes that glinted soft greens and blues. One such being was often in the company of both the general and Helena.

  What she had not been able to determine was the relationship between Helena and Alois. She had approached him on the matter, but he was evasive. There was much for her to learn about this world and its people.

  Then there was the new woman, like Helena, but taller. She had caught a glimpse of her helping Helena with cooking and serving the men. She looked astute, yet lost, and out of place in a world in which out of place was the norm. Who was she? Had she been recently captured?

  Flower-of-Sands took a long drag from her pipe, closed her eyes, and prayed to nothing for help. Unexpectedly she felt a response. Something seemed to probe at the edges of her mind, delivering a little jolt, as if to say, I am here.

  Perhaps the cause was the substance in her pipe. She looked about, half-conscious of a presence, expectant. Walking in her direction was the new woman, not heading for her, more towards the cliff edge. She noticed the woman’s measured gait – civilized, the walk of an intelligent person from a liberal, advanced society. Here? On this planet? But there was something odd. The woman had begun to crouch, to falter, her head bent low as if searching for something in the sand.

  In one terrifying moment, Flower-of-sands realized the woman was going to throw herself off the cliff. She leapt to her feet and ran headlong at the woman who had now reached the cliff edge. Flower-of-Sands grabbed the woman by the shoulders; the woman turned and faced her directly, her face terrified, yet her eyes keen and intelligent. ‘Flower-of-Sands,’ she cried in English. ‘You are not alone. Open your mind.’

  The woman then bent double, appearing unwell. A commotion across the stretch of ground between the compound and the cliff edge indicated guards approaching, anxious to apprehend the woman.

  ‘She is just unwell,’ Flower-of-Sands uttered as the men drew near. ‘She is not trying to escape or anything like that.’

  The guards looked like they would manhandle the woman but the presence of the Sand Queen and Alois tempered their lust for violence. At the same time, the general’s voice barked out of walkie-talkies attached to their wastes; resigned, the men began to lead the hapless Earth girl back to the compound.

  Flower-of-Sands and Alois returned to the sand bank and took up a position looking out across the Black Mountains. Flower-of-Sands was in shock. Hearing English here in this remote world in an alien galaxy could mean only one thing: Astral-La was here and she was with at least one of the Earth abductees. The feelings of something probing her mind suggested Astral was nearby and trying to connect. If she concentrated, she might be able to hone in on Astral’s telepathic ability and establish a connection, albeit rudimentary. If only she had her smart-skin which had the technology to establish this. She visualized Astral-La and concentrated.

  Since her and Daff’s capture, she had given up on Astral-La. Her preoccupation had been staying alive and protecting Daff. Suddenly she experienced a paradigm shift. Her original purpose for being here in this galaxy had remerged, and she had potential backup.

  Astral, is that you? Are you there? Can you sense me?

  There was a risk. She was afraid that someone or something would notice her attempts to contact Astral-La. In many ways, she reasoned, this planet was familiar to her; it was like her own planet, although not remotely as advanced. It was also like Earth one thousand years ago. But some things were different; at least three sexes, the unending, relentless striving to war without any attempt at peace - as if under hypnosis; and there were other things that she could not define. Beings may exist here capable of sensing her attempts at thought projection. Then there was another question; who or what had brought her here in the first place? Who or what had sabotaged her flight across galaxies? What had caused her ship to crash into a red giant and caused her escape pod to crash here? Someone or something had been out to get her, and may still be.

  It was a risk she was prepared to take. She had already attempted to connect to the Pod’s AI, without success, but neither with a ball of fire descending on her. On the other hand, she was already doomed in this place. Her death at the hands of some terrible creature or unspeakable pl
an cooked up by the general was a foregone conclusion. No need to kill her directly, being on this Godforsaken rock was enough. She had nothing to lose.

  ‘Astral, where are you. This is me, Flower-of-Sands. I am here, nearby. Can you sense me?’

  Nothing.

  She tried calming her thoughts. Not an easy accomplishment with so much going on. She was in shock at the sudden contact from the Earth woman. Deep breathing helped. If only she could empty her mind of excitement and fear. Her big question was how long had she got.

  Then she felt it, not in her head, rather in her chest, a flutter, as if something was moving beneath her skin. They were not words, but thoughts that could translate into words.

  Sands, is that you?

  Yes, Astral, it’s me. Oh, am I dreaming Astral? Is it really you?

  At last. A long silence. Then Astral-La came through, almost practical, as if they had only missed each other for an appointment, as if missing over three million light years was merely a local event. If you are dreaming, then you and I are in the same dream. Listen. I am on this compound with two others. Soldiers of some sort captured us. Now this individual who calls himself a general is using us in different ways.

  I have already met one of the other two, a woman from Earth.

  Correct, the general has put her into some sort of service. There is a man too. He is in the kitchens, I think; it’s all a bit confused. They are forcing me into some sort of Arena. They want me to fight.

  Really. Oh no!

  It’s the way I look – to them. They want me to fight some famous warrior with the ridiculous name of Sand Queen. Have you had experience of her?

  You might say that, Oh shit!

  What do you mean?

  The Sand Queen is me!

  I’m not surprised. Ironic isn’t it. It we were to be close, I would prefer it not to be fighting.

  Despite the situation, Flower-of-Sands felt embarrassed. Astral-La always got to her in a weird way.

  Silence, or rather, a cessation. Then Astral-La’s thoughts came through forcibly.

  We must get out of here. There are three of us. We need to jump away. I can do that. Although with four of us that won’t be easy. But I have help.’

  But I am not alone here, Astral. I have a …’

  Of course, your boy, Daff. There is one called Helena here; she told me about him. She is helping. Somehow, we must get him here.

  What will you do? And what is this ‘help’ you mentioned?

  Must go. Stay put. No heroics, okay. Leave it all to me. I will …

  Don’t go!

  Something must have interrupted Astral-La as the thoughts stopped abruptly. Flower-of-Sands eased herself off the sand bank and began to walk back to the barracks. Alois followed shortly after.

  ‘Escape is coming for you,’ he said as he caught up with her.

  She looked at him and took his hand. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I know. I can see it.’

  She looked at him intently, hoping for a clarification, but it did not come. There was something about Alois that she could not explain, and something about Helena too. What was the nature of their relationship? Amazingly, she had found herself wondering who they were.

  ‘Things could change for you – all of you on this world,’ she said.

  He stroked her hand. ‘I know,’ he said softly. ‘There could be a way out for all of us.’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘I will do all I can to make that happen.’

  She looked at him curiously. There was something about the way he walked, the way his eyes scanned the lookout towers that reminded her of her old lover Stavros – a trained fighter with a mission.

  Astral-La’s voice reverberated in her chest again, this time stronger and clearer. We must get off this planet. There are beings with stakes in this planet. They seek our demise because we threaten that. Be ready.

  Chapter 35

  Daff stared out of an opening in the concrete shelter to which his sergeant had assigned him. It was a moment for reflection, of which there were few in the long days of training. He looked down his rifle at an arid landscape relieved by the occasional piece of scrub drifting into his line of vision.

  Something moved - a flicker, a dim figure in the sunlight. He squeezed the trigger, beating his comrades by a fraction of a second. Afterwards, he would pay for being better than them. They were cowards, with no code of behaviour or respect – kill or be killed was their only motto.

  Artillery activity along the line of vision. He squeezed the trigger again. Explosions erupted around the trainees. The fire was hot, the smoke choking. It felt real. It was. The trainers used real rounds. Boys and girls died on these military training fields.

  He thought a lot about Flower – her kindness, her lack of aggression, and her strength. A new type of person from a distant world – if he was to believe her, and why not. She was special, and her presence gave him hope.

  Where was she? Why had she not rescued him? He refused to entertain the idea that she was dead. She would survive.

  He just wanted a new life. His time with Flower had taught him that there was an alternative to this hell planet. She had taught him about this thing called love. He wanted her to look after him, to teach him, to care for him.

  Eventually, a truck drove into the encampment and the trainers ordered the cadets to board. The ride back to barracks was rough and bumpy, all lights off as the track was not without danger. A stray enemy plane could be on the lookout for random targets.

  Back at barracks, Daff entered the shower. A tall cadet called Randol was watching him. Later, Randol would attack as a reprisal for Daff responding so well in training. He would not attack alone; although smaller, Daff would beat him in one to one combat. Randol was a coward; he would use a shield of at least three others, probably more.

  Daff had a friend, a girl called Wanda – white skinned with jet-black hair and an expression of one who had not abandoned hope. They talked during rest periods. She came from the southern hemisphere, from a land of forests, rivers, and lakes, which she described in detail. Daff did not believe her because the war was laying everywhere to waste. But he loved the stories and joined her in her dreamscapes and imaginary wanderings.

  Randol, and cronies he had bullied into supporting him, hated his friendship with Wanda. Luckily, Wanda was quick and nimble and adept at staying out of trouble, but Randol planned to assault her when an opportunity arose. Strangely, he had favour with the sergeant who ran the barracks and the surrounding so-called recreational area. His influence in barracks was so extensive that he would get away with hurting, even killing, Daff and Wanda. Doubtless, the authorities expected the cadets to be as vicious and irrational as possible as part of their training.

  Apart from Wanda and his memories of Flower-of-Sands, the only other good thing in Daff’s life was the mess hall. Mostly, the food was good and there was plenty of it. That day the mess was packed, and Daff headed for Wanda’s usual eating bench, which she often shared with friends who came from her district. As he walked towards her, he could see Randol and his boys walking down an adjacent aisle. Their intention was to intercept him and cause a rumpus – a precursor to a later attack in the yard during the brief recreational period.

  The interception Randol had planned never occurred because Daff skilfully changed his angle of approach, suddenly speeding up, and losing himself in a group of noisy late arrivals. Magically, he arrived at Wanda’s table where he helped himself to stew from a large communal bowl. Wanda handed him a chunk of bread she had saved for him, displaying a row of slightly crooked teeth that Daff found charming rather than annoying. Randol watched this expression of good will with hatred, planning his attack, the potential of which increased in viciousness every time he saw Daff and Wanda together.

  Later, Daff accompanied Wanda and her friends into the yard, which was a barren space with occasional struggling trees and metal sheds in disrepair. Close to the main building were nooks and crannies
where people would squat and draw on illicit pipes; something to which the authorities turned a blind eye.

  Although a child, Daff, like so many others in training, was heavily dependent on the blue-smoke crammed into his pipe. If anything was a miracle on this hell planet, it was the availability of blue-smoke. Officially, it was against the law, but representatives of the law (so called) made sure it was easily available. Daff used it every night before sleep to blot out the unacceptable circumstances of his life. Wanda, on the other hand, was not interested; she smoked a little, but her escape was in fantasies about the happy land she claimed she came from.

  Daff had a subtlety that Randol saw as an offence against himself. Racked with jealousy and the need for ill-conceived vengeance, he made a detailed study of Daff’s movements, knew where he liked to hang out when off duty, knew his habits, mannerisms. In many respects, he knew more about Daff than he knew about himself, and he secretly pursued him with the ardour of a fixated fan.

  Daff squatted down with Wanda and two other friends in a shadowy alcove that was part of the barracks outside structure. The night was cold but clear with stars in splendour, indifferent to the plight of the people below. He took a long drag of blue-smoke from his pipe and handed it to Wanda, but she declined.

  ‘I don’t know how you can smoke that stuff, Daff,’ she said solemnly. He could hardly see her dark eyes in the shadows.

  ‘It helps me forget.’

  ‘I know, but it’s not good for you.’

  Daff took another massive drag. It went to his head more than usual and the stars above went into a spin.

  ‘Steady on,’ Wanda scolded him gently. ‘You’ll burst your lungs.’

  ‘I don’t care. Something is going to kill me. It might as well be this.’

  ‘I don’t want you dead.’ She took his hand. ‘I don’t want you to leave me.’

  A raucous voice broke the relative peace. ‘Now look what we have here.’ Randol, with a group of associates, had appeared holding a short wooden pole. ‘Two little love birds, hiding in the dark.’